Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance)

by Grace, Pella

  And then I can’t stop.

  Once I’ve touched an inch I want a mile. The flush of her velvety cheek in my palm. The world just fucking makes sense like this. How she could not see it. Hair will never tangle so perfectly around my fingers like this.

  Lilla: Be careful what you ask for. The universe has this way of listening. The inside of Cash’s head. The sum of what grey swipes and stupid names mean. I’m pretty sure this is what it’s like inside of his thoughts. I’m pretty sure I will never get a better viewing than what is happening right now.

  Cash: “This is why thinking is stupid. All it does is ruin shit. Why can’t we just be. Just fucking be.”

  Lilla: “Because someday you’re going to realize how much you lost. How much you missed out on. You can’t see it now, but—”

  Cash: I tug her away, leaning down to be eye level. She’s gonna fucking hear this.

  “What if I died tomorrow? What if I got in my car right now and never made it home? That fucking saying—fail to plan, plan to fail—that’s bullshit.

  “You make plans and God laughs. Nothing is promised except right fucking now, Lilla. And right now—right now this is happiness. This is life. This is what living feels like. This.”

  I pull her towards me, touching my mouth to hers. Up onto my hips, against her car.

  “This.”

  I dig my hips into her, curling my fingers through her thick locks. She’s holding on to me and allowing everything I bring to the table. She’s still here. There. Right here.

  “This, Honey-girl.”

  My hands run down her neck, back, squeeze her hips. Move my mouth to her pulse.

  “This.”

  Underside of her jaw.

  “This.”

  Apple of her cheek.

  Lips. Lips. Lips.

  “This.”

  Her legs tighten around my waist. Her skin tastes like a slow burn, coursing from the tip of my tongue straight to my groin.

  Her head tips back, leaned against the top of the car. I pull back to watch her face. To breathe. To say what the fuck I came here to say.

  Lilla: Why do I feel like I’m about to lose? Win. They are greener.

  “Melanie is going to see us.” I try to wiggle free.

  Cash: I hold her steady. “Ask me how many fucks I give.”

  Lilla: “When you want children—I’m going to be too old. I’m already too old. I’m an old hag and I have no idea who the hell I am. I don’t even have a house. You deserve more than that. You need to have more than that. I didn’t mean to mess up your life. I was just lost.”

  Cash: “For someone who thinks so much you sure as hell don’t come up with anything smart to say, Honey-girl.” I frame her face in my hands.

  “That chick who got in my car, drove away with me—who stripped down to her underwear and jumped in the lake—I love that girl. She was the smartest goddamn chick I ever met.

  “She was alive. The inside of my fucking body was on fire when she came around. Adam thinks he’s smarter than you and I because he held a stupid building over our relationship—but no. He’s the asshole, Lil.

  “He hand-delivered me the best thing he owned. I already took what I wanted from him. He can keep the rest. With or without you—I don’t fucking want it. But you? I want you, Honey-girl. Goddamn I want you, Lilla.”

  Lilla: I break at the seams. Warm tears slide down my cheeks.

  “Why couldn’t I have known you twenty years ago?”

  Cash: “Maybe the world wasn’t ready for us twenty years ago. Plus, I was four. Pervert.”

  She sniffles her laughter. I wipe ugly tears from her face, my finger landing on her nose, whisper-singing over her mouth.

  “… And your heart’s the moon …”

  Lilla: The will of my world crumbles.

  ***

  Six months later.

  “Cash?” I knock softly on his apartment door, stepping inside. “Lump, are you ready?”

  He jogs down the loft’s staircase, armful of papers.

  “Ready.” He pauses before me. “So, so, so pretty, pretty, pretty.” His kisses run along my neck.

  I squirm and let him. It feels good and being late is okay. The world can wait. Kisses are heaven. Kisses are lively.

  “You look handsome. I like your shirt. You smell like a dream.”

  “Of course I do.” He pulls away and I smile at his wink. My hand in his—sweet kisses as we walk down the hallway. Floor five is his. Floor two is mine. Same zip code. Different numbers on our doors.

