by Brynne Asher
When she does, her face morphs into a content, peaceful affection as her big smile shrinks into a small private one. Her secret smile mirrors the obsession I can’t get out of my head. It’s one only lovers share, reminding me she takes it any way I wanna give it to her, that she’s sucked my dick, ridden my face—even both at the same time—wanting everything I give her.
I ignore the rest of the shenanigans at the table and go straight to her. She leans her head back, looking at me as I set my plate down and cup the back of her head, taking her mouth. I let her go a million times quicker than I want since her poker group is watching.
“Hey,” she breathes against my lips.
“Missed you,” I say against hers before taking the seat next to her.
She leans into me, bumping my shoulder with hers and fills me in on what was so funny. “I was right, Evan and Mary are officially a thing. They had their first date last night, but it was a drunken one for Mary because for some crazy-ass reason, she was nervous and drank too much.”
“Never thought you to be the drunk-date type,” Van teases Mary.
“I was not nervous or drunk.” Mary raises her voice and tries again to push Evan’s hand out of her hair, but he won’t allow it. She goes on, and as she does, her voice goes frantic. “It wasn’t really a date. It was only…dinner. Just because you eat together doesn’t make it a date. It was food, and wine—lots of wine—and then really yummy tiramisu, and then I think I had more wine. I wasn’t drunk, just happy. Maybe a little tipsy…”
Evan tugs on her hair, getting her attention. “Don’t forget about the chocolate martini since you insisted that wine deserves dessert, too.”
“Why shouldn’t wine get its own dessert?” Bev picks up a glass of her red, tipping it to Mary with a supportive smile. “Hear, hear.”
Mary groans.
“Can we play cards already?” Morris grumbles.
“Two chocolate martinis. That’s when I cut you off,” Evan adds.
Mary puts her hands to her face and starts to rub her temples. “Damn, I forgot about the second one.”
“And,” Addison butts in, reaching for my thigh, as if she needs to work at getting my attention. “Evan brought her back here to get her car mid-morning, and Mary was wearing her same kick-ass outfit from last night.”
Evan shrugs. “I couldn’t leave her alone after all that, so I brought her back to my place to take care of her. Then I made her breakfast.”
Addison squeezes my leg as she drawls, “I’m so happy.”
“You need a do-over,” Bev announces firmly as she puts her glass down. “An old fashioned date. Morrie took me mini-golfing and then for ice cream, I was home by nine-thirty. I don’t even know why you’re here, you should’ve had your do-over tonight.”
“Tomorrow’s your day off,” Van says to Evan with a sly smile. “Talk to me after the game, I’ll tell you how to do a do-over.”
“You will do no such thing.” Bev throws a purple Laffy Taffy across the table, but Van catches it just in time. She looks back to Mary and Evan with intent. “Tomorrow night, you’ll have your do-over. It needs to be something fun, not involving alcohol.”
Evan tips his head and smirks. “I’m good with that.”
“Oooh,” Mary moans with her eyes closed, pressing her fingertips into her forehead. “My headache is coming back.”
Evan sighs and scoots his chair to get up. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“You’re leaving?” Van complains.
“No, I’ll be okay,” Mary insists.
Evan grabs her hand, pulling her from the table. “You don’t feel well. We shouldn’t have come. I’ll take you home and you can lay down.”
“You can plan your do-over,” Addison sing-songs. Her eyes zero in on Evan not letting go of Mary’s hand, clearly in young-love heaven witnessing her friends get together like she wanted.
I shove a bite of food in my mouth and give them a chin lift as they leave the Ordinary.
Van starts to put the chips away, frustrated when he complains, “Let’s call it a night. We shot the shit too long—it’s too late to start. Maybe next week everyone will be of sound mind and body.”
I sigh, grateful to get out of poker. I’m not in the mood.
“Get the cookies, Bevie,” Morris bosses his wife and the three remaining groupies gather their things to leave.
