The bartender has stopped making drinks. I can hear him exhale behind my right shoulder. We both watch the Hazel show, breathing a little harder as she spins herself around the pole, spreading her legs as wide as she can. Those shoes flashing red, her red lips are licked by her tongue, making them wet. Glistening.
I’m glad Hazel kept her bra and panties on. I didn’t want to see her naked. Not yet. She slips that dress back on, and the man leads her away like some kind of dog owner. She’s allowing herself to be owned. It’s hard not to stalk behind them. I can see Hazel’s tension stiffen her spine ramrod straight. She doesn’t like me at all.
There is no eye contact between us, nothing as I walk by. She knows I’m here, and that’s all that needed to be said. For now.
The cab ride is short back to the hotel. Traffic blurs; lights are too bright. A sinking feeling settles in my gut when I open the door up to my room. The box sits on the bed, waiting for me to fill it up with Kennedy’s things. A gut pain folds me up before it goes away and I can stand straight again.
This could be another bad choice in a long line of bad choices, but somehow it feels right. Needed.
The red dress is first to be put in, air sealed with her pillowcase so Kennedy’s scent never fades away. I gave the twins every piece of her clothing when they were born to wrap around them, so they could smell their mother. When the scent faded, I threw it out and used a new shirt or pants, anything that held her scent. After a few months, nothing was left but the red dress, and I couldn’t let go of it. Until now.
Red bra and panties that she never wore but were in her underwear drawer. They smell of her, and I seal them up as well. Her makeup I threw out except for the red lipstick that she would wear at times when she didn’t go downstairs. She loved makeup but refused to wear it after a while. She stopped caring about herself, and when I stopped feeling sorry for myself, it was too late for her to want to care about anything.
A simple note on the top of the pile.
Hazel,
No other scents on you but hers. See you at seven.
Cash.
Jazz music plays low in the lobby as I wait for Hazel to come back from her evening adventures. The box is at my feet while I sketch a picture for the new coloring book, but once I’m done with it, I start to draw her. My hands can’t stop interacting with her in some way, even if it’s drawing her silhouette, the bridge of her nose, her simple smile.
It’s three a.m. by the time she comes back. She’s not as made up as she was in the club; her hair’s messy, her walk is sloppy, and she looks to be in some form of pain. She doesn’t notice me while pressing the button for the elevator.
Right before the door closes, I slide in, and that rancid look comes back to her face. I press the floor number, and she swipes her card. Penthouse.
“Wolf, I’m tired. I need to go to bed.” Whiskey lingers on her breath, and blood is smelled on her skin. There’s suffering held in her eyes.
“Me too. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time now.”
She sneers with eyes that maul. “Why?”
“I needed to make sure you got this. It’s for our date at seven.” I hand her the box. “I have instructions in there what I want you to do. I expect them to be followed.” My eyes don’t waver from hers.
She leans into me, box touching my waist. “Are you sure about this, Wolf? You might not like what’s waiting for you when I open the door to greet you at seven. It won’t be her standing there smiling. It will be me.”
“I understand that, Hazel. I just want those directions followed. I’m paying for that.” Pushing pointed words into her, she doesn’t flinch.
The elevator dings, the door opens, and I step out.
“Make sure to ask the front desk to let you up. I’ll tell them I’m expecting you.” The door closes, I go my way, and she goes hers.
Letter 12
Cash,
We never got the chance to undress ourselves, did we?
Don’t be afraid to undress yourself in front of someone special, who will appreciate the way your bones are nicked. You’re not broken, just ruined. There’s a big difference.
It’s hard at times to look at you because your pain echoes inside me. It hurts. You hurt—we both hurt for different reasons—but it’s still pain.
I woke up earlier than you today. Your cock was pressed against my ass. Rock hard and hungry. But you never make a move between us. I know your body aches for me. I can smell it on you when you think I’m still asleep in the morning and you have your nose pressed against the back of my neck. Inhaling. Your desire stretches at the insides of me. I ache sometimes for your cock, I do. Surprised, right? It would feel good to be filled up, to hold onto your neck, your arms as you fuck me.
Our first time together doesn’t really count, does it? We were angry at each other, you more so than me. I still can remember your face when I got out of that place and showed up where you were. I would have never been able to get out and track you if we weren’t mates. You’re able to draw and I’m able to hunt. So weird these talents we pick up from the other.
You grabbed my arm and started to drag me back, and I stopped you with a hand on your chest. You didn’t really want to take me back. I could see the bulge in your pants; you were panting and dripping. I’ve never experienced that kind of smell before, the leaking of a male wolf. I’m already getting wet thinking back on it.
I put my hands on you for the first time not to hit, but to feel you, and you let me, reluctantly, but you let me feel your chest, and I felt you shake underneath my hands. I couldn’t stop myself when I rubbed you through your jeans. I knew exactly what I was doing, and you, you had no chance against what I was doing. Those hormones drive you to do things you never thought you would ever do.
You told me how wrong this would be, that you needed to take me home, but my hand was there making you stay in your spot. You never had a female’s hand on your cock before. You had plenty of opportunities, but you always would make some sort of excuse to those females.
