by Jo Raven
Someone is lying on the sofa, covered with a blue blanket. A man. His has his tattooed arm thrown over his eyes, and his blond hair is showing dark roots.
Jason. Who is he? What am I doing here? What’s going on?
Definitely not a date, this one.
“Jason.” Ocean puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Kayla. Kayla, this is Jason.”
The man lifts his arm and peers at me from overly bright dark eyes. “Kayla?”
He’s handsome, even though he’s too thin, his cheeks kind of sunken in, and his lips cracked. His eyes are expressive and deep, his face all angles and shadows.
Not as handsome as Ocean, but handsome all the same.
He props himself up on his elbows, the blanket slipping down his chest, and whoa, his chest is bare and ripped, covered in tattoos and… scars?
Okay, this is getting more confusing by the minute.
“I, um.” I make a vague gesture toward the door. “Maybe I should—”
“I’ll show you where the kitchen is,” Ocean says and starts off toward the entrance. He grabs my groceries and shoots me a brilliant smile that blinds me for a sec, leaving stars in my eyes. “This way. Hard to get lost in here.”
“—should go?” I whisper.
Too late. If I say it out loud, it will sound awful, like I’m not pleased to meet Jason, whoever he is—and besides, I promised to make soup.
Why the soup? Why am I here? What in the world?
My cards didn’t warn me about this. Nothing warned me about the fond look on Jason’s face as he follows Ocean with his gaze, or about Ocean’s quick eye roll in the other man’s direction. There’s some fondness there, too, mixed with vague exasperation.
Shit.
“Ocean…” My mind spinning, I hurry after him, across the living room and through a low door into a kitchenette.
“Sorry I asked you for this,” he says, emptying the bag on the tiny table in the kitchen corner. “I just fucking panicked for a moment. I’ll pay for the groceries. Gimme the receipt.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble, trying to get over my shock. I go to stand beside him by the table and nudge him in the ribs. “Hey, I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” He winces and wraps an arm around his middle, which reminds me of the awful bruises he’s got there. Before I apologize, he moves away to open a cupboard and take out a pot. “Oh right. Jason. Yeah, I didn’t get the chance to tell you about him.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” I swallow hard, plaster on a smile. Ah well. “He’s cute.”
Ocean turns toward me, a frown pinching his features. “What?”
“He’s cute. Real pretty.”
His scowl darkens.
Huh.
“You think he’s pretty.” His voice is flat.
I shrug, busy myself with the veggies I bought, sorting them. “Sure I do. I wish you’d told me about him earlier. I was starting to crush on you, you know.”
Safe to say it now, I guess.
“You were?” he whispers. “You are? Having a crush on me?”
He sounds breathless. I shoot him a glance over my shoulder as I finish piling up foodstuff. His blue eyes are wide. “Yeah. You’re pretty, too, in case you don’t own a mirror. And you did go out with girls. That confused me. Confused everyone, I guess. So are you bi?”
“Bi.” The way he says it is like he’s never heard the word before in his life.
“Bisexual. Or bi-curious?” I turn to face him fully. “Why are you staring at me like that? Did you think I wouldn’t approve? I’m fine with it.” Just disappointed, is all. “Or are you gay-gay and the girls were a smokescreen?”
“What…?” His hands clench and unclench at his sides. He’s vibrating with some strong emotion, but his face shows mostly confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I blink. “You. And Jason.”
“Me and Jason, what?” He lifts his hands, rubs them over his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Your boyfriend—”
“He’s not my boyfriend! Yeah, he is gay, but you don’t think… You think me and him are together?”
Oh. Oops?
Okay, maybe I jumped to conclusions there.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I just thought…”
In two strides, he’s right in front of me, and those callused hands grip the sides of my face. “How about I show you what I like?”
His mouth, hot and hard, covers mine. When I gasp, his tongue slips between my teeth and tangles with mine. Pleasure hits me, flowing in my blood like liquid gold, pooling between my legs.
God can this boy kiss.