As Addison cleans her kitchen, she rambles on about Evan and Mary, how she’s sure Mary will come around eventually, and how she knew it would happen. By the time we make it upstairs, she’s moved on to telling me about interviewing tenants for her rental tomorrow since it’ll be done in a week. Her chatter doesn’t slow as we get ready for bed around each other, something that’s become a nightly occurrence, and after only having this for a short time, it’s so effortless, it’s natural. I still don’t understand how it can be, but it is.
Which makes what I have to do even more painful.
*****
Addy –
“I have three viewings set up tomorrow morning. I knew you’d go whackadoo about me meeting strangers with the O’Rourke thing still out there, but Morris will be with me. Plus, you’ve still got all your cameras going, I’ll be fine.”
I know I’m rambling, but I don’t care. Two of my favorite people are getting together and I couldn’t be happier. I know they’ve only had one semi-disastrous, drunken date, but it was because Mary was nervous, and she was nervous because she secretly likes him. Just like I knew all this time.
I love being right.
“My appointments are set up back to back. I hope one of them works out, I’m anxious to get someone in and be done with it.” I step out of my jeans, yanking my top over my head at the same time and keep talking from my closet. “It would be nice to have someone quiet and low maintenance. The extra money will help pay off my business loan quicker, that won’t hurt either. Although, I’m sure Bev will immediately befriend whoever I rent it to, she won’t be able to help herself and we’ll end up having one more for poker night. We’re already up to seven.” Reaching for a nightie, I pull it over my head and realize I’m rambling—Crew’s hardly said two words since everyone left. I walk out still talking. “Do you think eight is too many for poker?”
When I walk out of my closet, I stop. Crew is standing next to my bed, looking at the floor with one hand wrapped around the back of his neck and the other on his hip, deep in thought.
“Crew?” My voice breaks through the quiet of the room, and as soon as it does, his head pops up, his deep dark eyes aren’t soft and relaxed like I’ve become accustomed to. They’re piercing and intense, and I don’t like them that way. When he doesn’t answer, I frown. “You okay?”
He pulls in a big breath and his arms fold across his sun-kissed, chiseled chest, before he sighs, looking out my window. His shirt is lying near his bare feet. He’s all skin other than his jeans, looking nothing short of delicious with the top two buttons undone. It doesn’t matter what little time we’ve had together, I know him well, and he’s not the relaxed man I’ve become enthralled by. The man who possesses me so completely I’ve allowed myself to let go, let life live itself around me, and for the first time ever, truly relax into it, appreciating it for what it is, and just be.
No, he’s back to his intense self, but this time he’s not hiding it with a relaxed stance. I not only see it in his eyes like I used to, but it’s rippling off him in waves.
The sharp is back, and damn it, I don’t like the sharp.
“What’s going on?” I demand, and he instantly gives me his eyes.
“We all have our specialties,” he spouts quickly.
My frown deepens, not understanding. “I’m sorry?”
“In my line of work, we all have our specialties. I told you I’m a good shot. The best.”
Really confused now and not liking it, I don’t fight the derisive tone in my voice. “I doubt that’s something I’ll soon forget, Crew.”
He keeps on
, ignoring my tone. “I got to where I strictly worked from afar, never comfortable unless my finger was lightly resting on the trigger. I’ve tried other methods but I get antsy—restless. The only way I’m completely solid is behind the barrel of a gun. I think you get from what little I’ve told you, I can’t do my job well unless I’m one-hundred percent solid.”
Well then. If that doesn’t confirm my suspicions, nothing will. He’s held back about his work. I had a feeling he was either sharing half-truths or softening the edges for me. Six of one, half a dozen the other. Any way you paint it, I was right.
And this time, it sucks to be right.
But he doesn’t give me a chance to respond.
