by L. J. Wilson
“Me?” It felt like the water was hitting nowhere but his cock, which seemed to be overly tuned into whatever Chloe Pike had to say.
“Yep. You don’t remember. I’d be babysitting Troy—though he was only a couple of years younger than me. You’d come in from work and fix yourself a sandwich. I’d watch your ass from the bar stool.”
“You’d watch my… You were what… fourteen?”
“Fifteen,” she said as if it made a difference. “I had lots of Aaron Clairmont fantasies back then. Of course, I wasn’t quite grown up, and you never looked twice.” She breathed again, and he swore the top button to her dress hung by a strained thread.
“I wouldn’t have looked if you’d been of age. I was involved with somebody.”
She nodded. “I remember.”
So did he. Aaron reached up, grabbing the edge of the shower curtain. Chloe reached up at the same time, stopping him.
“I’m all grown up now. You’d hardly be my first trip to the rodeo… know what I mean? And I’m the one standing here.”
“And so what? Now your fantasy includes fucking the fresh-out-of-prison parolee?” It kind of pissed him off. He wasn’t interested in being Chloe Pike’s notch.
“Oh, Aaron, you’ve got it completely backwards. Gifts are for the recipient’s enjoyment. I’m all about that.” His hand remained on the curtain. Hers dropped, unbuttoning the dress. While it had a cellophane effect, it peeled like the skin off a pear.
Maybe it was because she was standing in a bathroom, but he didn’t yell “stop.” Chloe Pike stood before him wearing a black bra that complemented her tits and matching G-string. She was a specific kind of piece of ass, and she knew it. The kind that radiated a “fuck me anytime” attitude. Chloe shuffled back her wavy red hair while never breaking eye contact. He meant what he’d told her. Aaron hadn’t looked twice at a teenage Chloe. On the other hand, if her boobs had been anywhere close to that big, he wondered how he’d missed them. Shit, a blind man couldn’t miss them.
“The past is the past, Aaron. And the future… who knows? I’m more into right now.”
He forced his Adam’s apple down his throat as she unhooked the bra, which dropped dismissively to the floor. Considering his most-recent points of view—concrete, iron bars, cons, and prison guards—a nearly naked Chloe in come-fuck-me pumps was a surreal scene.
“You look a little stunned. You okay?” Breast size became secondary as Aaron’s gaze fixated on gold rings that pierced each nipple. “A gift from… shall we say, an admirer.”
He blinked hard, clutching the loofa that he held. “The boobs or the bling?”
She rolled her eyes. “Both, of course. Cool, huh?” She fingered the rings, caressing her breasts as her hands slid decidedly south, stepping out of the heels and black panties. A natural redhead, he realized, wondering when the erotic dream would pop. Without an invitation—but with no warning to stop—a very real Chloe Pike invited herself into the shower. Aaron backed up until his back hit the tiled wall. “Relax,” she said, taking the loofa from him. “I don’t bite… Well, not unless you want me to. You know, you can do that. Tell me exactly what you want… I’m pretty much open to anything.”
“Chloe… I, uh… I don’t think…”
“You don’t think what? That you don’t want what’s coming?” she said, giggling. She glanced down, and things took a serious turn. Her hand wrapped around a cock that indicated “no” was not Aaron’s answer. With the soapy sponge, Chloe stroked his backside and bare ass. “Like I said, think of this as a little from me to you welcome home gift. It doesn’t have to mean a damn thing tomorrow.”
“Shit, when did gift cards go out of style?”
“I guess a few things have changed. Why don’t you just relax and let me show you around… You know, refresh your memory.”
Aaron had considered what his first few days, even hours, out of prison might be like. This scenario hadn’t crossed his mind. Not without having to bring cash. “I… this isn’t right. You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why not? I promise. I gave up influencing minors years ago.” His eyes widened, and she rolled hers. “Babysitting…” She let go of his cock, and her fingers traced the span of his chest, which rose and fell with an urge that felt primal. “God, you’re in great shape,” she said, fingers sliding over rigid stomach muscles.
“A byproduct of the environment. A necessary layer to your guard. Though I’m not sure what it’s doing for me here.”
“Let me assure you, it’s gonna work fine for you on this side of things.”
