Justified Steel (Steel Crew Book 4)

by Mj Fields

  Seeing his erection straining against denim, I look slowly up his body to his eyes.

  “Queenie, finish,” he demands.

  “You, too,” I whimper as I rub it against my painfully erect nipples.

  “We aren’t happening,” he nearly spits.

  “We have needs, Justice.” I rub it down my body again and cry out as my knees snap together.

  “Goddammit,” he says as he works his button. “Spread your fucking legs, Queenie.”

  When he shoves his pants down, I see his thick, pierced, broad tip sticking out of his white Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

  “You have the most beautiful cock, Justice,” I whisper.

  “Open your fucking legs, Queenie,” he says before spitting in his hand and rubbing it over the broad head of his cock.

  I spread wide for him as he begins to stroke himself.

  “The fuck are we doing?” he groans.

  Before I can reply, he snaps, “Finger yourself and beg me to do it for you, but remember, it will never happen.”

  “I don’t want your fucking finger. I want you.”

  “Never gonna happen,” he groans.

  I close my eyes now, blocking him out, and I come. I come harder than I ever have, and I do it by myself, without anyone, without him…yet still it felt like we were once again in sync.

  Eyes shut, panting, I hear a low hum, a sound I remember, followed by a hiss, and a groan. I open my eyes when he grunts as the first stream of cum flows from him, and another, and another, and another.

  Panting, he leans back against the counter, and I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath, while I do the same thing.

  I reach over and pour myself another drink, because I’m going to sleep in my bed tonight, without care or concern that, if something horrible happens to me, I know as fucked-up as this all is, someone who left me came back, and I’ll know that Justice was the last person I was with, and that’s all that matters.

  I slide off the counter as I toss back the drink and walk to the door, stopping when he says, “Queenie.”

  I cut him off before he ruins this moment for me.

  “Just don’t, okay? Just say goodnight.”

  “You and I—”

  “Just say goodnight, please.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I wake up in my bed for the first time in over a year, curtains not drawn tight to daylight starting to brighten the sky, and the smell of … pancakes?

  “Shit,” I say as I scamper out of my bed and pad across the floor to my bathroom where I take the quickest shower I’ve ever taken, brush my teeth, and throw on leggings and a tee-shirt. Brushing my hair as I unlock my door, I hurry down the hall and all but run down the stairs, turning left and heading to the back of the house and into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” I say, nearly out of breath when I see him standing at the stove. “Sorry about last night.”

  When he turns around, it’s not him at all, and I literally jump.

  “Morning, Gabs. You hungry?”

  “I told you to wait until a decent hour to start cooking.”

  I look left as Tara walks from the bathroom and into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “You know, Gabs, this Friday night, shit needs to cease.”

  “Cyrus.” Tara shakes her head as she walks over to him. “She’s—”

  “Birdie, Gabs and I are good, right, Gabs?”

  I nod.

  “See?” He winks at his wife. “And I didn’t break any promises. I didn’t drag her out of bed for a jog to make her hangover worse like I did Justice last week. And I’m making pancakes. Gabs and I are chill.”

  He turns around and flips the pancakes. “While these are finishing up, go pack a bag. Justice said you had that little fuck Reeves giving you a hard time, and that your nanny—”

  “Housekeeper,” I cut him off.

  “Housekeeper was off last night and tonight, so you should stay with us.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Gabs, we have shit to do today, baby shower tomorrow, and planning a graduation party, so we’re gonna need your help. You think you can manage with a hangover?”

  “I really don’t feel hungover, and yes, I’d like to help.”

  “Good. You got five minutes. Let’s do this.”

  Upstairs, I call Justice, and by the sound of his voice, I know I’m waking him up.

  “Queenie, what the hell are you calling at six in the morning for?”

  “Your dad’s cooking at my stove.”

  “Told him to just stay outside,” he groans.

  “Your mom’s here, too.”

  “Yeah, well, they can’t seem to be apart for more than a couple minutes.”

  “He told me to pack a bag,” I hiss at him. “He said I have five minutes.”

  He chuckles. “Then you have four and you’re wasting time.”

  “I can’t believe you called your father on me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t say thank you.”

  “You should have. I’m going back to sleep for a couple hours. Gonna be a long day and night.”

  “If I don’t sleep, you don’t sleep,” I whisper.

  “Bullshit, you took more than a two-hour nap yesterday while I was setting up for the party, so I’m ten seconds from getting even. But before I hang up and silence my phone, make sure you do something with all the cash in the desk in the study. I took the rest home. It’s in my room, under my mattress, if you need it.”

  “That’s a stupid place to hide money, you know.”

  “You think any idiot would break into my house?” He laughs.

  I can’t argue. He’s intimidating, and his dad is downright frightening.

  “Have fun, Queenie. Bye.”

  Casual AF

  Justice

  Driving back to Jersey, dog-ass tired, at three in the morning instead of staying at Bella and Tags’ place in the city, was fucking stupid. At least I can crash in my bed for a solid four hours before Dad is on my ass to go for a run.