Before I can catch my breath, his hands slide down my neck to my shoulders, and he pulls back. The blues in his eyes glitter. There’s a question in them.
I put my hand on his chest, stand on tiptoes and kiss him back.
A soft growl rises in his throat. His hands fall off my shoulders, land on my hips. As his mouth crushes mine, lips moving, demanding, teeth clacking, he walks me backward until my ass hits the small table. In one movement, he lifts me on it, sending groceries crashing to the floor.
I barely notice.
He kicks the door shut. There are sketches stuck on it, done in charcoal and pencil, parts of bodies, and faces, and textures, and shapes, like pieces of a puzzle. They blur in my eyes.
And he kisses me long and slow, taking his time to stroke every sensitive inch of my mouth, making me moan out loud. Then he nudges my legs apart and presses between them, his thick, hard length against my soft center a shock that quickly turns into heat.
I claw at his shoulders, and he bites on my lower lip, making my whole body jerk. He licks it in apology and trails his mouth over my cheek, then lower, over my neck, and oh God, I’m losing my mind.
“Need more proof?” he rumbles, his breath scorching the skin under my ear.
“Proof?” My voice is strangled. My insides are trembling and clenching with need.
“That I like girls.”
“Yeah. I mean, fine. Proof is good.”
I’m rambling. Full sentences are beyond me.
“You think I’m pretty?” He’s nosing the shell of my ear. His teeth close on my earlobe and tug, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. “Guys can’t be pretty.”
“Sure they can.”
Christ, can I come from a guy nibbling on my ear? A question I never thought I’d pose myself.
“That’s not an answer to my question. Yes or no?”
“Yes. No!”
“Yes or no?”
“You’re—”
A coughing fit from the living room breaks the moment.
“Oh shit,” Ocean breathes and pushes off me, jerking the door open and rushing out. “Jason.”
Leaving me there, too shocked to move, his spicy taste lingering on my tongue.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter Six
Ocean
Fuck, fuck, fuck. All I want is to stay in my tiny kitchenette, wrapped around Kayla, kissing her until we both pass out from lack of oxygen. Then I’d undress her, slowly, kiss every beautiful inch of her, taste her everywhere. I’d make her come again and again. I’d enter her and feel her close around me.
I’d ask her if she meant what she said. If there’s a chance… any chance that…
Fuck, not sure I wanna know the answer. And even if she wants me, then what? How can I be with her without telling her about my past? Without telling her I can’t stay? If she wants me to stay, and Christ, this is fucking with my head big time.
Plus I’m worried about Jason.
“Is he okay?” Kayla asks, coming out of the kitchen as I check on the guy on my couch. He’s asleep, a fitful sleep he’s been drifting in and out of for the past two days.
“Not really.” He looks like shit. Feverish, with a deep, rattling cough. Too thin, too bruised, too sick. “He’ll crash here for a few days until he’s well again. It’s just a cold, Jesse said.”
&
nbsp; “Looks like more than a cold,” Kayla says, echoing my thoughts.
Yeah.
Jason’s a hooker. A friend from his days on the streets, so Jesse told me, his face serious and drawn.
Goddammit, maybe I should call Jesse, tell him about this. Not sure what he can do, though. Maybe he was right and a few days indoors, in the warmth, will do the trick and get Jason well.
Damn, I hope so. Because it could be a virus. The flu. The fucking plague. Could be contagious, and getting sick is the last thing I need right now. How the fuck am I gonna help Mom if I’m laid up sick?
Whatever, though. Throwing Jason out is out of the question.
“He looks very young.” Kayla is standing beside me, looking down at the sofa, a faraway expression in her eyes.
He does. My chest tightens. “He reminds me of my brother.”
She puts a hand on my arm, and warmth spreads down to my chest. Fuck, she’s distracting me just by being here, so close, and I wanna kiss her again. “I’d always imagined your brother with blue hair like you.”
