Clusterf*@k (Life Sucks Book 4)

by Elise Faber

  He crossed to her, knelt by the side of the tub. “Hi,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. “Have to say that I like where your hands were before, baby.”

  “What?”

  He reached into the water, fingers circling her wrist, pressing a kiss to the finally-bared skin, and gently set it on her breast, squeezing it rhythmically until she clued in and took over, massaging herself, thumb brushing over the sensitized tip. Then he grabbed the other hand and placed it back between her thighs.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  He pressed down slightly, guiding her fingers unerringly to her clit, his fingers joining hers to circle it the way that had her squirming immediately, more moisture flooding her pussy. He stroked through her folds, leaving her to her clit, and then slipped a finger inside her.

  “Chance?”

  “Mmm?” he asked, that finger sliding in and out of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Finger fucking you while you touch yourself.”

  Matter of fact words said so baldly it took a moment for her to process them. And when they did, it felt as though her bath water had ratcheted up a thousand degrees, heat flooding through her.

  Her hands froze.

  That finger inside her curled up, and she gasped as sparks flashed behind her eyes.

  “Keep moving, baby, I want to watch you come.”

  “Carter—”

  He bent and nipped her nose. “Not loving you talking about my brother when my fingers are inside you, Cloudless.” His mouth tipped up when she gaped at him. “But he’s gone. Took off when I got here.”

  She relaxed. “You said fingers.”

  “Mmm?”

  “You said my fingers are inside you,” she murmured. “But you only have one finger inside me.”

  A pause. A wicked grin.

  Then he slid another inside. “Easily fixed, Cloudless. Now move.”

  She moved. He moved. His mouth found her ear, her jaw, her mouth, her throat. He kept stroking. She kept stroking, one hand on her clit, one on her breasts.

  And when he bent to suck one nipple into his mouth…she shattered.

  Gloriously.

  She was still coming when he scooped her out of the bath, still coming when he propped her on the vanity top and thrust inside her, still coming when he found his own orgasm.

  By the time she came back to reality, it was to find herself cuddled against his chest, Chance’s ass on her plush bathmat, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his arms wrapped around her.

  Fuck, that was good.

  Not just the sex.

  But Chance here on her bathmat. With her in his lap.

  It was even better when he scooped her up and carried her to bed.

  It’s too bad,” she murmured, much later, their naked bodies intertwined as they relaxed in bed, “that the space next to Tangled has been leased. It would be nice to have you next door.”

  He grinned.

  She pushed up on her hands, suspicion trickling through her. “What?”

  Tracing circles on her skin, casual as can be, he said, “Well, I may have forgotten to tell you something again.”

  More suspicion. So, brows dragging together, she asked, “Forgot or didn’t?”

  Sitting up and bundling her close, he said, “Didn’t.” A squeeze, probably because he could feel her go stiff as a board. “Mostly because I only got the confirmation yesterday, and then we were fighting about your cast, and then we were fucking about your cast, and I was on the road most of the day.” He smoothed back her hair and she felt herself soften, mostly because the gentleness in his green eyes made her go all squishy inside. “But I’m telling you now that it’s good you think it would be nice to have me next door because I’m going to be next door.”

  It took her a beat to process it.

  Then she realized what he’d said. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really.”

  “That’s so cool. We can carpool from here together and still have our mornings.” He usually made her coffee and got her some variety of baked goods from the bakery so she didn’t get tired of cinnamon rolls (not that she seriously thought she could get tired of cinnamon rolls, but variety wasn’t a bad thing necessarily).

  Then she realized what she was saying and assuming.

  “I mean,” she hurried to add when he opened his mouth, “you could totally be doing your own thing. I know that space has an apartment on top”—and despite his being at her house and having moved out from his apartment in Atlanta, he hadn’t really brought more than a duffle bag, some work files, and his laptop to her place over the last six weeks—“so if you’re going to stay there, then I’ll just see you around and…”

  He placed a finger over her bottom lip, silencing her. Then stared at her, those emerald eyes dancing. “I’ll just see you around?” he asked.

  She winced.

  Yeah, that hadn’t come out right.

  “I—”

  “I’m happy to stay in the apartment if you need space,” he said, cupping her jaw, “but I’d rather be here with you, Cloudless. I think I’ve made it clear that I’ve waited my whole life for a woman like you.” He tugged a lock of her hair, lightly, not painfully, and God, she loved when he did that. Because he always smiled at her just like he was smiling at her in that moment—like she’d hung the sun in the sky. “I just didn’t want to assume that you’d be open to me moving in, since it hasn’t been that long we’ve been together.”

  “Thinking of me,” she murmured, oddly touched.

  “Always,” he replied.

  “Well, if all the thinking gets me my way, then I vote for you to move in here.”

  His eyes went warm. “You good with that?”

  Still thinking about her.

  She snuggled closer to him. “So good with that.”

  “Good,” he said, amusement clinging to his voice, “because all my shit is in my car.”

  Misty froze.

  Then started laughing as she pushed off his chest. “Well, let’s put this naked arm to good use and go get it.”