She reached up and kissed him. Aaron’s fingers touched the nipple rings, like he had no control. In his head was the crazy whirl of a merry-go-round. What kid doesn’t get on and grab for the brass ring? Her mouth became the icing he’d wanted to taste, sweet and creamy. The thing achingly absent from his broken life. Chloe kissed him, her tongue darting playfully at his.
Aaron’s hands responded, moving spontaneously over her body. But his brain—capable of good and bad decisions—stopped him. Old rules about safe sex were too engrained. Besides, surely Honor hadn’t been that accommodating with her bathroom goodies to include a box of condoms. “I don’t have… Unless you… I don’t think there’s a… ”
“It’s fine. I’m on the pill.” She kissed him again as her hands skillfully worked his cock and his balls, running over Aaron’s shower-soaked ass.
Not good enough. While there wasn’t any space left, Aaron managed to inch back.
Her blue eyes narrowed. “My God, do all Clairmont men come with the same streak of caution?”
He didn’t know what that meant, but Aaron found himself turning away. Chloe read it as encouragement, her steam-covered body embracing his. Soft, damp skin pressed into Aaron’s, her front to his back. He tilted his neck. Shit, it felt so fucking good—especially if he didn’t have to look at her. He could almost close his eyes and pretend…
“Turn around, Aaron.” The voice was unfamiliar, and it kept Aaron in the moment. “Let’s make this easy—I see you’re a little unsure. So this is a gift you’ll want to indulge in.”
Mechanically, he followed the direction and turned. Chloe reached up, moving the shower’s spray so it arced over their heads. Only tickling drops of water rained down on the two of them, enhancing the whole idea. Chloe dropped to her knees, hitting a fantasy mode that his longest night in prison hadn’t produced.
“Jesus,” he said, having to grip the bar of the soap dish to stay upright. But his other hand succumbed to the pleasure, grasping Chloe Pike’s head as it thrust in a rhythm that seemed highly practiced. From Aaron’s viewpoint, it was a tangle of red hair, fair freckled skin, and a porn-flick hint of bobbing boobs, rings jiggling as his cock moved deeper into her mouth. When her indulgent hum chimed in, he was a goner. It was like this fantasy was hers, and any rational words drained from his mind. Objection and objectivity had taken a fucking hike.
Aaron went with it, hanging on long enough to make a decent showing. Even if she was some neighborhood kid he barely knew, Aaron had a little pride left. Chloe Pike seemed to have carnal knowledge about the short list of post-prison desires. A guttural round of curse words spilled from Aaron’s mouth as he exploded into hers. Seconds later, he stumbled around her body. At the far end of the shower, the spray slapped him into some cloudy out-of-sync reality.
Chloe’s body unfolded, swiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She smiled and her crooked teeth reemerged, sinking into her lower lip. “Were you in a prison gang?”
“What?” he said, still dizzy from the moments before.
“Those tats,” she said, pointing high on his thigh. “They’re hard to miss—if you’re naked, and, um… I’m on my knees. I’ve seen markings like that before. It’s, like, Chinese, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Asian symbols.”
“So you were in a gang! Was that like a rite of passage or something? Did you have to kill somebody then burn them on yoursel
f? I’ve read about stuff like that. That’s so cool!”
Aaron shifted closer to the side of the shower, obstructing his thigh from her view. He didn’t want her anywhere near his ink. “No, I wasn’t in a gang. The ink doesn’t have anything to do with prison.”
She looked disappointed. “I don’t believe you.” Her fair eyes scanned him like radar. “Every guy who’s been on the inside has tats,” she said as if quoting Bad Boys for Dummies.
“Believe whatever the fuck you want. I’m not discussing them with you.”
Chloe shrugged, breasts and bling jiggling. “Fine… keep it to yourself—they’re certainly out of public view. I just thought guys got lots of tattoos in prison. That’s all.” She smiled sweetly as if they were having the conversation at the kitchen table. “Anyway, I sure hope that made for a memorable homecoming. It did for me.”
“Aaron? Are you in here?” His eyes widened as his gaze jerked toward the bedroom door, a crease of it visible from the open bathroom entrance. He never realized how much Honor’s voice sounded like their mother’s. Chloe giggled again, and Aaron’s hand clamped over her mouth.
