To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden starts playing in my mind, and I have to shake my head a little to make it stop.

  “I think this show is so interesting,” Traci says, distracting me from my thoughts. “I mean, I know it’s an obvious observation, but I just love how the Rose’s went from being snobs who were obsessed with getting their money and their lives back to being fully immersed in making it all work in this ridiculous town.” My head turns and I watch her side profile closely. “I guess I just like it. I love people who are adaptable. You have to be, I think.”

  I nod slowly, captivated by what she’s saying.

  Until she faces me and asks, “Is that what happened to you?”

  My teeth clench as I quirk a brow. “You mean, did I lose all my money and wind up living in town run by a bunch of lovable hicks?”

  She smiles and nudges my shoulder. “No. You know what I mean.”

  Of course I do, but I honestly don’t think I’ve ever talked to Traci about my past. I’m sure she knows the sugar-coated version, from Damien or Ophelia. But the details are rather jarring, and it’s not something I particularly enjoy reliving.

  “Yes, I adapted. I had to.” I focus on the little flecks of green around her pupils I’ve never noticed until right now. They’re subtle, and it reminds me of the jade in the bracelet I gave her. The one she’s wearing right now. “You either accept the pain and learn to live with it, or it destroys you.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me the way I’m staring at her. I see her chest rising and falling with her breaths in my peripheral, but I can’t take my eyes off hers. Their beautiful; glittering. Like Lia’s were, only somehow more vibrant. Big, bright and enchanting.

  “How many foster families did you live with?” She asks softly, not prying or even empathetic, which I have to admire and appreciate.

  One of the main reasons I hate talking about my past is because it has a tendency to make people give me looks. Like they pity me.

  I don’t need anyone’s pity. I burned that shit down a long time ago.

  “Four,” I tell her, bringing my gaze back to the TV, though I’m not really paying attention to it now. “The first took me in when I was a baby. I lived with them until I was about six, but the wife committed suicide and her husband couldn’t do it without her, so I was sent to a group home until they found my next family. I stayed with them until I was ten. Junkies, just fostering for the tax money. Child services eventually found out and transferred me to the next. They were nice. Dirt poor, but still. They cared. I aeally liked them…”

  My voice trails ,and I swallow hard, blinking it away. “I was only with them for three years, and then I went to the last one. By far the worst.”

  “How could it get worse?” She gasps these words and my chest caves, but I’d never let her know about it. Her fingers trailing along my neck and jaw somehow make this grim retelling a bit less painful.

  And sure, I’d love to stop talking about it, but for some reason I want to tell her. She’s very truth- eeking, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’ve known her for so long. EW ilethis Traci is new to me, I still know her. She’s like a friend I’ve had for eighteen years, who I just finally met in person.

  “My last foster family was a woman who worked three jobs to make enough money to survive, and a man on disability who just drank,” I tell her. “They were both alcoholics, but the wife was functioning. The husband was a drunk,piece of devastation to the human race.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.,Bbcause moving in with them was actually a blessing in disguise. They lived near your grandparents’ house. I mean, semi-near. So that’s what brought me to Damien’s high school. And then I finally had a friend. My first real one…”

  Traci’s fingers stop tracing my jaw ,and I clear my throat.

  The Damien cloud is now hovering over us, unbearably suffocating. I know she feels it too, but I think she’s much more determined to ignore it than I am.

  “What happened to the good parents?” She asks, and for a moment I have no idea what she’s saying. My eyes slide to hers. “The family you liked.”

  My heart sits heavy behind my ribs, as if it’s being weighted down, like a brick in the sea.

  “They died.”

  “How?”

  “Traci, I don’t really want to talk about this.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “Let’s just watch the show.”

  Exhaling swiftly, I lie down on the couch, hoping to distract her from all her probing questions by tugging her next to me. It seems to work, because she cuddles up in front of me, grabbing my arm and slinging it around her waist so that we’re spooning.

  We’re fucking spooning. Why am I letting this happen?

