“Everybody is dying.” I heave in and out attempting to catch my breath. Everything around me feels like it is falling, giant boulders thumping against my chest.
Before I can fall, he surrounds me, supporting me in his strong arms. I can’t resist falling against him. He must think I’m crazy. How ironic, a crazy psychologist.
I have to pull myself together, even though I feel like I am unraveling like a ball of yarn.
I take deep breaths against the hardness of his chest before standing back on my own two legs.
His eyes are intense and full of worry. I hate that look. That “walk on egg shells as to not startle the crazy person” look that is stamped on his face.
I sigh before steadying myself as best I can.
“I grew up with my granny after my parents died. She worked hard as a housekeeper to make sure that I made something of myself. A doctor.”
I catch his eyes again and he seems patient.
I move my fingernail through my other fingers again, nervous.
He places a calming hand on top of mine.
“You don’t have to do this now,” he says, placing a kiss on my cheek.
That hurts. We had been so intimate. His lips had been on my pussy, and now I get the “church lady” grandma kiss on the cheek?
“I do,” I tell him, my frustration giving me some strength. “While I was working on my degrees, I helped her clean homes, and started working as a professional organizer. I trained under Dr. Tirash to finish my doctorate and certification. I started my own practice in a community center a few years ago, merging both of the things that I enjoy. It took everything that I had, including all of the money my grandmother left me when she passed, to keep it open.”
At the mention of my grandmother, I feel weepy again.
“Talk to me,” he says, forcing me to look at him. “I want to know about you.”
This gives me hope. He releases my face but continues staring.
“I didn’t charge much, nothing more than the people could afford. Last month, the city decided to close the center. To move anywhere else would cost three times more, and then—” I swallow hard trying to push back the tears. They seep out anyway and fall against his shirt this time.
He caresses away a tear and pulls me impossibly closer to him with a comforting arm around my waist. Devlin kisses my mouth this time.
“I can’t stand to see you cry,” he whispers against my cheek. “You have to talk to me so that I can fix it.”
“You can’t fix it,” I sniffle. “Ms. Agnes loved me when no one did. She took care of me when my grandmother passed. She’s been my assistant--and my rock.” I fight the urge to pull at my thumbs. “She got sick, and I needed money for her surgery. I had to save her,” I explain. “I want to save her, and then Dr. Tirash told me about you and your dad.”
He sighs when I look up, and there is that familiar flash of anger.
“I didn’t mean to fall in lo—” I stop. I can’t go around confessing love for a man I lied to. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know that I would like you so much.”
“I understand,” he says flatly and I can’t read his expression.
“Ms. Agnes is in hospice now. The doctors are just waiting on her to die. Sarabi died. My house burned. My best friend is on another continent.” I leave out that I lost my boyfriend, but the thought makes it all heavier. “Everything is a mess. I’m a mess.”
Burning tears ram through my eyes this time despite my efforts. I am just so tired.
I try to keep standing, try to keep being strong, but I don’t have anything left. I can’t see through the tears, or feel through the hurt.
Seconds later, I am being lifted. Devlin is carrying me. I press against his chest and let out the ugliest, deepest cry of agony.
He places me on the bed and surrounds my body with his, holding me close.
“I’m here,” he whispers quietly and calmly against my ear. “It’s all right.”
Chapter 18-Devlin
When I couldn’t find Ayron yesterday, I was frantic. Nothing else mattered but her safety and wellbeing. Regardless of how she became a part of my life, she is now a part of my life. I wanted to shoot her friend Monique through the phone. She told me that she knew how to contact Ayron but wouldn’t give me the number. Monique wanted to find out if it was all right with Ayron first. It still makes my blood boil. I needed to know if Ayron was still alive and Monique told me that she would call me back.
I shake my head at the memory, and slide my hand over Ayron’s sleeping body. Her hair is tousled across the white pillowcase, her mouth gaping open, with faint drool lines on either side. She is definitely not a light sleeper, but is beautiful still. The sight of her draped in my t-shirt is better than any lingerie. Almost losing her yesterday shifted something inside me. Fuck the petty shit: she had been there for me at every turn when it counted.
Her eyes flutter open and she makes a sort of snorting, snore noise and pops up in the bed.
“Good morning,” I greet, placing a calm hand against her back.
She turns to me with a worried expression and lies back down.
“Hey,” she says quietly before looking up at me with those eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that meet mine and seem to peer into my soul. “You didn’t have to work today?”
She blinked slowly. “I thought everything would have gone well.”
“I’ll hear from them today sometime.” I rake my hand through Ayron’s hair, more concerned about her than my position. “In the meantime, I want to make sure that you are all right.”
Long, delicate fingers cover her mouth with a groan.
“I am so sorry about yesterday.” Ayron tilts her head to meet my eyes. “And for not being totally honest with you about what I do.”
I nod. It still stings that she lied to me.
I snuggle closer and enjoy feeling the press of her breasts against my side. She fits right into the nook of my arm. Perfect. Frustration melted.
I kiss her head.
“I talked to my father.” The words come out lightly, even though the implications are heavy.
