Pocketful of Us: Pocket #4

by Chloe Walsh

  "Please don’t make promises," I begged. "You can't know that, Sketch."

  "Fine then, here's what I do know," he growled, hands clamping down possessively on my hips. "I'm in love with you. I always have been and I always will be. I don’t want anyone else. I want all of your messes and I want all of the fucked-up complications that come with you. I want you to love me back, and keep loving me back, even when it's not good for you. I want to be with you. I want to be inside you, I just want you all the time. Day and night. Forever and always. It might be unhealthy and wrong, but there it is. Hell, maybe I'm co-dependent on you and my feelings are all kinds of fucked up. Or maybe this is what being in love feels like for everyone. I honestly have no idea." He touched his brow to mine, his breath fanning my face. "All I know is when you're hurting, I'm hurting. You call and I come running. Every single time. That's how deep our connection runs, Romi Dillon. So yeah, I do know you're going to be okay, I can say it, because I know there's no other option. Not in my life. You have to be okay." He stroked his nose with mine. "No Romi. No Sketch."

  "See, that's the thing," I strangled out, cupping his beautiful face between my trembling hands. "You say that I'm going to make it, and that I'll be okay… but I don’t want to be okay if you're not okay." Exhaling shakily, I pressed my tear stained lips to his. "I don’t want any of this without you." Breathing against his lips, I absorbed the taste of salt, tears, Sketch Capaldi. "So, either you make it, too, or you take me with you."

  Emotion flashed in his eyes. "Is that so?"

  I shrugged. "Well, we are betrothed after all, right?"

  "Yeah." He grunted, wrinkling his nose. "I heard something about that."

  "Kinda makes sense now, huh?" I whispered, trembling. "The dreams? The connection?" I shivered. "The way we've always been with each other."

  "Nothing makes sense, Ro," he replied hoarsely. "Just you."

  "Only me?"

  His eyes burned with heat. "Yeah.'

  "Since forever and for always?"

  A pained groan escaped him, deep, guttural, and full of need, as he tightened one hand around my waist and buried the other in my hair. "Fuck, Ro, it hurts."

  Concern filled me. "What does?"

  "Having so many feelings," he admitted gruffly, noses pressed together. "Feeling too much."

  "You're nose kissing me again," I croaked out, chewing on my lip.

  "Yeah, but I can't help it," he replied with a smile. "You're a habit I never quite learned to quit."

  "Good," I replied, shifting closer. "Don’t ever quit me."

  "I won't quit you if you don’t quit on me," he replied in a melancholic tone.

  "You are so wanted, Sketch," I blurted, needing him to hear my truth. "So freaking wanted, baby."

  "Not by them," he replied and I knew exactly who he meant. "Never by her."

  "Screw your mother," I hissed. "I want you. Me. I want you, Sketch! You are wanted by me. You always have been and you always will be."

  "All my life, I've been told that I'm not good enough," he whispered. "That I'm unlovable and unwanted." I could feel his pain. It was emanating from him in waves. "Then you came along and everything changed for me. I had someone in my corner. A friend. My only friend. My whole world wrapped up in one little girl. And then you were taken… and then they took you again." He groaned like he was in physical pain. "The thought of not being with you makes me sick. It makes me want to kill something. I'm so invested in this relationship, Ro. I'm so invested in you. You're all I see. I fly right off the ledge with you, Romi. Every damn time. We have our own world and that's where I want to stay. Right there with you." He sighed wearily. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is just…" he clenched his eyes shut and sagged against me, "Just don’t give up on me, okay? Not ever."

  "I won't," I told him. "I promise."

  "Fuck." A violent shudder racked through his huge frame. "I know this ain't the time or place, but I just –" His lips crashed down on mine; hard, warm, and entirely welcome.

  Every fear, thought, notion, and worry I had was washed away when his tongue plunged into my mouth, stroking mine with passionate reverence, drowning me in the familiar taste of mint.

  Moaning into his mouth, I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  "Please," I begged against his lips, unsure of what the hell I was begging for, but knowing I never wanted him to stop. "Sketch, please…"

  "Fucking love you, Ro," he groaned into my mouth as his lips attacked mine almost viciously. "Want you like no one else."

