by Kira Graham
Huh.
“Sorry. Here. It’s on now.”
“Fat lot of good that does me! I just ran all the way here after going to Hart’s place.”
“Yeah, yeah. You found me. Calm down.”
“I can’t goddamn calm down, you fool. Mom’s hysterical, Athena’s going nuts, and the Hart brothers are out scouring the streets looking for you. Poor Uncle Jack’s gone through an entire box of Kleenex, and Sin’s going to get her ass arrested for putting the screws to Mindy-fucking-Marcy,” she yells, throwing me a scathing look. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Here?” I say, my voice high and filled with more than a little fear when Tee takes a step towards me, with intent.
It’s so much intent that I scramble off the stool, scuttle behind the breakfast bar, and hide behind Rose, who starts whining and cursing at me because Tee’s still coming.
“You. Stupid. Idiot! You absolute asshole! Do you know that everyone is nearly insane with worry over you? Someone trashed Hart’s apartment, Cleo, and since he’s no stranger to crazy exes, he’s gone psycho and has the cops and God knows who else searching for you!”
Uh-oh.
I start panicking. Not because I’m terrified of Tee, which I am, and not because I think I made a mistake, which I did—I mean, dammit, I’m the one who trashed Hart’s apartment, and short of confessing that and looking like a total lunatic, which it appears I may be—
“Um,” Rose mumbles, peeking over her shoulder to meet my frantic stare. “Someone trashed his apartment?”
“Totally ripped the place apart. Like, rampaged and everything. Knife in the mattress, shattered windows, the whole nine yards,” Tee explains, her eyes still doing that crazy dance thing they do when she’s ready to seriously mess someone up.
I ignore that because I deflate with relief, my morning’s activities lost beneath the realization that whatever happened there, it wasn’t me. Or only me. Technically, I did psycho-girlfriend his swanky pad, and also, I did kinda pour shampoo into his underwear drawer. But a knife to the mattress? That was totally not me. I may be nuts, but I’m not a freaking lunatic.
“Not me,” I mouth at Rose, watching her deflate and swallow, shaking off whatever lie she was about to formulate to cover for me before her eyes narrow, and she curses.
“Someone trashed his place? And Cleo was supposed to be there,” she breathes, the suppressed fury in her voice giving me the straight-up willies.
Wait!
Tee nods, sending me another furious glare before she, too, seems to collapse a little, her eyes filling with tears.
“Hart was coming back from a breakfast run that got sidetracked by a flat tire. He tried calling you, Cleo, and when he couldn’t reach you, he assumed you were still asleep. Only you obviously weren’t, and thank fuck for that, because whoever was in his apartment went totally nuts. We thought they got you!” she yells, blowing up again because I haven’t said a word.
I can’t. I’m trapped in some alternate universe where I got stabbed by some crazy person or taken, and all I can think is, my dad isn’t Liam Neeson! There is definitely something wrong with me.
“Wait, when did this happen?” Rose asks, frowning when my brow scrunches because I was there for a while before I left.
“Just after eight, or somewhere around there. Hart said that he was only gone forty minutes, tops. It would have been twenty, but he got waylaid with the flat, and then he had to wait for the tow truck to come get his car.”
“But I was there for, like, over an hour.”
“Give me your phone!” Rose snarls, her cheeks going so red that she resembles a clown.
I obey, my whole body shaking when she snatches it, wakes up the screen, and then curses.
“Cleo! The time on your phone is wrong. Again. It isn’t eleven thirty-eight. It’s half past nine,” she sighs, shaking her head and heading over to grab her own phone. “Shit. I forgot to take it off silent.”
“Well, while you two were here, having breakfast and chatting it up, the rest of us were going crazy. Thinking you were dead,” Tee seethes, her anger returning until her eyes widen, as if something just occurred to her. “Oh my God, Cleo. Someone tried to kill you!”
Well, shit. I knew I was trying to ignore something. Dammit.
Chapter Eleven
Adonis
“I’m fine!” Cleo yells for the tenth time, shuddering when her mom lays another wet kiss on her, smearing tears and something suspiciously mucousy on her cheek.