“Grady’s not like me. He accepted the job for different reasons.” He leans forward, stressing his next words. “He not only needs a challenge—he fucking thrives off it. Challenge and change—he likes to mix it up. He doesn’t mind interacting with a target before finishing the job. He’s also a good shot. He could put down any MMA fighter—he’s exceptional and quick at hand-to-hand. But what he’s really good at, is disappearing. In a crowd, a quiet home, deserted buildings, and even in the light of day. He can be silent like I’ve never seen, get close to his target, get it done, and then fade away. He’s stealth.”
My insides clench from hearing the words get it done, and I whisper, “Why are you telling me this now?”
He doesn’t hesitate and takes a step toward me. “Grady and I started this shit together, trained together, sometimes worked together. I think you get that this is a lonely fucking business. I have few people in my life because of it, Grady became a brother, just a different kind. A year ago, Asa told me he had a couple close calls. No one knew if he was losing his edge, getting careless, or if it was a case of superhero syndrome—feeling invincible when he absolutely was not.”
He takes a breath and I give my head a questioning shake, still not understanding why he’s going into all this. But he doesn’t make me wait before laying it out there.
“I needed to see for myself, so I worked my way into sharing a job, bein’ his backup. It was less than a year ago, and if I hadn’t been there to step in, he’d be dead. To this day, he argues that’s not the way it went down, but it did. He got too comfortable, ignored the warning signs, and made himself visible. I had to step in and pull my trigger. That was the day I knew he was done with the job and I had to make him done. Not that anyone had to twist my arm, I was fucking thrilled to walk away. That was the day I set the plan in motion that put me here,” he growls, pointing to my floor.
I swallow over the lump in my throat because, as much as his words scare me, his extreme emotion scares me more. “What is this about?”
His words come out clipped, angry, and forceful. “He’s goin’ back and I can’t stop him.”
I exhale because now I get it. He’s worried about his friend. I shorten the distance between us, sensing his hurt, worry, anguish, and I want to touch him. “I’m sorry.”
He puts his hand up before I get to him, stopping me when he says in a low guttural voice, “I’m goin’ with him, Addison.”
I feel like I walked into a brick wall, stuttering back a step.
What?
Oh, shit. Now I get it.
A pained look sweeps over his face and he tries to close the distance on me this time, but I take another step back, whispering, “No.”
“I have to.” He moves in closer and this time I put my hand up, stopping him.
I even surprise myself when I raise my voice, accusing him, “You said you were done.”
“Addison—” he starts, but I interrupt.
“You said you’d never go back, Crew. Never.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t let him go alone.”
My tears build instantly and it’s coming, it settling in, what I haven’t felt in a while. Actually, I haven’t felt it since the night of the White House dinner, but this feels different. My breaths start to come quick and shallow as I sound desperate, even begging. “Don’t go.”
His eyes roam my face, moving over me, surveying what’s happening right in front of him. He quickly takes a step to me and pulls me into his warm body. “I’ll be back. It could be a week—it could be a month. But I’ll be back.”
“Please.” My tears start to fall. “Please, don’t go.”
He pulls me in tighter and says into the top of my head, “I have to do this until I can get him to quit for good. I’ll never forgive myself if something happened to him.”
With my arms squished between us where he’s holding me tight, I close my eyes and breathe against his bare chest. Concentrating on my breaths for the first time in a long time, I put into motion what I learned so long ago, doing my best to hold back the weight working its way into my heart.
I should’ve known this was too good to be true. Having him and all he’s given me was too much. I’ve taken all the security he’s offered, and in return, handed him the weight I’ve been carrying around for twenty-five years. This is what I get.
I understand his job, the dangers and risks. I get that he’s worried about Grady, but I’m worried about him. What if he doesn’t come back to me?
Oh, that weight is heavy. No one realizes what you’re carrying around for so long until it’s gone, making you light as a feather—and then crash. It’s back, a heftier burden than I’ve ever experienced.
“Baby, come to bed,” he whispers, holding me tight.
