7
Tallulah
Jorie lets her out of work early. Tired of all the fuss she starts running people off after she tells Tallulah to “get lost”. Tallulah gladly throws her apron behind the counter as she heads for the back entrance. She’s thinking about Lyric as usual, but what isn’t usual is the situation Lyric’s youthful ignorance has placed them in. Sterling Savage is a blight Tallulah has yet to recover from, and the last thing she wants is for Lyric to understand, first hand, the disappointment of a man who doesn’t know how to commit to anyone but himself. Sterling is a sickness she doesn’t want Lyric to experience. No matter how much his soul longs to know his father, Tallulah is certain Lyric is better off without a father from the Savage family.
Tallulah shouts when a hand grabs her arm, as she comes out of the back of the bar. She’s ready to sink her teeth into a yielding neck, but stops the instinct when she catches sight of Beau. Her heart thunders out a fast rhythm beneath her breast and she huffs, “Fuckin’ hell, Beau, I ‘bout caught my death.” Her palm presses to the skin over her heart, trying to calm the excessive beating down.
“Too bad.” He muses—damn near as hateful as his own daddy. Tallulah manages to contain a growl. Sterling’s family already make it a habit to call her a trashy bitch, Tallulah doesn’t need them getting it into their heads that she’s feral. “We need to talk,” Beau rumbles. More beast than man himself, she thinks but doesn’t dare say.
“I got nothin’ to say to you,” Tallulah snaps back. Crossing her arms as he presses closer.
“Well, I got plenty to say to you.” He replies, stopping a toe-length away. He stands there, silent, and Tallulah snorts.
“Awfully quiet for a fool who’s got a lot to say.” She never did enjoy Beau. Bossy, big, Beau Savage. Always throwing his small cock around like he was somebody worth knowing. “Out with it, boy,” Tallulah commands in her most mocking voice. “Or I’m gonna leave and you can say whatever it is you have to say to my big brothers. Unlike you, Beau Savage, they’re scary without even tryin’.”
It’s not often she sees Beau worried, but he does seem that way now. A fact that makes a mean grin bloom across Tallulah’s face.
“I just wanted your word that you’d leave Sterling alone,” Beau finally begins. “Last thing I want is my dad mad at my brother for something he didn’t do.”
Something he didn’t do. Rings through her mind, and her smile curves viciously. “Oh he did plenty, Beau. But don’t worry. I don’t have any intention of seeing or speaking to Sterling.” Her laugh is cruel—full of mockery—before Tallulah adds. “I got no time for a boy who is afraid of an old, bigoted man.”
She can see Beau doesn’t have it in him to defend his father. Tallulah finds his lack of conviction in his father’s decency mildly disappointing. Tallulah wants an excuse to hurt one of the Savage children the way she’s felt hurt all these years. Oh well. Instead, Tallulah says, “Go home, Beau, rest assured I don’t love your stupid brother anymore.”
Tallulah believes that assertion. She really does.
Until she goes home, and there he is. Standing like a memory come back to life.
Sterling hasn’t changed in the last fourteen years and some odd months. Not really. He’s in the same ratty jeans that have the busted out knees. Sterling’s still stomping around in the same worn hightop canvas sneakers. His jean jacket is rolled up to the elbows, with all the old band patches Tallulah remembers sewing into the worn denim of it during high school. Beneath that old jacket he wears a fitted black t-shirt.
The only thing that’s changed is the thickness of Sterling’s beard and the length of his wheat-gold hair.
Her heart—it seems—hasn’t changed either. Because it trips at the sight of him—just as thrilled as it was when she was seventeen. “Damnit,” she mutters to herself. Turning off the engine to her lime green Jeep, but she doesn’t climb out of the cab. Tallulah’s too scared to start this again. It had been dangerous enough then—when she was young and still unafraid of the world around them.
Sterling doesn’t wait for her to get out. He moves to her side—his blond hair piled into a hapless knot at the top of his head. Tallulah wants to unbind it, to run her finger through the silken length. The desire makes her heart pound harder. She can feel the heat in her cheeks when he opens the driver-side door.