Ayron looks up at me before sliding her lip between her teeth. She doesn’t say anything, only looks distressed.
“I’ll leave,” she says, a slight whimper creeping into her voice.
Ayron moves forward in an attempt to leave my side, but I keep my arm safeguarded around her.
The last thing that I ever want is for her to disappear on me again.
“You don’t have to—” she begins, but I interrupt.
“He told me that you didn’t take the money.” I look down at her face. She is so close to me that I can feel her pulse quicken.
She swallows before speaking.
“I really do like you, Devlin. It wasn’t an act. It was all me, all real feelings,” she says slowly.
I scan her face and hands.
“I believe you.” I run a hand across the side of her arm, nearly lost in the enjoyable feel of her skin.
“Thank you, again.” The twinkle is there. A piece of the excitement that fills her and often spills over to me pops up into her dreamy eyes.
“There are other, more proper ways to thank me,” I tease, eyeing her thighs.
“I’m sure that you could think of a few,” she responds playfully.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her. “Yesterday, you were so—” I pause, attempting to think of a kind way to describe the unglued woman that I saw yesterday. “So sad.”
“I haven’t cried like that since my grandmother passed away,” she says solemnly. “I apologize if I scared you. I know that your mother—”
I stop her; she was turning the conversation back to me, and my history, and my past. She was being a psychologist, and not my girlfriend. My mother had enough problems for me to know the difference between when someone is overwhelmed versus being manic.
“I asked about you. How are you feeling?”
She squirms a li
ttle in my arms, as if talking about her is difficult.
“You have to let me in,” I protest. “Let me know about you.”
She passes off a weary smile. The light in her eyes is dimming again. I don’t want to see her cry. Her tears hurt me, but we cannot have a one-sided relationship, with her trying to ‘fix me’ while and holding in all of her pain.
“I am not crying anymore,” she begins slowly before twisting in the bed.
“That I can see,” I remark and swipe my thumb across her plump cheek. “No tears there, but what’s going on here?” I ask, pointing to her head and then the left side of her chest.
She smiles.
“I don’t know if I will be able to afford a session with you. I’m currently a little low on funds,” she chuckles.
“Is that a problem?” I ask. “Do you need me to take care of a bill?”
“No.” She springs up in the bed with a look of contempt. “This is not about your money, Devlin.”
“I know that.” I tug at my worried woman’s arm and pull her back beside me. “But if I can help you, then I don’t mind.”
“I am worried about Ms. Agnes and her medical bills. I need office space. I didn’t have renter’s insurance, so everything that I can’t salvage, I will have to repurchase, but that’s after I find a new place to live,” she blurts, and I can see the tears welling up.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s handle one thing at a time.”
I press a kiss on her wrinkling forehead.
“Agnes’s bill will be there; I bet they have some kind of payment or assistance plan.”
Ayron nods.
“And what about working with Dr. Tirash? I’m sure you can pick up hours at the hospital while you transition and open up your practice again.”
Her head bobs from side to side as though she is weighing the idea.
“Thinking about the facts only, without the emotion, can bring about clarity,” I repeat, remembering an earlier conversation we had.
Ayron’s head lifts and she rewards me with a smile.
“Using my own words against me, I see. That’s kind of sexy,” she says, lazily running her hand up the length of my arm.
Even that little touch turns me on. Everything about Ayron is sexy to me.
The soothing touch of her silky hand continues, hardening me and relaxing me at the same time.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything.” I turn in to face her, to get more of her touch. “You can stay here until you get your living situation together.”
Her stroking comes to an abrupt stop.
“I can’t ask that of you,” she protests with that damn crease in her brow returning.
“You didn’t ask it, I offered it. I want you right here with me, and if it makes you feel better, you can take a guest room.”
Her forehead smooths again.
“You would do that for me?” she questions.
“I would do anything for you,” I tell her, and mean it
Those puffy lips make me want to pull them into my mouth. She tasted so good the last time that she had been between my lips. She has become a craving, a need that I can’t go without.
“I have some conditions, though,” I explain, fighting back thoughts of placing my face in her pussy. She is so fine.
Her smile widens.
“Do you now?” she laughs. “Please tell.”
“You have to be honest with me at all times,” I lay out. As much as I want to fuck her until she sees stars, this won’t work if I can’t trust her.
“From here on out, only the truth,” she says, looking directly into my eyes. “What else?”
“Don’t hold back. Don’t hide yourself from me. I want all of you.”
I hook her on top of me, pulling her taut, warm body over mine.
“You’re so beautiful.” I push a strand of her copper hair away from her face. Her eyes darken and I can’t resist kissing her.
Ayron responds by darting her slick tongue across the seam of my mouth, slipping it in quickly and moving it about with a confident passion. Damn, I need her.
Growling with want, I acquaint my hands with her body again, sliding the t-shirt up and off her body. She playfully raises her arms to let me remove it with a snap. The release of her amply blessed bosom enchants me. Gripped by a startling hunger, I roll on top of my shapely woman and release her bra for the feast. Her large brown breasts lie in wait, ready for the guzzling. Her textured nipples are tasty against my tongue. I fill my mouth with as much as I can, enjoying the purr of her barely audible responses.