My mouth twitches. “Nah. That’s just me.” I step away and grab her hand. “I used to take care of my brother when we were little, that’s all.” I grin at her as I drag her back to the kitchenette—because she comes along willingly, her cheeks pink. “And now I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m not sick.”
“You sure? You look flushed.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re hot.”
“I’m not— Ocean. What are you doing?”
I close the door behind us once more and press up against her. “Trying to decide if you really like me.”
“Oh God,” she says, and then we’re kissing again, and fuck me, it’s even better and hotter than before.
I’m burning. I have to have her. I want to find out how her skin tastes, how her tits fit in the palms of my hands, how she looks spread over my kitchen table, how her pussy smells and tastes. Want it with a mind-blowing need, unlike anything I’ve ever wanted before.
Want to hear her say again she has a crush on me. That she wants me like I want her, and yet I’m stopping her mouth with mine, afraid she’ll say it was a joke. That she only said it because she thought I was not interested. That she’ll run away.
Maybe it’s the lightness of her. The colors. The laughter lurking in her words. The acceptance in her eyes.
Jesus. Gone. I’m fucking gone for this girl, and I have no clue what the hell I’m doing anymore.
***
“Ocean…” Her voice hitches as I lift her sweater, revealing her bra. It’s white with red hearts, and it hugs her tits, her hard nipples peeking through the thin fabric.
Holy fuck. My mouth waters.
Just a quick taste. A flash of pleasure and happiness. Not too much to ask, right? Before I buckle down again to take care of others—of Jason, of my brother, of my parents.
A moment for myself, a moment with this sexy girl before she changes her mind.
A girl who’s lifting her arms so that I can tear the sweater off her, who shakes out her flame-red hair and looks at me with eyes dark with desire.
She wants me. Right now she wants me and is reaching for me. I’ll take it. Can’t hold back, even if a soundtrack of “bad idea, bad idea” is running in a loop through my head.
Want her too fucking bad.
I press my mouth to the mounds of her tits, inhaling her fruity scent. I tug down the fine cups of her bra and lick her nipples, one after the other. They’re large and dark. Hard. Sweet.
Goddammit, she has the prettiest tits in the world. Large, heavy, creamy, soft. I want to rest my head on them. I want to fuck them with my dick, come all over them.
She moans when I draw one nipple into my mouth and suck, teasing it with the tip of my tongue. Her hands tighten on my shoulders, short nails digging into my flesh. Her soft lips part, her eyes wide and unfocused as I tease her with my mouth, as I lift her skirt and slip one hand under her tiny panties.
I switch to her other nipple, closing my eyes, her taste, her scent turning me on like nothing else. Lifting my hand to her other breast, I torture her dusky nipple and tease her opening with the other. She’s hot and wet as I ease a finger inside her. She gasps and clenches, and oh fuck, it’s all I can do not to come in my pants.
“Ocean…” she breathes my name, and I groan deep inside my throat. She’s so sexy.
I push a second finger inside her, and she shakes. Another moan escapes her. She bites her lip, obviously struggling to keep quiet. I want her to be loud, to be unable to hold back.
But we’re not alone in my apartment.
Next time, I vow. If there is a next time. We’ll be alone. And I’ll make her scream and beg for more. I’ll spoil her for any other lover. I’ll make her come again and again until she can’t move, can’t walk.
If only I could keep her. If only she would stay.
But when she finds out more about me, about who I am and where I’m coming from, she’ll hate me just like my family does.
I release her sweet nipple from my mouth and lift up to kiss her. She wraps one leg around my hip, and I fuck her faster, harder with my fingers as I suck on her tongue.
She cries out, the sound lost in the kiss, as she tightens like a vise. She’s coming, rippling and milking my fingers.
Fuck, yeah. Like that, babe. Goddamn beautiful.
My dick twitches and jerks, and I almost get off just from watching her, feeling her, hearing her.
Need to be inside her. Need my dick to be where my fingers are, in that heat and snugness. My heart is racing, my pulse pounding in my ears. My whole body is tight with need.
