Trusting You

by Ketley Allison

  25

  Carter

  I’m gonna die in Nowhere, Brooklyn.

  Lily won’t remember me. I’ll only ever sell one piece of artwork, and no one, not one person in my life, will cry over the loss.

  Well, maybe Sophie will.

  I’m clinging to Locke with the force of a tick insect. His shirt’s getting damp, either by my panicked sweat, or his, or both. We’re tap-dancing toward the exit, but it’s going too slowly. Even with two heavy-hitters on either side, we’re moving through a thick swamp of people.

  I haven’t been in a panicked crowd before, but I’ve seen enough on TV, learned enough in high school shooting drills, to know it is not where I want to be if this goes sideways.

  I’m little. I’ll be trampled. Locke will be hurt.

  “We need to get out,” I say, but don’t expect any answer.

  Glass hitting concrete floor breaks out, shards scattering across my sandals. More screams ring out, flailing arms and crazy amounts of perfume mixing in the air, becoming cloying, suffocating.

  I see it. I see the bright red EXIT like the North Star leading me home, and I pick up the pace as if I can carry Locke’s body with me, along with two other men who are acting as human shields.

  Then.

  Oh, then.

  A shot cuts through the atmosphere.

  The room explodes with humanity.

  “Fuck!” Locke roars, then hangs on to me so tight I can’t breathe.

  He’s losing his balance trying to hold and push me at the same time with all the bodies hitting him, smacking on all sides. Someone grabs my hair and yanks. I scream while Locke swears and punches the guy in the face. I watch with horror as the guy clutches his eye then sinks into the swarming crowd.

  Locke trips, nearly bringing us both down, but rights himself just in time. I’m nothing but deadweight to him, and if he keeps up trying to protect me, he’ll be seriously injured. His knee can’t take it.

  “You have to let me go,” I whisper, then say louder, “You have to let me go!”

  “What? Hell, no!” Locke shouts, and he won’t break my stare.

  “You have to!” I shout, then push him away.

  He stumbles, reaches for me, and loses. Ash and Ben shout at the same time I disappear from their view.

  “Police!” I hear over the cries. “Everybody calm down!”

  That only heightens the stampede. I’m stumbling, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to keep upright. If I fall, if I flatten, then it’s over.

  I’m being pulled by the crowd, and some small recollection in the back of my mind tells me to let it happen. To go with the tide instead of fight against it.

  I listen.

  Each second is like a bomb’s timer ticking down to 0:00, but I’m moving toward the exit, I’m getting there. I risk a look back, but since it messes with my balance, I can’t maintain it and figure out where Locke and his friends are.

  Locke. Please be okay.

  Other people’s sweat is slick on my skin. The air is hot with all the expelled breath. I’m trying to breathe calmly but can’t help the swell of horror in my chest, shrinking my lungs.

  “I’m…” I say. “I can’t…”

  Cool air washes over my face. I’ve broken through the barrier, feet scraping across the sidewalk, then the road. Gulping, gasping, I follow the crowd into the street, but there’s more room here. People are scattering, giving much-needed space, and I spin in my small circle of emptiness, back to the bar.

  “Locke,” I say. “Locke!”

  Nothing but the wash of unintelligible shouts answer me.

  “Locke!” I scream again.

  The mass exodus from the bar has turned into a stream, then a trickle. I don’t see him. I can’t find Asher or Ben, either.

  “LOCKE!”

  My breaths go back to scattered. Other groups find their friends and embrace, tears streaming, fingers tangling in hair.

  “LOCKE!” My voice is hoarse.

  Hands to my temples, I turn all the way around, scanning, worrying, mouthing words I don’t ascribe any meaning to. He has to be okay. For so many reasons, he has to come out of this unharmed.

  “No…” I cry and almost buckle to my knees. “Where are you? Where the fuck are you?”

  “Hey…hey!”

  Before I register who the voice belongs to, arms encircle me, and I smell him before I name him.

  “Oh. Oh, God. Locke.”

