by Rebecca Ryan
"No, they don't. They think I'm in school. I've been lying to them. They would absolutely freak out if they knew what I was doing." Folding her hands in her lap, she goes on. "But the police aren't doing anything. You know another black guy killed in New York doesn't mean anything to them. They don't care that our parents are professors. My parents tried pulling that card. They played white as much as they could play white while being black. It doesn't work. The cops don't care and this killing, this crossfire . . . even some of his friends told the police 'Well I don't know, maybe he did join a gang.' These are his friends in college. Black and white and Latino. All thinking that maybe he had joined a gang? Ridiculous. Of course, he didn't join a gang. But that little possibility caught fire and the police played with that idea for a long time."
She's gathered the blankets around her and talking helps her complexion. Her skin looks so beautiful. Stunning. Her dark hair is neatly braided. She's slender and muscular, her breasts are beautiful under that T-shirt and her cleavage is just warm, gorgeous, dark and smooth. She'd been hiding it all under that hoodie to play fourteen, and now she clearly looked like a woman. I suddenly want to touch her, but this is so not the right thing to do right now. Maybe not ever. Christ. I'm seven years older with nothing to offer her.
Pulling the sheet up tight around her, she announces, "You know, I'm just," she swallows. "I'm tired of lying."
"How old are you, really."
"I told you—I'm twenty.
This time I believe her, but "You're still a kid."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
Suddenly she smiles, and that quick parting of her lips, the flash of teeth, the lightness in those golden eyes leaves her even more beautiful. "So that makes you Yoda?"
"I get what you're trying to do," I say, trying to be careful, "but you gotta go back to school." I slip an arm under her back. She looks a little surprised and smiles again. My heart skips, decided on a rhythm, and beats hard. Faster.
"I don't think I can get back to school. I just left. Filed the paperwork last week."
"You can go back to school. I bet you can get anything done that you want. You need to go back to school, now. Write them a letter, tell them what happened. Tell them about your brother."
"I'm not going to play the pity card," she says and I'm afraid she's taking offense but then she shifts closer to me, sitting up now, gathering blankets.
"It's not playing the pity card. You're explaining what happened to you, to your family. You lost a brother in a violent act of murder, a gangland shooting which is still unsolved. You're lucky you're not strung out or on a psychiatrist bench or institutionalized. Asking for help is not the worst thing to do."
"So I'm asking for help. Do you have any idea who killed my brother?"
Shaking my head, I try to reassure her again. I wish I did. I wish I knew exactly who killed her brother. I'd . . . "I told you. I don't."
I shift my arm under her head, and she leans back, eyes closed. Her lashes are long and in their curls, little rainbows flash from the streetlight. Who knew someone could make that harsh street light out there look beautiful, but she could. Studying her face, I notice her lips turn up slightly at the corners of her mouth, and suddenly something in my heart cracks open, just a little, and it starts beating again in a softer, lumpy way.
I catch my breath.
Her eyes fly open. And then she stares at me with liquid gold eyes, while those lips part ever so slightly. Placing her hand lightly on my shoulder, her voice is soft.
"I know you're not going to take advantage of me. You've made that perfectly clear. But could you hold me?"
My only answer is swiftly wrapping my arms around her. Drawing her knees up into her chest, she sighs softly, leans her head against me, and I feel her breath against my neck.
"I know this is going to sound weird, but I've never slept with anyone."
She must sense my astonishment because the next thing I hear is her laugh again. Light, silvery, lilting. Beautiful.
"There's a lot of women out here who don't sleep around with the first guy that comes a waltzin' along. I have high standards, you know."
Well, then, you're not going to want me. I'm way below any standard.
"Listen," she says, "it's not that I don't know what to do. I'm just not too sure I'm going to be good at it. But could we just, you know, make out?"
"Make out"? I haven't heard that in . . . maybe ever.