But then she’s shoving at my shoulders, frantic, and I ease out of her, pull my hand out of her panties.
“Kay?” I reach down and push on my aching dick. “What—?”
“Listen.”
All I want is to find relief. I haven’t come in what feels like ages, and having her here, with her scent on my fingers, her moans still ringing in my ears, I’m two seconds away from shooting my load.
But I listen, and finally a sound filters through the rush of blood in my head, and I wrench the door open.
A strangled shout. And another.
Jason.
Fuck.
***
“Just a nightmare,” I tell Kayla when she appears beside the sofa, her slender brows drawn together.
I know better, of course. Nightmares are a reflection of real life, of the pain and fear of the past, or the present. Mine are never just dreams—they are a blend of memories and stress and panic.
Jason is rubbing his face with both hands. “Sorry about this, guys. I’m okay.”
But he’s not. He’s trying to hide it, but his cheeks are wet. He’s not rubbing away sleep—he’s rubbing off tears.
Fuck this. “I’m gonna call Jesse. I’ll—”
“Don’t.” He shoots up from the sofa and grabs my arm in a bone-grinding grip. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed and too bright. “Please. I’ll be fine. I’ll leave tomorrow. Please.”
Damn. Kayla is right. He does look very young with his dark eyes and thin face. There’s something haunted in his gaze that makes me want to calm him down and tell him he’ll be safe.
My head is fucked. Nobody’s ever safe. And I can’t save everyone. Anyone. Could never even save myself.
“I just want to give him a heads-up,” I explain. “You’re running a fever. He’s your friend. And I’ll be away this weekend with nobody to look after you.”
“It’s nothing,” he insists. He blinks, and for a moment it’s my brother Raine in front of me, pleading with his dark gaze.
Don’t tell Dad, Shun. I’ll be fine. Don’t tell them.
Don’t let them take me away from you. Promise you won’t.
I promised him. Big fat good it did me. Or him.
“Why don’t you want him to call Jesse?” Kayla asks.
Jason releases my arm and falls back on
the pillow. He shivers, and I pull the blanket over him. “He’ll want me to stay with him and Amber. Can’t fucking do that to him.” His eyes are closing, his lids heavy. “I’m fine.”
There’s a weight on my chest that won’t lift.
“I won’t call Jesse,” I say, and I don’t even know if Jason heard me. His eyes flicker under his pale lids.
“How about we make that soup?” Kayla whispers and puts her hand in mine. “Come on, let’s wash up.”
This time she’s the one who drags me off to the bathroom to wash our hands, and as her thumb traces over the lines in my palm, I can’t find it in me to care what she can read in them about me, or my past.
Exhaustion drops over me suddenly, and I stumble. She slides an arm around my hips, steadying me, and I struggle to breathe.
Don’t know why the fuck I feel as if everything is crashing down around me. Mom is sick, but it’s been a while coming, and my old man’s refusal to face the truth or help out isn’t new, either. Raine’s hatred has been a constant in my life for the last couple of years, and yeah it’s worse than ever, but that’s my own private hell.
I’m king of that hell, and there’s no reason for me to break down now.
***
I should feel bad for asking Kayla to cook a soup for Jason, but I’ve no clue about cooking, and the idea is to help Jason get better, not fucking poison him.
But that’s the first thing that popped into my mind after she gave me the muffin back at Damage Control. And she said yes. She’s a kind girl. Kind and pretty. I’m sure soon she’ll find a great guy to be with, a guy who can give her all she needs—stability, promises of a future.
Hell, this stings. Why am I even thinking about it?
She’s going through my cupboards. I bet the harvest is poor, but I eyeball her heart-shaped ass inside her skirt and try in vain to look away.
Food and a pretty girl. Eating and pleasure. Yeah, baby. These two go together in my mind.
Food is important. Hell, there was a time not long ago food would have been my number one priority. Filling my empty belly, and my brother’s, even if it meant begging from door to door or doing illegal shit for a piece of bread.
