by Marata Eros
Wordlessly, I nod, because it’s the truth.
Puck moves again, and I meet him, biting my bottom lip as he stretches me again.
A slight frown puckers between his eyes, where concern tries to grow, and I smooth the tangible anxiety with a finger.
We work together until he’s at the end of me.
Puck’s dick throbs once. “Jesus, Temp, I’m really fighting here.”
I smile.
“Witch,” he says and cups the side of my face.
Lifting my hips off him, I push back with a sliding groan, my channel catching him the entire way like a glove.
The cords in his throat stand out, and his hands grip my hips. Puck lifts me then pushes me down, sucking in ragged breaths.
When his thumb meets my clit, he feathers consistent pressure over it. A delicious sensation builds inside me, and I close my eyes, feeling only the sensation of Puck’s hands on my skin and his cock captured tightly inside my body.
His thumbnail gives a slight flick over the quivering button of flesh, and my pleasure breaks over the surface of my body. I cry out, pulsing like there’s an electric storm that can’t be calmed and won’t end.
The answering rush of his seed bathing my womb in liquid heat turns my insides to molten fire, and it’s in that moment I realize I might be okay.
That Puck might heal me. Take away the memory.
He might be the man to make the horror dim.
For both of us.
My shudders fading, I topple forward onto his muscled chest. Our breaths sync like we’re one body.
One mind.
One heart.
Chapter 19
Puck
My fingers make lazy circles on her silky shoulder. I can’t sleep. I’ve never slept with a woman.
I’ve had sex with women. I’ve just never slept with them.
Temp’s breathing tells me she’s sleeping deeply.
Gently extracting myself, I glance at the clock and see that I netted about three hours of shut-eye.
Almost three-thirty in the morning. Fucking witching hour.
I tuck the top sheet loosely around her body. She doesn’t stir. As my body shadows hers in the moonlight streaming through the window, a thick tendril of black hair covers the bridge of her nose, and I move the silky strand, carefully flicking it over her shoulder.
The gesture causes Temp’s injury to be naked before my scrutiny, and rage takes over.
I could kill that fucker who hurt her. Both of them.
The murderous thought reminds me that I need to figure out who dumbass number two was. I have absolutely no doubt the two events are related.
I know that like I know I’m standing here falling in love with Temp.
That’s why they call it falling. You never land. You just keep hurtling toward the unknown.
I walk slowly backward, training my eyes on her form until I leave the room.
I know the house like the back of my hand, and with only one LED nightlight stuck in the single electrical outlet in the long hallway to light my way, I pad to the bathroom.
I flush then consider a shower but nix the idea of cleaning the smell of our sex from my body just yet. I’ll stay wrapped in the fragrance of Temp for a while longer. I toss on the clean underwear I had set out.
Retracing my steps, I avoid all the creaky boards on the staircase as I head downstairs to the kitchen. I’m parched as fuck.
I fill a glass by the kitchen sink with cold well water and guzzle it.
Then I do something I gave up a long time ago, feeling like a class-A hypocrite. Rooting in my junk drawer, I extract a pack of cigs, and without missing a beat, I flip the top and tap the pack, disrupting the order of the neat stack of smokes.
Two pop halfway out, and I clamp one between my lips then toss the pack on the counter. Grabbing a lighter from the drawer that stands open, I walk toward the front door and step outside.
The night is cool, and I catch the screen door before it can smack the wooden frame. Padding barefoot across the broad front porch, I survey the familiar landscape. I spend a lot of nights out here, mostly without smoking, counting stars and feeling alone.
Not tonight. Tonight, I have a woman in my bed. One I want to keep.
But one niggling detail keeps me awake on my front porch and not spooning a naked Temp.
I need to tell Temp I know her secret.
Then I need to tell her mine.
I drag a palm over my face then take a deep drag from the smoke. Holy Christ, I’m almost forty, and I’m having a tough time coming to terms with a simple convo. I’m not known for being a procrastinator. Before I can dwell more, some sense—maybe a sixth one—has me turning back the way I came.
Temp stands in the doorway. She’s found one of my T-shirts, and it comes to her thighs.
I dash the cigarette in an heavy glass ashtray I leave on the porch rail then open my arms.
She walks into the circle of my embrace without hesitation. The feel of her inside my arms mixes with the vaguely sweet smell of her hair where her head rests beneath my chin. This single sensation of scent, warmth, and closeness is more cathartic than the entirety of my time with Denni.
I kiss the top of her head, and she pulls away, looking up at me. “Can’t sleep?”
I shake my head.
She frowns, and the moon whitewashes the expression as the nearly full orb sinks fast toward the horizon.
“I guess you couldn’t, either.”
Temp lifts one shoulder then lets it fall. “The bed got cold.”
We smile, easy and natural.
My gut clenches. Better now than never.
“What?” she asks, reading something in my expression.
I break the ice in a quiet voice. “I know.”
That shadow I saw the first time we were together passes across her face again, then with a caution I don’t like hearing, she asks slowly, “Know what?”
I meet her eyes. “That you were a virgin.”
Temp flinches, gaze shifting from mine.