I stroke her cheek and she closes her eyes again and I think she's embarrassed. She doesn’t need to be. Her lips part gently in anticipation and her eyes drop, her gaze in on my mouth. Something stirs in my groin. And then my mouth is on hers and I kiss her, nudging her face to tilt towards mine each time I press my lips to hers. When she shifts on the sofa and turns to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, she leans into me. With my tongue deep in her, I touch her collarbone. She shivers under my fingertips and I start to get hard.
Oh my god.
Chapter Eleven
Lily
The moment he kisses me, I almost forget where I am. I wrap my arms up around under his and feel the muscles on his back. When I slide my arms up around him, his sigh is shaky. I hear myself say, "Take your shirt off," with an authority that has waited a very long time to manifest.
Standing, he crosses his arm and takes off his shirt, tossing it on a folding chair. The light from the kitchen plays over his chest and stomach, and his breathing is fast, shallow. I can't believe he's so turned on by me. Little Miss goody-two-shoes. Little Miss Let's Put the Caps on the Markers for the Teacher. Little Miss straight A.
Little Miss, I need to Fuck.
Now.
My sex is soft and wet, warm, and I want him in me, to feel me. I've felt this before with men, but not like this. Not this fast. I've never wanted anyone like this before. I'm not even sure I'm breathing.
My nipples harden under my shirt. He notices too.
"Lie down," he says. "Lie down right here. But first, are you really a virgin? This is kinda a big deal."
I lay down on my back, trying to be light, but inside, I'm quivering. "I hate that term. It makes it sound like I'm some sort of olive oil."
He smiles "You're no Olive Oyl. Believe me. She was a cartoon white woman with legs that were too long. And weird hair."
Now I'm the one laughing. And shivering. I want him to touch me. My thighs quiver.
"Here," he says, and lifts the comforter to the floor. It settles and he pulls down the two pillows. I slide off the sofa and kneel, raising my arms so he can take off my shirt and it slides past my breasts and over my head. I can't stop shivering. I lay down quickly and lift my hips so he can help me wriggle out of the sweat pants. Bunching up one of the pillows, he places it under my head, and I watch his face, just inches from my own while he arranges blankets over us. I am so aware that I am completely naked, next to him. Then, finally, there's electrifying eye contact and he leans down, my lower lip trembles and he kisses me, deeply, a hand stroking first my face and then the back of my head and my sex floods while I reach up to cup his face.
"Why are you shaking? Are you scared?"
"Oh God no. I'm sorry," I say and wish my legs would stop trembling.
"Don’t apologize," he says and kisses me again and my hand lays small and warm on his shoulder. My nipples ache, they're so hard. Sliding a hand down the length of my throat he begins to stroke my chest, lightly, a thumb teasing my nipples, and a moan escapes from my throat. I arch back, offering myself to him, and my legs involuntarily spread apart.
"Lily," he says, and lifts each arm, placing them above my head. I'm fully stretched out, and my clit begins a sweet pulsing between my legs. I twist my hips, trying for some kind of release.
Moving under the blanket, there's the rush of denim as his pants come off and then I feel his thigh press against mine and the stiff throb of his penis as it lays against me. Then he's on top of me, my left breast in his mouth, his tongue slowly finding the dark oval with
the bud in the center.
He raises his head. "I'm going to let you feel this first, okay?"
Feel? Feel? What more could I feel? Jesus. My mind is in some other place. I gasp as the hard, stiff shaft of his penis rubs against my labia, again gently parting those lips and my sex is so wet I want to cover him with it. His stare is locked on my face as he lowers himself onto me, his pelvis against mine and then he bends his arms, lowering himself on top me, but barely touching, chest to chest. His chest hair, swirling, brushes against my nipples which sets them even higher. Again, I tremble and moan, arch and try to speak.
"Please," I say, and he starts to move off me. "No. No. I want you to do this. Do it," I say, my voice sounding like a strangled whisper.
"Are you sure?" he asks one more time.
I arch my head back and try to take him in with my hips, but I don’t know what I'm doing. All I know, all I care about is the singular fact I want him in me. "Yes. Now," I plead.