Her moan is melodic, a song of pleasure that commands my dick to attention. Her rocking body strokes against me and I want more of her.
I press against her pulsing well. Pajama pants and panties become a barrier to my desired goal.
“Off,” I whisper against her earlobe, tugging at the britches that block my entry.
Ayron hastily slides away her underwear, while I swiftly tear away anything covering me. I return to the beckoning spot atop of her.
Clasping her waist and pulling her sweet body against me, I rock into her lush opening. A searing shockwave of pleasure overcomes all thought and feeling and demands that I have more of her.
We move in tandem to the rhythm of desire, our pulse and pace increasing as though we are one.
“Devlin,” she calls, her sassy eyes glazed with passion. Locking her arms and legs around me, she guarantees that I never want to leave this place of ecstasy.
Her juices spill over as I drill into her core, the lubricated suction of her constricting pussy fueling my need to explode.
Looking to fulfill that primal need, we vibrate against each other, and I migrate my length to the depth of her. Growls escape. My control diminishes with each jagged thrust inside her walls. Time, space—all suspended.
“Baby. I can’t—I won’t last,” I groan.
Ayron’s pussy pulses with increased intensity, her heaving pants hot against my ear. Nails pierce my back. With her eyes clenched, she releases a piercing cry, trembling before a flood of her love hydrates my throbbing dick.
Teeth gritted, I smack into her one last time before satisfaction launches me through orgasmic spirals of pleasure. I fall against her, depleted and nourished.
“Damn,” I grunt.
The rub of her soft hand against my back skitters ripples throughout me that coincide with the orgasm aftershocks. I flinch against Ayron in response to the feeling, to her amusement.
Her laugh tickles my ear.
Kissing her neck, I roll over onto the bed.
Taking her breast as a resting place, I drift into a peaceful sleep. This is heaven.
Chapter 19-Ayron
Sex with Devlin is like chocolate-filled joy, wrapped in bliss, then coated with hot pleasure. I can’t help but smile at the thought of him. His touch stays with me. I feel his hands probing me even when he’s not near me. After our initial condom-less run, he made sure to wrap it up for the follow up and review sessions and the quickie shower conference.
While good sex invigorates me, the great sex that Devlin offered catapulted me to life with energy. Devlin fell into a coma the second he pulled out of me. At nearly noon, we had only tasted each other, so I carefully peeled my body from his, threw on his t-shirt and padded barefoot through the expanse of his home to the kitchen with my cell phone in hand
He had asked me to stay with him. Stay here in his expensive home that looks as though it could be featured in a lifestyle magazine. I had never lived with a man, not even Lance.
Today, I don’t have many options. Money for a hotel is out of the question. I need all the savings that I have now—and plenty more to get a new place to stay and a new office.
Monique doesn’t like people in her space, which is the only reason that we are not currently roommates. But maybe there is hope—surely she would let me sofa-surf for a few days.
The last thing that I need from Devlin is pity. I need him to see me as a wo
man and not his project. Or maybe this is all sex to him. Maybe he just needs some in-house pussy. Then I would be exchanging sex for the solace that his home provides. That would be a tiny bit whorish.
I sigh. I need to do this on my own, without Devlin. I’m not sure what it is that we have, but I am positive that living together is not the next step. I don’t want him to feel obligated to invite me into his home because I am technically homeless.
With thoughts of the future pushing through my mind, I complete breakfast quickly, so I start on a pie. My grandmother engrained her recipes into my brain, and she made everything from scratch. With the use of the frozen peach slices that I assume Devlin bought for protein shakes, I have everything I need for peach pie.
Popping the pie into the oven, I set a timer on my phone and head to the living room to look at the fish.
I could get used to the beautiful surroundings. His home is decidedly male and minimal, but a few accessories could liven the place right on up. Sitting in front of the fish tank, I dial Monique, who answers on the third ring.
“Hey, girl. Did you get settled somewhere?” Over the phone, I hear a pop from what sounds like gum.
“Yes. I’m staying with Devlin for a couple of days, but I was hoping,” I pause, not sure how to ask, “I was hoping that I could occupy your guest bedroom for a few days when you return.”
“Twig, you my girl, but that spare bedroom is my workspace. I have a few jobs lined up from the contacts that I’ve met here. What’s wrong with staying with Devlin?”
I knew she would go there.
“Never mind, Mo. I knew it was longshot, but I thought I would ask.”
“I wouldn’t ever let you be out on the street, but—”
“It’s all right,” I cut her off. “I have a pie in the oven. I’ll call you back a little later.”
“Ayron, don’t—”
I end the call before she can finish the sentence.
I feel his hands before I see his face. They wrap around me and I feel evidence of his arousal press against my backside.
“Found you,” Devlin says, placing a kiss on my neck.
“We weren’t playing hide and seek.” I giggle from him kissing my neck.
Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys For Life Book 1) Page 12