His deep, smoky voice whispers, “Hey.”
One little word—that’s all it takes to chase off the years of denial. One little word and she’s as good as his again.
“Damnit,” Tallulah whispers, but doesn’t pull away when his fingers comb through the waves in her hair. The calluses on his thumbs catch over the soft skin of her cheeks as he cups her face. Suddenly Sterling’s lips are on hers—he tastes like whiskey, tobacco, and home. “Damnit.” She breathes against him when Sterling finally pulls away. Already missing the warmth and comfort of his tongue.
“Are you gonna sneak me up to your room, Miss Tallulah Rose? Or are you gonna have me in the backseat for ol’ time’s sake?”
Tallulah wants to tell him to go get fucked—but there’ll be time enough for that later the traitorous part of her mind whispers. It’s been so long since someone’s touched me right. Sterling always knew the cords to play on her body. The one’s that made her sing.
She crowds over to the passenger seat, taunting him as she moves. “Do you remember how to drive stick, or did California make you soft?”
“Just tell me where I’m takin’ you,” he chuckles, hoping into the seat.
“Somewhere no one will hear me scream.” She whispers and grins when his scent turns spicy with arousal.
“Yes ma’am,” Sterling replies, tearing out of the driveway just as Tanner comes out onto the porch to see who is there. Tallulah doesn’t look to see if he’s disappointed or angry. She doesn’t focus on anything behind them. She’s too wrapped up in the thrill of what used to be, and is afraid to slow down or stop.
If we quit now I’ll never know his touch again.
Sterling’s hand reaches for her once he’s got the Jeep on the highway out of town—heading in the direction of that hidden lover’s lane that she believes only they used. His long, skillful fingers toy at the inside of her bare thigh. Though she shivers from the contact, Tallulah knocks his hand away to lean over to his side of the Jeep. She can hear him swallow and grins as she commands, “Keep your eyes on the road.”
Opening his fly, Tallulah breathes in the ripe, heady scent of his arousal. His cock is thick, heavy and hot in her palm—looking as tasty as she remembers. Still long with a perfect curve that always reached those deep places that took her higher than anyone could. Lord knows she tried to find someone to bring her the same pleasures Sterling freely gave. Thinking it was just youthful infatuation that made Sterling feel like heaven. However, Tallulah discovered ghosts of disappointments living in the caresses of other men. Nothing sated her the way Sterling had—a specter tormenting her with memories she’d never return to. Sex lost it’s magic, and she damned Sterling those nights when Tallulah tried to fill the ache he left in her.
Tallulah puts those haunting nights behind her, focusing on Sterling now. He tastes like salt, skin, and the tang of pre-come. She hums as if it’s the most delicious delight. A treat Tallulah’s been denied for far too long. She feels the Jeep jerk as she sucks him down—pulling Sterling deeper within her throat. Until coarse hair tickles against the tip of her nose.
“Goddamn.” He mutters—low, guttural. Sterling’s need makes Tallulah throb between her thighs.
Soon.
8
Lyric
He wakes to the low hum of voices in the kitchen—whispers that make Lyric frown when he sits up in bed. The Grace family isn’t known for their quietness. They are loud, rambunctious and don’t normally believe in secrets. Or so Lyric once thought—until that damnable Tweet.
Lyric climbs as silently as he can from the bed. Creeping to the best of his ability, knowing better than anyo
ne that his family’s heightened senses are always working against him.
Lyric shares a fraction of those senses. So after every subtle movement he pauses—straining to hear if they’ve stopped speaking—hoping against reason that he can outsmart their abilities. Lyric catches words every now and again—Savage, damn, gone—nothing much because he’s still young and not trained in his gifts.
Just a little bit closer, he thinks as he moves steadily closer to the kitchen.
The old step, down into the den, creaks causing all conversation to stop. Lyric can feel the tension rising like a fog in early morning. From his grandfather’s voice Lyric hears worry in the form of his name.
