by Naomi West
“Scarlett,” he whispers, voice grave.
“I …” Words fail me. I ache for him to hold me, to kiss me, to tell me he’s sorry. Or for me to tell him I’m sorry. But instead we just look at each other. It’s almost like just looking at each other is enough for now.
“You look good,” he lies. I don’t look good. I haven’t put on any makeup and my hair is frizzy and messy. I’m wearing sweatpants and an old Christmas sweater I threw on without thinking. All of other sweaters were in the laundry. “Damn good,” he says. I believe him, though, even if I know it’s not true.
“You do as well.”
He runs a hand through his beard. “Yeah?” He laughs. “I don’t reckon you were built for lying, Scarlett.”
“What was I built for, then?” I counter.
People say that they could cut the tension with a knife. I feel as though I could reach out and grab it, hold onto it, dig my fingernails into it just like I do with him when we have sex. Again and again, my mind tries to wander over to the test. I will it back to Cage.
He grins. It’s such a welcome sight, that smile. That cheeky, cocky smile. “I reckon you know.”
He walks over to me. I take a step forward. We meet somewhere in the middle. “I’m not much good at this shit,” he growls. He takes my hand, moving his thumb over my knuckles. Tingles coil, snake-like, around my arm and move over my neck. “I don’t reckon I should’ve shouted at you, all right? I went crazy. It’s just when I saw … It’s just a sore spot for me.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I understand.” I grab his hand. We interlock fingers. “I shouldn’t have written about him. I get that.”
“It weren’t for a story. That was our deal.”
A silence. “Cage,” I break it a few moments later. “If I hadn’t run into you here, would we ever have seen each other again?”
“In a town this small?” He laughs.
“You know what I mean.”
He nods firmly. “I reckon either we’d see each other or I’d die, and not from this war. I don’t wanna … listen, Scarlett. I’ve been a goddamn wreck this past week. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know what it means. But I’ve been mess.”
“Have you?” I prompt. Maybe it’s a little selfish of me, but knowing he hasn’t found it easy makes me feel much better.
“Yeah.” He takes my other hand. We hold onto each other tightly. “It’s been damn hard. I don’t know, Scarlett. I don’t know a damn thing about any of this stuff. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do this again. I don’t wanna fight. I don’t wanna …”
Suddenly, he grabs me and pulls me toward him. I let out a squeal of delight as he presses our bodies together. He crushes his lips against mine. I open my mouth, savoring the taste of him. Whisky, chewing gum, something else. I don’t care. I want all of him. Our tongues brush. I let out a muffled moan when he moves his hand down to my ass. He feels so good pressed up against me. He feels a million times better than the cold, lonely nights.
He breaks it off, glances at the door. There are voices outside. “How’ve you been?” he asks, short of breath. His eyes move up and down my body nonstop. He’s getting excited, I can tell. Excited by a Christmas sweater and sweatpants. Excited by me. A thrill runs through me. The world doesn’t seem as dark as it did a few minutes ago.
“Not good,” I whisper. “Not good at all.”
“The warehouse?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It’s hard to believe, but I’ve hardly even thought of that. It’s too much. It’s too crazy.”
“What’ve you been thinking about, then?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I think you know.”
“Do I?” He grins. Nudges me playfully. It feels so good to be nudged by him.
“Yes, you do.” I slap him on the arm. “Are you going to kiss me again or not?”
He glances at the door again. “I reckon we both know where that’ll lead.”
“What, a refrigerator’s good enough for you but a police station isn’t?”
He grins even wider now. “You really are somethin’ else,” he growls.
“Am I?” I tilt my head at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is shaking.
I open my eyes wide as though pleading with him. “Why not?”
He grabs onto my ass with one hand and places the other on the small of my back. I throw myself toward him at the same time as he drags me closer. We kiss viciously. We kiss like we’re angry with each other. But that’s not it. It’s just that our passion has had a full week to bubble up. Now it’s boiling over. I reach down and press my hand firmly against his crotch. I smile through the kissing when I feel how hard he is. I’ve missed his cock, missed how quickly he gets hard for me, missed feeling sexy for him.