“Uh, I’ll be out in a few, Honor. I decided to take a shower.”
“A shower. Okay… Try not to be too long. Some people want to say good-bye.” He heard the bedroom door click shut.
He let go. Chloe licked her lips. “I’m cool with bondage too, just in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not,” he said.
Chloe shrugged and tipped the shower spray so it hit her. From the far end of the shower, he watched. The girl just sort of rinsed off before turning off the spigot—like her work there was done. She leaned over, and Aaron thought she was so top heavy she might tip. He also realized if he had a second hard-on that instant, his desire to fuck her was nil. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a thick white towel, patting her damp hair and skin. “Do you have a hair dryer?”
“A hair dryer?”
“Yeah, you know, a blow dryer?” The repetitive pitch of laughter was irritating. “My parents are downstairs. I’ll, um, need to… Unless you want me to explain this?” Chloe shook her flaming hair, damp and frizzy from the steam.
He wondered if explaining the nipple bling might be of more interest to her parents. On that thought, Aaron couldn’t scramble out of the tub fast enough. “Uh yeah, no worries.” He grabbed a towel as he spoke, wrapping it around his waist. He felt more naked than in the shower. “There’s got to be one here somewhere.” He flung open cabinets and drawers. He didn’t want a trace of this following him anywhere.
In the days that followed, the family goal seemed to be about giving Aaron space. Great, like he knew what to do with that. Nobody roused him out of bed at the crack of dawn or assigned him kitchen or laundry duty. Maybe it felt like a vacation, if he could remember what a vacation felt like. Actually, he couldn’t remember what having a life felt like. The first night home, Aaron couldn’t sleep. The dark freaked him out, so did the silence. He’d ended up leaving the light on and looking for a DVD—at least the player was right where he’d left it. But he couldn’t find any movies and eventually wandered into Troy’s room.
Troy wasn’t there, but he did find all his old flicks, plus his brother’s movies—a slew of gruesome titles: Saw, Frozen, Kick-Ass, Dead Snow, The Human Centipede. The playlist was gorier than the junk Aaron used to watch. As he flipped through, he did wonder if Honor knew what kind of movies the kid was into. Or, better still, Aaron thought, glancing at the clock, where Troy was? It was two in the morning. He shook his head. He had nerve even silently questioning Honor. Aaron chose two movies that guaranteed ugly noise and little plot. They would be a good match to the last seven years.
That night, and during the ones that followed, Aaron got into bed searching for the scent of Ruby. The smell of dryer sheets filled his nose. Ruby did not smell like dryer sheets. She smelled like Midnight Winter, the perfume she always wore. It was exotic and spicy, sexy, the scent mirroring her. Aaron would know it anywhere. Without thinking, he’d lay on one side of the bed, his mind tracing the outline of Ruby’s body on the other—a beautiful hourglass shape, skin the color of sun-kissed sand, pearly onyx eyes. But he didn’t dare conjure up body specifics—the way her breasts fit her body and his hands. How he knew every spot that made Ruby release the rule-following persona that ran most of her life. Instead, Aaron took his punishment. His night visions succumbed to Chloe Pike reruns, his half-asleep mind unable to escape them. Homecoming gift…? He wondered what the hell Chloe Pike gave out for Christmas presents.
Even so, real sleep was worse. Silas Brikk assaulted his dreams like he had in prison. Aaron’s mind was caught in an endless loop— “Jerry wants you to take out Mayor Vasquez. It’s the opportunity to prove your loyalty. Get rid of the man bottlenecking our business, Aaron. Then… after it’s done, we’ll see about you and Jerry meeting face to face.” Even asleep, Aaron felt Brikk’s grip on his shoulder. “Jerry was asking, how’s that pretty little piece… Ruby, is it? Good you’ll be around after her old man goes down. We hate to see bad shit happen to pretty girls. But such is the nature of our business… ” Aaron woke up, yet again, gasping for air. Inside prison or out, he felt as cornered as the night Brikk had given him Jerry’s order. He’d had no choice.