  My arms fly around his neck, and I bury my face in the scent of all his goodness, his aliveness, something I will never, ever, forget.

  “Are you okay? Hurt?” He tries to untangle my arms to assess, but I won’t let him.

  “Fine. I’m okay,” I say into the heat of his skin. “You are? You’re good?”

  I feel his palms on my back, holding me steady. “I’m good.”

  “Jesus,” I hear beside us, and it sounds like Asher.

  “Fucking H. Christ,” Ben finishes for him.

  “The fuck was that?” Asher says. “Everyone okay?”

  “Think so,” Locke says.

  I release him, but hold a hand to his jaw, his stubble tickling my palms. He says to me, “I was so goddamned scared for you. Don’t ever let me go again.”

  “I had to,” I say. “Your knee—”

  “Fuck my knee. I would’ve done anything—anything—to keep you safe,” he practically snaps.

  “Well, the same goes to you, asshole,” I say, anger pooling over any remaining fear. “Which is why I pushed you away.”

  “That kind of snap decision in a situation like that is the most idiotic—” he begins.

  “Okay, you two. Simmer down,” Ben says, palm out. He’s using his other hand to thumb his phone. “Let’s see if Number Four is all right.”

  Locke won’t look away from me, and that’s just as well because I can stare him down just fine.

  “We got a yes!” Ben says. “East is A-OK.”

  “You sure about that?” Asher asks. “‘Cause that kinda shit will have him holing up for a month.”

  “We’ll talk to him, but not tonight,” Locke says. “He’s not going to want to see anyone, anyway.”

  “In true tortured artist fashion, you could be right,” Ben agrees.

  Our attention is drawn to swirling red and blue lights and the slamming of car doors.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Ben says. “I can’t make the news on this.”

  “No? This is my kinda shit.” Ash grins. “You guys go. I’ll be the face of this crisis.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Locke says. “They’ll love to post your mug while assuring the public they’re safe.”

  “Get lost, all of you,” Ash says. “Before your manly, athletic frames draw the media too close.”

  Ben smacks Asher in the middle of his back. “Don’t be jealous.”

  I’m both warmed and stunned by how easily they go into their camaraderie, despite almost experiencing if not serious injury, then death. But that’s bro code for you. Jokes instead of tears.

  “Let’s go home,” Locke says, close to my ear, and I lean into his warmth. I’m shivering, and he notices. He undoes his button-down to scoop across my shoulders.

  “Fuck, Locke, what’d I just say? No press!” Ben says.

  Locke is wearing nothing underneath the button down. His sculpted chest is now in full view of everyone, and a few teary-eyed girls dry their cheeks as they notice.

  The flare of jealousy in my belly is unexpected, but my curving my arm into his is fully planned. “Lead the way,” I say.

  We say our good-byes to Asher and Ben and start walking. Instead of filling the silence, Locke allows it to stay, and I’m comforted by the ease in which we stroll together as if we don’t have devastation and panic as our backdrop.

  And maybe we don’t, because Locke is alive and unhurt, so are his friends, and so am I. We’re lucky. I know that.

  “So, Easton had no idea the kind of crowd he’d draw? Th
e amount of people?” I finally ask.

  “It’s hard to say,” Locke responds. “He’s no idiot. East knows he’s becoming successful. I guess the urge to go back to his roots was too strong. He figured playing in the bar he started out in would be harmless. Something must’ve leaked.”

  “The scope of social media.” I nod sagely, repeating Pierce’s words. “It has more effect than we can fathom. Maybe Easton needs a QR code.”

  “That must be it,” Locke says, then casually drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Though fuck if I know what a QR code is.”

  Locke’s bare chest is so close that if I tip my chin mere millimeters, I can lick it. And I want to. Oh, how I want to.

  “I’m proud of you tonight,” I say instead. And look straight ahead.

  He snorts. “For what? I lost you, you fought your way out yourself.”

  “No, before that. At the bar. When you only ordered seltzer.”

  “Tonic, actually.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “And my promise to you is true. I’m not going to do anything to screw up my chances with my daughter.”

