by Tara Oakes
I know this town well, born and raised in Riverdale. I’m trying to place what ice cream joint she’s describing. “You talkin’ about the Ice Box? Over on Madison?”
The plush carpet spreads between my toes as I cross the room to the master bath, leaning in to do a quick brush and mouth rinse. I can hear her rustling behind me, see her fidgeting with the now-full dirty laundry basket, pushing the smoky clothes down to close the lid.
“I think that’s it. Small place. Kind of a high school hangout.” Next, she reaches into another box and withdraws a hairbrush, running it through her blonde waves a couple of times before climbing into bed.
I spit the minty flavored blue shit into the sink and kill the inside light. “That’s gotta be three miles away. Lana drive?”
“We went after Lana left. It’s a pretty walk. Lots of flowers along the way. I mean, I’d have driven but my car is kind of … missing at the moment.”
I arch my brow, laughing to myself. “It’s a hell of a lot more than missing. By now it’s a cube of scrap metal, smaller than a microwave. There’s a set of hooks inside the pantry door. Keys to the cars. You can use the Jeep.”
Pulling the bedspread down, the sheets make a crisp rustling sound and I see her jump from it.
“H—how does this work, exactly?” Her curious eyes watch as I begin to climb in, my body exhausted from a long, stressful day.
I prop up the pillow behind me, leaning against it. “A bed? Pretty sure you just lay on it. Some people actually sleep on it.”
Angel shifts on her feet nervously. “Smart ass. That’s not what I mean.”
Lifting my hand, I let it drop until it thuds against the tightly made bed on her side, signaling for her to take a load off. “It’s not like I got a handbook for this shit, Angel.” She climbs in carefully, taking a great deal of time getting comfortable as if it will somehow give us some time to find answers.
“Lana thinks I’m crazy,” she turns to me, lying on her side, her hair spilling out over the pillow. Her hands fold together and slip up under the plush pillow.
My voice strains as I stretch to reach over and turn the little dial on the bedside lamp, cocooning us in darkness. “There’s a healthy bit of crazy in all of us, Angel. If there wasn’t, life would be damn boring.”
I hear her hiss a bit as she tries to wriggle deeper under the covers for warmth.
“Come here,” I pull her into my side, rubbing the exposed, goosebump-sprinkled skin of her arm.
Her warm breath against my neck returns the favor, ridding me of whatever chill the late night brings with it.
“Something tells me your life is anything but boring.” I chuckle at her words. She has no idea.
Once the skin of her arm is smooth again, all traces of shivering gone, I mindlessly tickle my fingers up and down, lulling myself dangerously close to sleep as I listen to her breathing.
“I got some business to take care of tomorrow. Be gone most of the day. You and Baby will take care of things at the club.” I lay out my plans.
Her thigh shifts, covering part of my leg, lending to my own outbreak of goosebumps. My eyes are closed, lazily awaiting sleep, but I feel them roll back from the intimate caress of her leg on mine.
She yawns. “After I drop Sasha off with Trixie I’m gonna go visit my mom in the hospital. See if they’ve made any headway on the insurance.”
“Those the papers you were looking through when I got home?” I thought I saw some type of upside-down billing statement from where I was standing.
I can feel her head nod against my shoulder. “I think I’ve finally gotten a handle over it.”
Even though I’m bone tired, my dick seems to have a mind of its own. Every little movement she makes pressed up against me only serves to torture me. I try to take my mind off of it, knowing she’s got to be just as tired as I am. Plus, she’s gotta still be a little sore form last night.
“I got an insurance guy who handles stuff for the club. He can help.” Thinking of business right now might be just what I need to kill the hard-on that’s starting to pulse two inches from her knee.
She pulls away quickly. “You gotta stop this, Dawson. Really. I’m not completely incapable of handling my own shit, you know?”
“Never said you were.” I keep my voice calm and steady even though she’s getting agitated.
She breathes out in exasperation. “Then why are you trying to control every little thing? I’m not the kind of girl to just sit shotgun while someone else drives the bus.”