Aaron leapt from the bed the following morning. He felt icy air or maybe just the cold sweat of his most recent nightmare. Either way, he slid open the closet door, looking for the flannel shirts he used to own. They were there. But as his hand reached in, a black athletic jacket peeked out from between his clothes. Aaron snatched it off the hanger, burying his face in the silky garment. Woven between the fabric and his mind was the faint but present Midnight Winter scent of Ruby. He couldn’t deal with it. It was worse than the stints he’d done in the SHU—solitary housing unit. Aaron shoved the jacket to the back of the closet and yanked at a flannel shirt, its hanger snapping in two.
His fourth day on the outside was the longest. Alec had said something about going out of town. Honor would be gone all day too. She’d left Aaron with an empty house, full fridge, and six televisions. She put his keys on the bar and told him that Alec had repaired the Dodge Challenger’s hood, made sure it was running. Then she was gone.
It took a few minutes of empty and silence for Aaron to realize he had nowhere to go. He dropped the keys back onto the counter, equally aware he couldn’t imagine lying on the couch and watching TV. That wasn’t Aaron—before or after prison. On the kitchen table were a stack of textbooks. Troy was supposed to be in class. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t.
According to Honor, he was in his half-hearted junior year of college. Aaron hadn’t seen too much of Troy since he’d been home, and he didn’t know if this was because of him or something else the kid had going on. Honor had said something about coaxing Troy through every year of college. The remark sounded like classic Aaron, the early years.
He’d started college on the outside, but never could figure out what he wanted to study. That’s where things had taken a bizarre turn. Aaron was good at math, zipped through all the required sciences—particularly chemistry. He was a starter on the football team. But none of it seemed to be clicking. Then, in his sophomore year, when he was just nineteen, a branch of the local DEA left a card on the Dodge Challenger windshield. They’d been watching him. They thought he looked the part—older than he was. Could they interest him in a part-time job? Nothing fancy, nothing like the stuff they made movies about, but would he consider working for the local DEA undercover? It was a night gig, hitting local bars and liquor stores, trying to score alcohol with a fake ID.
Sure, what kid that age wouldn’t sign up for a low-risk, high-octane job? What Aaron hadn’t realized was how right and wrong were connected, how good and evil were really close cousins. How eventually his DEA handlers would prove to be more dangerous cohorts than the scum he ran with. Aaron’s gut clenched, wondering years later if he’d made the wrong choice. Back then, it seemed like
there were no options. He’d done what he had to when it came to Silas Brikk and Jerry—even the DEA. Aaron drew a shaky breath. Right now, he needed to get a grip on a fast-beating heart. Standing in the Clairmont kitchen, Aaron dragged his mind out of the past. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t change shit. He gave up on the inside of the house and spent the rest of the morning trimming the shrubs out front. Troy should have been taking care of that chore. He didn’t want to sound too much like Sebastian Clairmont, but maybe that’s where a conversation with Troy needed to start.
Honor showed up right after lunchtime. She claimed hunger, adding a line about having a run in her stockings. She needed to change them. That was bullshit. Aaron didn’t spend a lot of time looking at his sister’s legs, but he was certain she wasn’t wearing any stockings… pantyhose… whatever. She came back downstairs wearing pants. Honor was smart. He couldn’t even question her excuse. Still, the idea of being watched was enough to make him challenge her. “Worried I’ll pawn all the TVs—or maybe it’s worse. Maybe you’re thinking I’ll set up shop, start a heroin satellite business out of the basement?”
Standing in front of the refrigerator, Honor spun around, a Tupperware container gripped in her hand, a look of awe riding her face. “That’s so far from being funny, I’m not sure whether to slap you or throw this at you.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going for humor. It’s why you’re here, Honor… in the middle of the day, isn’t it? To check up on me?”
Her grip tightened around the container.
“You can skip the feigning hunger part. You told me this morning you had a lunch meeting.”
She glanced at the container. “I did, didn’t I?” Honor put the container back into the refrigerator. “Okay, I was worried. But not about the things you just suggested.”
Aside from being the only Clairmont girl, Honor was one of two blondes in the Tribe of Five, Jake’s movie-star head being the other. Other than birth, it was the only physical thing that seemed to make them twins. Honor ran her hand through shoulder-length honey-colored hair. He remembered the nervous habit. As she sat through his sentencing, Aaron thought she might rake herself bald.