  Between Tags’ clients who were cool with me working on them, I occasionally checked in on Truth through Instagram, so I knew the girls—all of them: Truth, Brisa Tris, and even Gabrielle—were with my aunts, Mom, and Momma Joe, baking and cooking up a storm. It didn’t take much to see that Momma Joe was vetting her to become part of the family, and I really hope Truth let her know that this thing with her and me is casual as fuck.

  Yeah, real fucking casual, Justice, I scold myself. Fucking gag gift, an assumed joke, ended up with me watching her get herself off, and with my pants around my ankles doing the same.

  I’m so fucked. Actually, so not fucked. But seriously? What the … fuck?

  Should have rectified that situation last night. Just like I should have rectified the situation over the past couple years. Hard to do that when you’re comparing every fucking girl to the one you’ll compare everyone thereafter to.

  It’s fucking sick the things your heart can do to you.

  Real fucking sick.

  I’ve spent nearly two years of my life imagining her perfect, little pussy looking like sexual roadkill after having that fucker, pants not even off, grunting as he humped her while she lay there, eyes squinted shut, face all twisted up in a way that made her, Gabrielle, the stunning girl I built sandcastles for, telling her someday I’d make her my queen, ugly. Found out last night, to much of my dismay and obvious undoing, her pussy was fucking pristine, just like it was all those times I drank from her.

  Cleaning off that clit stimulator, my one week fucked-iversary gift, after she dropped it … in my mouth fucked me, too. Contrary to what I had told myself since November, her cunt isn’t poison and doesn’t taste like five-day-old fish. She tasted like she always did, like the inside of her hot, wet, sweet mouth, mixed with want and need.

  Shit can’t happen again, says me every time shit has happened with her. Me, a guy who ha
tes telling a white lie to cover for our crew or myself, is lying like a fucking rug to… myself. A fucking year with her is going to kill me or crush me unless I can figure this shit out.

  Having someone at the guard shack will ease the pull I feel to protect her. Her hanging with our crew will keep her away from that fucker Reeves. And how the fuck I didn’t realize he was the one humping her like a hand instead of how a woman should be fucked still pisses me off.

  When I walk into the house, Dad is awake.

  “You ever sleep?” I joke.

  “I have two teenagers, before that two adolescents, before that toddlers, before that …” He shakes his head. “You get the point. When you have kids, sleep doesn’t come easy.”

  “When you’ve got kids like me, it should.” I hang my keys on the hook and toe off my sneakers.

  “You remember last weekend, Justice?”

  “How could I forget?” I say, looking at Gabrielle’s Gucci slides.

  “You don’t sound happy about that.” He nods at them.

  I shrug. “It is what it is, right?”

  “No, JT, that’s not how it works. You’re either in it with her, or you’re not.”

  I nod as I walk up the stairs to grab a drink. “I’m seventeen, Dad, so is she.”

  “So, what? You just fucking?”

  I look back at him. “You really wanna know?”

  “Think she should know if that’s it for you.”

  “Nothing to worry about, Dad. Haven’t even given her the tip.”

  “Jesus, JT, this is a friend of Truth’s.”

  “You saying I should go in balls deep?” I ask, opening the fridge.

  “I’m saying she’s soft. She’s not Steel. I’m saying she seems to be looking for something she’s missing, and if you aren’t gonna give her that, then what the hell are you doing?”

  Laughing, I turn back. “Dad, she knows the drill, and straight up, she’s not looking to get hitched anytime soon. We’re good. We got this. But you all need to chill when it comes to her.”

  “Who the fuck leaves their kid alone for months at a time with a nanny who doesn’t show up when she’s supposed to?”

  “You and Mom have left Truth and me for a night or two.” I shrug.

  “Knowing Momma Joe was checking in.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t have a Momma Joe?”

  “I know she has no family here. I know her parents don’t come home much.”

  “Newsflash, Dad: not every family is like ours. Most aren’t. This is a you thing. Don’t push it off on her, make her feel weird and shit. ’Cause the truth is, we’re the weird ones.”

  “Justice, it’s not—”

  “About you, Dad. It’s not. And I’m exhausted, so—”

  “Never said it was, JT. Just don’t want you making choices you may regret.”

  “So, what? You want me to break up with her?”

  “I want you to be careful. Don’t lead her on. Don’t treat her like you did at the restaurant. I happen to like the girl. Sometimes, I’m not sure you do.”

  Makes two of us, old man, I think.

  “We’re golden.”

  He nods.

  “I’m gonna go down and crash.”

  “Yeah. Night, Justice. Love you, son.”

  After a quick shower, I climb into bed, grab my blanket, and throw it over my face. As I am dozing off, I hear a knock on the door before it opens.

  “Hey.” I hear Mom say.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  I feel her sit on the side of my bed. “I, um, overheard your father and your conversation.”

  I blow out a breath that pushes the warm blanket up a bit.

  “I just want you to understand where he’s coming from, because it’s really from a good place.”

  I hold out my hand, and she takes it. For some reason, Mom needs that type of connection, an affirmation that you’re paying attention.

  “When your dad and I met, he had this rule about dating.”

