The Space Between

by Victoria H. Smith

  He gazed down at me with a stare I’d never seen directed at me before.

  Sheer and utter hatred.

  He nodded behind him, and his boys flanked his leave.

  Lacey didn’t let up, though. She held strong with her weapon until the guys were a fair distance away. That’s when the shakes in her body started.

  Reaching up, I cringed from the pain of my arms as I pulled her into an embrace. I didn’t care, though. She was so scared. I had to bring her to me and make her safe again.

  She fell to the street into my throbbing arms, sobbing against my chest.

  There was nothing but the sound of her tears in the air.

  Taking her gun from her hands, I put it to the side. This allowed her to hold me back. We both just lay there for a moment in the middle of the street, waiting until both of us were strong enough to move on from the intensity of the previous situation.

  When her soft whimpering let up, she pulled away and wiped her face.

  No words said, she reached over and grabbed the gun. After shoving it into her waistband, she pushed her little body under my sore arm and helped me off the ground. I gave her as much help as I could, but with every move, my body felt the heat of the previous impacts. Clenching my teeth, I held in the sounds that would reflect my pain.

  As I steadied myself, I made sure she didn’t have to hold nearly any of my body weight. The bastard didn’t get my legs as good as the rest of me, so I was able to do that for her as she led me into her house.

  She took me to the room across from her mama’s. When she clicked the light on, I knew it was her room by the decor.

  Posters from various shows lined the bedroom walls. Some were from the theater she worked at and some weren’t. Most of them were in different languages, and I recognized pretty much all of them since I studied quite a few languages in my prep school. Overall, the French posters were the most dominant with their colorful tones and elaborate artwork lining the paper. Seeing them all reminded me of when I first met Lacey, and heard her beautiful song voice that I couldn’t get out of my head even if I wanted to.

  A sniff brought me back into the dark reality that was far from that wonderful night I’d first seen her perform. With a wipe of her eye, Lacey sat me down slowly on the purple comforter of her bed. I held my sore abs a bit as I settled myself, and once I was secure, she left the room without words.

  Waiting patiently, I sat there until she got back.

  When she did the gun was absent from her waistband, and the light of the room reflected the puffiness of her eyes. I didn’t think the swell of them was that bad before she left. She must have cried again.

  Holding a first aid kit, she sat on the bed beside me. “I’m going to check you out first. This isn’t the first time I’ve been the only one to help someone after a fight. If I feel it’s too bad, though, we’ll get you to a hospital.”

  “Okay,” I said, because I trusted her.

  She touched me gently. My arms. Shoulders. With each touch, she watched my expression. Any contact of my arms received strong winces. Not surprising since I’d used those to guard most of his hits from the ground. When she got to my ribs, I bit down on my tongue. Those had been vulnerable in the beginning of the attack.

  “Can I see?” she asked.

  Slowly, I pushed my arms out of my hoodie. The discomfort was there, but I managed to remove it without aid. There were no cuts or scrapes on my arms. Only light welts. I supposed the soft cushioning of the fabric aided with the blows. After slipping my t-shirt off delicately, I let her study me.

  My ribs displayed the deep red of a fresh bruise. She touched me there. I cringed, but was surprised when she pushed her fingers deep into the skin and against the bones. Didn’t really hurt. Just sore.

  “I don’t think anything is broken, but we can still get you to a hospital if you want,” she said, her tiny fingers still pressing against my torso.

  “I trust you.”

  Her lashes flickered and displayed her exquisite eyes. The light of the room reflected off them and turned the hue into a light almond color instead of chocolate.

  “I’ll fix you up myself then.” She gave a small smile.

  Nodding once, I didn’t fight her on the decision for her care.

  Lacey worked quickly, wiping at my cuts and scrapes delicately with medicines and ointments. I watched her head of curly locks the whole time; fighting a smile every time a new wave of her cherry-vanilla scent hit my nose.

  When she made it to my face, I had to hide my expression. I couldn’t let her know how easily she affected me with such a simple element of herself.