I guide her chin back with a tender finger until our eyes meet again. “Why didn’t you tell me the first time? A man likes to be prepared.”
Temp shakes her head, retreating half a step, and my finger drops. “I didn’t know I wanted to be with you that way. It wasn’t a plan. Then suddenly—I did know. I was sure. I didn’t want my virginity to get in the way of what was going to happen, and I knew that with my age, my hymen wasn’t fully intact. I thought it wouldn’t be obvious.”
“It was obvious. I’m a guy. I could tell. I said what you felt like, Temp... and you still didn’t come clean.”
She crosses her arms, and I know I’m in for it. But dammit, we need to hash this out.
Her expression morphs to one of challenge. “And what would you have done differently?”
Fine. “For starters, I would have been more gentle.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
Frustrated, I tear fingers through my short hair. “That’s not the point, Temp. I might not have wanted to opt in to be the first one—you hearing me?”
“I hear you,” she says, voice beginning to fill with fury.
Fuck.
“I mean—I wanted to know, is all. Especially after what you’ve been through.”
Her eyes narrow. “ʻBeen through?ʼ”
I knew a heavy discussion at three in the morning wasn’t the smartest idea. Nothing good gets resolved in the middle of the fucking night, but we’d already gone there, so I needed to finish it.
“The attack,” I say in a flat voice.
“Ritchie?” she asks, clearly feeling betrayed.
“No,” I admit in a quiet voice, “the other one.”
Neither of us speak for a full minute.
Finally, Temp asks, her voice sounding mildly hopeful, “Just to be clear, you’re not talking about the second guy in the parking lot?”
And I dash that hope. “No. I’m talking about the man who raped you eight years ago.
”
“He didn’t rape me,” Temp says, fear flooding her face. “You just said so yourself, I was a virgin.”
Jesus. “Listen, Temp. It’s okay. I understand.” Man do I. “Sodomy is rape.” I already knew that, but half a year in Denni’s care has taught me a lot about violation, and sodomy was definitely rape.
She covers her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes. Temp begins to back away from me.
“Wait a sec,” I advance on her. “Let me help you.”
“What?” Temp screams at me.
I halt in my tracks.
“Is this the Sodomy Club?” Temp’s dark brows shoot high, and I notice randomly her nipples are hard beneath the thin white fabric of my T-shirt. Not from arousal. From rage.
Then her words sink like teeth into my brain. Sodomy Club? It occurs to me that she’s talking about me. And her.
My hands drop.
“I want you to take me home, Puck.” Her voice shakes.
“I’m not trying to attack you, Temp.” But now my own anger is coming online as compassion mixes with being pissed.
“So you just nosed around in my history until you could fling this in my face.” An expression of disbelief washes over her just as dawn takes its first breath, washing the glitter of the stars to muted dust motes.
“And you didn’t?” I snarl back, defeated and defensive.
“It’s different,” Temp defends. “My job allows me insights into placements.”
Oh, that’s what the history of my life is then? A fucking ‘insight’? I plant my feet wide, folding my arms over my chest, suddenly chilled by the night.
By our conversation. I feel the cruel smile and my words bite like piranhas. “And what ʻinsightsʼ did you gain?”
She leans forward, “That I thought I could trust you, the first male... since...” Temp chokes on her words.
I resist the urge to rush her, take her in my arms, and protect her from the brutal ghost of the memory that threatens her. And us.
But the expression on her face stops me.
She’s withdrawn, and I can’t force myself to put my dick on the guillotine for her to chop off. I’m just not there yet.
“Since before,” she finishes in a whisper, “then you had to wreck it by snooping into my past and finding out about that.”
“I’m not in position to just jettison into a relationship as important as this without foresight, Temp. And you know what it sounds like to me?” I jab a thumb so hard into my bare chest, it hurts. “Sounds to me like you did your own nosing.”
She gives a derisive snort. “This is where you can put your foresight, you prick.” Temp straight arms it, her middle finger rising from the middle of her fist as she rushes past me in only her stocking feet and my T-shirt.
What the fuck just happened?
Temp begins to run down the driveway, racing down the strip of grass in the middle.
“Fuck!” I holler, “Temp, wait!”
I take off after her, bare-footed.
Rocks are jabbing my arch, heels.
My hands fist as the feeling of my ineffectuality sweeps through me like a foul wind.
“Puck?”
I whirl.
Candi is standing in the yard in front of my wide, front porch steps, wearing pajamas.
“Where’s Gabe?” I ask stupidly as though Temp isn’t slipping through my fingers, running half-dressed toward the road.
“The better question,” my sister begins with deep sarcasm, “is what the fuck you’re doing running around in your underwear screaming?”
Yeah, that would seem sort of out of character. “I don’t have time to explain,” I answer in a short voice.
“Really?” Candi asks, hand on her hip.
I notice she’s got shoes on.
“Can you run and get Temp?”
“Temp? Temp?” she asks.
I blast a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Jesus, she ran down the driveway.”
Candi narrows her gaze down the driveway at the disappearing figure. “Okay, you’ll explain this to me later as to why our social worker is running down our driveway at almost four in the morning, wearing your T-shirt.”