“You no fine! You afraid!” Ma yells, wringing her hands once again in that weird way of hers.
I hate to mention it, so I won’t, but it looks like she’s wringing the neck of whoever it was that tried to hurt “my daughter,” as Ma is now calling Cleo. It’s a statement that would scare the hell out of me and have me bailing except for the fact that I don’t have time to freak out about Ma marrying me off right now. I’m going nuts with worry about the fact that if Cleo hadn’t left my place, something bad could have happened to her. Would have, I think, my skin growing clammy when a renewed sense of panic sets in.
Yesterday was a transformative experience for me, to say the least, and having experienced what it is to finally be with a woman who not only felled me with her sweet and giving nature, but also enthralled me in bed, was…is something that I spent all night mulling over while I finally accepted a fact that I’ve refused to accept all along. I am into Cleo Sweet. Not just into the sex, although that was phenomenal, but also into…her. Into her. Seriously into her. I like her. More than like her, I think, as I watch her dodge her mom’s wet kisses and roll her eyes when Jackson sniffles again.
“I am not afraid. See these?” she asks, curling her fists. “I know how to use them.”
“Oh, Cleo! Don’t be so casual about this, baby girl. You could have been hurt,” Jack screams, overcome by sniffles again when all Cleo does is shrug and throw her hands in the air.
“I told you all, I am fine, and even if that—whoever it was had found me in Hart’s apartment, I’d have kicked their asses!” she fumes, sharing a look with Rose and Tee, who nod back.
My brothers have been silent thus far, just standing on the sidelines and silently watching the Sweets go nuts, Ma have a fit, and Pop shake his head and try to calm down Jackson, who keeps veering between homicidal rage and crying. This seems to be the norm, though, based on the Sweets’ reaction, and so I’m not too freaked out by the fact that my future father-in-law seems to be insane. And that Cleo most likely inherited it from him. And from her mom, who’s clutching a string of rosary beads and praying for her soul because, as she says, “I need to kill them, Jesus, but you understand. You’re a parent, too.” Or something like that. All through this, my brothers have remained calm, watchful, and unruffled, even though Zeus keeps clenching and unclenching his fists.
I don’t blame him. He was with me when I got home, because he’s the one who gave me a lift after the tow truck took the Ferrari away. He’s the one who noticed that my tire had been tampered with, and he was there when I got home and found the bed slashed up. We’re the only ones who understand just how focused this person was when going at the side of the bed where Cleo would have been sleeping save for two things. One, she slept on top of me all night because I put her there, and two, she was already gone when the attacker arrived, though the piled up blankets and pillows we’d kicked aside throughout the night had formed a shape that the person mistook for her body under the covers.
So yeah, I understand, more than a little, as does Zeus, exactly how bad this situation is, and it makes me as furious as it does afraid to see Cleo taking it all so casually. Of course, I haven’t told her just how bad things were at the apartment, and I won’t ever tell her that after the attacker realized that he or she was stabbing nothing but the covers and mattress, that person tore the place apart in a fit of rage.
I don’t want her scared, and I refuse to frighten her by telling her what the police said when they arrived on
the scene.
“Adonis. Speak to her. Tell her this no laughing matter!” Ma complains, turning her gaze my way when Cleo sniffs and keeps eating cake, her appetite having returned once she saw me and I kissed her breathless.
No wonder Ma’s got us all but married, I think, my mouth twitching. Nothing says “my woman” like having grabbed her ass, hoisted her up, and kissed her so thoroughly that I made her moan and forget where she was.
Like I had a choice. I simply reacted when she walked into her parents’ house unharmed, looking slightly guilty and so alive that my knees almost buckled.
“Cleo, your easygoing nature’s making Ma antsy. Please be a little more terrified so that she can calm down,” I drawl, resisting a grin when Ma huffs, and Cleo’s lips twitch. “Ma, I told you, we’ll deal with it. Until then, Cleo will be staying with us, while the rest of her family holes up here,” I murmur, yelling them down when the entire Sweet clan starts arguing.
Cleo being the loudest. Damn, woman.
