by Jules Dixon
“Thanks for that visual.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’m hoping it is. Now using your other hand, separate your … um…”
“They’re lips down there, too, Drex.”
“Okay, separate your lips and slide that wet finger along each slick side.”
I did and my body released a flood of heat to the area.
Moaning his name, I writhed on the bed and the phone slipped down the pillow, giving him a full breast view.
“Fuck,” he exhaled the word and I could hear his increased breaths through the phone.
I continued, while he watched my body. “Just keep going, Drexel.”
“Okay, collect some of your juices with that finger.”
“I’m dipping it inside of me.”
“I’m working myself faster. Now move that finger to your clit and rub lightly. Almost teasing. Can you feel it harden under your finger?”
“Holy shit,” I panted as I rubbed.
“Rory, my cock has never been as hard as I am right now. I’m getting close. Shit.”
“Hold off, Drex, please, for me.”
“Aurora,” he whispered my name.
I climbed through the skies.
“Rub a little harder,” he rumbled.
“I’m almost there.”
“Aurora, I lose my goddamned mind when I’m around you.”
His words filled my ears but the vision of him lost to his own pleasure was enough to bring on spontaneous orgasm from my body itself. My name roared from his mouth and his eyes clamped shut, while his body jerked and he released a savage deep grunt that spoke his extreme pleasure.
When his eyes reopened, I gazed into something I didn’t expect to see … my future.
My explosion ignited deep in my core, murmuring his name over and over, as my body detonated every kind of firework. Screamers, big bangs, colorful rings and flowers, and sparkling cascades of energy exploded inside of me and the grand finale of the show continued for longer than ever. I panted through the last twinkling of cinders.
I opened my eyes and I didn’t know why there was such a long silence, but it felt right.
“My third leg, says ‘thank you’,” he whispered. His salacious grin was all I could see.
I rocked my head on the pillow and laughed, every relaxed muscle in my body made Jell-O seem like concrete.
His toothy smile and light chuckle made me smile. “I’ll let you get back to the middle of your something.”
I laughed again.
I could tell he was trying to be a different Drexel. One he thought I wanted, when all I really wanted was him the way he was.
“Thanks for talking to me. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Sweet dreams, Princess.”
“You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”
“I mean it in a good way. Promise. Just go with it, Aurora.”
“Good night, Drexel.”
“Good night.”
The screen went dark.
Damn, I miss you.
Chapter Thirteen
Drexel
I was late for work, a lot closer to lunch than to breakfast late. After talking to Rory, I crashed and slept the whole night only to wake up three hours after I was expected at work. Presley stepped in to handle my first appointment of the morning and told Charlie I texted her I was having stomach issues. She wasn’t happy lying, and from her one pissed-off call from the bathroom, she actually was having stomach issues—morning sickness. If I didn’t get fired, I would be the luckiest S.O.B on Earth. And I’d owe Presley more than a voiced line of appreciation.
I snuck in the side door and made it to my office without anyone seeing. My hands were shaking. My oversleeping had altered my morning routine, but didn’t alter my urge to use. I opened my desk drawers, moving contents from one side to the other.
Where the fuck is it?
While I was searching, a shadow darkened my desk and my office door closed. Presley leaned back against the door.
I glanced up and winced. “Jesus, Bradenhurst … I mean, Mrs. Saylor. You look like shit.”
Her stare and silence gave the term “Ice Queen” a new meaning.
“Drexel, are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice cracked as she shrieked at me.
I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help smiling. I’d never heard Mrs. Perfect cuss before and the phrase coming from what used to be a reserved female was entertaining.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, searching for one of my trapped-here-in-a-blizzard emergency snow capsules.
“Drexel!”
“What?” I rifled through the side drawers.
“Stop searching for your drug stash and look at me.” She pulled a chair around to my side of the desk and sat on the edge, on her hands. “Listen to me. Charlie is pissed. He and Mr. Jessen had a meeting and I don’t think they were discussing what golf course they’re visiting first in the spring.”
I stilled. “Do you think I’m fired?”
Presley’s thin shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t think it’s a great sign.” Her emerald eyes shed a silvery tear leaving a path of disappointment down her cheek.
I slammed my desk drawer. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a quick breath.
“Fuck it! I have savings. If they want to get rid of the best salesman they’ve ever had, then fuck ‘em!” I paced behind my desk, shoving a hand through my hair. I hadn’t even bothered to run a comb through it after my quick shower this morning. “It’s not my fault. I have pain. I can’t function with the hurt. It’s not like I want to do this. If there was another way, I’d be glad to hear it.” I stopped moving.
Sobbing into a tissue, her words muffled through her hand. “Please, get some help, Drexel.”
When I stared at Presley and how much she cared, I wanted to feel something, but I didn’t. I didn’t because all I could think about was going out to my car and snorting a big line to make it all disappear.
I’m just … fi—
I knelt in front of her and pulled her head to my chest.
Her hand twisted in my shirt. “Please. Please, Drexel.”
“I love it when you beg.” The cocky asshole line made me cringe and I thought about taking it back, but I figured she understood it was typical Drexel.
Asshole Extraordinaire and King Jerk Supreme.