“Yeah,” he calls back, trying to keep his own voice steady. Hoping they can’t sense his disappointment.
“Breakfast is ready.” Merle calls, a fraction of his usual warmth returning. “Come on in and get you a plate.”
In the kitchen, his uncles are sitting at the table. This is the most Lyric has seen his uncles together, in his grandfather’s home, outside of a holiday. Each of them nurses a cup of hot black coffee. Judson is in his work shirt, the smell of the river strong in him even though he’s yet to leave for the day. Tanner is shirtless, checking a bite he got a few days back from one of the gators that he farms with Merle.
The day seems normal enough, but something is clearly wrong—each of their jaws is tight and twitching. Muscles jumping in their cheeks from the force of how hard they clench their teeth. The aromas of eggs and bacon don’t tickle Lyric’s senses—rage is the most potent scent in this room.
“Big day planned?” Merle asks him when he sets a plate in front of Lyric.
“Was supposed to go help Miss Jorie clean the bar before it opens, but where’s Mama?” He suddenly notices Tallulah’s absence—her vibrance is a void around them.
A void that seems to grow as the strange and tense atmosphere around them thickens. No one answers, they just continue on as if he hasn’t spoken and Lyric frowns.
“Where’s Tallulah?” He asks with more urgency.
“She…” Merle trails off, looking to Uncle Jud then to Tanner with a lost expression.
“Well,” Uncle Jud falls silent after that lone word. He too appears unsure. His scowl ages him, and he could be a dead ringer for Merle when the man was young.
“For fuck’s sake,” Tanner explodes from his end of the table. “He clearly knows, Jud.” His calloused, suntanned hand gestures towards Lyric. “He sent the Tweet, so tell him the truth.” Tanner pushes out of his seat, and begins pacing the kitchen in an agitated way. Usually, he saves his rage for the world outside of these walls. Another thing Lyric’s Tweet broke in this family—Uncle Tanner no longer appears safe or secure in their home.
“Tanner.” Merle sighs, as an old, winkled hand smoothes over his face. “Now’s not the-”
Tanner cuts him off, “If not now, when, Merle? When?” He’s angrier than Lyric’s ever seen him. In the three days since his Tweet they’ve not mentioned anything to do with Sterling Savage. They also haven’t treated Lyric as if he’s rocked their fragile world. Now it’s all crumbling and the words are finally being said.
“Are we supposed to wait on Lula? We’ve all seen how well she deals with shit.” Tanner slams a hand against the tiled counter, breathing heavily through his nostrils. “She buries it deep then acts like nothing ever happened. Then it all comes out later, like now, as a massive mess she’ll leave for us to fix.”
“I-” Lyric tries to interject but Judson interrupts. Standing up to argue with Tanner.
“You shut your damn mouth, son,” he seethes. “This ain’t your place.”
“It’s someone’s.” Tanner growls back, his sharp teeth bright in the morning sunlight that streams in through the window. “And no one is talkin’ so it might as well be me.”
A blink and Judson is at Tanner’s throat—his hand wrapping around the strong, tan column of it as he shoves Tanner against the fridge. “I told you with my mouth, boy. Keep talkin’ and I’ll tell you in a less friendly way.”
Lyric sits still, eyes widening with fear as he watches a small bit of blood slowly drip down the side of Tanner’s neck.
Merle is the one who breaks the tension. “Let him go, Judson.” A command Judson immediately heeds, dropping Tanner with a disgusted glance. “Tanner, finish your coffee.” Merle continues, then at Lyric he adds, “Eat up, son. Miss Jorie will work you hard.”
Again they just continue as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing happened in the last few minutes, and Lyric wonders if all families are as open yet secretive as his.
Most unsettling is when his bleeding uncle laughs and agrees with Merle, “She sure will. But the bonus is she’s easy on the eyes. Always seems less tiring when you work hard for a pretty lady.”
Judson nods in agreement, grinning as they both take a seat back at the table. Picking up their coffee as if it’s another, boring, Saturday. All of them acting like nothing strange is happening here, as if nothing is out of place.