“Does it ever get old?” I ask, point blank.
I see her silhouette, her outline against the moonlight through the windows behind her. I can see her head shake, shrugging off the question. “Does what ever get old?”
“Trying so hard to prove you don’t need anyone.” I fire off.
She’s taken aback. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Really?” I pull her down, rolling to cover her, hovering just above. “You sure about that?”
She gulps hard enough for me to hear. “I—I don’t … need--”
Moving my body, I glide myself up and down, creating just the right amount of friction between our hips. My solid erection now delivers just the perfect amount of persuasion to illicit the answer I want, pressed tight against the cotton patch of material that veils her pussy.
I let my lips rest on hers as our bodies rock together, dry humping slowly, deliberately. I feel her mouth twitch, feel her take her lower lip between her teeth and bite to relieve some of the torment that’s building.
Her breathing quickens and her thighs squeeze my hips, urging them on.
“You sure you don’t need anything, Angel?” I thrust hard, rubbing just the right place at just the right angle to make her moan.
I feel the crotch of my sweatpants tightening over my growing bulge as I torture myself just as much as I do her. Her fingernails find my back, digging and biting into my flesh, giving an unspoken voice to the want mounting deep within her.
Her lips part, her neck arches, positioning herself perfectly to be taken in a deep kiss.
I don’t give it to her though.
“You want my lips, baby?” I thrust again and she whimpers, her body betraying her and revealing what she’s trying so hard to hide. “You want my cock?”
There’s a rush of air as the head of my fully elongated dick is now peeking through the waistband of my sleep pants, inching its way forward as I rub it against the outside of her pajama concealed clit with every push of my body over hers.
I know I’m right on top of my target by the way her breath catches every time I drive my hips forward.
She’s so close I feel her trembling. She nods her head frantically. That’s not good enough.
“Then you tell me you need it.” My terms are clear.
Three short little breaths hitch together. “I need it.”
Victory.
My lips crash into hers just in time to feel her moan deeply into my throat as she comes hard from the teenage-style teasing I’m inflicting on her pussy through the soaked cotton barrier.
Tender aftershocks rack her frame as I hold her tight, basking in triumph.
“You-- you play dirty,” she pants, catching her breath.
I laugh. “All the fucking time, Angel. But, I got you to admit that you actually need something.”
“Moment of weakness.” She tries to downplay the admission.
Using my thumb, I trace the bottom of her quivering lip. “One day. One day you’re gonna tell me you need me. I’ll play as dirty as I need to for that.”
“Is that what you need? To hear me say that?” Her voice returns to normal, the orgasm that made my dick jealous fades from her body.
Holding her tight, I roll over, pulling her with me until she’s straddling me. “I need,” I lick her lips, “to feel those sweet fucking lips on my cock, Angel. That’s the only thing I need right now.”
She seems to like the position of control, of being on top
. Her hips begin to move in waves, sliding down my legs until she’s perched right above my groin, intentionally blowing cool air onto the very sensitive skin deep below my navel.
My eyelids flutter and I hiss through gritted teeth as she follows with the warm trailing of her hot tongue down further, shimmying my sweats down over my hips.
I feel my cock spring up, instantly freed, and she catches it in her waiting mouth. My toes curl under and I clench my ass muscles hard as I feel her glorious mouth take me in, inch by inch, and suck hard enough to make me lose my breath.
Fuck!
I lift my neck to see as best as I can when moves along my shaft, up and down the length. My hands plunge deep into her thick hair arranging the pile of waves to the side so that I get a glimpse of her shiny lips and teasing tongue while she fucks me with her mouth.
I don’t know what’s turning me on more; her tight little mouth holding on for dear life? Or the enthusiasm, the way she seems to enjoy it. I throw my head back, crashing into the pillow and raise my hips to meet her, gliding my dick deeper down her throat.