  Why does it feel so good?

  I sigh and play with her hair while we watch the show, each in our own heads. Traci hits the pen again and I settle in, allowing this theoretically chill moment wipe away the terribleness that always comes with talking about my past, especially Three.

  As much as I was fighting it before, I’m having a good time. Maybe Netflix and Chill isn’t so stupid after all. If it’s with Traci.

  With my fingers absentmindedly twirling in her silky hair, I barely notice when she hits the pen then turns her face, grasping my jaw and pressing her lips to mine. Before I can react, she blows the smoke between my lips and I have no choice but to inhale. I hold onto it for a moment then breathe out, all the while giving her an icy glare that she seems to like. She grins bright, then she bites her lip.

  “That was so sexy,” she chuckles out that infectious little sound that gives me more of a high than the drugs she just force-fed me.

  “Not funny, Little Trick,” I scold, though I can’t deny how much more relaxed I am, almost instantly. I cluck my tongue and frown. “Why does that taste weird?”

  She giggles again, this time slightly more devious, but says nothing, simply spins in my arms, nestling up good and close. Her eyes have a wicked twinkle to them, and her pupils are dilated like crazy. They’re barely even visible.

  My body is fuzzier than weed usually makes me, especially after one hit. I feel like I’m floating in a cloud of Traci. Her smell is everywhere, like a picnic in a flower garden on a breezy spring day.

  I blink a few times. “What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing,” she lies, walking her fingers up my chest, holding a small hand over my heart. “Relaxed?”

  I nod slowly, my eyes dropping to her lips. They look damn good. When have lips ever looked that good? I remember one time at least…

  My head shakes out that thought. “You drugged me. There was more than weed in there.”

  She laughs quietly again, but doesn’t deny it. I want to be offended but I can’t produce the needed chemicals in my brain to concoct the emotion known as anger. I’m certainly more docile than normal; like a tamed lion.

  And I really want to kiss her again. It felt so good the other times.

  Jesus, she turns me into a horny teenager. It’s not right.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  But…

  I lick my lips, and she gazes at them the way I’m lusting after hers.

  “Watch the show, Trix,” I mutter, spinning her back around before we do something bad.

  I didn’t come over here to hook up with her, despite what my dick seems to think, and how it might look to anyone else on the outside. I want to, desperately. That’s what Netflix and Chill is, after all.

  But I need to fight harder not to get so swept up in her. What happened in the shower the other day was bad. We can’t just be doing things like that all the time, for the mere fact that she’s my best friend’s daughter. I can’t allow this to keep growing into something uncontrollable.

  She huffs in protest of me moving her, and not kissing her, but adheres to my command as we go back to watching the show in silence for a bit.

  Calm has draped over me like a blanket. I’m not sure what she has in that pen, but I doubt it
’s anything too hardcore. Plus, it’s not like I’m some kind of prude. I’ve definitely done my fair share of drugs, back in my partying days. You know, before I turned thirty.

  Traci’s still basically a kid. She’s eighteen, sure, but that’s also not the time when people typically settle down. And she’s a stripper. She probably gets up to all sorts of bad stuff.

  The sudden thought of her hooking up with other guys comes at me like a Mack truck, running me off the road of my otherwise pliant musings. There’s a sickening feeling slinking through my gut, like indigestion mixed with rage and a dash of despair. This is jealousy? God, I hate it.

  I need to reverse my train of thought to get rid of it, because it’s making me want to puke or scream. So I go back to thinking about the drugs, a memory of a night on molly weaseling its way into my mind once more.

  Snow outside and heat inside. The smell of cinnamon.

  Traci’s ass smooshes my crotch, cementing me in the present, where I’m holding her hand while she rubs her butt on my dick through my jeans. Wait, when did we start holding hands?

  Nuzzling my nose into her hair, I sniff until I feel the vibrations from her humming. Her hips rotate while she grinds into me, massaging my dick in a way that’s stiffening it up nice.