She always had hawk eyes.
I breathe out, trying for calm. “Please.”
“This is so fucked-up.”
Yes. Yes, it is. “Just convince her to come up here.”
Candi turns and sprints.
That’s one of many things I’ll give my sister—Candi is like the wind when she runs. But since Storm broke her rib last year, I’m not sure she’s got what it takes.
It’s the longest ten minutes I’ve ever waited for anything in my life. Feels like ten years.
Finally, the women trudge up the driveway. Every instinct tells me to go to Temp.
Candi’s face comes into sight, clearly telling me not to.
Fuck.
Temp stops, and we stare over the twenty feet that feels like it might as well be miles.
How did things get this bad, this fast? I was just inside her body, loving every inch of her, while the moonlight’s hungry eyes bathed her body while she lay on my bed.
Now her body holds tension and anger where nothing but trust and passion had just been.
Candi walks up to me, leaving Temp where she stands, and says quietly, “Listen, I’m giving Temp a lift back to her place.”
My jaw clenches, and I give my sister a hard look. “Fuck, I’m not some douche,” I start in a grinding hiss. “I can see Temp back to her house.”
Something deep inside me is uneasy with Temp just being dropped off. It’s not just this monumental fucking trench of a misunderstanding. My gut’s telling me things aren’t quite as they seem. Not quite right.
Yeah, I’m fucking pissed. I didn’t get to play father confessor when I was damn good and ready. The other part was more ready than I realized. Guess it had to be the right person to hear the heartache. I thought Temp was it.
But keeping from her that I knew about the attack and all that goes with it was my first mistake.
That choice is currently biting me in the ass.
Candi places her hand on my forearm, and I want to fling it away.
But this is Candi. She’s more than a sister. Besides Perry, she’s the only friend I have. The brothers are slowly chipping away at my impressive armor, but trust takes time with me.
I look over Candi’s shoulder at Temp. She’s seen my tender underbelly. She’s got to know that I wanted to know more about her for my own protection. For the club. It is what it is, as they say.
But to Temp, my knowledge felt like an insult, a breach of trust. Temp probably believed the information would have been revealed in time, naturally, through the evolution of the relationship.
I get it.
Except she’s not wanting to resolve shit.
I rub my chest and Candi drops her hand.
“Temp needs to think about things, Puck. Give her time.”
I try to loosen that knot near my heart. Nothing works. I drop my hand.
“Fine. Fuck.”
I turn from Candi and pierce Temp with my stare. “Text me when you get home.”
Temp shakes her head.
My body lights up with protective instincts I probably have no right to own. “This is non-negotiable. I want to know you’re safe.” I swallow my pride in a single bowling-ball gulp. “Please.”
Lifting her chin, Temp finally says, “Okay.”
My shoulders ease slightly.
Candi walks over to Temp and puts her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. I’m struck that I love them both, but so differently.
I stand there in my skivvies, watching my sister take Temp back home, feeling even more alone than before.
Chapter 20
Puck
After the fifth ring, Noose answers in low voice, “This better be so fucking good.”
“It’s me.”
“I know who the fuck it is.” I hear a rustle of sheets then a mutte
red, “Shh, baby. I’ll be quiet.”
A few seconds later, Noose says, “Okay, fucker, what’s the damn problem? The twins aren’t sleeping through the night yet, and I got you calling me at the ass crack of dawn.”
Hearing a lighter flicking on, I know Noose lit up. I can just see him standing on his balcony at the condo, forearms planted on the iron rail as he surveys the awakening masses below.
The urge to have my second smoke in the space of the last five years is almost unbearable. Clamping down on the impulse, I outline what I’m comfortable saying to him, and he listens.
Though I can’t see him, I hear the smoke rings Noose shoots into the air as if I were standing right beside him.
After I wrap up my miserable tale, Noose gives a low whistle. “Nice work, ya casual.”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“Fuck yes, untie your tighty whities. I’m a brother even when you fuck things up. Look what I did for Trainer.” His grunt comes through loud and clear. “That dude was a trouble magnet.”
Amen.
“I’m bringing in Storm,” Noose says after a handful of seconds.
“No,” I breathe, voice warm with the beginnings of rage. Storm hurt Candi. Period. I understand it was part of his FBI cover, and she’s forgiven the events of just over a year ago.
But I just can’t forget.
“Ya gotta get over that thing with him and Candi,” Noose makes a leap of intuition.
“Don’t want Storm near Temp.”
“Feel ya, man. I do. But I think he’s a dude we can’t leash. And to be honest...”
Like Noose could ever be false?
“I don’t really want to harness his raw energy. He gets shit done. Fearless fucker.”
That’s what has my gut in knots. “I’m afraid he’ll smack her down if Temp plays the feisty card.”
His subtle exhale fills the phone line. “I’ll talk to him.”
I shift my weight, gripping my cell tightly. Got to trust Noose. “All right. I can’t show up when we’re on the fucking outs, but I don’t want her unprotected in the interim. Until I figure out how to make this right.”
“Gotcha.”
“Text me after he’s in place.”
A moment of weighted silence pounds between us like a silent drum.