She doesn’t push my hands away as they find a way to control the rhythm, each wrapped in a tightly wound handle of blonde hair. Her hand works me just as well as her mouth does, twisting and rubbing the thick flesh as it enters and exits her scorching mouth.
My chest begins to feel tight, like I can’t seem to swallow enough air. I know that feeling. It’s a teasing little hint for what’s to come as my body begins to act on it’s own in a primal way.
Angel seems to pick up on the signs and works with me, sucking harder, moving faster, deeper, until there’s no deeper place to go. She holds herself still as I spill into her, claiming the one place I didn’t get to last night … her throat.
It seems like forever; lying frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe, as I wait for the wave of adrenaline to kick-start my lungs, gasping.
Holy mother of God.
I swear I just died a little.
I find the energy to reach down and lift her up, pulling her to me, higher on the bed until she’s back in the little nook she fits so well. Between the two of us, we’re able to somehow coerce my sweats back over my hips.
“I knew Angel was the right name for you, baby.” I whisper out, exhausted.
Her chin nuzzles into my chest. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
I feel myself slipping into someplace warm and safe. “Because you show me heaven.”
CHAPTER NINE
MOLLY
I read somewhere that the average dream lasts only about eight seconds. Most people have dozens if not hundreds of dreams per night. Light, sweet, carefree dreams that patch themselves together to form one big quilted shroud wrapping you in sleep.
Not me.
I may have found dreams easy to come by when I was younger, but lately, all the worry and stress from my waking hours have found a way to wind themselves into the night, causing me to toss and turn, fade in and out, never quite able to reach the depths of rest that my body longed for.
I wasn’t able to find peace during the daylight; always worrying about money, Mom, Sasha, Tina. It was just a cruel twist of things that I wasn’t able to find peace at night either, when it should have been the one refuge I had.
The silly little rambling thoughts that now float through my mind aimlessly as I lay in Dawson’s arms are like an old friend saying hello. A friend I haven’t seen since my carefree days before my life turned upside down more than a year ago.
Surely these can’t be dreams? Could it be that it’s been so long I can’t even recognize them anymore? I hover in that foggy place between sleep, drifting in and out of rational thought.
His arms are tight around me. He’s breathing quick and shallow in an even, steady rhythm. His heart beats under my ear like a muted drum, reassuring me that he’s still here. That he’s real. That he’s not a dream.
I feel him cloaking me with his heavy arms. I smell the musky aroma on his skin, in his sheets. I taste him still, in my mouth. He seems to be everything, everywhere, all at once. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel safe. I feel like I can dream.
~*~
“The fuck?” Dawson wakes, startled.
Whereas he’s on full alert, I’m sluggish to follow. “Sasha. Just Sasha. Nightmares.”
I stub my toe as I run blindly in my unfamiliar surroundings, hopping and cursing under my breath at my surely deformed little toe.
She’s sitting upright, clutching her doll to her chest, frantically looking around the darkened room.
“Shhh… I’m here, sweet girl.” I take her in my arms and rock back and forth, smoothing her hair with my palm.
I feel the cotton of my top begin to dampen, absorbing her tears.
“It’s alright, Sasha. It’s just a dream. You’re in your new room, remember? With your dollhouse and all your dolls set up.” I soften my voice to help calm her.
“She okay?” Dawson’s at my back, his voice riddled with concern. I feel his hand rest on my shoulder.
Sasha sniffles and lifts her head, her eyes twinkling with wetness in the soft light of the nearby children’s nightlight I’d installed thinking it would help. She seems curious about the large man leaning over us.
Her tears slow.
“Remember Dawson? One of our new friends?” I ask her while swiping at a salty drop in the middle of her cheek.
Her eyes dart from Dawson, to me, and then back, fixated on the giant who’s nervously trying to help. She nods slowly.
I close my eyes, thankful that the worst has passed. Some nights are worse than others with Sasha inconsolable in my arms for what seems like hours. In the beginning, she seemed to be looking for her mom. After some time had passed I’m wasn’t sure what plagued her to cause the outbursts. They just happen.