  Same building.

  He leans against the wall of the elevator.

  “My mom is going to cry. Jesus Christ, did you bring tissues? I forgot.”

  I smile. “She’s just proud. Should be. You too.”

  “We are amazing.”

  Only because I love him: “Motherfucking gangsters.”

  “No diggity, Honey-girl.”

  The door opens and wow.

  “Why does everyone keep looking at me that like?” Hattie puts her hands on her wide hips.

  “Because you’re the size of the universe, Hattie.” She makes a face at him. We step out of the elevator and he turns to her. “Want me to follow you up? You alright?”

  “You’ll be late for your thing.”

  “Ask me how many fucks I give.”

  She rolls her eyes, smiling as the doors begin to close. He puts his hand out, stopping them. Waiting for her to answer.

  “I’m okay. Go. Make your niece proud. I’ll still be as big as the universe when you come back.”

  “Better be.” He lets the doors lock her inside.

  Hand-in-hand we walk to his car, pausing once when he spots a crooked wild flower. The soft purple petals rest along my ear, blessed with a kiss before the door closes.

  I have a million of these things dried in a box.

  “If you listen really carefully, Tupac talks about you for eight seconds, Lilla.”

  I smile as he hits play and turns the radio loud.

  “When?”

  “Shh.” And he points to the CD player.

  I rest into my seat, eyes closed, letting him drive, playing this game. There’s a smile I can’t wipe from my face and his fingers brushing my cheek is encouraging this feeling.

  The car pauses at a red light and I open my eyes. I lean forward and turn the volume to a simmer.

  “That’s very sexual.”

  Cash quirks an eyebrow. “This song is not sexual. Not at all, L-Child.”

  “Go ahead, baby, scream to God he can hear you. I find that to be sexual.”

  “I think he’s talking about dying or the pain of being in the ghetto, Honey-girl. I don’t think it’s about sex.”

  “Maybe not, but I still think it’s sexual. I like it.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “I still don’t know what part is for me.”

  He turns the radio up a notch. Seeks through the song, pausing when he hears the part:

  I’m seeing nothing

  but my dreams

  coming true

  staring at the world

  through my rearview

  I smile and earn a kiss.

  Green light. Go.

  Yeah, we go.

  ***

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Blossom County’s very own Empire Mall.”

  The crowd applauds as the ribbon gets cut. Cash is at my side, shaking his head at Poppy taking pictures of us. The shopping center. The customers. The mayor. Melanie.

  It’s lovely. She should be taking pictures. Cash’s hands are everywhere. His mind is on showcase for the world to see.

  A small shy smile creeps in the corner of his mouth. I want to remember this moment forever. That smile.

  He leans to my ear. “Walk with me?”

  I nod and take his hand. I’d follow him anywhere he’d want to go.

  His hand slips from mine, bending to tug his shoes off. I laugh and glance back as he leaves them beh
ind, continuing to walk. There is a patch of plush grass past a fountain, near a man-made lake. He falls to the ground and lays back, sighing.

  Arms extended.

  “Baby let me hold ya.”

  I laugh at his mocking of Tupac’s song, kicking off my heels and lie down beside him. Heart to ear. His arms extend, holding his hands out. The sun shines through the space between his fingers.

  “How many fingers do I have, Honey-girl?”

  I know it’s gonna be wrong. “Ten?”

  He rolls, grabs my wrists and tugs me to his chest, rolling on to his back again. Hands to hands.

  He laces our fingers. “Twenty.”

  I lean down and kiss him. I’m kissed back.

  “Thanks for putting me back in the water, C-Child.”

  He smiles against my smile.

  “Want to?”

  “Want to what?” I ask.

  “Be in the water. We could. The seven-seven-two is capable of anything.” His nose plays with mine. “Love. Courage. Ugly-ass shopping mall campaigns.”

  I sit up, fistful of his shirt, tugging him up with me.

  “Race you there, Lump.”