“Quiet! Now, I know you’ll all argue, but as the cops already said, there is no telling who this is or why they’ve targeted Cleo. The general consensus is that when our relationship progressed to the next step, this person didn’t like it. We don’t know that for sure, though, and until we do, we are taking the cops’ advice and keeping ourselves safe. It makes sense that the Sweets pull together, and so will the Harts.”
“But Hart, I can’t just stay with you. My mom’s gonna have a fit,” Cleo mutters out of the side of her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with an innocence that makes me want to laugh.
“Honey, I think she already knows,” I point out gently, keeping my voice down because she’s already blushing.
“And…and this isn’t a relationship,” she hisses, her eyes flitting away when I quirk a brow and shake my head. “We haven’t talked about…stuff.”
“Nothing to talk about, babe. You took the bait, and you’ve been hooked,” I say with a shrug, grinning when she rams her elbow into my side and narrows her eyes.
Now isn’t the time to discuss things, and honestly, I’m not ready to define what we have just yet. I know that I’m keeping Cleo, I know that I feel more than just lust for her, and I know that she’s a keeper, as Dad keeps telling me—but what we are as of now, I don’t know. I’m more focused on the fact that someone tried to stab my girlfriend.
Huh. I guess I do know what we are.
“I am not your girlfriend, you man-pig,” she mutters, ignoring my brothers’ laughter when I grunt and try to avoid her sharp elbow.
She totally is.
“Fine. But you’re staying with me, and we’ll be staying with Ma and Pop. I think we should split the girls up as well so that Ares and Paris can hang here to keep your family safe.”
That doesn’t sit well with the Sweets—Tee, mostly, who keeps glaring at Ares and curling her lip, while the fool just smiles and keeps giving her bedroom eyes. Christ. Is no one going to take this seriously?
“He’s not staying here if I have to. Freaking pacifist!” Tee grumbles, the insult flowing right over Ares’ back as insults usually do, because, despite his name, the man is incapable of violence of any kind.
Of the five of us, Ares is the most easygoing, “let’s be friends because life’s about love” kind of guy. He doesn’t argue, he never gets angry, and the few times I’ve seen people throw down with him, he’s been the victor—because he doesn’t fight back, and that seems to throw them off enough that they lose steam. Knowing that he likes Tee, the most violent Sweet, is as ironic as hell. And makes me worry for his continued health.
“Aw, come on, Sweet Tee. Be nice. I’d keep you safe,” he teases, his chuckles turning into guffaws when she screams and stomps out of the room, her curses flying so violently that I see Ma, Angelica, Hope, and Constance all wince, while the Sweet men grin proudly and share smiles.
Crazy.
Pop just keeps silent, and I know that it’s because he’s thinking something and isn’t ready to speak in front of the women.
“Great going. Now I’ll probably have to stick with her, and she’s a biter,” Paris grumbles, rubbing at his arm where Tee got him. Though Bill assured us it could be worse.
And held up his pinky as evidence.
I laughed, too, which is why I hid behind Cleo, but come on, the woman was wearing her jeans backwards, and her mother damn near fainted when she walked in here wearing only a bra. I didn’t want to see her nipples. I like Cleo’s nipples.
“She can bite me anywhere she wants,” Ares sighs, his face going soft until Rose snorts and slaps him upside the head.
“Stop it, idiot. You’re just antagonizing her, and she gets creative when she’s riled up. If I have to stay here, with her, I’d like to sleep with both eyes closed!”
“People! I know we’re all blowing off steam right now, but we need to focus. Tee, Rose, and Paris will be bunking here with the rest of the Sweets. Since she’s a one-woman army, I feel confident enough to let Paris suffer her whims,” Pop chuckles, ignoring Ares’ whine of pain. “The rest of us are at my place, and yes, Cleo, that includes you, Alex, and Sin. I’ve made a few calls, and we’ll have some people coming in to patrol the grounds, but until we can find out what the hell is happening here, we’re going to play this as safe as possible. Paris, you’ll be with Tee when she goes to work, Zeus will shadow Rose, and Ares and Achilles will split their time between Sin and Alex. Cleo, since your mom says you don’t have to work right now, you’ll be with Adonis or Lovey and me. No arguments,” he barks when Cleo tries to argue, her mouth opening and closing before she settles on a pout and turns to glare at me.