  My daughter. Was this the first time he said it out loud? I glance up at him to be sure and find he’s already staring at me.

  Our pace slows and then stops. He curves in front of me and cups my jaw, tipping my head up farther, and I don’t fight it.

  “I want to kiss you,” he murmurs while staring at my mouth. His thumb comes across and catches on my lower lip. Then, pure blue locks onto my gaze. “Can I?”

  “You shouldn’t,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t.”

  I swallow. But I can’t look away. Can’t withdraw. He leans in, and I don’t stop him. Locke is so close, I can count his lashes, but I don’t push him away.

  A clap of thunder sounds, making me jump despite the steady hold of Locke’s arms.

  “It’s just the weather,” he says. “Everything’s fine.”

  Water mists down on us, and I blink; then falls in spaced-out splatters. In seconds, it comes down in an all-out downpour.

  We don’t move.

  Locke’s lashes clump with water, droplets fall down his chin and dampen his hair.

  He doesn’t move.

  Locke lays his lips on mine, and I draw them in.

  The silk of his tongue versus the sharpness of his stubble—it tingles, scratches, sets me alight with fiery electricity slick with rain. I lift up on my toes to bring him deeper, to let his tongue dance.

  His hands score down my back, then press me closer, his skin melting so deep into mine, I’m sure he can feel the hardened tips of my nipples.

  When a rumble comes from deep within his throat, vibrating my lips and mirroring the thunder above, I know my power.

  Of their own accord, my fingers explore, drawing on the ridges of his abs, painting the lines of his obliques with water. When I reach his belt, I fumble—remember where we are—and cup his hardness instead.

  The rumble turns to a growl. He reaches for the back of my neck, his athletic fingers tangling in my wet hair, and yanks our mouths apart.

  “You do that to me again,” he warns, rain water dropping from his nose and onto my face, his eyes burning as bright as a daylight sky, “I can’t promise what I’ll do in return.”

  “I want this,” I breathe, and if it’s because of what we just went through, what I’ve been enduring for months, I know I’m right.

  I want to feel again.

  I want to be pleasured, bask in the glow of goodness, for once. Even if it’s brief. Even if it can only be one night.

  “Take me home, Locke,” I say, and when I lick my lips, it’s with purpose. He breathes hard through his nose. “And do anything you want to me.”

  Locke doesn’t speak. He acts. He throws me into his arms and sprints the last block to his apartment.

  “Locke, your knee!” I say, for what I feel is the millionth time.

  “Don’t care.” His words are short, along with his breath. “Do. Not. Fucking. Care.”

  We reach the door where he sets me down, fumbling in his pants for his keys. On impulse, I get up on my toes and scrape my teeth across his neck. My lips must be cold against his skin because he shivers.

  “You’re mine.” His gaze is dark with promise when I draw back. “I’m going to tear that dress off you right here and now.”

  “Do it,” I dare.

  I feel light, so high and free that I don’t care if he strips me naked at his front door and fucks me in public.

  Locke gives a feral grin like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  I peel off his shirt, let it puddle to the ground. Then I unzip the lower back of my dress and smile.

  Locke doesn’t bother with the time-wasting task of slipping my dress all the way off. Instead, he lifts one of my thighs, reaches down for my underwear and, realizing I have none—

  “You’re home!”

  I almost slip and fall flat on my ass. Locke drops my leg like deadweight.

  Astor’s gaze ping-pongs between us as she props the door open with one hand. “I heard you guys talking outside. Wanted to make sure you two were okay. It’s already on the news.”

  She doesn’t have to explain.

  “We made it out just fine,” Locke grumbles, but his expression is patient. He knows his sister is worried.

  “Where’s your umbrella? Actually, where’s your shirt?”

  Locke reaches to the ground and grabs the soaking wet, dirtied shirt. “It was torn in the mob. As for the umbrella….we lost it. As you can see.”

  “And—and Ben?” she asks while pushing the door farther to let us in. I’m so slick between my legs, and it’s not rain. I’m worried Astor can tell.