  He caught her around the waist, tumbled her back on the mattress.

  “I’d rather put this naked body to good use.”

  His mouth came down to hers, his fingers slipped between her thighs, and…she decided the boxes could wait until morning.

  22

  Apologies

  Chance

  “Mmm,” Misty said.

  Which was pretty much his favorite sound ever, though he had to say, he preferred it when she was naked rather than when she was eating pancakes.

  But they were pancakes he’d made her—from scratch—so he was feeling plenty prideful. He was expanding his breakfast cooking abilities.

  And making her a second helping, spooning batter onto the griddle, just as the doorbell rang.

  He moved to set the bowl and ladle down, but she stood, her plate clean except for leftover syrup—and a large puddle of it, because the only way to eat pancakes was to drown them in syrup. “I’ve got it,” she assured him, crossing to him, kissing him on the cheek, then striding out of the kitchen.

  He finished loading the griddle, started watching the bubbles on the backs of the cooking pancakes, and waited to hear voices in the hall—expecting their siblings or her friends or one of the multitude of visitors who’d made it their business to check up on her over the last weeks.

  But he didn’t hear voices.

  He heard nothing.

  His nape prickled. He dropped the bowl and ladle to the counter, turned off the burners, and took off for the hall.

  But his foot had barely made it into the space before he heard Misty scream.

  Turning the corner, sprinting toward her, he saw someone in the open door, watched her scramble back and fall on to her ass. He was next to her in a second, lifting her up and shoving her behind him, putting himself between her and…Todd Hanover.

  What. The. Fuck?

  He pulled his phone out
and dialed 9-1-1, lifting it to his ear at the same time as he told Todd, “You need to leave. Now.”

  Todd put his hands up, palms out, and he stepped back but didn’t vacate the porch.

  Chance wanted to beat the fucker within an inch of his life for daring to be on Misty’s property. But Mist didn’t need to see that. She needed to feel safe, and she wouldn’t feel safe if he lost his shit and started wailing on Todd. Even if the asshole deserved it. Thankfully, before Chance lost control, the operator picked up and he explained in a rapid clip what was happening, asking them to send a unit as quickly as possible before hanging up.

  Because what wasn’t happening was Todd leaving.

  Instead, the sick fuck was staring at Misty, his face pale, his hands still out.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Chance growled, stepping to the right, deliberately cutting off the fucker’s view of Misty.

  “Misty,” Todd began. “I just want to—”

  Chance lost the hold on his temper. His woman was behind him, and he could practically feel the air rattling around her, she was trembling so hard, her breathing was so loud and rasping. He moved forward, hating that he heard Misty cry out, grabbed Todd fucking Hanover by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the outside wall of the house. “I don’t give a fuck what you want. You don’t come here. You don’t knock on her door. You don’t see her.”

  “I—”

  “And I know this is a fucking violation of your bond,” he snapped, shaking the asshole like a rag doll, “and because of that, I’d be well within my rights to put another fucking bullet in your gut just for being here on her porch, refusing to leave when asked. But I don’t hurt women or scare them, and I won’t do that to her because she’s had enough fucking nightmares about you.”

  Todd went paler, his hands out at his sides. “I just wanted to a-apologize—” He tried to look around Chance, searching for Misty. “I was messed up and out of my mind, Misty. I hurt you. I’m sorry—I just didn’t want you to live thinking that I was coming for you and—”

  Chance’s grip tightened and he shoved Todd harder against the wall. “Except you did come, asshole. You’re here. Violating another safe space for her. Hurting her again.”

  Todd’s eyes closed. “I fucked up,” he said. “I was fucked up. Desperate for my next fix, not giving a shit about anything but getting high. I—when I woke up in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed and remembered what I’d done, I wanted to die. I deserved to die. I’m…well, I’m clean now and going to stay that way, and I’m going to serve my time and when I get out, I will never, ever darken your life again, Misty.”

  Sirens blared.

  Tires screeched.

  Footsteps echoed across the concrete.

  The officers took over, handcuffed Todd, and brought him to the squad car. Chance made sure Todd was secured then moved back to Misty.

  She had tears in her eyes, glistening on her cheeks, and her skin was pale, her breathing still heavy.

  But she was on her feet, the other officer standing next to her, and her gaze was on Todd being shoved into the back of the police car.

  “Cloudless,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He just brought her close, held her tight, and looked at the officer.

  “We’ll come back tonight for your statements.”

  Nodding his thanks, he guided Misty into the house, closed and locked the door, then swept her up into his arms and carried her to the couch. She was shaking, but so was he. Because, fuck, it would be so easy to lose her, so easy to not have all this in his life. Easy as opening a door. And maybe he should fucking run, take off and distance himself from this feeling of helplessness and rage and terror, maybe running was the safe call.

  But he was in too deep.

  He couldn’t have left even if someone put a gun to his head.

  He didn’t want to leave.

  So, he held her close, smoothed back her hair, ran a hand up and down her spine, and got his own shit under control.