My hand kept all your excuses quiet that day, didn’t it? You wanted to protest, but your cock was rebelling against your mind. Your cock won for the first time, didn’t it?
The power shifted, didn’t it, Cash? I brought you right there to the edge, and then stopped and we collided together, all teeth and blood. Not a proper kiss, we never had one of those, but fuck, it was hot. I will give you that; we were all a gnash of teeth and tongues and so so angry. Both of us.
I bit you, and you bit me right back.
You turned me around because I told you I didn’t want to see your face when you fucked me. That was a lie, but I wanted you to be as angry as I was. I had no control, and in a way, I stopped all your control too. That made you angry, so you pressed me against the wall and tore at my pants. I wasn’t wearing underwear and you lost your shit, didn’t you?
It was so long since I had sex that when you rammed inside of me I swear I thought I would split open, and all the nasty things you said—I lost my shit too. I came so hard that you had to hold me up off the ground with your cock so far inside me I swear I could gag on the tip.
You wanted to fuck Clayton out of me, and in that moment, you did. I couldn’t think of him. All I thought about was you and how our bodies fit perfectly. How your hands were so rough and my skin would remember every spot you held. It was like our bones were trying to find each other.
I bit my way along your arm and you left your mark across my shoulder. You fucked me with this insane anger, and with every thrust, I could feel you getting closer. I knew we were going to create something inside me. I didn’t want it to stop no matter how much my mind wanted it to stop. My lust was too much to overcome. After you came, you stopped. You just stopped as if your head cleared, and you told me to get dressed, but you couldn’t get out of me. Your Wild knotted himself up inside me and we were forced to stay together.
I shifted my hips and you groaned. What a fucking sound. I can still hear
that sound in my dreams. You took me again, rougher than the last time. I swear I thought I was going to split open, but I didn’t give a shit. All I wanted was you inside me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting out.
You took me with my hands pressed against the wall, and I was on my tiptoes, and those things you were saying, how you felt me come, that I didn’t come that good for him. Fuck, you bit me again and again and again. It wasn’t gentle, it was all anger and malice, and I loved every fucking minute. I felt you come; I felt every single squirting pulse inside me.
Still, the Wild would not release me, so we fucked and fucked until I thought your heart would give out. When the door opened up and your parents looked at us as if we were doing something wrong, I wanted to crawl underneath you. Instead, you put me behind your back and told me to get dressed. We didn’t see each other again until my heat died down, and when I saw you, I laughed in your face.
I lied to you, Cash. I lied and lied because I was upset with myself. I felt a lot of guilt because Clayton and I promised each other that there would be no others for us. We would be each other’s first and last. Even though you were my mate, I felt as if I were cheating on Clayton. I felt sick and wanted you to feel sick too. I wanted to torture you. I managed to do a really good job of that, didn’t I? The awful things I said, I didn’t mean it, Cash. I didn’t mean all of that. I wanted you to hurt. I needed you to hurt so I wasn’t hurting alone.
That was about me. It was about me understanding how easy Clayton will be able to be with Rya if he gives himself the chance. I knew I’d only be a memory for him, eventually, and inside I was twisted up about it. Nothing good was inside me then, Cash. I blocked everything good up inside me so only the shit could spill and spew out of my mouth. Clayton was going to forget about me, and I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle everything that happened, and you were there to take everything I could give you. Deep down, it was also me understanding that Clayton would become a memory for me the longer I stayed with you.
I’m sorry.
I just wish that things were different between us. I’ve silenced you, haven’t I? You can’t even really talk to me about anything because you think I will judge you, so you think it’s better to keep quiet than open your mouth and talk to me. It’s the same for me. I want to talk to you, but I just don’t know how.
You put the cribs up today. I watched you work, and when you were finished, you had this smile on your face. A big proud smile that made you look like a juvenile wolf who just caught his first rabbit. When I didn’t smile back, you lost that smile, and I should have said, good job—something, anything—but I didn’t, and you walked out of the room with something throbbing inside your chest.
Sometimes I don’t know how to say thank you. The words get stuck in my throat, and I can’t seem to say anything, so I stay silent. I’m quiet around you because I don’t know what to really say to you, how to talk to you. What can we say that needs to be said? We both are weaved so tight into our skins that I don’t think we could really undress ourselves to the other. So I’m writing as a way to show you my bones. It’s not pretty. I’m not beautiful on the inside, am I?
Your insides are still good, Cash. They aren’t twisted and blocked like mine; there’s hope for you. Don’t let this keep you twisted up or blocked from experiencing the life you should be living. I’m going to be the story you tell our children. Be kind to my memory with them. Kids need to feel like their mothers are good wolves, not some evil villain that gives them nightmares and fucks up their entire lives up.
Kennedy
Chapter 13
Grief-eater Consumes Regret
This is not another bad choice, I keep saying over in my head as I try not to loosen the tie that feels like a noose around my neck. The flowers smell sweet. They were her favorite flowers to draw. Kennedy learned how to sketch the wildflowers first before she moved onto more complicated things. It was the first thing I drew that felt right after her death.
Room service has left, and I count to three before knocking on the door. This is not a bad choice. When the door opens, it’s hard not to freeze up.