“We have to be quiet,” he whispers.
“I know,” I moan in response, struggling to keep my voice low.
“Good.”
He slides his hand up between my legs, pressing down hard on my clit through my sweatpants. I let out a shuddering sigh as the potent sensations rush through me. It’s a wave of searing pleasure that starts at my clit and spreads everywhere. But it doesn’t just spread. It also obliterates all the pain, all the uncertainty. For the first time in a week, I can lose myself in something. Not my work, not with Krissy, but this, with Cage. This.
I unclasp his belt and unbutton his jeans. His cock feels like it was made for my hand. I grab onto it, squeeze it, feel the veins pressing against my palm. He’s so huge, so hard, so ready for me. I stroke up and down. Pre-come spreads over his cock down to his balls. I stroke it even faster, loving the groaning noises he makes through our kissing. He yanks down my sweatpants and my underwear in one quick movement.
When he slides his fingers into me, I sit down on his hand. I sit down and shift my hips around, grinding against him. But it’s not enough. I need more. I take a step back, looking around. Then I run to the couch and bend over, looking over my shoulder at him, sticking my ass out. I feel so naughty, so dirty, so carefree. My pussy is wet enough for him. I’m ready.
“Cage,” I whisper, shifting my ass back and forth. “Cage.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He kicks off his jeans and walks over to me just wearing his jacket. There’s something even naughtier about us both only being half naked. He stands behind me, leaning down a little. I stick my ass out even more. His cock brushes up against my clit.
“No teasing this time!” I whisper-moan.
“Is that right? You’re in charge, eh?”
“Yes, I am—”
He slides into me, right up to his balls. I know for sure because his balls slap against my clit, sending a strange but incredible buzzing through me. But it’s his cock I care about most of all. It completely fills me. My pussy floods with warmth. His cock pulsates against my sweet spot. The pressure within me immediately gets even more intense. I reach back and grab onto his muscled leg. He pushes my ass cheeks together, staring down at me with that far-gone look on his face. It’s not that he’s not here, not present. It’s that he finds me too sexy to look away.
I sit back harder on his balls, loving the sensation. But loving the way his face twists almost as much. Sweat drips down my forehead into my eyes. I blink it away, ignoring it.
We fuck like if we don’t do it well, the world will end. We fuck like we’re starving to death and the only way to get more food is to satisfy each other. We fuck like we’re each other’s oxygen. He drills into me so hard I have to bite down on my lip to stop from screaming. I make holes in the fabric of the couch with my nails. His balls slap relentlessly against my clit. I sit back over and over, harder each time.
“Spank me,” I whisper. If I speak any louder, I’ll end up screaming.
He spanks me softly, and then harder. I grind my teeth together as everything goes warm and stinging. The room is tiny. The room is just big enough for us. No, there isn’t a room at all. It’s just me and Cage
writhing in a world that belongs only to us.
“I … I … I …”
“Come for me, baby,” he growls. “Come for me, beautiful.”
The compliments drive me over the edge. I want to come for him. I want to be beautiful for him.
My legs vibrate like there’s a bike engine in my belly. I can’t help it. My whole body shudders as though an earthquake is tearing through me. My belly twists. My nipples sting with the agony of the release. My pussy gets tighter and wetter in an instant. Everything pauses, and then speeds up very fast. I have to bite down until I draw pricks of blood to stop from shouting. With bleary, bucking vision I stare into his eyes. His captivated eyes. His teeth are clenched too. He’s trying not to finish until I do.
“Come in me,” I whisper. “Come in me, Cage.”
He comes right away, just as the orgasm is drifting out of me. By the time we’re done, all we can do is collapse in a heap on the couch, both of us panting heavily. He lets his head rest between my shoulder blades. He lets his cock go soft inside of me. An odd feeling, but an intimate one.