  "Me too." Whimpering into his mouth, I bit down hard on his bottom lip, hungry for more of him – dying for all of him. "Oh God." Frantic to feel his skin on mine, I ripped and tore at his hoodie, desperate to just have him. "Please, Sketch, I need you so bad."

  "I want you, Ro. I want in you. So fucking bad." He sounded conflicted, wary, and reluctantly excited. "But here? In the middle of this fucking mayhem?" He shook his head and blew out a pained breath. "It's too dangerous…"

  "I don’t care," I breathed. "I need to feel you in me."

  His eyes flashed with hungered uncertainty. "Here?"

  We were both marked in crime.

  Both bruised and bloodied.

  I got it now.

  I finally understood what Chris had died to protect us from.

  There was a war raging outside, but this treehouse had always been our fortress. and it was our sanctuary tonight.

  "Here," I confirmed, reckless.

  All common sense had left my brain, instinct taking the driver's seat of my thought process. I loved him. I needed him. that was all I knew. All I could feel in this moment.

  His conflicted gaze burned through me like molten lava. "But what if –"

  "Here," I repeated, covering his mouth with mine.

  Our limbs tangled together in a heady rush after that; fingers moving quick and restless to rid each other of the clothes that separated our flesh.

  Closer.

  That was all I could think.

  I needed to get closer to him.

  I need to join my body with his.

  When every stitch of clothing separating our skin had been shed, discarded carelessly around us, I found myself on my back with the only boy I'd ever loved between my legs.

  With my back crushed to the floor, I hooked my leg around his waist, crying out when I felt him slide all the way inside me. He was thick and long and so unbelievably hard.

  Feeling my eyes burn from the pressure I was absorbed in, I exhaled a ragged breath and arched my back, letting my head fall backwards, smacking against the timber. I felt his teeth on the lobe of my ear, dragging the flesh into his mouth with a sharp tug.

  I groaned, rocking my hips into his thrust, wanting him to break me in half because I could think of no better way to go. His lips scorched a burning trail from my neck to the tips of my straining breasts. His fingers dug into the fleshy part of my thighs before hitching my leg higher, giving him more access to what he owned entirely.

  My body.

  Restless and impatient, I dragged my fingernails up and down his back, desperate to get closer, to feel more, to drown in everything he was. "Don’t stop." Fisting his hair in my hands, I rocked my hips upward, my entire body jolting with every delicious foreign invasion of his body in mine. "Please don’t ever stop."

  I couldn’t breathe.

  My heart felt like it was bursting out of my chest.

  "I've got you, Ro," Sketch told me, as he dropped a hand between our joined bodies and began to thumb my clit. "Fuck," he groaned, never breaking his rhythm as he plunged inside of me with reckless abandon. "You feel so fucking good it hurts."

  I could hardly stand the pressure he was drawing to life inside of me. I was close. I could feel it in the way my body jolted violently. Every time he touched that tiny bundle of nerves, or ground his pelvis against my pubic bone, I toppled closer to the edge.

  "Sketch," I cried out, breathless, as his hand trailed from my clit to
grip my hip before making the journey back between my legs. His fingers grazed my stomach as they made their descent and then quickly backpedaled. I tensed. He continued to kiss me, hips still thrusting, but I could tell he was distracted as he poked and prodded my belly as inconspicuously as he could.

  I stiffened, tensing beneath his big body, as reality came crashing down on me.

  I had to tell him.

  I should have told him earlier.

  I couldn’t do it now, dammit.

  What the heck was I supposed to say?

  Oh God…

  Finally, Sketch's curiosity got the better of him and he broke our kiss. Keeping one hand firmly clamped on my hip, he slowly drew himself into a kneeling position, still thrusting himself deep inside of me.

  I watched his gaze trail down my body, knowing exactly where it was going, but I said nothing, having no freaking idea of how to drop this particular bomb shell.

  When his gaze finally reached my swollen stomach, he faltered, his hips losing their rhythm.

