by Selena
His head snaps up, and he grabs my chin and turns my head toward him, his mouth smashing into mine and his finger pumping into me. I moan into his mouth helplessly, rocking against his hand as I bury both hands in his hair and my tongue in his mouth, tasting him and drinking him in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. He slides his hand over my hair, yanking out my hair tie and running his hands through it, mussing it until all the work I did to polish and smooth my long dark mane is erased, and it tumbles around my shoulders in wild disarray.
I don’t care. I don’t care what I look like. I lift my face and close my eyes, letting the sun bathe me in warmth while I ride his hand. Devlin stretches me open, working another finger past my tight entrance and forcing it deep, pulsing them against my walls while his palm massages my clit until I’m gasping for breath. All at once, I break apart for him, throwing my head back and crying his name as I slip over the edge.
When I open my eyes, Devlin’s watching me. My first instinct is to be self-conscious, but he’s looking at me like I’m some exotic treasure he’s never seen before, and suddenly, I forget why I wanted to hide. He’s breathing as hard as I am, his eyes blazing with lust. For me. No one else. No audience, no pretense. It’s all for me.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls. “If you’re not on your back in thirty seconds I’m going to cum right here against your ass.”
I’m still coming down from my orgasm, but I don’t want it to be over. I know this is how it ends, and I’m not ready.
I grab his collar and tug him back as I climb into the back seat. He stays with me, grabbing me before I can get situated and throwing me down on the leather seat. “God, I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he says, kneeling up and yanking his belt undone. I barely wriggle out of my underwear before he’s on me, plowing into me. I cry out and arch up, my knees tightening on his hips because it’s too much, too fast.
“Wait,” I gasp. “We need a condom.”
“You said you wanted it like the first time,” he says, driving into me quick and hard. “Shut up and take it raw.”
And god, I do want it like this. I don’t want anything between us, ever. I want him driving his thick, bare cock deeper with each thrust, breaching the tightening of my muscles and forcing me to take every agonizing inch of him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasps, gripping the top of the door with one hand as he draws back and slams his cock to the hilt inside me. I cry out when he hits my depth and a throb of pain goes through me, but I don’t pull back. I cling to him, gripping his thick shoulders and lifting my hips to receive each punishing thrust, shaking like a junkie finally getting a desperately needed fix. He goes faster, fucking me like a frenzied animal, like an attack.
I open myself for him, letting him take everything, strip away all the fakeness and drama until it’s just us, just our bodies that knew what we wanted and where we belonged long before our minds caught up. I welcome his punishment, relish the pain, take everything he gives me. I don’t want him to stop. I only want more.
Suddenly, his hand grips my throat. “I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “Don’t scream.”
“Not yet,” I say. “Slow down. I don’t want it to be over.”
“I tell you when it’s over,” he snaps.
He slams into me again, grinding his pelvic bone against my clit, his fingers tightening around my throat until my panting breaths are only gasps. “Okay,” I manage through my restricted throat.
“Should I pull out?” he asks, his breath coming quick.
“No,” I snap, wrapping my legs around his hips and my fingers around his taut forearm, letting my nails bite in. “Like the first time.”
“Every time is like the first time for me,” he says. “You’re so fucking tight I want to scream.”
“No,” I gasp, covering his mouth with my other hand. All I can think about is someone coming out and seeing us like this, fucking in broad daylight like a couple of animals who can’t keep their hands off each other, who can’t even make it to the house before they rip each other’s clothes off.
“You’re a bossy little bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, smirking down at me as he crushes into me until I can feel his tight balls against my bare ass, ready to explode into me. The sensation sends ripples of forbidden pleasure through me, suddenly, I’m so close I don’t know if I can hold it.
“Yes,” I gasp, too close to the edge for shame. “Cum inside me, Devlin. Please.”
“I could cum all over your belly and those perfect little tits.”
“No,” I breathe, arching up against him. “Please. I want to feel you fill me up. Nothing else does it. I want it all inside me.”
Devlin grinds me down into the seat “You really know how to fuck with a guy’s head,” he says. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll fill your tight little cunt with my cum until it overflows.”
Biting his lip, he grips my knees, pulling them open and pinning them wide. He arches up so he can watch his cock bury itself inside me with each thrust. I rake my nails down his chest, biting my lip to keep from crying out in pleasure and pain. His hand clamps around my neck again, and he barks at me to cum as he drives in the final time, stretching me impossibly far, his shaft thickening as cum pumps through it and spills into me. His fingers spasm around my throat, and it’s too much, I can’t take it. My nails bite through his skin and cries tear from my throat as blackness blots out my vision, my toes curl, and my whole body jerks and bows like a butterfly spread wide open and pinned through the center.
He holds me down, letting me writhe against him as orgasm holds me gripped in its teeth, the exquisite balance of unbearable pleasure and wrenching pain wrapping around every inch of my body. Devlin’s whole body jerks each time he pulses into me, pouring liquid heat into my parched core as it squeezes him over and over, sucking every drop from him as if he could save us. I can’t seem to stop even when he stills. My body is still going, waves crashing over me for minutes on end.