  Not staring directly at her face was surprisingly difficult as she worked. She was so close. Her lips so close.

  Fighting the urge to kiss her, I gazed over her shoulder. She had a picture frame on her dresser that I didn’t notice when I came in. Holding a curly-haired toddler on his hip, a Caucasian man stood in front of a house. It was Lacey’s house. I thought Lacey had her mama’s smile, but I was wrong. It was this man’s, the one holding her in the picture.

  “Your dad?”

  Stopping the dabbing of my face, she looked behind her shoulder. She then took her focus back to my wounds. “Yeah.”

  “You look happy there, Lace.”

  She smiled. “I was. My dad wasn’t always an ass. I decided to keep the good times in the frame, so I’d remember them once they fell from my head. It was a good thing I did, because I eventually did forget them.”

  I could relate to that. I wished I had a way to remember the few good times I did have with my father. They were undocumented, a push on the swing at the park when I seldom had his attention or the one or two times at the batting cages. They were few and far between, and usually never voluntary. My mom did push sometimes for him to bond with me, and when he did he actually enjoyed himself. I found myself enjoying it, too.

  She laughed gently just then, and I moved my focus from the father and child in the frame to the beauty dabbing my face.

  “What?” I asked her.

  Biting her lip, she shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just he,” she said, nodding behind herself, “called me Lace, too.”

  I sucked in a breath. Damn. I didn’t want to remind her of unhappy times. “I’m sorry. I can stop calling you that.” A bit of worry edged in my voice.

  “Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “It was always good. It was always very nice when he did. I was his Lace.”

  The anxiety eased in my chest.

  “Like that day in the picture. I fell and scratched my knee up really bad using one of the neighbor kids Skip-Its.” She laughed. “Remember those?”

  I actually did. “Yeah. I was too busy playing with my G.I. Joe’s to watch the girls using them. Girls were bad back then.”

  “Yeah, and boys had cooties.”

  I chuckled. “Right.”

  “Anyway, I didn’t cry. Not once. I was lying there all bloody and messy, and completely silent. Watching my reaction to my Skip-It crash and burn my dad said, ‘My Lace is so strong she doesn’t even cry.’”

  I smiled after she said that. She was strong. Dealing with her mama’s condition at such a young age she had to be. She had more bravery than anyone I knew, and her actions tonight further displayed her strength.

  “After getting me cleaned up, he gave me a Band-Aid with sunflowers on it.” Picking up a Band-Aid from the kit, she placed it near the corner of my eyebrow. “He placed it down and told me that a kiss on the bandage would make my boo-boo hurt less.”

  “Did it work?”

  She nodded, smiling. “It did. It’s funny how that works, mom and dad just telling you something so simple, and it magically happens.”

  “Yeah, but I do feel there is some truth to the magic. I’m sure a few kisses from you and my boo-boos would hurt less.” I gave a short laugh at my joke.

  I blinked when she kissed the bandage at my eyebrow.

  “Did it work?” she asked, grinning.

&nb
sp; Glancing up to the air, I thought about it. “Yeah. Yeah, it actually did. Don’t stop there.”

  She kissed a sore spot on my cheek next. Must have been a bruise there.

  “Yep,” I confirmed. “Feels amazing.”

  When she went for a cut at the corner of my mouth, she hesitated for a second. Holding in my breath, I watched her forget her hesitation.

  She brushed her lips there, just at the corner.

  I didn’t kiss her back. Feeling we were still messing around, I didn’t want to take advantage of her.

  When she pulled back the joke was clearly over. She no longer smiled. Her expression was no longer gleeful. There was something else there, though. I recognized the smolder in her eyes from the first night I kissed her. Her eyes dark, she moved toward my lips again.

  Against everything I had in me, I held her shoulders. “Lace, I didn’t say that hoping you’d—” I let out a breath. “I didn’t say those things expecting you to do this.”

  Slipping her small hands to my cheeks, she studied my lips. “I know.”

  Her mouth returned to mine.