“Hey.”
“This is all your fault, man-pig! One of your concubines probably tried to off me in some jealous rage, and now I have to have my whole life turned upside down,” she hisses, though I note that she isn’t complaining about spending time with me.
It’s a small start, but I’ll take it.
“Look at it this way, Cleo-mine,” I drawl, leaning down to her ear with a purr. “If we’re in the same bed at night, I can do that thing with my tongue.”
And that’s how I learn that my Cleo is easy.
Cleo
I’m way too easy, but, in my defense, since I already know this and accept it shamelessly, I’m just going to go with it and not feel guilty when Hart complains about his jaw as he stumbles back to bed with a pout.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t get condoms,” I point out, feeling completely reasonable when he grumbles and falls into bed, flopping onto his side with his back towards me.
I may be easy, but Hart is a spoiled brat, one who doesn’t deal well with blue balls and apparently sulks when he doesn’t get what he wants. I’d laugh—I mean, I’m laughing silently because this is funny—but it’s been a long, stressful day, I’ve had his tongue—and three orgasms—already, and I’m feeling slightly…unsettled.
Yeah. That’s the word. I’m unsettled right now, because this is weird. I’ve known Hart for all of several weeks now, we’ve trash-talked each other, we’ve slept together, and it’s confirmed: the man is an artist with his tongue. But I don’t really know him, and the truth is, he doesn’t really know me. He still thinks that I’m working at a store, like I told him when he asked what I do for a living, and I haven’t mentioned Dennis to him because—well, that’s my business!
Like I want to tell this smart sex god of a man that I got stood up at the altar. There, I said it. Are you happy now? I got stood up at the altar, I have major trust issues that my therapist is still having fits about, and I’m in bed with a man who is so comfortable with me that he’s not afraid to sulk like a spoiled brat.
“I said we could do oral. I did oral,” he huffs, sounding so put out that I snort out a giggle before I can stop myself.
“I said I was sorry. How can you not know that I have a retainer wire?” I ask. “You kissed me for hours yesterday!”
“I didn’t exactly feel it since it’s b
ehind your teeth.”
“Well, I didn’t know that you didn’t know! It’s not my fault you have a piercing and it got caught!” I mutter, my body shaking with the need to laugh because that was the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me.
To be fair to myself, I’ve never given a blow job before, or been with a guy who has a piercing, and so it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t think that it’d get stuck, or that it would take so much time to get us unhooked.
“Can’t I just—”
“No,” Hart mumbles, turning over to glare at me when I giggle again. “I’m starting to think that you’re trying to unman me, Cleo,” he mutters, his own lips twitching when I hum low in my throat in an effort not to laugh outright.
I can’t help it. I used to watch that show about people going to the hospital when sex goes wrong, and I just never thought that it could happen to me. As stories go, this one is so funny that I can hardly wait to tell Rose. Something else that he’s pissed about, because after we finally—ahem—untangled, his dick looking a little limp and very red, he caught me trying to text Rose. What? I’ve always wanted stories, and now that I’ve accepted that Hart and I are a…thing, this story is too good not to tell.
He doesn’t agree. Personally, I think he’s just mad because he didn’t get to come. Totally understandable. But still. This is a once-in-a-lifetime story. The kind that people will never forget. I, Cleo Sweet, almost ripped her man’s dick off the first time I tried to give a blowie!
“Oh, get over it! If you’d brought condoms, we could have skipped the oral and gotten down to some serious thumping,” I point out, needing to lay some of the blame at his door. “You promised me oral sex. I said I wanted to ride you like a cowgirl. It’s not my fault that you didn’t bring the necessaries.”
“You’re on the pill,” Hart snarls, his eyes going hot when he notices that I’m naked and that the sheet has slipped down.
My boobs are my best feature, so I tend to want to flaunt them around this guy, which sucks, because it’s not like I can walk around topless. Right now, though, they’re doing their job because he loses that pout and leans in closer to swipe his tongue over my nipple and suck it deeply into his mouth before releasing it with a pop.
