The Bronze Garza

by S. Ann Cole

“No,” I breathe, my heartbeat spiking with anticipation.

  With a strained groan, he shifts up to meet my eyes. “You’ll get hurt.”

  “No more than I’ve already been hurt.” I turn my head to sink my teeth into his bicep. Then rock my hips as I bring my eyes back to his. “I’m not afraid of your hurt, Torin Garza.”

  “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” It’s a statement. “Resilient. Mouthy. Foolhardy.” He kisses me swiftly. “Pain in my ass.” Another kiss. “A fucking wet dream.”

  He cups my face, and I tip my chin up, preparing for another kiss. Hungry for it.

  But I don’t get another kiss. What I get is something more. Something greater. Something filling.

  He enters me.

  Slow, smooth, unhurried.

  Our eyes are locked, my lips parted as a sigh of wonder flows out.

  So this is what it’s like, to want someone inside me. Consensual.

  Torin presses all the way in, filling me completely. And it feels so...right. No fighting, no forcing, no pain.

  It’s …ineffable.

  Unwelcome, a rush of emotions surges through me, and without my permission, tears leak from the corners of my eyes.

  Vision blurred, voice cracked, I whisper, “You can’t hate-fuck me, Torin.”

  Soft and gentle, he thumbs my tears away. “I know, beautiful.”

  As his hand drifts down to curl around the side of my neck, he rocks into me. And I close my eyes and bite my lip, allowing myself to feel every spark, every sensation, every breath, every beat.

  Torin fucks me with rhythm and style. Confident and smooth. I know he’s holding back. For me. And I’m grateful for it.

  Asking him to hate-fuck me was so naive of me. I couldn’t have known what having consensual sex for the first time would do to me. Especially with someone I’ve been on fire for, yearned for, for so damn long. I couldn’t have known. It’s like a rebirth. A door opening to a path I wasn’t aware existed.

  Now I am raw and inflamed. Consumed by passion and emotion. Pleasure building inside me, on the precipice of launching me over.

  He’d known.

  Of course he’d known.

  I was fearless. But foolish people always are. And I’m so very foolish.

  “Let me see you,” he orders raggedly as the pace of his thrusts builds in increments.

  Obeying, I blink my eyes open, meeting his that are so darkened with lust there’s not a spec of green left.

  “I’ve got you,” he promises through quickened breaths. “Always. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Fuck you feel good,” he growls, then cups my face again and kisses me hard. His thrusts growing deeper, longer, faster.

  And as telltale tingles gather in my fingertips and toes, I lock my legs around him and force him even deeper. I thought I had time to brace for a second hit, but I was wrong. I implode. Ecstasy coasting through me on a carpet of fireworks.

  My legs tighten around him, my fingers digging into his skin as I’m wrung dry.

  A deep, feral, throaty growl reverberates from him, and then he comes at me hard. Plunging deeper and harder, as if he’s lost all restraint.

  In mild fear of his growing onslaught, I press my hands to the mattress to buttress myself. But I needn’t have. Because he rips his mouth from mine, and with a ferocious sound, buries his face in my neck and stills. His hot, hard body jerking sporadically as he hits the height. “Fuck, Lyra. Fuck.”

  I wrap my arms around him and hold him to me. Wishing I’d never have to let go.

  Low groans vibrating from him, he bites painlessly into my neck.

  After several intense minutes, he lifts his head and his mouth finds mine, teeth tugging at my bottom lip.

  “Are you angry at me for making you do this?” I ask when he frees my lips.

  “A little.”

  He pushes up and off the bed, and the loss of his heat and weight feels like a heartbreak. Cool air kisses my skin as he disappears into the bathroom.

  Come back. Give me your heat. Give me more.

  When I hear the sound of water running in the bathroom, I roll over onto my side, wondering how things will be after this. Will he resent me? Go back to ignoring me?

  What I would like is for us to repeat this act as many times as possible before the job is over. But he’s so damn capricious I can never guess with him. I’m so consumed with emotions right now I want to weep and smile at the same time.

