Cary

by Jessica Gadziala

  At the last possible moment, some form of insecurity or self-preservation had my hand loosening the pressure on the back of his neck.

  I’d brought him ninety.

  And I sat there immobilized by both desire and the fear of rejection, as Cary took one long, slow breath.

  Before closing the last ten.

  His lips sealed over mine.

  I guess I’d been expecting soft and sweet and careful, since that was the way Cary had handled me since I’d shown back up in his life. With kid gloves. Very aware of my trauma, and not wanting to trigger me in any way.

  But this wasn’t that kind of kiss.

  No.

  Oddly enough, it seemed to have the same uncontrolled passion as a man who’d just gotten out of prison, who’d been denied human contact for far too many years, who was desperate for the feel and taste of a woman.

  His lips bruised into mine, creating this sort of aching need that started at the contact then ballooned outward until it filled me completely.

  It became this tightness in my chest, this pressure on my lower stomach, this throbbing sensation between my thighs.

  Cary’s teeth nipped my lower lip, seeking entrance that I immediately gave him. I was too consumed in the sensations assaulting my body all at once to even begin to overthink it.

  I just wanted to feel it.

  I wanted to know more of it.

  I wanted him to show me.

  I’d been almost painfully aware of the fact that something had always been “missing” for me when it came to intimacy. There was something my body hinted at, but never fully experienced.

  Years.

  I’d been in my marriage for years without any of it.

  I’d been happy with Raúl for a long time without getting more than a hint of it.

  But with Cary? Within seconds of contact, my body seemed to ignite with this new sort of knowledge, this acute sort of need I’d never known before.

  His tongue moved inside to claim mine as I pressed my thighs tightly together in an attempt to ease the ache growing there.

  Cary’s arms grabbed me, shifting me until I was straddling his waist. Both his hands moved, framing the sides of my face as he deepend the kiss.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt as fully, I don’t know, ‘claimed’ as I felt right an that moment.

  Even if it was just for that moment, I decided nothing had ever felt quite as good as being his.

  My arms lifted, slipping around the back of his neck, and folding there as I pressed into his chest.

  A low, mewling noise escaped me as my breasts—heavier than usual and overly sensitive—pressed to his firm chest.

  I barely resisted the urge to reach up and rip off my top, wanting more than anything to feel my bare breasts against his heated skin, to feel his hands roaming over me without any barrier.

  Cary’s hands had just moved from my neck and down to my shoulders when there was a sudden pounding on the door that had us both jolting and flying apart.

  Panic gripped my system as Cary seemed to struggle for a second to shift from kissing to action.

  He’d just turned to reach for the gun on his nightstand when a voice called through the door.

  “Let me in. I brought donuts. They’re kind of stale, but, y’know, edible.”

  “Dezi?” I whispered.

  “The fuck are you doing here?” Cary growled.

  It was the first time I’d ever heard him be anything other than kind and patient. It made no sense, but the fierceness in his voice only made the throbbing between my thighs intensify.

  “Welp. It appears I’m a little drunk,” Dezi called through the door even as we heard him stumble and slam into the door. “And the clubhouse is far, far away,” he added, slurring a bit.

  Cary’s gaze slid to mine like he was looking for permission.

  “You have to let him in,” I whispered, even as I worried that the desire flooding my system would be too clearly etched on my face.

  “What’s the matter?” Cary asked after letting out a sigh and making his way to the door. “Couldn’t find a woman to go home with?” he asked, pulling it open to reveal a wobbly Dezi who was holding a crushed donut box to his chest.

  “I’d hardly be doing my best work in this condition,” Dezi declared, giving Cary a bleary-eyed smile. “I couldn’t do that to a lady. I have a reputation to uphold, you know,” he added, nodding slowly, and I swear he almost fell asleep on the downward motion of said nod.

  “Christ, how much did you drink?” Cary asked, trying to wrestle the donut box out of Dezi’s hold, but he was clutching it like a security blanket.

  “Hey, not my fault there was a divorce party,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “No one drinks as hard as a newly single woman and her pack of chicks who never liked the asshole she’d married in the first place. We did a crawl.”

  “Crawl being the operative word,” Cary agreed, wrapping an arm around his stumbling friend and pulling him into the room. “Sit,” he demanded, pushing him onto his bed.

  “Bed. Good,” Dezi agreed, kicking out of his shoes, then climbing up fully, still holding his box of donuts.

  Cary’s gaze slid to mine, showing both amusement and resignation.

  Then there was a crash that had us both whipping our heads over to see Dezi had fallen off the bed.

  “Floor’s good too,” he murmured as he rolled onto his side, tucked his donut box under his face like a pillow, and promptly passed out.

  And, well, that was that, wasn’t it?

  It wasn’t like we could continue on with Dezi right there a couple feet away.

  Maybe it was for the best, anyway.

  It was only going to muddy things between us.

  At least, that was what I was trying to tell myself as I tried to fall back to sleep.

  My body, still aching with unmet need, had other things to say, though.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cary

  Fucking Dezi.

  I normally looked at his antics with the resigned acceptance of an older brother with an irresponsible younger one who constantly needed to be watched.