He leans in for another kiss but then, the moment our lips part, he's off of me and I'm aching for him, confused, when I hear the tinseled tear of paper. I'm panting so hard, I don't hear him put the condom on, and then he's back.
"Thank you," I say, but what I want to say is "Fuck me."
That small moment away while he put on the condom leaves my body in an explosive state and when he mounts me for the second time, I grab him, hard, pulling him down on top of me. But he does me one better. He grips both my wrists in one massive hand and takes the other hand and gently slides it down my ribs across my stomach to my crotch and gently spreads me open, while my heart slams up hard under my ribs. My breath comes fast and as shallow as his. I can see his face, so focused, so in tune, so determined to have me, and I cry out just as he begins to enter and he starts to pull out.
"No," I say through gritted teeth and thrust hard under him and he plunges into me, stretching me wide, filling me up, and the sudden, complete overwhelming feeling of him in me makes me gasp. He lets go of my wrists, and supports his weight with his arms. Leaning down, those blue eyes are just as penetrating.
"Am I hurting you?" he whispers.
Taking his head in my hands I look right into those burning blues. "No, no. Please, just keep doing this." I let go, my arms suddenly boneless. "Oh my God."
Using his arms for support, he grinds down with his hips and I cry out again, my back arches and I have no control over my own body.
Stone is in me, outside of me, his hands are everywhere and when he lifts his hips again, I scoot lower, grab his ass, running a finger down from his back to his testicles.
He shudders with this move. There's something about a man this massive being undone by something I've done, that makes me wetter.
"Is that good?"
"God yes," he says, and I do it again, this time, taking a fingernail and running it around his testicles which are high and tight.
"Oh fuuuuck," he says into my neck, taking my hand away and holding it again in one of his. "That's enough of that for right now." He pants as he says this, and I suddenly know why. He wants me to come first.
I lift my hips again, and he braces, so I'm sliding him into me then I grip him internally and pull down. Throwing his head back, I see sweat on his chest and his abs are tight, symmetrical and then he presses down on my stomach and then begins, pinning my arms, up and back, hoisting me further up the pillow so my breasts are right at mouth level and he starts grinding, in a slow circular movement, arching his ass and stretching me even further, curving into my sex so that a climax begins deep, deep inside me like a lost memory.
It starts to surge. I struggle, but he holds me in position, and I feel it coming on me like a giant wave.
"Stone, Stone," I moan, I see him watching me, his mouth open, hungry, his shoulders massive, the beat of his heart against my own chest and then it hits me, like when a massive wave crashes down and you have no control, and the incredible release flows in wave after wave four, five, six, seven times.
And then, he comes.
I hear him suck in his breath and he releases me, needing both arms to support himself, and his body moves against mine, his head down, then back, eyes shut, "Jesus Lily. Oh, my god, you feel so good." His hips thrust, caught in his own waves. His whole massive body shudders and he releases a long sigh.
Slowly lowering himself first to his elbows, he gently lies on top of me.
We both lie together panting for a long time. We're both drugged with sex and I smell him, that citrus rising from his neck, so warm and sweet and present. He is here, with me. Carson Stone. I run a hand through his thick curls and he kisses me gently. Raising himself on one arm, he smiles. My arms feel boneless again and I lay a shaky hand on his shoulder, almost without the strength to hold him.
Tears, hot and humiliating, flow fast from the outside corners of my eyes.
He's still inside me, and I want him to stay there.
"Did I hurt you?" he says, suddenly concerned, wiping my tears with a thumb. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head, but he moves to come off me anyway and to stop him, I grip him with my sex. He sucks in his breath.
"Don’t leave me yet," I whisper. "I want to remember everything about this moment. Everything about you. Everything about us."
Wiping my temples with his thumb, he stays, settling on top of me and we lie like this for a long time. So long, that I am almost asleep when I feel him slowly pull out from me completely.
A few minutes later, he's back and he's got a warm washcloth for me. The lips of my labia are so sore, it stings for a moment, but then he wipes me clean, smiles, and then leans down slowly and kisses my mound with a sweet kiss of thanks.
