by Roxie Noir
I can tell that I’m bright red, but I swallow hard and take a deep breath.
“I quite liked... what you were doing,” I say.
I’m not great at talking dirty, but Gavin laughs softly into my ear and twists the side of my thong around his fingers, teasing me and pulling it tight.
“I’m glad, because I’ve got every intention of doing it again, and very soon,” he says, a smile in his voice as he kisses my neck below my ear.
He moves his other hand to my neck, then the pad of his thumb to the hollow of my throat before tracing my collarbone with his fingers, sliding them down my chest and underneath the very first button on my shirtdress, then over each button, all the way down.
I’m biting my lip, and my eyes go half-closed, heat spreading outward over my skin from the path his finger’s traced.
“You drive me crazy,” I whisper.
“Good,” he murmurs back.
I lock eyes with Gavin, his fingers still under the band of my thong, and undo the top button on my dress, dragging my fingers through the opening to undo the second button. I undo the third and now he’s watching me, pure hunger lighting his eyes as I lean against the window, undressing for him slowly.
When all the buttons are undone, I hold my breath and untie the belt, shrugging the dress off. I know I’m nearly naked in front of a giant window, but it’s dark, the room lit mostly by the moon and Los Angeles itself.
Gavin grabs me by the hips and pulls me in, away from the window, and holds me tight against him, his enormous erection against my belly.
“How the fuck am I supposed to make it to the bed?” he says.
“Do you need to?” I ask, slipping my hand between us and squeezing his hard length through his jeans.
He kisses me hard, his tongue in my mouth, his cock practically throbbing against my hand. I don’t care about making it to the bed, not at all, and I tug his shirt off over his head, his muscles taut in the low light.
“We should at least try the bed,” he says, and before I know it he’s scooping me up and carrying me the ten feet to his enormous bed, king-sized at least. I bounce slightly when he tosses me on it, and then Gavin’s already on top of me, my legs around his hips.
“See?” he says. “This could be a fun new thing for us. Beds.”
Without waiting for an answer, he kisses my neck, my throat, the spot above my belly button. I know exactly what’s about to happen and my toes curl in anticipation before he even pulls my thong off. He pushes my thighs apart, sucking on the inside of one.
I’m soaking wet. His mouth still on the inside of my thigh, Gavin puts one fingertip directly on my clit.
I gasp, tensing, curling my fingers through his hair, and he slides his finger down slowly, between my lips but not inside me.
It’s pure torture, and he knows it. He’s watching me, watching every reaction my body has to the things he does to me, and he knows I’m set to explode at the slightest touch.
“You’re dripping wet,” he murmurs, his mouth so close to me that I can feel his voice buzz.
“I know,” I whisper.
Not sexy, but my mind’s a blank, and I swallow.
“Please,” I gasp, and I’m not even finished with the word when he flicks the very tip of his tongue across my clit.
I grunt.
He does it again, then again, so slowly I want to scream, stroking my lips with his fingers at the same time. I unclench my hand from his hair before I pull a handful of it out as he licks me, slowly and lazily.
I’m gasping for air, my whole body tense, as I gradually get closer and closer, bit by slow, tortuous bit.
Then, when I’m just on the brink, both my hands clenched in Gavin’s bedspread, he stops and I’m left there, panting for breath.
Seconds later he starts licking me again, his tongue moving faster this time, and he slides his fingers inside me at last as I arch my back and groan while he strokes me and licks me at the same time.
I’m at the brink again before I know it, nearly screaming, and he stops.
“Keep going,” I whimper. His fingers are still inside me but he kisses me again on the thigh, the hip, the belly. I get my bra off and he laps at one nipple, sucking it between his teeth, as he starts moving his fingers in me again, stroking my sensitive inner wall. I moan, arching my back.
And he stops. Of course. I nearly scream in frustration, and he climbs over me, his body between my legs, kissing me hard even though I can still taste myself on his lips, his erection rock-hard and insistent against me.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I whisper.
Gavin laughs, nuzzling his face against mine as his hips rock into me. I roll mine against him, the hard length of his erection firm against me.
“Marisol, I’m going to make you come so hard you forget where you are and what decade it is,” he murmurs into my ear.
White heat clenches inside me. I’ve got both hands on his back and I can feel the muscles there tense as he rocks against me again, his hard bulge against my clit. Then he moves back, standing from the bed, both hands on his belt as he undoes it and unbuttons his jeans.
I sit up on the edge of the bed, watching him. He moves slowly, watching me watch him, snaking the belt out of its loops and tossing it away. Before he can push his jeans down, over his hips, I reach out and grab him by the waistband, pull him toward me, and press my lips to the hard muscles in his chest, my palm flat against his erection.
Gavin groans, and I give him a firm squeeze before I finally push his pants off, his cock springing out. He brings his mouth down to mine as I stroke him once, root to tip, slow and hard.
I want him now, so much I’m nearly trembling, the empty ache inside me threatening to take over. The temptation to guide him inside me right this second is dizzying.