  When Torin returns, it’s with a wet washrag in hand. Warm hand on my knee, he nudges me onto my back again, parting my legs. Then he cleans me. The washrag warm and soothing, his touch gentle.

  Not even a little bit used to this kind of delicate, humane treatment after sex, I watch him in a curious and confused daze. Who is this man?

  After he’s done, he plants a light kiss to my belly before disappearing into the bathroom again.

  When he returns a couple of minutes later, he lifts me up like I’m this precious, delicate thing and positions me on the bed so we’re laying vertical—heads to the headboard—instead of horizontal.

  As he pulls me up against him, I point out, “You didn’t use a condom.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I assumed you’d be more circumspect about...this kind of stuff.”

  One corner of his mouth tips up, and he looks so…at peace. It’s jarring to see him this relaxed, because he’s normally so tense and serious. “I know everything about you, Lyra.”

  This has me lifting a brow. “You do, huh?”

  “I know you’re clean—got your latest medical records in my office—and I know you’re on the Pill. I know you were put on anti-depressants—which you never take. I know you have a stash of ‘happy pills’—that you bribed your therapist to get you—and you take those once in a while instead. I know you’re allergic to pets and shellfish. I know that during your cycle, only Midol helps with the pain.”

  When I just blink at him, he asks, “Want me to go on?”

  “Where did you get all that informa—nevermind. Stupid question.”

  He chuckles. Actually chuckles. And the sound is a beautiful melody.

  Warmth floods me. I made Torin Garza chuckle.

  “Still angry at me?”

  “A smidge.”

  “Why?” I whine. “How can you be angry at something that felt so amazing?” I burrow my face to his chest. “Please stop being angry.”

  He holds me to him, kissing the top of my head, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “Maybe tomorrow.”

  ~

  I WAKE ON a gasp of pleasure.

  Torin’s mouth is at my core, eating me without abandon, his fingers digging into my thighs.

  In no time at all, I’m gripping his head as I shake and spasm with my orgasm.

  He plants kisses on my inner thighs while I flutter back down to earth.

  I wait to feel his weight shift on top of me, but it doesn’t come.

  The mattress dips, and when I languidly turn my head, it’s to the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered body disappearing into the bathroom.

  Dull blue streaks of dawn pour into the room, slowly chasing away the darkness.

  I’m too drained to speak or move, so I roll over onto my stomach, hug a pillow under my cheek, and the last thing I’m aware of is the sound of the shower running.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Oh.”

  Lyra

  LATER THAT MORNING, I’M SITTING CROSS-LEGGED on top of the kitchen island, sipping my smoothie and reading Chuck Wendig’s latest blog post, when Reuben and one of the twins emerges from the hall of Torin’s office.

  The twin grins at me and I know right away that this one is Trueman. He has such a zesty disposition.

  “Mornin’,” Reuben greets with a smile, coming over to me. He offers his fist and I put the smoothie down to bump mine to his. “Keeping out of trouble?”

  “Well, you know me,” I say with a one-shoulder shrug. “A
magnet for danger.”

  Trueman sidles up and drops onto the barstool in front of me, a lascivious pull to his lips. “That smoothie offer still on the table, gorgeous?”

  With a flirty smile of my own, I’m about to reply when his voice fills the room. “Goodbye, True.”

  Something delicious dips in my belly when I glance up to see Torin striding into the kitchen, sheened with sweat, as per usual around this time of the morning.

  Reuben snorts and shakes his head.

  Shifting my attention back to Trueman, I say, “Your brothers are always cramping your style, huh?”

  He flings his arms out and widens his eyes. “Right? Finally, someone’s said it. I mean, what do—”

  Reuben throws an arm around the man’s broad, sinewy shoulders and drags him off. “Come on. This ain’t the battle.”

  Confusion clouds Trueman’s face. “What?”

  “You’ll understand soon,” Reuben tells him with a pat on the shoulder, leading him out of the house.