And then the tears start again. I roll over to my side.
"Lily, what's wrong," he whispers, grabbing another comforter, and spooning me from behind. His arm is around me and I can feel his body along my neck, my back, my ass, my legs: it's like I'm in a cocoon. I have dreamt of this, of someone spooning me. It feels so good, so right. Words begin to tumble.
"Ever since Sammy was killed. I feel like I keep all my thoughts in my head. And because of this I couldn't be safe or truthful with anyone." I try to turn, to face him, but he just holds me tight, listening, his breath in my ear. "But I feel so different with you. And I know this is just a fling for you, I know this is not as important to you because—well—you've been doing this for quite some time, but this is a big deal to me and," it's coming out all wrong, and I realize I probably just hurt his feelings, but it's too late. I twist in his arms and half-turn to look at him and this time he lets me.
But he's just smiling. "You have it so wrong," is all he says as I feel him slide an arm under my head, and he kisses me, drawing my breath with his.
Chapter Twelve
Stone
I'm not sure exactly when I realized I lost her to her herself. I had a friend once who told me that men feel intimacy when they have sex. Intimacy in the moment and that women feel intimacy over time.
I know I have to give Lily time. If she's going to fall in love with me, I have to be there for her every single day. And that's what I want. I want to be with her every single day. I want to cherish her every single day. And I want to hear about her day, and all the little things in it. Every single day, I'll prove to her that I can do this thing called love.
I want to be that person, that man. I want to prove to her I am worthy of her intimacy, of her, and maybe, one day, her love. Because I feel it with her. When I was in her and I saw her, I felt her infiltrate my heart. In those moments she was mine, and I was hers. I know I want her forever.
Part of me knows I don't deserve her. She doesn't know what I did in the past. She doesn't know how low I've been. She doesn't know anything about me. She's some college kid out for revenge for her dead brother. At least Lily has a noble cause.
I'm a middleweight cage fighter who threw away his sister and now throws games. I lose to whoever wants to pay me the most money. Shitty, but that's what I do
.
Shreves is a fucker, but he's savvy. He knows this next fight against Jeff "The Fly" Parkerson holds odds forty to one. I beat the shit out of Parkerson in the last four fights and he's coming off an injury, torn cartilage in the kneecap. Shreves doesn’t own me. I'll throw this fight for him, so he can clean up and then I'll get out again.
I roll on my side, listening to Lily breathing. There is something about her soft face, so beautiful, so naïve, that tells me I'm going to have to fess up to Coach and tell him what's happened between us and why Shreves thinks he owns me. To do this, I'm going to have to share her story. To do that, she's going to have to trust me.
I get up on my knees and move my other arm under her legs and lift her. She's light, like her bones are hollow, and her eyes flit open for a moment before succumbing to sleep. Settling her on the sofa and tucking her under the comforter, doesn't wake her but she turns, burying her head in the pillow when I shift it under her head.
I haven't even gone to the gym tonight.
Coach is going to wonder where I am, and I'm outta minutes on my phone. Gotta pay for more at the drug store tomorrow. Stretching out on the floor, I cram a pillow under my head and realize it still smells of her, a little like powdered sugar and something else. My mind wrestles with this and much darker thoughts and then I must have slipped into some kind of sleep because the next thing I know, Lily is sitting on top of me.
I'm screaming. Once, twice, and my voice is not my own. I'm half up and her arms are around me, and she's kissing me
"Stop," she says between kisses. "Stop." Then, "I'm here. I'm here. Don't be afraid. I'm here."
I don't realize that I'm gasping until my eyes are open. But I can barely get air into my lungs. She's helping me sit up and I'm drenched in sweat and I can’t seem to get my breath. My heart pounds in my chest while my gut roils with acid.
"You were screaming," she says. "You were doing that thing where you can't breathe again."
I'm trying to slow my breathing down, to measure each breath, but it's hard. I shake my head trying to clear it and she rises to turn on the little light on the end table. I don’t want to scare her.