  "Something's changed." Brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and confusion, he flicked his eyes to mine. "Don’t take this the wrong way, but there's something in your stomach, Ro." His voice was strained, his breathing hard, as he never stopped moving inside of me. "Something hard."

  "Yeah," I squeezed out, feeling faint. "I know."

  "You do?" He stilled inside of me and blew out a ragged breath. "Oh, thank fuck for that. I was afraid you would think that I was calling you fat –"

  "It's a baby," I blurted out and then held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

  He froze above me. "What?"

  "It's a baby," I repeated, petrified of his reaction.

  His frown deepened. "A baby."

  I nodded weakly. "Your baby."

  "My baby." With his hands still clamped on my hips, he remained on his knees between my legs, with his cock inside of me, looking stunned. "You're really pregnant, Ro?"

  Another nod.

  A torrent of emotions flashed in his eyes. "You're sure?"

  Shrugging, I forced a small nod.

  "Fuck." He blew out a ragged breath. "Okay. Fuck. It's okay."

  "Is it?" I whispered, barely breathing.

  "I, uh, guess?" He looked as unsure as I felt. "You're really pregnant?"

  "I'm really pregnant, Sketch."

  "But we only…" He shook his head. "And that was over three months ago."

  "Yeah." I exhaled heavily. "I know."

  "Fuck." He bowed his head, breathing hard and fast. "Fuck, Ro, I'm so sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For doing that to you!" he hissed, gesturing to my stomach. "And look at me now, dammit –" he thrust his hips, pushing his fully-hard cock deeper inside me before letting out a pained groan, "Christ, I am such a reckless asshole." Clenching his eyes shut, he dragged in several calming breaths before looking back at me. "Okay, it's gonna be fine," he said hoarsely. "I'll be there." He placed his hand on my stomach. "I'll look after you – both of you. I'll get us out of here – take you somewhere far away from this hellhole. And then I'll get us a house, and I'll get a job, and I'll buy a ring." He blew out another shaky breath. "I'll fix this, Ro. I'll do right by you."

  Never in my life had I loved someone as much as I loved him. Something inside of this boy strengthened me. We found a love inside of each other, a connection of indestructible measures. We were fated – an old fashioned a notion, I realized, but it was true. I felt it in the deepest part of my soul.

  I belonged with Sketch Capaldi.

  In this life, and all the ones that followed.

  I reached a hand up to cup his cheek. "Sketch?"

  Trembling, he allowed me to guide his face back down to mine. "Yeah, Ro?"

  "Can you do something for me?"

  "Anything," he vowed gruffly.

  I pressed a kiss to his lips. "Keep moving inside me."

  22

  Presley

  There was a general rule of thumb one should follow when locking their newly acquainted lover in a coat room; make sure said lover doesn’t have access to the internet.

  "Yeah, that's right, you big-dicked devil, I have a fully charged iPhone with 4G connection," I grumbled bitterly.

  Using my one free hand, I dug said phone out of my pocket and furiously hunted for a remedy to the most inconvenient of predicaments.

  Scrolling through a stream of different how-to-escape-the-clutches-of-evil YouTube videos, I hit the jackpot.

  All I needed was a paperclip.

  I was locked in a freaking coat closet.

  Where the hell was I going to find a paper clip?

  Yodeling in despair – yeah, I went there – I rummaged through the pockets of random coats and jackets and could have cried out hallelujah when I found a bobby pin in one of Mrs. Capaldi's Chanel coats.

  A freaking bobby pin!

  "Oh, thank you, Jesus," I strangled out, heaving in relief. "And thank you, Olivia Capaldi, you homophobic ice-queen, for your vibrant attention to detail when it comes to your glorious, albeit unnaturally colored, locks!"

  Dutifully following the instructions of some creepy dude that vaguely resembled Gonzalez on a YouTube video, I picked at the handcuff. I did every damn thing the big, hairy bastard on the other side of the screen instructed and... nothing happened.

  Nada.

  Nil.

  Zilch.