  As Torin rounds the island to the fridge, I say, “I’ve always wondered, do you workout before your morning meetings, or during?”

  “There are better things to wonder about,” he replies flatly, getting out his oat milk.

  “Like?”

  “Like what you’re gonna do after all this.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  He uncaps his protein powder. “Are you gonna finish college?” Pours milk into the shaker bottle. “Are you gonna work?” A scoop of powder next. “Are you gonna travel the world?”

  Honestly, I haven’t thought about any of those things. What’s the point of planning my life when someone’s out there trying to end it?

  Once upon a time, I did have big plans, big dreams, and lofty goals. Worked my butt off toward it—didn’t entertain boys or parties or drugs, stayed focused, got straight As, got accepted into every college I applied to. I continued to stay focused in college, clinging to my V-card and virtue, waiting for the perfect man, which I’d assumed would lead to a healthy marriage and a wonderful life.

  But what did all that get me?

  “Yeah,” I answer after a while. “World domination.”

  He studies me as he shakes the bottle. “Ambitious.”

  “Confident,” I correct.

  He sets the bottle down, then grips my hips and drags me to the edge of the counter, my smoothie sloshing around from the sudden movement.

  Setting the cup down, I uncross my legs and let them fall over the edge. He wastes no time moving between them, and warmth wafts through me.

  He lifts my hand to his mouth and drags kisses across my knuckles. “Can I ask you something?”

  On a rush of breath, I reply, “What’s that?”

  “How do I…” He flips my hand and lightly bites into my palm. “…get you to stop sitting on my island?”

  A smile stretches my lips. “Hmm, let me see...”

  Moving closer, he circles his arms around my waist, head cocked, waiting.

  “I’ll stop if you…” I pretend to think some more. “Have sex with me seven more times.”

  One corner of his lips tips up. “Why seven?”

  “Because seven symbolizes completion.”

  “Hmm,” he hums in his throat, tilting his head to press a kiss to my neck, sending shivers through me. “Let me think about it.”

  “You can’t really want me to stop sitting up here if you have to think about it,” I murmur on a quickening breath. “We can get started on it right now. Knock off a few more counts throughout the day. You’re on vacation after all.”

  “Can’t,” he mumbles, trailing kisses along my shoulder. “You’re busy today.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. Lysandra called. She wants to spend the day with you.”

  This has me frowning, even as his lips on my skin sparks flames inside me. “She called you and not me? Why?”

  “Cause I’m your keeper.”

  Well, he is, isn’t he? Hmm. “And she needed your permission?”

  “Unlike you, she cares about your safety.” He lifts his head to meet my eyes. “She wanted to know if it’s safe.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’d rather you not be out in the open yet. But I’m aware your mother’s a butterfly, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the opportunity to spend time with her,” he says. “So I’ve made some arrangements; you won’t see my men, but they’ll be around.”

  I blink at him. “Do you have my life bugged or something?”

  “No.” He nips at my lip. “But if I’m gonna have you in my home, having every bit of detail on you is a given. “

  Why do I like it that he knows everything about me? It makes me feel owned by him. And oh man do I want him to own me. I thrust up against him. “How long do I have? Can we sneak in something quick and count it as a half?”

  At this, Torin laughs, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I don’t do halves.” He takes my chin between two fingers and kisses me swiftly, giving me no time to reciprocate. As I moan in protest, he steps back and double slaps my thighs. “Go get ready. She’s already on the way.”

  ~

  MOM’S FUNKY VW camper honks outside some ten minutes later. She’s had it my whole life, and despite being able to afford a Lamborghini, it’s the only thing she’s ever driven.

  Grinning at it, I dart through the front gate and jump in, then fling my arms across the space and hug her as tight as I can. “Mommy!”

  “Lysandra,” she corrects, hugging me back as best as she can with her seatbelt on.

  Loosening my hold, I smack a big kiss on her cheek before I pull back to my seat and strap on my seatbelt.

