Dark Child

by Jo Raven

  She’s so tight it’s a struggle to push back inside every time, despite how wet she is, and we both moan with every thrust.

  So fucking sweet.

  Don’t think about that unblinking eye, about a body in the leaves, struck by golden light, about a temple and a spreading pool of blood, about a shadow looming behind you, just—

  She shifts underneath me, breaking the images, hauling me back to reality, and I bury my face in the crook of her neck, fucking her harder, and she gasps as she comes, pushing back against me.

  I feel the waves of pleasure crashing through her, and suddenly I’m coming, too, release rolls over me like a truck, wrenching a cry from my throat, sending lights flashing behind my eyelids.

  Oh… fuck.

  The world dims at the corners, and the strength goes out of my arms, sending me crashing on top of her. Cursing under my breath, I struggle to roll off her before I smother her. My lids feel like they weigh a fucking ton, my limbs are made of lead.

  I wrap my arms around her, bury my nose in her soft hair. It smells of something fruity and fresh, and her scent, her warm body cocoons me in safety and pleasure.

  At least, I think as I sink into sleep, she isn’t running away from me. I’m not letting her. I hug her to my chest, and the dark swallows me whole.

  Someone is calling my name, the voice sweet, a golden string of tiny bells. Calling me back. I claw at the crimson water of the lake I’ve been sinking into like a stone, claw for the surface. Light streaks through viscous liquid. A swan is reflected inside, made of silver.

  Blood.

  I can’t breathe, but the voice calls again, and I fight to reach it, wading through cut off limbs and dead bodies floating in the murky depths.

  “Merc!”

  The light splinters in my eyes, and I jerk and gasp for air, breaking out of the dark. “Jesus fuck!”

  “Merc.” A face is bent over me, pretty even if fuzzy. “You okay? I was calling your name, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

  So much blood, in the water, on the ground, and a body. Dead.

  I blink, pass a hand over my eyes. Smile crookedly at her, but it’s more of a grimace. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Her face comes into focus, all big dark eyes, cream skin and soft lips. “I’m okay.”

  My heart is racing a thousand miles an hour, a hammer beating against the inside of my ribcage. My mouth tastes like fear.

  “That looked like a hell of nightmare.” She’s kneeling beside me on the bed, bent over me, dressed only in my T-shirt. The thin cotton stretches over her round tits, her dark nipples showing through, the hem barely covering her bare pussy.

  After yet another nightmare from hell, you’d think my body would be slow to react, but I’m already diamond-hard and straining toward her. My dick wants inside of her, even if my brain is still not onboard, still caught up in the net of blood, death and decay.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I mutter.

  “You sure?”

  This was nothing, baby, I want to say. Nothing compared to the usual reel. I didn’t even see the bogeyman. He didn’t have the time to show up and scare me half to death, as in our usual nightly meeting in my dreams.

  But her face looks a bit pale. Guess I did scare her.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Her slender brows are drawn together. I reach out and smooth the crease between them with my thumb. Her mouth trembles a little, so I stroke her brow and then cup her cheek. I can see she wants to ask more questions, ask what I dreamed of, why I’m not telling her.

  I don’t wanna talk about it. Talking about it makes it too fucking real.

  “Hey, you wanna watch a movie?” I nod at my laptop. “I mean, JC has this huge TV in the living room, but that would mean having to move from here.”

  She snickers. It makes me grin. “Yeah, I vote for not moving.”

  Warmth radiates through my chest. Why should it matter that she wants to stay here, in bed, with me? “I got mostly sci-fi movies, some fantasy, a few thrillers. I could look for—”

  “Sci-fi and fantasy sound good.”

  My grin widens. “Really?”

  “Yeah!” Her dark eyes light up and she sits back. “Love them. Love Avatar, the Alien and the Predator movies, but the classic oldies, too, like 2001: A Space Odyssey and the TV series like Star Trek and Galactica.”