  “Traci. Stop,” I grumble at her, no longer watching the show, but watching the skin on her shoulders. It’s so smooth and soft… Perfect for biting.

  “Stop what?” She asks innocently, wiggling her perfect peach of a butt into my growing erection until I grunt.

  “We can’t do this tonight,” I protest, making no move to back away, not that there’s anywhere for me to go since we’re nestled up on a couch that’s too small for me to begin with.

  “Why not?” Still rubbing her ass slowly on my crotch, the friction heating me and the surrounding air

  “You know why,” I breathe.

  She spins in my arms again so she’s facing me. “This is stupid. You came over, Lazarus. You obviously want it. You want me.”

  Placing a delicate kiss on my rapping pulse, her fingers tease their way underneath my shirt. They dance and tickle along my abdomen, and it feels so good that my own hands drift to her butt to cup it, giving a gentle squeeze.

  “That’s not the point,” I continue to argue, though my eyelids are fluttering shut as her lips explore my neck. They’re soft and full, and when they kiss my skin ,it’s like being kissed by a marshmallow.

  I want to taste them again… Suck on them and bite them a little. Fuck, it feels good. Why do I want to kiss her so bad?

  “Because there is no point.” She scoots in even more until her front tucked snugly against mine, tits pushing into my chest.

  I exhale out of building lust, and a need I didn’t even know was there, snaking a hand up her back. She writhes into me, kissing my jaw then going for my lips. But I pull away, fighting it with everything I have.

  We can’t do this again. I didn’t come here to do this… Did I? I’m so confused. I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m doing anymore.

  “Just one small kiss,” she pleads, breathlessly, over my mouth.

  “Traci…” I shake my head the dam about to burst. I can’t let it.

  “Please, Lazarus,” she whimpers as her toned body moves for me, desperate and needy and so damn hot I can’t stand it.

  My heart thumps behind my ribs, my cock hard and yearning for something like what we did the other day in the shower. I want to take from her, and I know I’m not supposed to.

  It’s wrong. But it feels so fucking good.

  “We can’t,” I rasp, hating my words with everything in me.

  “Don’t you want me?” The quiet insecurity in her tone breaks something inside me.

  “Of course I fucking want you,” I growl, squeezing her ass hard and yanking her so she can feel my cock, thick and full and trying to break free from my pants just to be near her.

  “Then why can’t we? Just a little.” She lifts my shirt a bit, scratching my abs with her nails while the other hand tugs at my hair. “I want it so bad, Lazarus. I’m aching for you.”

  A breathy groan escapes me while my cock weeps in my jeans. God, she’s so sexy. And every ounce of her want for me makes me want to give up everything for her, and it’s so fucking fucked up.

  Because I can’t do that. I can’t give up my relationship with my best friend. If he finds out, he’ll never speak to me again. He’s literally all I have in this world, and he has been for twenty-five years. I can’t hurt him.

  I’m being torn apart. It feels like someone’s ripping my heart in half with their bare hands.

  “Give up the fight…” Traci whispers on my lips, and the memory bounds back to the front of my brain…

  It’s so warm inside the room. I’m burning up.

  Fingers grasp my jaw. “Give up the fight, Laz…”

  “I have to go.” I squirm away from Traci fast, scrambling off the couch.

  I jump up and rake my hand through my hair, struggling to control my breathing.

  “Please don’t leave,” she begs from the couch, but I refuse to look at her. Mainly because I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with leaving, but also because I’m not sure what I’ll see when I look at her and I can’t do this anymore.

  I have to go.

  “I’m sorry, Little Trick,” I murmur, mind clouded with a hazy fog of memories and new feelings, mixing and confusing me down to my core. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Rushing to the door, I leave fast before I can change my mind, feeling stupider and weaker with every step I take that gets me further from where I know I want to be.

  With her.

  But I can’t.