Only when I stop crying out do I realize how long it’s been, how rough and sore my throat feels. Devlin releases his grip and lowers down onto his elbows and kisses me, a smirk playing over his lips. “Guess you really do like it when I choke the shit out of you.”
“Was I that loud?” I ask, suddenly embarrassed for telling him to stop and then getting loud myself. But god, I needed that. I feel wrung out, and yet, he filled me and satisfied me in a way I haven’t been since the last time. Even knowing I got out of control can’t cut through the haze of bliss around me.
“I’ve never made a girl scream like that before,” Devlin says. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming or dying.”
“I wasn’t sure, either,” I say with a shaky laugh. “You think anyone heard us?”
“I think the whole neighborhood heard you.”
“Shit,” I say, unable to hold back a giddy, embarrassed grin. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I tried to hold back.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “That was fucking hot.”
“If you ever gloat about it, I will punch you in the nuts,” I say.
Devlin chuckles. “When you’re good enough to make a girl scream bloody murder, you don’t need to gloat.”
“You’re gloating,” I say, laughing and pushing at his shoulder.
“Okay, I better get my dick out of you before some gangster comes over and starts shooting,” he says, kneeling up on the seat and putting himself away. I start to sit, but he pushes me back, his gaze landing between my thighs. He swallows hard, his eyes widening.
“What?” I ask, starting to sit again.
Again, he pushes me back. “Sugar,” he breathes. “Just… Let me look at you for a minute. If this is the last time, I want to memorize every stroke of the masterpiece you are.”
For a long minute, I lay there feeling intensely, terrifyingly vulnerable while he watches his cum leak out of me onto his leather seat. I can feel the burning heat of his eyes, the adora
tion in his sweeping lust, and ache in his yearning. Warmth begins to build between my thighs, as if he’s touching me with more than his weighted gaze. Just being admired in this way brings my own desire to the surface. As if my womanhood has a mind of its own; or as if he awakened it and now it obeys and responds to his every desire without him saying a word. Whatever the reason, that part of me revels in his admiration, adores his adoration. Longing coils around my core, and I tilt my hips and spread my thighs wider, wanting his touch to ease the ache his gaze has created.
“Oh god,” Devlin groans. “I’m already ready to fuck you again.”
“Me, too,” I breathe, so relieved that I’m not alone in this raging need for him. “I don’t think the last time was enough.”
“I don’t think it’ll ever be enough,” Devlin says. “I’ll never get enough of you, Crystal.”
seven
Crystal
We’re still in the backseat when I hear a screen door slam.
“Devlin,” calls a trilling voice from his back porch, which is just across a small stretch of gravel. “Tootle-oo. You’re home early. Why don’t you come inside, darling?”
Devlin curses, holding out a hand to stop me when I try to sit. “Stay in the car until I get inside,” he says. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t see you.”
He hops out of the car without opening the door, and I lie there, my heart hammering as I listen to his footsteps crunch across the gravel drive to his house.
Shit. His mother was home the whole time. And we’re just parked in the driveway with the top down, fucking like bunnies, out in the open where anyone could see us. Hell, someone on the top floor of my house could see us. Thank god my brothers are all at school. Still, I can’t help but cringe at the thought that his mother might have heard me. She probably knows exactly what he was doing. But she doesn’t know who he was doing it with, and he obviously wants to keep it that way.
Well, that wasn’t the goodbye I wanted. But then, if I’m honest with myself, there’s never going to be a good way to say goodbye to Devlin. The truth is, I don’t want to say goodbye. I want the impossible. Something that can never happen.
When he’s gone, I put myself together as best as I can and climb out of the car, running across the lawn to our house and creeping in the back door like a thief into my own home. I’m halfway up the stairs when Daddy appears at the top.
Shit shit shit.
“Crystal,” he says, coming down a few steps until he’s almost even with me. “What are you doing home so early?”
“I… Don’t feel good,” I say, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I’m not sure what to do, or how long he’s been home, and oh my god, if he heard me, or looked out the window and saw us, I’ll just die. “And I was going to practice my cheer for tonight.”
“Oh,” he says. “Well, why don’t you go lie down for a while?”
Is he acting weird? I can’t tell. My panic is raging too hard to know if it’s him or my own paranoia.
“Okay,” I say, taking another step up. “Why are you home?”
“Construction’s been halted while they investigate the murder,” he says. “But they’ve found some new evidence, and I think they have a pretty good idea of who’s behind the attacks. It’s just a matter of making an arrest.”
“What attacks?” I ask, barely able to breathe through the tightness gripping my chest and throat.
“A couple more of our guys were attacked this week,” Daddy says. “And there’s one person who wants the construction of my new operation stopped. One person who benefits most if they succeed.”
I know who he means. Preston Darling’s father disputed Daddy’s claim on that land.
But I also know what I heard at dinner after they found a guy murdered at the site. I know how my sweet old granddad laughed in a way I’d never heard before after basically confessing. He must have fooled the detective since they let him go home. I’m not surprised. He’s fooled me all my life. And I’m betting it’s not the first time he’s lied to the police, either.