Finally, we both slide away.
He looks at me. I look at him. He smiles. And so do I.
Everything is forgiven in that moment. By both of us. Our smiles grow wider and wider until we’re grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers.
Cage looks so handsome when he smiles like that.
21
Scarlett
After we get dressed, we just sit together for a while. I keep expecting Cage to leave and get on with whatever he was doing before I came here. Instead, he hugs me close to him, running his hand through my hair. I tilt my head, giggling. It feels so good to just lie here and be with him, especially when all I’ve done since we parted ways is imagine scenarios precisely like this one. I grab onto his hand, clasping it with both of mine.
The test, the test, the test …
It’s a constant chant in my mind. It won’t shut up about it. It’s like when I get a song stuck in my head, but much worse. At least a song is catchy. At least a song doesn’t have life-changing results. This could change everything.
“Are you okay?” Cage asks when I suddenly walk to the other side of the room.
“Fine,” I lie. I keep my back to him. I look at the calendar with police functions and birthdays marked down. I go to the water cooler and get myself a cup. I drink it fast, even though it’s ice-cold.
“Scarlett …” Cage approaches from behind. I don’t turn. I feel him.
“I …” I need to tell him. I could just blurt it out. It would be like tearing a Band-Aid off. But the words stick in my throat. It’s like trying to use the C-word in front of an elderly person. There’s a block in my mind, stopping me.
“Scarlett?” He wraps his arms around me, pushing his body against my back.
I fall into him, letting him envelop me. Maybe I can just stay like this. Hide in his smell, his muscles, him. Hide from the world and from the facts and from my responsibilities.
“Are you gonna tell me or not?” He laughs, but I can tell he’s worried. “Is it …” He hesitates.
“I haven’t been seeing anyone else,” I say, guessing what he means.
He lets out a sigh. “Thank fuck for that.”
“What about you?” I swivel in his embrace, looking up into his intense eyes. “Have you?”
“No,” he says, staring right into me. It’s the truth, I can tell. “I swear on the club. I haven’t touched another woman. Hell, I haven’t even smiled at one.”
I let out a sigh of my own.
“So what’s goin’ on, then?” he asks.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was nothing?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Maybe I’m not the goddamn lady-whisperer—”
I giggle. “Lady-whisperer?”
He shrugs. “But I reckon I know that there’s something going on here. Did you publish an article about Isaac or something?”
“No!” I snap. “I haven’t even written about him!”
“Then what?” he demands. “I don’t get it. What the hell is goin’ on? You can tell me, you know. I won’t freak out or anything like that.”
“You don’t even know what it is!” I protest. “I wouldn’t make that promise until you know what we’re talking about.”
He holds me at arm’s length, looking purposefully right into my eyes. “Come on, Scarlett. Don’t leave me in suspense here. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as you’re making out. Dammit, have you been killing puppies or something? You’re acting like a serial killer.”
“A serial killer?”
We smile at each other at the silly joke.
“Well?” he prompts.
I have to disentangle myself from him. I go back to the other side of the room, near the couch. I find it hard to look at him as I summon the courage. I think Cage senses this. He doesn’t press me again. Instead, he just stands nearby, watching, waiting.
I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant!” I blurt.
For several long, long moments we just stand there. I can’t even look at him. The anticipation is too dreadful. He could be smiling. He could be scowling. He could even hate me. Maybe this was all just some mad fling and now I’ve ruined it.
He drops onto the couch. I finally turn to him.
He has one hand on his forehead, massaging, and the other gripping the couch cushions. “Pregnant?” he mutters, as though the thought had never crossed his mind.
I can’t exactly blame him for that. The thought never crossed mine until it forced its way in.
“Pregnant,” I confirm.