  Normally, I was happy enough to put up with his shit.

  Just this once, though, I wanted to grab him by the back of the cut, haul him up, and toss him out into the hall.

  I even considered calling some of the guys at the club to come get him. But the fact of the matter was, the moment was gone.

  And, for fuck’s sake, the moment never should have happened in the first place.

  The woman had just woken up from a nightmare so terrible that she’d struggled to separate it from reality for a long moment, a nightmare where I suspected she was being assaulted in some form or another by her ex.

  The last fucking thing she needed at that moment was for me to take advantage of her vulnerability.

  Sure, yes, she’d made the first move. But that was likely just in response to being offered some kindness after reliving some of her trauma.

  I shouldn’t have closed the distance when she’d paused.

  “Fuck,” I hissed, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  It had been a sleepless night, to say the least. And I’d been dealing with a raging hard-on for a fair chunk of it.

  Abigail had tossed and turned as well for a long time. And I tried to convince myself it had nothing to do with the unmet need I’d stoked in her.

  Eventually, even she managed to pass out.

  And Dezi, well, he slept like the fucking dead. The bastard.

  Someday in the future, I was going to find the exact right moment, and cockblock his ass in revenge.

  Even if, logically, I knew him showing up when he did—before things got too out of hand—was probably the best possible thing to happen.

  With a sigh, I quickly brushed my teeth then moved back into the room, finding Abigail slow-blinking out the window as she woke up.

  “Too bright?” I asked, regretting opening the blinds so early. “I wa
s opening them to torture Dezi when he gets up,” I told her, getting a smirk out of Abs as she looked down at him.

  “I don’t think he moved an inch all night.”

  “Dezi is a pretty heavy drinker when he goes out. So him getting that shit-faced is rare,” I told her. “I hope those women got home okay,” I added, suddenly worried about them. I mean, if Dezi was that wasted, I couldn’t imagine what those women were like.

  “Party bus,” Dezi mumbled, making me look down at him.

  “Is he talking in his sleep?” Abigail asked.

  “Nah, pretty lady,” Dezi said, his eyes slitting open to look at Abigail. “Those ladies had a party bus. Someone’s brother was hanging around like a chaperone. I wouldn’t have left ‘em if it wasn’t safe,” he added, pulling up to lean back against my bed as he reached inside his crushed box for a powdered donut, looking at its smushed appearance for a second before shrugging and taking a big bite.

  “You’re not hungover?” Abigail asked, shaking her head at him as she sat up in bed.

  “Me? Not since I was thirteen,” Dezi said, winking at her.

  “You’ve been drinking since you were thirteen?” Abs asked, eyes widening.

  “Only a couple times a week. So, a place this fancy has to have a breakfast spread, right?” Dezi asked, shoving the rest of the donut into his mouth, then jumping to his feet.

  “Yes,” I confirmed, shaking my head at him as he reached for another stale donut.

  “I’m gonna hit it before I get back to the clubhouse. You guys want anything?” he asked, pointing between us a couple of times, fully energized and ready to go, despite the crazy night he’d just had.

  Oh, to be young with the liquor tolerance of a fucking troll.

  “I’m not even awake yet,” Abigail said, shaking her head.

  “We will grab something on our way out,” I told him.

  “Alright. Suit yourselves,” Dezi said, making his way toward the door. “I hope they have those little boxes of cereal,” he said, mostly to himself, as he made his way out.

  “How does he get up and moving so fast?” Abigail asked, sighing hard as she put her feet on the floor. “I didn’t even drink last night and my head isn’t even working properly yet.”

  “Dezi’s an enigma,” I said, shrugging. “What time do you want to head over to the apartment today?”

  At that, her eyes brightened.

  “Like five minutes ago,” she declared, hopping up, and rushing over toward the closet to grab an outfit. “Give me ten minutes,” she added, going over to the bathroom.

  “Take your time. We have all day,” I reminded her as I reached for my phone to text the landlord.

  Those words fell on deaf ears, though, because Abigail rushed through getting dressed so fast that she stumbled twice and dropped a bunch of shit off the counter and onto the floor in her haste.

  I couldn’t help but smile at her excitement, though, as I grabbed my charger and cut.

  She emerged less than five minutes later, fresh-faced with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and bright, happy eyes.

  It took a lot of fucking self-preservation not to reach for her again right then. To take her back to the bed now that Dezi would be distracted, and we wouldn’t have any interruptions.

  But I couldn’t.

  It wasn’t right.

  She needed space.

  And I needed to fucking respect that.

  “Ready?” I asked, tucking my wallet into my pocket.

  “For a ride on your death machine? Not quite. But to check out the apartment? Totally.”

  Fuck.

  The bike.

  Her arms holding on tight. Her breasts crushed to my back. Her thighs wrapped around mine.

  Christ.

  I should have taken an ice-cold shower. I should have taken matters into my own hand. Maybe then I would be able to think fucking straight.

  As it was, I braced myself for the discomfort, and tried to have my head wander anywhere but to the woman nestled behind me on the bike on the short ride over to the apartment.