Suddenly, I feel a little bad for Preston. He has no idea what’s coming his way. My family, they don’t play around. No, they go straight for the murder-and-frame-the-enemy approach.
My father starts down the steps, and I turn to watch him descend past me. I see him as a stranger might—the broad shoulders, dark hair, and olive skin; the good looks he passed on to my brothers. He’s the same man he’s always been, the man who coddled and sheltered me from the truth all those years. But now that I know what he was doing, something has changed. He’s not my daddy anymore, the man whose attention and approval I crave above all else. The man whose time I sought so desperately, as if I had to prove myself worthy of my own father’s love.
He’s not the one who’s changed. I am.
“Dad,” I say, feeling the funny way the word stops on my tongue when I don’t add the last syllable, as I always have.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and turning to look up at me, a hand on the railing and a foot on the hardwood floor, already halfway gone.
“How involved are we, exactly?” I ask. “With the families, I mean. King told me who Mom is. Who her uncle is.” What is a parent’s uncle, really? Most people probably never even meet their parents’ uncles and cousins. It’s possible that Mom left the life when she married Dad, an outsider.
“If you’re thinking I’m some kind of gangster, I’m not,” Dad says. “I’m not a member of any family but my own.”
“Oh,” I say, letting out a small, relieved laugh. “But… Then why is King going to work for the Valentis?”
“You know, you’re a real smart kid,” he says. “You and your brother both. I tried to keep you out of it. Thought maybe you could go to college like the other rich kids do these days.”
“Uncle Vinny went to law school,” I point out.
“That’s true,” Dad says. “You know, it’s hard to keep secrets in your own house. As you kids got older, you overheard things. Maybe it was inevitable that you’d all want to dip your toes in the life. And once you dip your toes in the concrete, Crystal, it’s hard not to sink in.”
“I thought you said you weren’t in it.”
Dad squints at me like he’s trying to decide how much to tell. “I’m not a made guy,” he says. “Uncle Al thought I was better positioned where I am. He was happy to get your mother out of any kind of direct danger, but he wanted to keep her close enough to keep an eye on her.”
I nod. “And what if I’ve had enough now that I got my feet wet?”
“You got a few years before you graduate,” he says. “We’ll talk about the future then.”
“King doesn’t have a few years.”
“King, he stepped in the concrete a long time ago,” Dad says. “He’s up to his knees already.”
“And you?” I ask, swallowing hard. “If you’re not in the mafia, why are you letting King work for them? How deep are you?”
Dad sighs, looking resigned. “Sweetheart, the rest of us are neck deep if not up to our eyeballs in it.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. He gave me the answer I wanted, and yet, I didn’t want it. Some cowardly part of me wishes I’d never asked, that I didn’t know. The part that loved when he sheltered me, that never asked even though I could have all those years. The part that liked being the spoiled little daughter of a rich guy with a candy empire, not one that sold chocolate for blood.
As I lie in bed, unable to fall asleep, I think about that thing my parents always said—our blood is thicker than chocolate. It probably always meant more than I let it mean. It meant that her family loyalties, her mob ties, came before business. As hard as my father worked for his company, he always had to remember that the mafia came first. I’m sure they’ve been taking their cut ever since they handed him his first loan, the one Mr. Darling never wanted him to take.
Because, when I let myself admit it, Mr. Darling has never been anything but kind t
o us. Not exactly friendly and welcoming, but how could I expect him to be after Dad took his idea and ran with it. He was guarded when he came over to talk to Dad, but he wasn’t rude or angry or hateful. No one has ever said a bad thing about him except my own family. Dolly swears up and down he’s a great guy. Devlin would go to jail for him, and even I don’t really believe he had anything to do with Royal’s kidnapping.
What if the Darlings were right about everything? Can I blame them for not wanting our family to come rolling into town with the big guns out, ready to take down the founders of this sweet little southern town? Can I blame them for not wanting to pollute and corrupt their idyllic little community with blood money?
What if, all along, we were the bad guys?
*
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Dixie says, waving her hands in front of her face like she’s about to faint. We’re in the bathroom at the football game later that night, getting ready for our routine, which has morphed from a complicated cheer into more of a dance routine. But hey, WHPA doesn’t have a dance team, so we’re making up for it tonight.
“You’ll be great,” I say. “We’ve been working on it all week.”
It’s been more than a week, but this week, we’ve practiced it every day, and all of us committed to working at home for a few hours a night. It’s been a welcome distraction from wondering what happened to Royal, dealing with his outbursts, watching my extended family leave and realizing I never really knew them anyway, pretending things are normal, and telling myself that I don’t miss Devlin or regret what I did.
“I know all the moves,” Dixie says, her eyes widening. “It’s not about that.”
“You look amazing,” I assure her.
“You really think so?” she asks, looking from me to Dolly with such hope in her eyes it nearly kills me. I don’t think she’ll ever be less transparent, and I’ve grown to appreciate that about her. I’ve had enough fake bitches to last me my whole life. Still, her need for approval holds up an uncomfortable mirror at times.