He breaks the kiss. He leans over, grabs a condom out of his bedside drawer, kisses me again. His tongue doesn’t leave my mouth as he pushes me back against the leather headboard of his bed, my legs still around him as he pins me on top of him.
I’m half-undone, my breath coming in ragged gasps as he grabs my hips in his hands, pulling me down, the length of his cock rubbing against my clit and lips.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he whispers. “It’s fucking unholy, Marisol.”
“Then quit teasing me,” I murmur, rocking my hips so he rubs against me again, because God it feels good, my whole body overheated and too sensitive.
I want him now. I want to just slide him inside me bare so I can feel him skin-to-skin with nothing between us. The foil packet crinkles as Gavin goes to tear it open, but instead I put my hand over it.
“How long have you been clean?” I whisper.
His hand tightens into a fist around the still-wrapped condom.
“Twenty-four weeks on Wednesday,” he murmurs, locking eyes with me. “Nearly six months.”
I swallow hard and put one hand on his face, my thumb tracing his bottom lip.
“And you don’t... have anything?”
There’s probably nothing less sexy that I could say right now, but a slight smile lights his face and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of my wrist.
“I don’t,” he says. “But Marisol, it’s—”
“Don’t use it,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine for a moment, and I feel like my heart stops beating.
“I want you inside me bare,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Please?”
“Jesus, fuck yes,” he breathes. “But Marisol, it’s not—”
The sentence turns to a low groan as I guide him to my entrance, back arched, because I can’t take this any longer. The head of his cock pushes between my lips, and for a moment, he pauses, like he needs to collect himself.
Then Gavin pulls me down in one hard, deep stroke and my brain just about shuts off. I think I whimper, my eyes closed, but he fills me so perfectly that I feel like I can’t even move or I’ll come flying apart.
He h
olds me down, cock hilted inside me as he rocks back and forth.
“I fucking live for that noise,” he says, his voice low and rough, his fingers digging into my hips so hard I’ll probably have bruises.
“What noise?” I gasp.
He rocks again and I bite my lip, moving my hips to match him because right now, the tiniest motion is indescribably intoxicating, like he could push me over the edge with a single thrust.
“The noise you make when I first enter you,” he says. “This primal groan as I slide my cock in that sounds as if it’s all you ever wanted.”
Gavin shifts slightly, pushing me harder against the headboard as he thrusts, somehow going even deeper, and I gasp again, my fingernails digging into his shoulders.
“You’re going to shred me to ribbons,” he says.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
I unclench my hands, but the moment I do he thrusts again, hard and deep, hitting every single spot inside me so perfectly my toes curl and I grab him again, another moan escaping my lips.
“I didn’t say I minded,” he says. “You can tear me apart completely if it means fucking you skin-to-skin like this.”
“I can’t help it,” I murmur. “You feel so good I lose control.”
He kisses me and we keep moving together, slow and deep, even though I want him faster and harder. I crave letting him push me into this headboard and take me mercilessly.
It’s not what happens. Instead he drives me completely out of my mind without ever speeding up, even though I’m whimpering and moaning, my nails probably opening gashes in his back because I’m on the brink and he won’t let me dive off it.
“You’re fucking beautiful when you’re about to come,” he whispers.
He thrusts again, a little harder and faster, and I moan, my eyes half-open as I reach up with one hand and grab the top of the headboard, something to give me leverage.
“Just don’t stop,” I say, the words barely audible.
He thrusts again, burying himself hard this time, and I feel as if parts of me are starting to crumble, like this feels so good I might just fall into pieces.
Gavin’s hand snakes up my arm and his laces his fingers through mine, holding it there.
“Not a chance,” he says, and drives himself into me again and again, squeezing my hand like he’s hanging on for life.
“Gavin,” I whimper, and then I get hit by a tidal wave. I come so hard I feel like I’m drowning, tossed up and down as it breaks over me in slow motion and breaks me to pieces. I don’t even know which way is up for a moment, but I think I might be shouting. I might be shouting Gavin’s name.
I come up for air, still feeling adrift and tossed, and Gavin’s got his face in my neck as he hammers himself into me, so I squeeze him between my legs as hard as I can.
“Fuck, Marisol,” he shouts, and then he comes, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he spends himself inside me, saying my name over and over like he’s chanting it.
We stop moving slowly, our hands and bodies still locked together as an insane, possessive feeling steals over me.
It’s the feeling that right now, no matter what, he’s mine and this is mine, and it can’t be undone. That I’ll always have this, and it’s beautiful and perfect and pure, and only the two of us will ever know or understand.
It’s almost overwhelming. Almost.
Gavin murmurs something into my neck that I can’t hear. He lowers our hands, still locked together, to our sides.
“What?” I murmur.
He kisses my neck, then my lips, but he doesn’t say it again.
39
Gavin
I don’t tell her again. The moment I said it I knew it was too soon, that it was better to let that moment be perfect and whole and beautiful the way it was.
So I stay quiet, and I kiss her again, and I feel like time has stopped and the world has slowed and there’s nothing else but the two of us.