  “He’s good.” Locke’s response is curt, but I’m too busy racing up the one flight of stairs and cooling my flushed face down to analyze why.

  “Thank God,” Astor says, but doesn’t follow us up. “I brought my stuff with me. I’m ready to go.”

  “Thank God,” Locke echoes, but not loud enough for Astor to catch. “Thanks a bunch, sis. I hope Lily wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Are you kidding? That kid’s an angel. She must get it from me.” Astor winks, props open her umbrella, then heads out. Before she disappears, she calls over her shoulder, “But you two kids have fun!”

  My head whips to Locke, clumps of wet hair sticking to my mouth. “Do you think she knows?”

  “Oh, she definitely knows.” He glances behind me. “Your dress was unzipped the whole time you went up these stairs.”

  “Shit. Shit,” I squeak. “But I promised—”

  “Forget promises. We’re making too many of those.” Locke’s hands come down on my shoulders, his thumbs slowly drawing the straps down my arms. “I want right now, instead.” He angles his head, and that somehow makes him sexier. “Don’t you?”

  I can’t stop myself. “Yes.”

  That’s all he needs. With an inhuman flick I didn’t think was possible for mere mortals, my dress is off, and I’m wet and naked in the hallway.

  He lifts me against his chest, my legs wrap around his torso, and we topple into the apartment.

  26

  Locke

  I leave the lights off in the bedroom.

  When I lay Carter down on the bed, I do it slowly, carefully, so as not to scare her. Because if I spook Carter, I’m gonna have goddamned blue balls for life.

  She’s so hot. So fucking sexy naked. She’s soft, so easy to nip at with my teeth, and before I can tell myself to cool it, I’m down there, grazing her torso with an incisor, and just like that, she’s writhing.

  Fuck.

  I glance up at her, make sure she’s still with me and not scrambling off the bed. I never question my prowess. My skills turn on more women than not, but Carter’s different. She’s special.

  And her eyes are glittering like she wants more.

  “Your wish is my command,” I say, words low and deep in my throat, and scra
pe my mouth and the stubble surrounding it across her sensitive naked curves before I reach what I’ve been dreaming of tasting again. And again. I want to taste her every night.

  She groans and her hips twist, taking my mouth with them. Carter grinds into my tongue, small circles, then faster, faster, before she’s spearing and bucking and grabbing my head to pull me deeper.

  I crave all of her. I want to ride her so hard the insides of her thighs are red with friction.

  She’s not bare. She shaves, but I find I love it. Too many chicks are fucking hairless, and I want that sign of a woman—that racing stripe leading me right to the finish line.

  Carter’s lost all decency. She’s not shy, not anymore, as she begs, “Yes, Locke. Yes, right there. Do it. Harder. Oh—my—harder!”

  She’s gasping, rocking under me, and I curve my arms under her thighs over her stomach, and squeeze her breasts, tweaking her nipples.

  Carter can barely contain herself. Her hands land on mine and she presses them against those delicious, hot tits, and like a true gentleman, I do as she bids.

  “Come for me, baby,” I say into her heat.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasps but has enough energy to look down and glare at me. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

  I hope she can feel the curve of my mouth against her clit. “Yes, ma’am.”

  When she orgasms, I nearly shoot my load right there. I keep dancing with her, keep twirling, helping her cross that brink, but I use a hand to unbuckle and unzip my jeans before my cock spears right through the denim.

  “Oh,” she gasps, her ribs flying up and sinking down. “Oh.”

  “Don’t rest easy yet, sweetheart,” I say, and lift off to step out of my pants and boxers.

  “I-I can’t.” She’s glazed over, staring at the ceiling, but then her eyes land on me standing at the edge of the bed. “Oh.”

  I like that sound she makes, the way her lips round on the syllable, the same way I want them around my cock. She can repeat that word all she fucking wants.

  Don’t scare her, you fucking idiot.

  I take the instinctual warning to heart. I want to fuck her until she can’t scream my name anymore, but I have to go by her initiative—her pace. I’m not about to screw this up now.