  “Any rules about fixing shit up in there?” I asked the landlord as we stood on the street out front of the boarded-up shop his father used to run.

  “Nah, man. Do whatever you want. Anything would be an improvement,” he added, wincing a bit at the admission. “Got the month left on the dumpster out back too if you need it. And, ah, shit. What else are landlords supposed to say?” he asked, clearly out of his element. “Oh, yeah. Pets,” he said, looking over at the pet store. “I don’t give a shit,” he added, shrugging. “I mean, if it wrecks the joint, you just lose your security deposit, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed, nodding.

  “Alright. Good. Yeah. That’s it then, right? Unless you want a tour.”

  “I think we can manage,” I said, taking the key.

  “Alright. Good. Good. Enjoy,” he said, giving Abigail a tight smile as she bounced on her heels, wanting to get the technical shit over so she could go and check out the place.

  “Do the honors,” I invited as we went in the side entrance that had a small foyer and a staircase leading up.

  I was pleased to notice the steps creaked up a fucking storm as we went up them. There was no way anyone could come up on them without making a racket. We’d hear anyone coming.

  The door would need some better locks. Maybe a security system, depending on how shit went.

  As for the apartment itself, it wasn’t a whole lot to write home about. There was a living space that led right into the kitchen with a small space to the side where a dining table was likely supposed to go. The appliances were dated, but not so dated that they wouldn’t work.

  The short hallway had a linen closet, a full bathroom with some truly heinous green tile on the floors and walls, then one bedroom that would maybe fit a queen bed if you were willing to sacrifice one nightstand for the bigger sleep space.

  “It’s amazing,” Abigail declared when we finished the short walkthrough.

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath for her opinion until it rushed out of me, sounding a lot like relief. Because, quite frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised or offended if she declared it was hideous. Since it pretty much was.

  “Yeah?” I asked, brows knitting. “Are we looking at the same apartment, love?” I added, smirking at her.

  “No. I like that it’s kind of ugly, y’know? The uglier it is, the prettier it can be made, right?”

  “That’s a very glass-half-full way of looking at it,” I said, nodding.

  “I’ve never had a space I could decorate before,” she told me. “I mean, of course, your opinion counts more, but—“

  “Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there,” I cut her off. “Your opinion is all that matters when it comes to fixing this place up.”

  “No, that’s ridiculous. You’re the one paying for everything.”

  “It’s your apartment. I don’t give a fuck if you want to paint it all Pepto fucking pink, love. Let your imagination run wild with it.”

  “Cary…” she said, shaking her head.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching out, snagging her chin, and jerking it up. “We’ve been over this, haven’t we? Don’t worry about what I think. And, while you’re at it, don’t go worrying about the cost of fixing it up either. I want to do this.”

  “I’m going to pay you back.”

  “If it makes you feel better to think that, go ahead. But that isn’t happening,” I added, smiling when she let out a long-suffering sigh, like I was being a pain in her ass.

  I figured that was a good thing.

  Because she’d never been around a man she could show her annoyance with. She felt comfortable enough with me to make it clear she was frustrated with me.

  “So, what do you want to do first? Hardware store for paint? Furniture store?”

  “Ah, wherever we can get cleaning supplies, maybe? Everything has a fine coat of dust,” she added, swiping a finger across
the molding on the door, wincing at the dirt on her finger. “And maybe we can pick up a couple design magazines?”

  “Sure, sounds like a plan,” I agreed, nodding. “But you might want to check out Pinterest for design too.”

  “I, ah, I don’t have a phone or computer,” she reminded me, making me realize I needed to remedy that. I needed to be able to get in touch with her if I wasn’t around. And she damn sure needed to be able to call me. As for the computer, well, I figured it might be a good way for her to continue to figure out what she wanted the rest of her life to look like, so I made a mental note to get that shit handled later too.

  Several hours later, the apartment smelled like a mixture of lemon and bleach, despite all the windows jacked open to let in fresh air.

  “Shit,” I grumbled down at my phone.

  “What? Is something wrong?” she asked, tensing immediately, making me realize I needed to be more careful about shit like that. She was always going to jump to worse-case scenarios when she thought something was the matter.

  “Nothing, love. I have church.”

  “Church?” she repeated. “I, um, I didn’t realize you were, you know, religious.”

  Surprised, a laugh bubbled up and burst out. It had been so long since I’d been around someone who wasn’t in the biker lifestyle, that I forgot not everyone knew the lingo.

  “‘Church’ is just another way to say a meeting for us. It’s mandatory for all members.”

  “All,” she repeated, frowning. “Dezi too,” she added.

  I could practically hear her racing thoughts. If I had to go, and Dezi had to go, and all the other guys had to go, and she wasn’t supposed to be at the clubhouse, then who was going to keep an eye on her?

  “I’ll be okay,” she said immediately, forcing a smile that looked painful.

  “I’m not leaving you alone, Abs,” I said, shaking my head. “I just need to figure out which of the girls is around to come hang.”

  “The girls.”

  “Princesses. Don’t worry, each and every one of them can whoop our asses on a good day. They’re highly trained and capable, even though I don’t think you have the need for that right now.”