  He’s running behind me and my heart is a jackrabbit. I giggle and squeak. I trip and he catches me. He trips and I laugh harder. He pushes me into the fountain and I hate his love. We are so going to embarrass Poppy. I kick water at him and shove until he is waist-high in it and yanking my arm.

  This is where things slow. This is where the sky calms and love surges. This is where the idiots watching us be idiots don’t matter. This is where I am lost but have direction.

  This is where hands on my face can feel like the greatest gift. Where a pair of simple green eyes can change my entire life.

  “Look at me, Lil.”

  Nothing else exists. “I am.”

  “No, look. Hear. Feel.”

  I press my forehead to his. His palms stay on my face.

  “I am.”

  “I need your help, Honey-girl.”

  “Anything.”

  “I have to tell Mariah I’ve found my true love.”

  I push his stupid mouth away.

  “Jerk-off.”

  “Kidding. Sort of. Come back to me, I wasn’t done.”

  “One last chance.” I put my face to his, narrowing my eyes. “Make it good.”

  “Don’t I always?” he kisses. “Looking? Hearing?”

  I nod. “Give it to me. I want it.”

  His fingers tighten on my waist.

  “I decided driving here, I don’t have a rearview mirror, Lilla. I don’t have a crystal ball, either. I don’t have peripherals and I don’t have blind spots. You know what color the sky was driving here?”

  I know it’s gonna be wrong. “Blue.”

  But it keeps him talking. His lips moving. His mind open and free.

  “She was papaya perfect and caramel. She was never more beautiful. Who’s the sky, Honey-girl?”

  “Me,” a small voice whispers.

  “Goddamn right. Who loves you?”

  I slide my arms over his shoulders, fingers linked behind his head. “You.”

  Those arms squeeze around my torso.

  “Goddamn right.”

  I play with his earlobe, lost somewhere where I’m found in his eyes.

  “Thanks for putting me back in the water. Literally.”

  Click

  We both turn our heads to the sound. A man with a long lens smiles, then steps back.

  “Mind if I use this in the story?”

  “What story?” Cash asks him.

  The man motions to the shopping mall. “About the opening.”

  I shrug and Cash smiles. “What’s it going to be titled?”

  The man’s face crinkles as he thinks. “Haven’t decided that, yet, young man.”

  “Then we’ll look for the picture.”

  The man tips his head to Cash before stepping away. I feel his teeth dig into my shoulder.

  “I could give a really good fucking story if you’d let me, Honey-girl. Award winning.”

  I wiggle away when he pulls at the hem of my dress. Stepping out of the fountain, the wind blows cool air over us. I shiver, bouncing on my toes. Fingers balled.

  “Cash?”

  He walks ahead of me, gathering his forgotten shoes.

  “Honey-girl.”

  I catch up to him, holding onto his forearm as we walk.

  “I’m cold. Fix it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  CASH

  8:45 am

  Pancakes and music turned up so loud I’m sure I’m pissing off my neighbors. It’s my birthday and I give zero fucks.

  Honey-girl is the best invention/creation/person of all damn time.

  Tight ringlets and a flannel shirt. Teeny-tiny black underwear. Nothing else. Mariah can keep her denim cut-off shorts. I’m good.

  Banana walnut pancakes in bed, fed to me by a curly-haired honey with mock-Mariah attire?

  I’m fucking great.

  “The only way this could possibly be any better is if—”

  “It was actually Mariah?” she teases, stabbing a bite of pancake.

  I push her down, crawling on top of her. The pancakes go somewhere. I don’t know. I’m pressed in between her legs and that makes thinking very difficult.

  “I was going to say something cheeky about the syrup and your tits. I forgot what it was now.”

  Lilla giggles and locks me to her, ankles crossed.

  “Wanna make me sing like a songbird?”

  “Practically my daily mission in life, Lil.”

  Her mouth tastes like the best fucking idea I ever had.

  “We are not moving from this bed, today, Honey-girl. We aren’t taking calls. We aren’t opening doors and we aren’t moving from this motherfucking bed.”

  “Practically my life’s mission?” she mocks.

  “Goddamn right.”