  “Oh man, yes. The oldies are my jam. I’ve got Metropolis on my laptop. Wanna watch?”

  “Yes! I actually haven’t watched that one yet.”

  Her eyes are so bright when she says this. She really likes the same shit I like, at least when it comes to movies.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I scratch the scruff on my jaw and stretch, my back popping, aware of her gaze on me. My dick fills out a bit more, rising up between my legs, but I do my best to ignore it.

  I pad over to my desk and grab my laptop and my external hard drive, then return to the bed to set them down on top of the covers. I plug the speakers in, stack the pillows against the iron headboard, sit down and open my arms.

  She scoots closer, snuggles against my side with her legs folded under her, presses those soft tits against my ribs, and there’s no hiding how I feel about all this. She knows, she’s looking at my swelling dick. Hard to miss it.

  Pun intended.

  I wanna push her down, fuck her again, and I have to take some deep breaths, try to control the impulse.

  Dragging the laptop closer, I boot it up and connect it to the hard drive. The movie starts, and her slender arm wraps around my chest, under my pecs where my heart is booming. We watch the movie.

  She watches.

  I don’t. I’ve no idea what we’re seeing, what is being said, just the music from the film, and her body pressed to mine.

  At some point, I think about pulling the covers over my hard-on, pretend I’m not hard for her all the goddamn time, but what the hell.

  It’s the truth.

  As the credits roll at the end of the film, she shifts against me, her fingertips stroking my peck, and I think about flexing, just for laughs—okay, to see if I interest her in more sex—but she stops and looks up, her gaze meeting mine.

  “That was… interesting,” she says doubtfully.

  I chuckle. “It’s an old film. But this version has music by Freddie Mercury, Loverboy and Adam Ant.”

  “Ah-huh.” She smiles up at me, and it’s impossible not to kiss that sweet mouth.

  And then my stomach decides to give a rumble of hunger, and she laughs, pulling back. “Someone’s hungry. Unless you’re hiding a wolf under the bed.”

  “Nah, this is wolf-free zone, but…” She’s probably starving. Great host you are, Merc. “I can whip something up for dinner. What do you wanna eat?”

  “You cook?”

  “I told you I make the best pancakes in town.” I wag my brows, and she grins that sexy, kittenish grin of hers.

  “Pancakes for dinner? I like that.”

  And I like you. More than any other girl I’ve ever met. I knew it from the moment I first met you, and this has never happened to me before.

  Christ. My face warms, and my heart thumps uncomfortably in my chest. I dunno what this is, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

  If only I could stop the bloody nightmares, sleep like a normal person, maybe I’d be able to figure this out.

  “Come on.” Sliding out of bed, I pull on a pair of sweats and grab her hand. “You can watch the great chef at work. If you’re good, you’ll get pancakes. If you’re bad, you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

  “You’re so generous,” she says, laughing.

  “Oh, I know.”

  She bites her lip to keep from laughing again, and I feel my chest lighten as I lead her into the huge kitchen, with its gleaming granite counters and pristine white cupboards. “Wow.”

  “My roommate’s kinda rich. His family owns the apartment.”

  “Cool.” She hops on one of the counters and it takes way
too much effort to take my eyes off her shapely legs, crossed one over the other, hiding what I want to touch, and kiss, and lick, and fill up until she screams her pleasure.

  Goddammit.

  Focus, Merc, or you’ll burn down JC’s kitchen. He’ll never forgive you. He’s already wondering what possessed him to take you on as a roommate.

  “Can you make other things, or just pancakes?” she asks as I throw the ingredients into a bowl, making the mixture from scratch, whisking everything together.

  “A couple more dishes. I try to learn a new recipe every few months, when I have the time to experiment.”

  “How come you cook? Not many guys I know are interested in the kitchen.”

  I shrug, taking out the pan and butter. “Gigi, that’s my other sister, can’t cook to save her life, and she babysat me so often I decided one of us had to learn how to cook. It was that or starve.”

  “Octavia is the oldest?”