  “Why does it not surprise me that he even made rules for that?” I chuckle, and she giggles.

  “He named you two after the most important things to him, to us.”

  “He should have gone with rules and loyalty.”

  “I kind of like those names,” she says, a smile in her voice.

  “You should have a couple more then.” I grin, knowing she hasn’t ever wanted more, and Dad, at one point, not too long ago, was pushing for another.

  “Because I can’t imagine loving anyone more than I do you and Truth.”

  “Gotcha.”

  It’s quiet for a minute. The only sound I hear is that of Mom trying to carefully plot out her words.

  “Three rides,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Your dad’s rule; three rides, and then it was done.”

  “Mom, I really hope you’re talking about on his bike, because if you’re talking about—”

  “Sex.”

  “Mom …” I sigh. “There are some things I don’t need to know.”

  “And there are some you shouldn’t until you must.”

  “Can you skip the graphic details, please?”

  “None needed. But your father lost the first girl he loved and his father, basically on the same day.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What you don’t know is that’s why the three-ride rule came into play. He didn’t want anyone to get attached to him.”

  “Understood.”

  “But what I know is he really didn’t want to get attached to anyone else, fearing he’d lose them. We fell pretty quickly in love. The ride wasn’t easy, but it worked out the way it should.”

  “Things that are meant to be tend to do that, yeah?”

  She squeezes my hand. “I agree.”

  “So, I needed to know this why?”

  “Because I don’t want to ever hear you two butt heads on matters of the heart. And I know, if you understood where he was coming from, you may get why he said the things he did.”

  “So, I should tell Dad that Gabrielle and I plan to—” I stop myself when I’m about to say fuck and not in a way one wants to say fuck in front of their mom. “… do it three times?”

  “No,” she says. Again, there is a smile in her voice. “I just want to make sure you understand where he is coming from, Justice.”

  I pull the blanket off my face, sit up, and give her a hug. “I do.”

  “Good.” She hugs me back. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I say, sitting back.

  She stands up and hands me the blanket that fell beside me. “I want to hear all about yesterday, but sleep now, chat later?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I lie back, put the blanket back over my face, and wait for the door to shut before I chuckle to myself. “Three rides.”

  Another knock on the door, and it opens.

  “You forget something, Mom?” I yawn out.

  “It’s me.”

  I shove my blanket under the covers, because she doesn’t know I have a fucked-up Linus-like attachment to my damn baby blanket, and sit up.

  “Everything good? If yes, I need some sleep.”

  She walks over and plops her ass on my bed. “I didn’t mean to hear, but I did.”

  “Which part? My dad thinking he needs to save you from me, or my mom talking about Dad’s pre-marital dating rules?”

  She laughs. “Three rides?”

  “Jesus Christ.” I laugh as I rub a hand over my face.

  “Not a bad rule, though, huh?”

  I pull my hand away and look at her, shocked. Perhaps a bit annoyed? But exhaustion wins and I laugh.

  “The fuck, Queenie?”

  She flops back and sighs.

  “You know Dad likes you now, but he’d be a bit pissed if he found you in here.”

  She smiles up at the celling. “He’d be pissed at you, not me.” She rolls to her side, propping her head up on her paw. “He gives you boys
a harder time than he does the girls.”

  “He expects more out of us.”

  She licks her lips and looks at me in that way. “He may, but I don’t.”

  “Friday night shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t,” she says, lying back on my bed. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in the past few years, Justice. That wasn’t one of them.”

  “You heard my conversation with my dad, yet you’re not truly hearing it.”

  “I spent all day and night with your family, Justice. I get what they’re all about. It’s not weird like you said. It’s rare. There’s a difference. As far as leading me on, I know where you stand, whether it’s arms crossed, glaring at me and wanting to bite my head off, or your pants around your ankles, jerkin—”

  “You get these walls tend to have ears, right?”

  “Sorry,” she sighs. “My point, and what I told your Momma Joe, who by the way is the one person I think may not like me in your family—”

  “Bullshit, she loves everyone.”

  “She loves family,” she says then waves a paw through the air. “Whatever. I told her you and I were both going in two different directions after high school, and we both know it. That I wasn’t Steel material, and that you weren’t trying to make me that way.”

  I chuckle. “Well, shit, Queenie, you might be right.”

  She looks at me with a question in her eyes.

  “You may be the one person Momma Joe doesn’t like on the fucking planet.”

  She laughs silently then says, “It’s a gift.”

  “I’m too exhausted to be a dick enough to make you leave here and not come back in tonight.”

  “And I haven’t had a restful sleep in nearly two years yet have gotten one and a half full nights.” She rolls to her side and looks at me again. “Do you know why?”

  “Got anything to do with getting off?” I regret the words as soon as they come out.

  She smiles. “My one week fucked-iversary gift was so much better than Harrison—”

  “Thought we agreed not to talk about your ex-boyfriends?”

  “Sorry, just thought you should know. And I know you think there’s been more than him, but there wasn’t.”

  “Two years?” I ask, trying not to let her hear the huge amount of annoyance that causes me.