As we drift off, Marisol nestled against my shoulder with my arm around her, she reaches across me and runs her fingers down the inside of my other forearm. She plants her fingertips and then circles them around a few spots, slower and slower until she stops, finally asleep.
Track marks. Very old ones, from before I blew out those veins and had to move on. I see her looking sometimes, and when she thinks I’m asleep she sometimes runs her fingers over the scars like she’s reminding herself of them, but she’s never asked. I’ve told her she can, but she hasn’t.
I fall asleep slowly, like I’m being washed out to sea.
I come awake all at once, my eyes snapping open and my body going rigid before I even know why I’ve woken up but I lay there, tense and listening, every hair on my body standing.
Then I hear it: the door opening. The beep of someone punching a code into my alarm system, muttering curses, punching the code in again.
Please be a burglar, I think, but I fucking know better and I slide out of bed as quietly as I can.
Marisol stirs, her eyes opening just a sliver.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper, pulling on my jeans.
She seems to accept this. Her eyes drift closed again, and I steal for my bedroom door, closing it firmly behind me.
Liam doesn’t even look up at the sound of the door shutting. He’s leaning with his forearm on the wall, head planted on that, and just from the way he’s sagging I know he’s wasted again.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, the air out of me. Not now. Please, God, not now, not while Marisol’s here. Anything but that.
“Fucking cock-arsed fuck numbers,” he mutters, the glow of the panel lighting his face as it beeps again.
I race downstairs, heart pounding, every beat saying not now, not now.
“I forgot the bleeding code,” he says as I come downstairs. Instead of answering I push him out of the way and punch it in myself, the panel turning green and blinking the time, 5:18am.
“You can’t be here,” I say, keeping my voice low.
He leans against the wall again, moving like his joints are all a little loose. There’s still a bandage wrapped around the arm that he used to break the window, though the bandage is dirty and looks like he’s been scratching at it.
In the back of my mind, an alarm starts going off.
“Fuck I can’t,” he says much too loudly, as if this is a joke. “I am, aren’t I?”
“You said you’d gone back to rehab.”
Liam just laughs, and the sound is somewhere between a hoot and a high-pitched giggle, unhinged, and unnerving.
“I thought you’d have a laugh at that,” he says, pushing himself off the wall as he scratches absent-mindedly at his arm. “You know, like we used to? Rehab’s for quitters, mate.”
I recognize this mood of Liam’s. It’s Liam’s come-down mood, after he’s been high for a while — cocaine, booze, maybe pills, God knows what — and it starts to wear off, when he gets ugly and vindictive, sets things on fire, goes out and crashes cars.
“Get out,” I say, forcing my voice to stay low and calm because I know from long experience that anger will just fuel him.
“I’m sorry I came in past curfew,” he says, a nasty edge in his voice.
“Get the fuck out, Liam.”
Liam just laughs, then turns, stumbling, and starts walking for the kitchen.
“Leave the palace,” he says to no one, his voice a high-pitched mockery of mine.
I lurch forward, grab his good arm and yank him back. He stumbles again, tripping into the table behind him where my junk mail’s sitting.
“It’s not a fucking joke,” I say, anger flaring inside me, my grip tight on Liam’s arm as he tries to turn away. “Now get—”
Behind him, the mirror balanced on top of the table wobbles, then begins rolling.
Before I can even move it rolls off and crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.
We both stare at it, mouths open, for a moment. Then I take Liam and haul him toward the
front door as he starts laughing again, stumbling along.
“That’s seven years, mate,” he says, giggling. “Maybe now you’ll get all the shit—”
I step on a shard of glass and it slices into my toe. I unhand Liam and stop, grinding my teeth together so I don’t shout.
“It’s started,” he says. “Bloody hell, that was fast.”
Then he stops talking for one blessed second as I try to get the glass out of my foot in the dark, dripping blood onto the floor.
“Hello,” Liam says suddenly.
My head snaps up.
Marisol’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, barefoot with her dress on again, staring at Liam open-mouthed.
No.
“That’s why you didn’t want me coming home,” he says, the nasty edge back in his voice. “You should have said something, mate.”
“Liam, just go,” I say, still standing on one foot, my toe bleeding.
“Liam?” Marisol says.
“Meant to sneak in past curfew but forgot the bleeding security code,” he says. “I did remember my key this time, though, got in through the front door.”
“He’s drunk and he broke in.”
“You have a key?”
“Course I’ve got a key, I live here,” Liam says, then looks over at me. “Did Gavvy fail to fucking mention that?”
“He needed a place to stay,” I say desperately, as if that can possibly explain.
Marisol’s staring at Liam’s bandaged arm. I feel as if a piano’s hanging above me, ready to fall.
“You broke the window,” Marisol says, her voice quiet and strangled, still staring at Liam.
Then she looks at me, tears in her eyes.
“When you got that call you knew it was him,” she says. Her voice is shaking, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “In the hotel room. After we... God.”
“You’re the fake girlfriend,” Liam says. “Is he actually sticking it to you?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and step gingerly on the floor. There’s a sea of broken glass between me and her and I start navigating it, leaving smears of blood where I’ve been.