  “That’s right. Octavia is married to this guy who owns the garage I work at, Matt. That’s another thing,” I say thoughtfully as the butter heats up and I pour the mixture into the pan for the first pancake. “I also like engines and gadgets, I like taking them apart, seeing how they work, what makes them tick.”

  “Recipes work that way?”

  I grin. “For me they do. You cook?”

  “Sometimes.” I hear the shrug in her voice, and I glance at her, noting a shadow in her gaze. “I’m not particularly good at it. I tell myself it’s because Mom was never home, and Dad never even tried, so we ended up eating takeout every night, but… it’s too easy to blame anything on my parents, you know? I’m not…”

  I’m so absorbed in the little details she lets slip about herself that I almost burn the pancake. With a curse, I dish it out and pour another into the pan. “You’re not what?”

  This time her laughter is a bit sad and self-deprecating. “Not good at much of anything.”

  I frown. “You mean, apart from being sexy, funny, clever, with a great taste in movies, not to mention a great help to your sister, you need to prove yourself more?”

  I mean those words, but from the way her brows lift, you’d think I said something unexpected and surprising.

  “Helping… what did she tell you?”

  “Just that. That you’ve been helping her.” Is there a big secret there I’m not supposed to be aware of? “Isn’t it true?”

  She nods and blushes. It’s fucking cute.

  I turn back to the pan, lifting another pancake and pouring another. “I try to help my folks, too. I was a brat for most of my life. I’m the youngest and my mom and Octavia always worked hard to keep me and Gigi fed and clothed, and I got used to having others work while I listened to music and read.” I shake my head at my younger self. “But now Octavia is married with kids, and Gigi’s boyfriend had some family trouble.” I turn off the heat. “Mom found a guy she likes, and it’s my turn to help out. With the kids, with the family. So I get it.”

  She makes a funny sound as I hunt for the maple syrup in the cupboards.

  Locating it, I plunk it down on the counter. “I get what it’s like to love your family, how much that love means. How much you’d give to see them happy. If your sister needed you to hold the fort for a few days, take her place, well…”

  I’m not gonna complain. I wouldn’t have met her otherwise.

  The funny noise comes again, and I turn to find she’s rubbing at her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Abandoning the stack of pancakes, I go to stand in front of her. I part her legs and step between them so I can put my hands on her face. “Did I say something stupid?”

  “No.”

  “Cos… You can tell me.”

  “No, really.” She breathes out as our foreheads touch. “Your family sounds great. Mine isn’t like that.”

  She doesn’t elaborate, and I think of what she said about her mom not being there, her dad not trying, and anger curls in the pit of my stomach for the people who let her down. I slip my arms around her, struggling with the urge to wrap myself around her like a vine, like a wall, protect her from any pain.

  “But your sister is different?” I whisper against her hair.

  “She’s different,” she agrees just as softly. “She’s my other half. I’d do anything for her.”

  I close my eyes. She gets me, despite the train wreck her family seems to be. It’s not just great sex, and a love for sci-fi movies and laughter at silly jokes.

  This is a deeper bond. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to care for someone who can’t understand how I feel about my family, how important they are to me.

  But I shove the thought aside, because it’s too soon to be thinking of bonds and caring. Too early for anything, least of all for believing this will turn into something more.

  One thing’s for sure: I’d take the chance. A chance on her. Tell her about myself, introduce her to my family, maybe… maybe even some day tell her about the nightmares—after they’ve stopped, hopefully. No reason to worry her about some stupid dreams.

  But will she take a chance on me?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cosima

  ‘Going to Merc’s,’ I text my sis. ‘You okay?’

  She’s been away and mostly incommunicado this past week, only dropping me a brief ‘Still alive’ message from time to time.

  I suspect it’s to keep me from calling her. It makes my chest tight with worry, makes me want to call and hear her voice, know what’s really happening.

  Though the thought of meeting Merc again distracts me enough to wear some sexy lacy lingerie and put my hair up, slather on lipstick and pass some mascara over my lashes.