  "Fuck my life," I wept, tossing my phone across the small space, only to immediately regret my actions. "Ah crap!"

  Not thinking twice about it, I dove towards my phone with my full weight and felt the wall give way behind me. Crashing to the floor, I was buried under a mountain of coats. "Holy shit," I breathed, wide-eyed. "Either I've gotten freakishly strong in the past twenty minutes, or the walls of this house need some serious renovation."

  Renovation, Pres.

  Definitely renovation.

  Scrambling to my feet, I moved for the door, only to halt when I noticed my hand was still cuffed to the damn railing.

  Sweet mother of Madonna.

  Trying and failing to wedge my wrist free, I muttered, "to hell with it," and took the damn railing and all of its fixings with me.

  Screw creeping out quietly; I came tumbling out of the closet.

  Not wasting another minute, I tightened the buckle of my belt with my free hand, pushed my glasses up my nose, and then hauled ass for the front door, with the metal railing still dangling from my bound wrist.

  Freezing in the doorway when I heard that seductive devil accent, I sprinted behind the old Grandfather clock and crouched down out of sight.

  "Relax. Giacobbe is doing exactly what I told him to do," Seth told the man beside him as they strolled through the Capaldis foyer like they both owned the damn place. "Like the loyal dog he is."

  I recognized the man with Seth as head of Cal's Dillon's long-running. security team. Lance something or other. The creepy Italian dude who used to follow Romi around when we were kids.

  Jesus.

  It all made sense now.

  "And the homo?" Lance demanded. "Did you put a bullet in Chris Capaldi's queer, misfit sidekick like your father told you to?"

  Homo?

  Queer?

  Misfit sidekick?

  I narrowed my eyes in outrage.

  I gave that jerk a card for Christmas.

  That bastard!

  "Already taken care of," Seth replied nonchalantly, and I wasn't sure who the bigger bastard was. "Have Raffaele and Christopher joined the party yet?"

  Lance snorted. "Yes. Goddamn fools."

  "And my sister?"

  "Escaped when we took out Toretto's guard dogs. I have my men looking for her."

  "Find her." There was a hard bite to Seth's tone. "I want her there to watch."

  "We will, sir."

  "Well then," Seth mused as they opened the front door and stepped outside. "I suppose it's time to bring Giacobbe into the mix and finish this. Once and for all. Oh, and as soon as y
ou find my sister, bring her to me."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Oh, and Lance?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Feel free to rough her up a little," Seth said grimly. "She has a Toretto growing in her belly that my father and I need gone."

  Romi's pregnant?

  No.

  Fucking.

  Way!

  "Consider it done, sir."

  Yeah, I don’t fucking think so, buddy!

  23

  Sketch

  I took her on the floor of our childhood treehouse, uncaring of the dirt and the pain. Drowning in my feelings for the only person who'd ever loved me for me, I let her love wash over me, making me whole, as our bodies joined and my heart healed up for just a little bit longer.

  When she clung to me like this, I could almost forget that we were doomed. For a brief moment in time, I could forget about the carnage awaiting us and just be here with her.

  Breathing hard, I stared down at the only girl I have ever loved, and prayed to God that I could keep her safe.

  Keep our baby safe.

  I was going to be a father.

  I'd put a baby in her.

  It was a beautiful mistake that I knew I would never regret, no matter how much trouble or pain it would cause.

  It was terrifying.

  I didn’t know anything about being a parent.

  I wasn’t shown how to do this.

  I never had an example.

  All I had in the world was a fake twin brother and the girl beneath me.

  Still, I had no regrets.

  "I'm yours."

  Fuck, she had no idea how badly I needed to hear that right now.

  I already came inside of her, set off when he came hard on my cock, but I couldn’t pull out. I couldn’t bear the thought of our bodies separating.

  Her hands came up to cup my face, causing my body to ignite in an almost pained sensation.

  It was too much.

  She was too fucking much for me.

  "I love you, Sketch Capaldi," she whispered, her whiskey-colored eyes snaring me, one blink at a time. "So damn much it hurts." Pulling my face down to hers, she pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Since forever..."