“Does she feel alright? Maybe she’s sick? Hungry? Thirsty? Cold?” Dawson’s brainstorming, trying to come up with an explanation.
“Scared,” Sasha whispers.
Dawson crouches low, balancing on his bare feet, joining our little huddle. “Oh, sweetie,” he carefully moves his hand slowly, to push away the messy hair covering her eyes. “That’s one thing you never have to be again.”
Her eyes narrow, unsure whether or not to believe him.
“You see these muscles?” Sasha looks to the side and I tilt my head to follow. Dawson is flexing his obscenely large bicep in an exaggerated, cartoonish sort of way. “Nothing’s gonna scare you or hurt you. They’d have to get through me, first.”
Sasha’s eyebrows arch, wondering if it’s true, mesmerized by the possibility. I nod enthusiastically, agreeing with his claim. “Gotta get through him first and then get through me next. You’re one safe little girl. All better, sweet girl? Ready to get back in bed?” I ask.
Her arms move to cling tightly around my neck. “Maw, sleep with me.”
Who knew that such little arms could squeeze so tight?
“Would that make you feel better?” I already know the answer. Her nodding head confirms it.
Picking her tiny frame up, I stand to my feet, carrying her back to the twin-sized bed with rails. I place her down gently on the mattress, her head on the soft pillow.
“Alright. Just until you fall asleep. Move on over.” I snuggle next to her.
“Hand me a pillow,” Dawson speaks from the shadowed area on my side of Sasha’s small bed, closest to the door.
“Huh?” I ask. Not understanding why, I hold out one of the extra pillows.
I hear a soft thud and then a light grunt.
“What are you doing?” I whisper down to the hard floor where I see his silhouette.
His voice flexes as if he’s rolling over. “In case she gets scared again. This way she knows I meant what I said.”
“Dawson--” I protest. He’s crazy. He’s gonna give himself one hell of a backache that way.
“Shh,” he quiets me. “You’re gonna wake her up. Get some sleep, Angel.”
I sti
fle another objection, as I feel Sasha’s arm on mine grow limp. It’s true. She is sleeping. How the fuck did that happen so fast? I kiss her forehead.
“G’night,” I whisper to her before closing my eyes.
Maybe tonight we can both dream.
~*~
“I’ll come back the day after tomorrow, mom. Promise.” I notice the dryness of her skin as I kiss her forehead. “But I gotta go if I’m gonna get to work on time.”
Out of habit from tucking Sasha in at night, I pull the covers up and press tightly against the sides.
“Bring Sasha next time. Her Granny hasn’t seen her in weeks.” Mom stops my fussing, taking my hand in hers. “You could even drop her off here for a couple of hours so that you can have some time to yourself, Mol. Lord knows you don’t get enough of it.”
If mom was well enough for any kind of visit like that, I’d welcome it. Sasha needs to spend as much time with her family as possible, and as of now that family is just me and mom.
One look at the alarming rashes over her cheeks, and the thinning hair held in her favorite clip, and I know there’s been no progress. If anything, things may have even gotten worse since my last visit even though it was only four days ago.
I can’t risk Sasha spreading any germs like kids her age tend to do. Mom’s immune system wouldn’t be able to handle it well.
“She’s got preschool, but I’ll see about bringing her next weekend.” I use her new schedule as an excuse rather than worrying mom about my concerns regarding exposing her to any risk.
Mom shifts in her raised hospital bed. Her eyes narrow and she grimaces while moving, evidence to the extreme muscle pain and soreness from the simple act.
“That’s great, sweetie. She should be in preschool at her age. I remember when you and Tina would go to that tiny little preschool in the basement of our church. You used to put on the cutest little plays. When I get out of here, I want to make sure to see Sasha’s plays, too.”
Picking up my purse, I clandestinely take the two Hershey bars out of their hiding place and sneak them over to mom without her roommate, Mrs. Daley, seeing. My mother has had a sweet tooth as long as I can remember, so I try to bring her a treat when I visit.