  Still not convinced this was happening for real, I didn’t grab her immediately. If this was in the heat of the moment and she stopped in the middle of it, it would kill me. I wanted to know she was sure. I needed to know she was sure; that she wanted me as strongly and severely as I needed her.

  Running both hands into my hair, she straddled me, knees on the bedding. She wasn’t in that position long before she sat on my lap and wrapped her long, supple legs around my waist.

  Taking that as the confirmation I needed, I made myself ignore the seer of pain in my sore arms and grabbed her tiny waist. My hands had a mind of their own. I touched and felt as much as I could with her top still on.

  From above, she responded with an aggressive kiss, panting against my lips and swelling them with nips of her teeth.

  Dying to feel her, I pushed my hands under her shirt with aching arms that were far from stopping me from getting what I wanted.

  My fingers ran over her body effortlessly, a slight sheen of perspiration aiding the study as I touched into the delicate curve of her spine. The area was smooth, her body hot as it blazed underneath my fingertips. I followed the line up to the top, getting a hold of her bra clasp.

  She pulled her lips back so quickly my head spun.

  Dammit. She didn’t actually want to do this. Letting out a breath, I said, “Sorry. I just assumed you wanted to—”

  “I do, but I want to show you something first.”

  My eyebrows twitched. Not what I expected her to say, at all. “Okay. What?”

  Shifting, she unwrapped her legs from around my body and stood on the floor. I wasn’t able to concentrate on the discomfort her maneuver caused my ribs and abs for long. Right in front of me, she slipped her shirt off, revealing that tight, sculpted body and those perfect breasts I witnessed at the country club.

  The jewel in her bellybutton was back; a small chain this time that cascaded down her flat waist and sent a sharp twitch inside my jeans.

  Taking her all in, I fought myself from leaning back to watch the show. True, the action would piss off all the already agitated nerves in my body, but the real reason I didn’t was respect. I wanted to be respectful of what she was showing me.

  Standing there in front of me, she didn’t make her next move immediately. “I just want to show you so it doesn’t surprise you while we’re in the moment. Most guys haven’t seen anything like this before. Well, not up close, and when you do, I don’t want you to stop us because you’re surprised.”

  I was very intrigued now. But I kept calm from the anticipation.

  Taking one hand behind her back, she messed around back there. I assumed it was with her bra clasp. When her hand came back, both sides of the bra fell forward. She then shook her shoulders, letting her bra straps slide down her arms.

  The bra hit the floor. I didn’t see it hit, though. I only guessed its fate since I kept my focus on her chest.

  Seeing her breasts in her bathing suit top was one thing, but without the coverage the sight was another. Not in the way a guy would think, though. They were full, perfect, and supple, just as expected. But her nipples stole the show.

  My jaw hung slowly as I studied them. She had silver barbells pierced through each one, completely making my mouth water at the vision of taking one.

  Instinctually, I slid my arm around her waist to bring them to me. I did the action a little too quickly, and my face scrunched up a bit, but that didn’t stop the pursuit.

  She came forward, and I guided my hand up her torso; her body giving a slight shiver as I made my way to the area I desired.

  My lips parted to take one, but I stopped.

  I gazed up. “Are they delicate? I mean, do I have to be gentle when I touch them,” I said, running my thumb over the dark nipple, “when I taste them.”

  She shuddered when I said that, but didn’t let her reaction to me freeze her. “No.” She brought her hand her chest, tweaking herself where I touched her. “See they’re fine. Do want you want.”

  Suppressing a groan deeply forming in my chest, I clasped my lips around her. She moved her hand from herself and to my hair as I sucked her.

  Not able to get enough of her sweet taste, I ravaged her, alternating between her breasts.

  She panted with every nip and every suck. Pulling my head to her body, she forced me to go hard. I did, but I didn’t let myself completely loose on the barbells. Paranoid that I’d hurt her, I didn’t want to pull on them or tug them too hard with my teeth. I stayed gentle with her. With Lacey, I always wanted to respect her. Protect her.