  I stare at myself in the mirror. The kitty meows from the bathroom door. It sounds approving.

  “How do I look, kitten?” I slip silver hoops into my earlobes and “Will Merc like me like this?”

  She meows again.

  “He likes me already, you say?” I dab some perfume behind my ears. “How is it I’m more nervous every time I meet him, huh? I mean, we banged already. Maybe…” I place the perfume back into my cosmetics bag, my hand shaking slightly. “Maybe that’s why. He got what he wanted, so this can’t last much longer, right?”

  She jumps onto the sink, scaring the bejesus out of me. She headbutts my hand, and I laugh.

  “You know Lin would agree with me,” I mutter.

  Kitty lifts up on her hind legs and pushes her little bullet head into my hand, purring.

  “Or maybe not. Besides… I made mistakes, but that doesn’t mean Merc is one, right?” I stroke her between the ears and she hisses at me. “I can’t move forward if I don’t think there’s a chance he’s a good guy. And here I am, talking to myself like a crazy person.”

  Kitty stares at me reproachfully.

  “Oh, you were listening? Fair enough. Just checking.” I hope talking to a cat is considered normal. “Thing is, I’m afraid to take a risk again, so soon after Steve. Yeah, yeah, I’m still here when I should be back at Lin’s, chasing a new job, keeping my heart safe, giving myself a chance to decide what I want from life—but how can you stop living in order to figure that out? How can I find what I want without taking risks?”

  Meow.

  “Besides… how can I give up on Merc? Seeing him, kissing him... I’m like a moth to a flame. No matter how many times I’ve been burned, I can’t stop reaching for that… that sense of belonging with someone. Is he different from the others? What say you, kitty?”

  She cocks her little head at me questioningly.

  And now I’m waiting for the cat to answer me.

  Great.

  The building where Merc lives is in a real nice neighborhood. I barely noticed last time I was here, too giddy and dizzy with his nearness, his touch, the promise of lying skin to skin with him.

  Trees line the street, the building’s all metal and glass, and when I hit the buzzer for his apartment, the door opens into an open space with plants, a glea
ming staircase and huge elevator.

  Self-consciously I smooth my hair in the full-length mirror beside the elevator before climbing inside and riding up to the fifth floor.

  I’m rattled enough that when I ring the bell twice, and nobody answers, I start to doubt that I’m at the right apartment. I heard the bell ring inside, so it’s not broken.

  Frowning, I pull out my phone to call Merc.

  The door unlocks and swings open—only the guy at the opening… isn’t Merc. I’m pretty sure about that. For one, this guy’s hair is dark, and he’s taller and bulkier than my boy.

  My boy…

  The thought, and the wave of affection it carries, catches me by surprise, so it takes me a longer moment than it should to realize the unknown man is still waiting for something.

  For me to say what I want, probably.

  “Hi, I’m Cosima.” I offer a quick smile. “I’m looking for Merc. Mercury Watson?”

  “Right.” He nods, steps back. “Come on in. He was late back from work.”

  Relieved, I follow him inside. “You must be his roommate, JC. He mentioned you last time.”

  “That’s me.” He closes the door and runs a hand through his thick hair.

  The mysterious JC.

  Merc only said the guy’s rich, quiet and closed off. He didn’t mention that JC is hot.

  Dressed in dark designer jeans and a black tank top that shows off his muscular chest and arms, with those blue eyes and square jaw, JC looks like he just stepped off the pages of a Men’s Fashion magazine.

  Doesn’t hold a candle to Merc, though.

  Nobody I’ve ever met can.

  I’m still turning this new realization over in my mind—is he the hottest man I’ve ever been with, or is it that smile of his, that honesty of his gaze that makes him seem so?—as JC leads me past the living room—dark leather couches, low dark tables, a huge TV and PlayStation—and knocks on the bathroom door.

  “Merc! Dude, your girl’s here.”