  I climb into my car and drive away without looking back. And once I’m securely tucked inside the quietness of my vehicle, I finally allow my mind to drift back to that January night.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lazarus

  Twenty Years Ago…

  It just started snowing.

  Snow in New York City is beautiful until it gets annoying. Fortunately, we haven’t had much this year, so I’m not sick of it yet. But ask me in a few weeks and we’ll see where I stand.

  The girl I went out with tonight, Kelsey, clutches my hand so she doesn’t slip and fall in her high-heeled boots as we walk the three blocks from the bar we were at to my apartment.

  Kelsey goes to NYU with Damien, Ophelia and me. She’s not in any of me or Day’s classes, but Lia knows her and swears she’s cool, which is why I agreed to go out with her tonight. Plus, she’s really hot and has big tits, so the decision wasn’t a tough one to make. This is our last weekend of freedom before break is over, and we decided to celebrate with some fun stuff to warm us up from the cold.

  Damien and Ophelia were out at the bar with us earlier, and we all took a little molly. Theirs kicked in fast, and they were all over each other, so they left to go back to the apartment and be alone. That was less than an hour ago, but Kelsey and I decided it was time to bounce, too.

  There’s only so much kissing and secret touching you can get away with in public before it’s time to take the hyperactive sex-drives home.

  We reach the apartment and I yank Kelsey up the stoop, opening the front door with the key while she shivers beside me. I turn to her and lick a snowflake off her lip, to which she giggles and presses her boobs into me.

  It’s going to be a good night.

  My vision is sharp and colorful as we enter our building and push through the door to Day’s and my place. The second we step inside, we’re hit with the heat from our aggressive radiator, and the smell of the cinnamon candles Lia loves so much. Kicking off our shoes, I slither out of my coat, then take Kelsey’s off while she kisses my neck and does that earlobe-sucking thing I like. The zing that goes to my cock is magnified, and it’s like there are a bunch of loose butterflies swarming my stomach.

  Our coats wind up on the floor, and I grab Kelsey’s face to kiss her while she u
ndoes my pants. We make our way to my bedroom, a tangle of lips and tongues and hands in hair, desperately pawing at each other because it all feels so damn good right now.

  I’m electrified and ready to devour.

  But before we can make it into my room, Ophelia pokes her head out the doorway of Damien’s room and grabs Kelsey by the arm, tugging her inside. The two of them giggle hysterically for a minute and I follow, taking a second to look around. It’s dark in here, except for a few of Lia’s lit candles and the glow of whatever’s on the TV with the volume muted. It might be porn, but I can’t focus.

  Damien is lying on his bed watching his girlfriend with a curious expression on his face. He’s wearing only his jeans, interestingly enough since I thought they left the bar to come here and fuck for hours and it doesn’t appear that they’ve done that. Not yet, anyway.

  “Do you feel as good as I do right now?” I ask, anyone in the room who wants to respond, then stumble over to Damien’s bed, plopping down at his feet.

  Kelsey and Lia are still holding hands, whispering about something, while Damien watches them, and I watch him. I really think this molly has me twisted up.

  “I feel so fucking good right now,” Lia whispers, crawling onto the bed and bringing Kelsey with her.

  So now all four of us are in Damien’s bed, which is a king, but still. Limited space.

  Lia straddles Day and starts kissing him, so Kelsey crawls over to me and gets on my lap to do the same. Kissing on molly feels sublime. It’s like the passion is amplified and you can see yourself from outside, as if you’re watching a movie.

  It’s pretty hot in here already, but now that the four of us are in the same shared space, I’m heating up like that clanking furnace. Tugging my shirt over my head, I toss it, then go for Kelsey’s, unbuttoning, all the while tonguing her down like it’s my job.

  I can feel Damien and Ophelia next to us, kissing and grinding and panting, and it’s making everything so much hotter around me. Kelsey loses her shirt, and when I peek over at my best friends, I notice that Lia is completely topless. I swallow hard and close my eyes for a second, because I’m not sure if I should be seeing this.