  My fingers pop the only two buttons holding her shirt together. I paint my lips with the vanilla of her skin. My cheek slides roughly down her stomach, stopping only to taste below her navel.

  I hook my fingers to her skinny underwear straps and allow them to chase after the forgotten pancakes.

  Her pussy tastes like the best fucking idea I ever had.

  “How many fucks do I give about Mariah’s crushed velvet skin, right now?” I dip down and lick along her skin again.

  Lilla wriggles, her voice throaty. Perfect.

  “Not sure, babe.”

  “It was rhetorical. I assure you.”

  Her head lifts. “It’s your birthday. I don’t think we’re doing it right.”

  I smirk, taking another taste. “Lay back and shut up. No thinkers in my bed, Honey-girl.”

  I smack-tap my hand between her legs. Her stomach tightens. I do it again. Her lips try not to laugh. This time I do it softer, touching her sensitive skin with my mouth. Another smack-tap with three fingers. And then … they just keep on tapping.

  “Still have negative feelings towards pussy slapping, L-Child?”

  I lick where she wants me the most. I keep my fingers in sync with her pleas. I lick her so soft and slow it hurts my stomach. She’s a tight ball fighting to not fall over, tugging on my arm for me to stop. Start.

  I taste my way up her stomach, crawling to her mouth. She pushes at my boxers with her feet. Locks me to her with her legs.

  And something slightly raunchy turns heartbreakingly sweet when the music stops. When something as fucking cheesy and stupidly perfect comes on.

  “If you listen for eight seconds, Luther is talking about you, Honey-girl.” She pulls me to her lips. “I lied, actually, the whole fucking song is yours.”

  “Less with the talking, more with the hips moving.”

  “Ordering me around on my birthday. Well goddamn.”

  “Someone told me to speak up when I have needs.”

  “What do you need, little Honey-girl?”

  “You.”

&n
bsp; “Damn right.”

  We tangle and merge. Love and let go. No one will ever know her like I do. I’ve touched every inch of skin. I’ve explored every part of her being. I love her shy when I pull her to my hips, my lap. I love her present uncertainty for things she knows how to do so fucking good. I love her pink flushed skin all over.

  I love that Mariah starts singing “Make it Happen” when I’m about to—Lilla’s fingers digging into my shoulder as she works me for her life, my arms tightening around her like she likes, drawing her in with the force she isn’t capable of on her own.

  Fingers twisted into twisty curls. Vanilla sweat and I’m going to have red scratches.

  “Scream to God, baby, he can hear you.”

  But Lilla is quiet and shy about her unraveling, holding onto me with as much strength two skinny limbs can garner. Hushed commentary in my ear knocks my discipline to the floor, thrusting into her with every ounce of the shit that’s inside of my chest.

  10:30 am

  I’m tickling a traced pattern over her bare hip. She’s pretending to sleep. Her smile is an idiot. A bad secret keeper.

  12:35 pm

  “My stomach wants food. A flipping Cajun chicken biscuit. C-Child, I’m dying. Must leave bed. Now.”

  I laugh, flipping through the channels as she slaps my chest.

  “What is a Cajun biscuit?” I ask.

  “Spicy and delicious.”

  I look at her and I fall in love all over again.

  “Would it make you happy?”

  She nods excitedly.

  “Well, you did give me birthday sex, pancakes and Mariah-inspired flannel, so …” I sigh sitting up. “I suppose the least I could do is allow a Cajun biscuit.”

  “You’re my Personal Jesus and I love you dearly.”

  “Want to say that a little closer to my face?”

  She kicks me away. “After I get my biscuit, Lump.”

  Yeah, I love the fuck out of her.

  1:49 pm

  Lilla’s cheeks are going to burst.

  “You look like a fat squirrel in need of Jillian Michaels, baby.”

  I get the finger. She swallows. “How funny was it that ‘Make it Happen’ started playing?”

  I sputter-laugh. “Never gonna talk shit about her again, are you?”

  “I don’t have anything against Mariah Carey, Love Lump. I just don’t completely get your profound obsession.”