  Arching her back, she let me work as she took her fingers to the button of her jeans. She pushed the denim down a bit, then let the article fall to the floor.

  As she kicked the pair off her ankles, she slid her fingers to the sides of her panties.

  Releasing her breast from my mouth, all I could do was sit there and watch her. I was frozen, staring in complete awe as I observed her pull the lace down her thighs.

  After kicking them off, she stood in front of me. Confident and hot, she remained there without an ounce of shyness under my gaze. She knew what she had, and knew even more that I liked it.

  Coming closer, she pushed me back slowly onto her bed. The initial reaction to this new movement was a seer of pain, but I fought from reflecting it across my features. She was already taking my condition into consideration by the gentle push she gave me to lay back. I didn’t want her to become more aware of my injuries by visually responding to them. She might stop if she knew she hurt me, and I couldn’t risk that.

  I didn’t think she saw my response to the movement because she moved onto my jeans.

  Her hands at my fly, she unbuttoned the denim and shimmied them down my hips. Trying to use my sore abs as little as possible, I shifted to help her. I must have made this move effortlessly because she didn’t stop there. My boxers were taken off with the same finesse and both articles of clothing were laid beside me on the bed.

  Full out, I was on display for her. She now officially knew how badly I needed her.

  Studying me, her bottom lip went into her mouth, and I breathed in a deep, rib-agitating breath to calm myself. I wanted nothing more than to grab her and take her beneath me. The action couldn’t be done without pain, so I gripped the bedding to fight the urge.

  Her dark lashes flickered up, and she climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees. Her sex kitten grin during her crawl made the urge to grab her come back in a fury. Again, I fought it, and watched her cautiously straddle me just above my hips. She was right there, just above where I needed her.

  “I want to lay on you, but I don’t know if I should.” She traced the large bruise on my ribs with the pad of her finger.

  I wrapped my hand around her finger. “Do what you want. I’ll let you know if you hurt me.” I said this, though I probably wouldn’t. I’d fight through the pain to take
her.

  Gently, she splayed her body along the length of mine, her hardened nipples and warmed metal of the barbells against my chest. The pain of my ribcage wasn’t instant, but it was present. The look I gave let her know that. She shifted to move, but I grabbed her waist, making sure she wouldn’t.

  “Don’t stop,” I told her, running my hand up her spine. “Don’t ever.” I pushed down on her with my hand until she relaxed against me.

  She started at my neck. Giving gentle kisses, she clearly tested the waters with me. When I didn’t let out any inclining of pain, they grew more vigorous. More intense.

  She nibbled my ear, licking her way down my lobe.

  This sent a shudder throughout my body, and I slid my hands down the smooth skin of her back until I cupped her ass. She shifted her hips against me, and sucked in a breath against my ear.

  Going further, I moved one of my hands across the surface until I had my fingers at her opening. I ran a single finger along the area. God, she was so wet.

  She squeaked out a pant, and I pushed two fingers inside her. I went as far as I could go considering the angle at which I had my hand. I had big hands and pretty long fingers so that was pretty far.

  She rocked her hips as I pumped her. “Don’t stop,” she breathed out, completely forgetting about my neck.

  I wasn’t going to stop. Not if she didn’t want me to.

  She slid her hips down my body, my fingers still inside her. Her hips rocking, she didn’t stop making her way down until my own digits were right up against my length.

  And I made sure it didn’t miss out on the action.

  I groaned, brushing up against myself as I pleasured her. I was so ready for her, resting there hard and ready to take her.

  She was ready, too.

  She actively moved now, hips grinding against mine. Gripping her ass with my free hand, I helped guide her with every rock she made. She got so worked up, panting so hard, I thought this was how it was going to end for her.

  “Stop,” she said, freezing the motion of her hips. “I can’t take it. I’m going to come.”

  Hearing her say that almost set me off right there. Calming myself, I pulled out of her so she wouldn’t. As she pushed herself back and relaxed on her haunches, I grabbed my jeans lying beside us for a condom.