She’s dripping in red…
“You look beautiful.” Stepping into her space, she smells exactly like Kennedy. Another inhale and I could stand here all day with my nose buried into her neck pretending. But this isn’t about pretending; this is about good-bye.
“These are for you.” I can’t stop staring at her eyes; they look exactly like Kennedy’s, except without the hurt.
It’s a quick kiss I press against her lips, and she tastes exactly like Kennedy. I can’t stop tasting my own lips now, with her scent on them.
“You look good, Cash. Please come in.” Everything smells like her; everything in this room smells exactly like Kennedy. The low light plays tricks on my eyes, and I see the illusion of Kennedy smiling at me with red lips. Not Hazel.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for you.” Hazel makes it easy to forget she’s here and I’m now with Kennedy. I drop the small bag near the door for later.
“No, I don’t mind.” She turns, leading me into a room where dinner is set up. Through the window, the city lights bleed into the night. The food is formal, elegant, and everything that Kennedy always wanted to try. Red wine is in the decanter.
“What’s your Wi-Fi password?” She tells me, and I put on Kennedy’s playlist through the system the penthouse comes with.
Pulling out the chair for her to sit, I tuck her into the table before I take a seat. I can’t stop staring at her. I can’t stop seeing Kennedy sitting across from me. She smiles, and I know this is all right. The pretend is all right for now.
The wine pours smoothly into her glass, and I pour myself one as well. She waits until I’ve put the first piece of steak into my mouth before she takes a bite.
“We never had room service together. I never bought her flowers. This is something that I have always wanted to do for Kennedy.” A confession without judgment by the female sitting across from me. She listens while taking a few sips of the wine.
“Why didn’t you?” She searches my face.
“Because I was a stupid little weak wolf.”
“Were you a juvenile when you met her?” She’s trying to give me an excuse. I have none.
“No, I was full-grown but very stupid.” I choose not to look at her, but out the window at the casinos with billboard neon lights that are too harsh for eyes that want to de-focus.
“Aren’t we all sometimes?” She takes another drink, no judgment. Nothing but a soft smile that takes away the tension of my shoulders.
“I just wanted to have a nice dinner with her. I wanted to show her I could be a wolf she felt proud of on her arm. I wanted her to love me more.” My confession is felt in a tear that drips from the corner of my eye.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Sorry.” I wipe my eye before cutting into another piece of steak; she drinks more wine.
“What happened?” Her body leans into the table, a glass of wine held in her hand. No opinion on her face. She seems neutral, safe even.
“I found her, but she was in love with someone else. Someone better than me, stronger than me, someone who gave her everything she needed to reject me. I just wouldn’t take no for her answer. So I forced my mark on her in a ceremony that meant nothing at the time. That dress you’re wearing is something I think she would have worn at a proper mating ceremony in our pack. You look beautiful in it.” The glass of wine does nothing to take away the dryness from my throat, so I put the glass down.
“How long were you mated before she died?”
“Not even a year. My mark faded so fast that I don’t even really remember what it looked like.” My hand drifts to the spot where nothing remains.
Those eyes stare into mine. “Can I kiss you the way I have always wanted to kiss her?”
Her brows furrow. “You never kissed her?”
“Not the way she should have been kissed by me.” I can�
�t face those eyes and have to repeat that this isn’t a bad choice before I can pull my head up and look into those eyes again.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask as nicely as I can. I need to move; I can’t sit here anymore.
“Of course.” She waits for me to pull her chair out and take her hand to help her out. She lets me lead.
“I’ve never danced with her.”
Hazel says nothing back. She just sways with me with her arms around my neck while I close my eyes and inhale. It’s now Kennedy that I’m holding; it’s Kennedy who is allowing me to lead; it’s Kennedy that I feel underneath my palms. Her body moves with mine.
“Can I kiss you?” This is Kennedy I want to kiss…
“Yes,” she breathes.
Holding the back of her head in my hand, I tilt her lips to mine. She keeps her eyes open, and I keep mine open as I touch my lips to hers. Gentle, slow, nothing like what we shared before. There are no teeth, no blood, nothing but lips on lips.
Can she taste my tears?
Her smell is there through my tears, her smell is there through my sobs, and her smell is there for the pain. Arms hold me through this, and I can taste her tears now.
I taste her scent on skin, I taste her along her neckline, and I smell her scent on hair.
Her chest presses into mine. I can feel the press of her body. My body wants to press itself into her.
“Tell me what you want, Kennedy?”
“I want you, Cash.”
Inhaling. Inhaling. Inhaling.
The sound of the zipper pulls down her dress, my hands all over her curves, eyes not leaving her eyes. The dress comes off.
Closing my eyes, letting my tongue taste her. Suck her flesh into my mouth, leaving the impression of teeth across her collarbone.
She gasps. I feel her tremor in my arms.
Picking her up, face to face, I kiss her all the way to the bed with eyes open.
My tongue enters her mouth, and she opens wide for me. She feels soft and light; her chest crushes against my chest. My balls pull up. Fuck, I’m hard.
Cassius (The Wildflower Series Book 3) Page 11