Tallulah, come home…I don’t know what to do or what to feel.
Mama, I need you.
Lyric’s never been much for praying. They go to the church on Maple—the Catholic church where they are always trying to scare the pro-life into people. A church where despite their desire to save the unborn children of the earth they view children like Lyric—ones born out of wedlock—as bastards. They sit as a sinful family, in the back pews, while the priest tells them about God and damnation and all other macabre things. Lyric recites the words, kneels on the bar, but he doesn’t believe in anything. The motions all feel empty.
Only thing he’s ever believed in is his family. Lyric believes in Tallulah most of all, or he did before the discovery of that old trunk in the attic. The one full of secrets his mother buried but couldn’t burn.
9
Tallulah
She wakes to the sun shining over her closed eyelids. A soreness spreads through her lower back as she sits up from where they lay tangled in the back of her Jeep. “Mmmm,” Sterling groans, stirring as Tallulah disentangles herself from his warm arms.
In the light, she can see him better than she could when it was night. He’s the same and different. Sterling is still tall and slender, but he’s bulkier than she knew him in youth. Biceps more pronounced with a few ropey veins in his thicker forearms—lightly she traces those veins, a thrill traveling through her at the feel of him. He’s got more tattoos now, Tallulah notes as she explores his body. One on his collarbone—his mother’s name. One on his chest—a girl with long dark hair, centered within a moon, with a wolf coming out of the back of her head.
Subtle. Tallulah thinks, even as her throat tightens with emotion. When he stretches she sees the old, cursive words she penned for him in the only love letter she’s ever written. There they are inked forever in the tender, underside of his bicep.
Love you most,
Tallulah Rose Grace
She shakes her head, unmindful of her nakedness as she stares out at the thick trees that surround them. The cool, muggy morning air caresses against her when a soft breeze comes through the rolled down windows and Tallulah doesn’t want to leave this sacred world.
A safe world.
One where only they matter.
A foolish desire that can never be achieved she realizes when her phone vibrates. It’s Tanner. Because it’s always Tanner when her life starts falling apart—ever the darling brother there to remind her what a fuck up she is.
You better get your ass home. Lyric is asking questions and Jud’s about to get my foot in his ass.
Questions are something neither the Grace family nor the Savage family are fond of—both families full of the silly notion that they can raise up kids to accept what they are told. Tallulah knows for a fact she’s always asked questions, she knows Sterling did too, and she shouldn’t have expected less from Lyric. Another regret to add to the growing list of them, she supposes.
Tallulah gla
nces back at Sterling; where she finds his hazel eyes open and watching her. A small half smile on the mouth she kissed raw just hours before.
“Mornin’, Miss Tallulah,” three words and she’s his again.
Damn the consequences.
Sterling pulls her to him, his mouth a welcome distraction from the worries of the world beyond this Jeep.
“I’m here.” He whispers against her mouth when he stops kissing her deeply. “Just look at me, Lula.”
That’s what got us here the last time. She thinks, but doesn’t heed her own warning as she climbs over his naked lap.
“I’d rather feel you.” She whispers into his warm, fragrant neck. Tobacco, leather, and a hint of weed mixed with that natural masculine musk. A bouquet Tallulah craved for years, like an addict she tried to drink it down in the form of others. Though none of them ever smelled quite right.
Only Sterling.
His voice is full of desire when his speaks against her ear, “Feel me then, Tallulah Rose—I’m still yours to have.” Sterling’s cock is hot and hard at her opening. Tallulah is still wet and dripping seed from the night before—they were never good at being careful—allowing Sterling to ease right in. Drawing a gasp from Tallulah’s throat as he groans against her.
“God,” he murmurs, “I missed you.”
“Me? Or this?” Tallulah asks with a taunting grin as she rocks onto him, bringing him deeper and harder into her willing body.
“Fuck.” Sterling groans and she bites her lip—stifling a pleased smile.
“That’s the idea, lovey. That’s the idea,” praise Tallulah husks as she speeds up her slow pace.
The Grace of a Savage Page 4