  She rolls her eyes at me and pulls off from the curb. “How have you been, baby?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Everything is just so...weird.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It feels like I’m trapped inside a movie, if that makes sense,” I say. “Or like I’m living someone else’s life, you know? Like I’m a character in a book and none of this is really happening to me.”

  Her sigh sounds pained but upsetting her wasn’t my intention. Mom’s the only person I can be open and honest with about any given thing. She’s not the emotional type, not reactive, and is ever calm no matter how grave or urgent a situation is.

  As a result, where I hide and pretend with everyone else, with her, I’m completely honest. Because she makes it easy to be. But I guess, at the end of the day, I’m still her daughter—she wants me happy and carefree. Not caged and guarded.

  “Ly, you know I love you, right?”

  “You do? Dang, my mama loooves me.” I do a little jig in my seat. “Me’s so special. She loves me long time.”

  “Oh, God, not ‘Mama’!” she says in horror. “Fine, fine, you can call me ‘Mom’. As long as you never, ever call me ‘Mama’ ever again.” She exaggerates a shiver. “Yuck.”

  I cackle. I love her. “So where are we going, Ma—” She whips a glare at me—“Mom?”

  “Wherever you want, baby. I’m all yours for the day. I head back to Paris tonight.”

  In disbelief, I ask, “Wait, are you in L.A. just to spend time with me?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she admits on a sigh. “I had to come see you in the flesh to believe you’re okay or I probably would’ve gone mad.”

  With a wide grin, I start jigging again, singing, “My mama looooves me! My mama looooves me! My mama looooves me!”

  She grimaces. “I should have stayed in Paris.”

  ~

  I FEEL THE weight of Mom’s stare on me as I scan the menu. We spent the last couple of hours at the salon, because it felt like ages since I’d last been to one. My hair was overgrown, my cuticles ragged, and my nails hadn’t seen polish in months.

  After getting manis and pedis, I got a new hairdo. Chopped from tailbone length to upper-back, and I added highlights and waves. It’s been years since I’v
e felt this pretty and girly.

  Now, we’re at a cute little vegan restaurant and Mom won’t stop staring.

  When it becomes impossible to ignore, I drag my eyes from the menu book to her. “What, Mom?”

  “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  I choke on air. “W-what?”

  She waves her hand in the general direction of my face. “It’s all over you.”

  Heat creeps up my neck, and I drop the menu and take a drink of water. “What does that even mean?”

  “You were always my innocent baby,” she says. “Even after...even after what happened, you were still you. My innocent little girl. But now...” She leans forward and narrows her eyes on me, examining me. “Yup, the caterpillar has definitely fled from its cocoon.”

  “You say the weirdest things, Mom,” I mumble, gulping down another mouthful of water.”

  “So are you saying you didn’t?”

  I scratch my neck. Where the hell is that damn waiter?

  After a prolonged moment, I say, “You can’t tell Dad.”

  “How serious is it?”

  “It isn’t,” I reply. “I’m the one who initiated things. I’ve always been attracted to him. But he’s not the relationship type. It’s just a thing that happened and might happen a couple more times before we part ways.”

  “Well,” she starts on an understanding sigh, “he does look like a bronze god.”

  “Right?” I agree with widened eyes. “He’s so...and so...and just so...ugh.”

  Mom’s laughing at me. “You’ve got it bad, girl.”

  “I do not.”

  “Obviously, you’re an adult and I can’t tell you what to do,” she says, sobering. “But guard your heart, okay? Don’t just hand it over. Any man who wants it, let him first prove to you that he will protect it and handle it with care before you give it to him.”

  “Okay. But first I’ll have to call and ask your permission, though.”

  She’s nonplussed.

  “Because you already own my heart,” I tell her. “Duh.”

  Her eyes gleam with mirth. Then, with a mischievous grin, she starts jigging in her chair, singing, “My baby girl looooves me! My baby girl looooves me! My baby girl looooves me!”