When I don’t move, for fear the weight will take over, I feel his arm behind my knees and I’m up. The next thing I know I’m back on my feet and he’s pulling my nightie up and over my head. Doing everything I can to bury my emotions deep, I turn to climb in bed wearing just my panties, wiping the tears from my face. Moments later, he climbs in behind me on what’s become his side of the bed, closest to the door. His fingers dip into the hips of my panties, dragging them down my legs, and hell if I don’t let him. I’ve gotten used to him doing what he wants in my bed and haven’t once stopped him.
Fitting himself to my back, he’s bare, too, when he says softly into the back of my head, “Nothing between us tonight, Abby. I’ve got you, baby. I’ll be back, don’t question that. I don’t want to be anywhere but right here. I’m sorry I have to do this.”
He pulls me deeper into his large frame, but it doesn’t help. As I lay here naked in his arms, I try to pinpoint the moment I trusted him with everything, gave up the control he wanted, handing it over to him. He took it all from me, allowing me to feel light and free for a short time. I can’t remember when it happened completely, it just did. I’ve never felt so free.
I had it for a short time, the normal I’ve never had. But the heavy is back and it’s never felt as oppressive as this.
*****
Crew –
Fuck, I knew that was going to be hard, but I didn’t know it would be that painful.
I’ve held her tight, stroking her bare stomach, her thigh, whispering into the back of her hair until she finally found sleep. Her silent tears, still wet on her pillow and drying on her face, were the worst. She never made a sound.
If she falls back into her protective shell and I can’t get her back to the good we’ve been living, I’ll fucking kill Grady Cain with my own hands.
Chapter 22 – Goodbye
Crew –
I open my eyes to Addison’s barely-lit room. It’s early, earlier than she normally gets up, with the sun barely risen. But I don’t have the mind space to think about my morning run, my schedule, my fucking best friend, or even the looming issue of O’Rourke.
No, all I can think about is my cock. My throbbing, raging hard-on, which has taken over every inch of my body, mind, and soul.
I groan as a whisper of a touch strokes me from my balls to tip, so fucking slowly. A misery so sweet, I unconsciously lift my hips for more as I turn my head.
She’s plastered to my side, her head on my chest but she’s looking at her hand, watching her torturous actions.
Her single index finger circles my tip so lightly—there’s no way she knows the effect she’s creating, an ache so intense I already feel like I’m gonna explode.
Forcing her to tip her head to me by fisting her hair, her eyes are alert and awake, yet shielded with something that makes my heart sink. I know it’s about what I told her last night, me leaving with Grady.
She moves instantly, pushing her bare body up on her hands and knees before swinging a leg over my lap. Those shielded eyes hold mine as she lifts, and before I know it, she impales herself on my cock. I lose sight of her, my eyes closing, finding relief inside her tight perfection. Just her and me, nothing between us. It’s like nothing I’ve ever had and it’s so good, I know for a fact I don’t want anything else the rest of my days.
I open my eyes when she starts to move, riding me lazily, taking initiative—my allowing it for the first time ever. Dragging my eyes over her beautiful body, I’m forced to look up when she pulls her hands through her messy hair, pushing it out of her face. She slides up before leisurely sinking on my cock when her hands fall from her hair to her tits, pausing a moment to play with herself.
As much as I love what she’s doing, I want more, and reach for one of her hands. Bringing it close, I pull her middle three fingers into my mouth and suck deep, swirling them with my tongue. If possible, when she lifts, she’s even more wet, coating my cock with her need as her eyes droop. Sucking one more time before letting go, I direct them between her legs, taking over, showing her what I want.
Just like my Abby, she reads me and starts easily working her clit with her own wet fingers.
If she keeps moving, I might come before her, and there’s no fucking way I’d ever let that happen. Lifting my hips, I splay my hands on her ass holding her tight on my cock where she can’t move. A small furrow appears on her brow as her objection comes out in a small mew.
I shake my head once and look down my body at our connection. I know she gets me when she grinds down and her fingers start to move with purpose. Holding her tight with one hand I move the other, pulling her pussy lips wide around her clit, but I don’t help her.