  “He won’t come near you again,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  “I know,” she said, and it didn’t process at first, but then it did. Her voice was steadier than his. He was the one shaking, not her, not any longer. And when she cupped his cheeks and straightened, looking deep in his eyes, the tears were gone, her skin was no longer pale.

  “Mist?” he asked.

  “I’m okay. I-I—it was wrong for him to come here.” More steady. More calm. Her hand stroked his chest, gentling him.

  Gentling him.

  Seriously.

  “But I believe him,” she continued. “I—he didn’t look like the man from that night, his eyes crazed, his face a freaky mask”—a shudder—“he looked like a normal man, and one who wanted to make amends. I can give that to him, give it to myself.”

  She laughed, and it wasn’t quite as bright as normal, but it was laughter.

  She was laughing after a man who had hurt her showed up on her porch and tried to make amends. And Chance believed him, too. He didn’t want to think anything good of that fucker, but if Todd fucking Hanover gave Misty some peace, then he could live with that.

  Especially when she laughed quietly again and said, “It’s easier to give that to myself when I know he’s going to be in jail for a while.”

  Then she brushed her lips to his, wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed. “Thank you for stepping in.”

  Chance froze, any words he’d hoped to give her stoppering up in his throat.

  Because fuck, she was amazing.

  Fuck, he was proud of her.

  “I love you,” he murmured, “and I am so fucking amazed by you.”

  She straightened, her eyes soft. “I love you, too.” A beat. “Now, not to be dismissive of that shit-show on the front porch, but I really could use some more pancakes.”

  He stilled.

  His lips curved.

  He busted up.

  Then he got on making more pancakes.

  “These are amazing,” his dad said, cramming in another of Misty’s cupcakes—his third, for those who were keeping track.

  Ben Jackson, former FBI agent, expert at undercover work, and complete and utter chocoholic.

  If his dad hadn’t loved Misty before for being so awesome to Soph during her initial move to Stoneybrooke, for being Rob’s—who was a good guy down to the marrow of his bones—sister, this would have taken the cake.

  No pun intended.

  Well, maybe a small one.

  And clearly happiness was melting Chance’s brain. Because though he’d hardly slept the night Todd fucking Hanover had shown up at Misty’s place, wanting to be ready to jump in if she had a nightmare, she’d slept like a baby.

  Okay, not a baby—or at least not like him as a baby, since he’d apparently woken up every hour on the hour for the first year of life—and that had been the first thing his mom had decided to share before the guys and girls had split up, the girls to discuss all things baby (the story his mom shared being the first of that, and the main reason the girls and guys had separated to their respective corners), the guys to drink and consume as much food as possible.

  Hence his dad shoving cupcake three in his mouth.

  And chasing it with a beer.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” he said on an exhale, rubbing his stomach—which was flat, because even though his dad was older, he still kept himself in good shape. “And totally worth the extra miles on the treadmill.”

  “That they are,” Chance agreed, helping himself to another—only his second, since Mist had made him an entire dozen that she’d stashed in their fridge at home. Thinking of her made his eyes go to her, same as they’d continued to find her during the barbecue, over and over again. She was laughing and beautiful and fuck, he loved her.

  He’d moved his boxes into her guest bedroom after the excitement of two days before and before they’d gone down to the police station to give their st
atements.

  Misty had held it together through them, had finally seemed at peace.

  And yes, Todd’s bond had been revoked, and he’d bought himself a couple of additional years in lockup.

  Good for Misty.

  Chance didn’t give a fuck what it meant for the asshole, other than it meant Misty got a few more years to breathe easy.

  “I didn’t think you’d get here.”

  His dad’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

  “What?” he asked, turning to glance up at him.

  “Didn’t think you’d be able to make yourself vulnerable in the way it takes to love a woman,” he elaborated.

  And that was not where he thought this conversation was going.

  Chocolate to vulnerable enough to love.

  “I know my injury fucked you up,” he said. “And I’m sorry for it.”

  Those were words Chance had heard before. His family wasn’t much for keeping things in, and when it was clear he’d been hit hard after his dad had gotten hurt, was struggling when he went back to work, his parents didn’t just pretend it was a phase or something he’d get over. They got him in to talk to someone, and they sat in his room and had numerous conversations to check in with him.

  As a preteen, he hadn’t loved those conversations.

  As an adult male, he found he loved them even less.

  But he got the point his dad was making—namely that Chance had expressed interest in Misty from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, that he’d fallen hard and fast, that they’d gotten serious quickly, and now he was living with her in her house and having arguments about splitting the mortgage, insurance, utilities, and property taxes (which they’d been bickering over—Misty saying she didn’t need help with it, so he should focus on setting up his office, and him saying he could easily do both and if he was staying with her, it wouldn’t be on a free fucking ride—when they’d walked into his parents’ house earlier that afternoon).

  “I can’t say it didn’t shake me,” he told his dad. “You were a superhero to me, and superheroes aren’t supposed to get hurt. I saw Mom…saw how it affected her, how scared she was, even though she was trying to hold it together, and I never wanted to put a family through it.”