The word hangs in the air like a curse. Cage goes on rubbing his forehead. It’s like he thinks he can rub it through his skull and into his brain. His mouth is hanging open. He realizes it, forcing it closed. Then he glances at me. His eyes are full of fear, panic. They’re the eyes of a man who has just found out he has an STI. Not an expecting father.
“Just give me a second,” he mutters.
“Sure,” I say, feeling numb. I don’t know what I was expecting, exactly, but this is not it.
I return to the water cooler and get two cups. I take one to him. He downs it gratefully. I hand him the second one and then go and get two more. He again drinks both.
“You’ve been to the doctor?”
“No, but I did three tests. All different brands. And they were all positive.”
“I reckon that seals it then,” he says quietly.
“Yeah, I think so. Of course, I will go to the doctor. Unless …”
“Unless what?” he snaps.
“Unless we decide to do the other thing—”
“You can’t mean that?” Suddenly, he’s on his feet. “You wouldn’t get rid of it?”
“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want to do that. But it’s an option.”
“Not to me, it isn’t,” he growls.
“Are you against it?”
“What, on some bullshit political level?”
I nod.
“I don’t give a damn what people wanna do with their bodies, Scarlett. But you’n me, I care about that. And if that’s my kid in there, there’s no damn way I’m letting you just … just fucking scrap it. Like an old bike.” He shakes his head fiercely.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” I admit. “But I understand if you don’t want to be a part of the baby’s life. I know it’s a big shock.”
Somebody knocks on the door. Cage snarls, “Give us a few minutes, dammit.”
“This is our breakroom, Morrow.”
“Yeah’n you’ll have it back in a few minutes. Just leave it.”
The person sighs loudly and walks away. Loudly.
“Are you really okay with that?” he asks. “If I said to you, right now, you’re keeping this kid, but I’m having nothing to do with him, you’d be fine? You wouldn’t care? Don’t play games with me, Scarlett.”
“Obviously it’s not an ideal situation,” I allow.
&nbs
p; “A son. I’m gonna have a damn son.”
“Hey.” I march up to him, clasping his face in my hands. “Who said it was going to be a boy?”
He grins at me, looking almost a boy himself now. My heart breaks, but happily. I never knew a breaking heart could feel so good. Maybe it’s because he immediately puts it back together again.
“Listen here, little lady. I’ve got Viking blood running through me—”
“Viking blood!”
“That’s right. If I’ve put a kid in you, he’s a boy. There’s no doubt about it.”
“So Vikings never had girls, then? We might want to tell Scandinavia about that.”
“As long as the kid’s healthy, eh? Isn’t that what folks say?”
“People do say that,” I agree.
I can’t let myself be truly hopeful until I know where he stands. This might all be idle talk. I don’t know.
A long pause follows. Cage refills our plastic cups. After we’ve both had a drink, he moves over to me. He hugs me tighter than he ever has before. It’s like he’s trying to crush me, but in a good way. I grip onto him tightly.
“Here’s how it’s gonna be,” he whispers. “I’m gonna stand by you’n that kid no matter what. I’m gonna do what I can to raise him … or her. I don’t know what good I’ll be in the diaper-changing’n all that shit. But you’ll never have to worry about money. You’ll have a house. We’ll have a house.” He takes a breath, like he’s stunned with what he’s saying. But he doesn’t take it back.
“There’s nothin’ worse in this world than a man who abandons the mother of his child. I reckon that’s a fact right there. If the dad dies or something, that’s one thing. But walking out on them, leaving them alone? I won’t do that, Scarlett. I … you’re mine now.” He finds my lips, kissing me briefly. “You’re my old lady.” His breath washes over my face, warm and welcome.
“You mean it?” I struggle to fight off the tears. “You can’t just say things like that if you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it,” he tells me. “You’re my old lady now. I don’t care what you think about it. I’m not asking you to be my old lady. I’m telling you. I can’t have a kid in this world’n not be with the mother. I’m yours now, God help you.”