Presley’s fist released my shirt and she pounded on my chest. “That’s not funny! Can’t you see how this is hurting the people who love you?” She raised her head. “And the drug use is hurting you, too.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic, Presley.” I rocked back on my heels and stood. “I need to grab my phone from my car.”
“Is there a website that has ‘1001 Crappy Excuses So You Can Go Do Your Drugs’, Drexel? That shitty excuse should be at the top of list. I think you’ve used it dozens … no, wait, hundreds of times.”
I opened my office door.
“Drexel!”
The shrill quality of her voice made me stop.
She cleared her throat, the strong female I had once been attracted to returning. “If they decide to keep you, I won’t cover for you again.”
I glanced back at her. “You do what you have to do, Presley, and I’ll do what I have to do.”
Another round of sobbing started and I walked away.
Fucking pregnancy emotions. God, I need a hit.
****
I only did one line before lunch. Of course there was only forty-five minutes before lunch, but the change was still a different start to the day than any of the last five months. Acting like a teenager who was dodging his parents’ wrath from some major fuck-up, I avoided GM Charlie and Mr. Jessen at every turn. I wondered if this was a new low, but from the Monday NA meeting I was pretty certain the bottom of using was an abyss I hadn’t even begun to fall into.
And do I want to see how deep that hole could be?
After putting in a grueling six hours of avoiding everyone, I climbed into
my car as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Aurora: Can’t wait to see you tonight. Come over anytime. I think you know the code. Let yourself in.
Drexel: Not going to make it. Sorry.
Wednesday’s routine kicked in. On autopilot, I drove to my normal meeting location. Sure enough, a black sedan was parked right where it was every week.
I parked next to the auto with darkly tinted windows and the weakening buzz of my one big hit of the day failed to stop memories. September. I’d arrived at this same location, but back then I was staring into the eyes of a dead woman.
A girl I’d started to hang out with tried to get clean, but her dealing douchebag of a boyfriend didn’t like her decision. He basically kidnapped her from treatment, then overdosed her with a cocktail of prescription and illegal drugs. Sure, she took the drugs of her own free will, but I guarantee that Moriah Weston didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to leave the beautiful little girl she and Kanyon Hills had created together. She didn’t want to leave her parents, who cared about her so much they took her back, time after time, mess-up after mess-up. And I was starting to think she wouldn’t have wanted to leave me, either. I cared about her. We had a friendship I knew would never turn into something more, because my own demons to battle were the same demons that tormented her, too. But I wanted to be there for her, when she needed me.
After I discovered her dead of an overdose, I found that asshole boyfriend and I did a beat down on him until he was bloody and I was exhausted. He ended up in the hospital. I ended up in jail. I testified against him in exchange for dropping my assault charges. The asshole was now behind prison bars, hopefully the bitch of someone he screwed over. No regrets there.
After Moriah’s death, I was clean for over a week, almost two, but one day while I was lifting at Triple R, my shoulder injury attacked my willpower with a vengeance. I used without even thinking about what I might be throwing away. That was the thing—the pain instigated the using, the using lowered my willpower, the aftereffects made it worth the regret, and the pain came back to make me ignore the regret. Vicious and repetitious cycle. Lately, there seemed to be less and less regret and more and more anticipation for the next use.
I stared straight ahead into a place known for happiness. With the cold weather, the playground was empty, but the brightly colored equipment still gave hope of happy kids and attentive parents.
Not sure either really exists.
The usual routine was to roll down my passenger window and the guy in the black car would throw a package into my Mustang. I prepaid for a discount and the fucking irony settled into me as pitiful and probably more telling than I needed at the moment. My finger hovered over the auto-down window button. My phone buzzed in the console and I glanced to see the screen light up.
Aurora: I would really like to see you tonight. Are you sick? If you are, I’ll bring you soup. But if there’s something wrong, let’s talk about it.
My left hand twitched over the window button. My right foot revved the engine and my right hand gripped the custom-made racing short shifter handle tighter. He called my name from his lowered window and in my peripheral vision I could see the door opening on the sedan. I shoved the car into reverse and squealed from the spot. I spun the tires on the concrete until there was a cloud of smoke covering my car as well as his. Bursting through the charcoal haze, I drove away wondering if impulsive decisions could feel like hope, too.
There was only one place I wanted to go and one person I wanted to see.
****
The wrought-iron gate parted and I drove the Mustang through. Rory stepped from the garage door. She’d lost a little weight from her hospital stay, but even with a long winter coat on, her luscious curves were still there. Seeing her, my body responded. I wanted to grab her hand and drag her to her apartment and have my way with her. But I remembered from the meeting the risk of substituting one addiction for another was real, and sex gave the same endorphin rush as cocaine. She didn’t deserve to be a substitute. She deserved to be everything.
Stepping from the car, I walked to the doe eyes towing me in. I stopped myself from smothering her with a hug that would pass my discomfort into her.
She smiled, and there wasn’t a day of sunshine warmer than her smile. Winding her long pink painted fingers through my fingers, she gave a squeeze. “I’m glad you decided to come over.”
“Rory, we need to talk.”
“Let’s go to my apartment. I have a couple of things I need to take care of. Come.” She tugged on my arm to follow her.
The twinge of pain radiated down my arm. I blew out a long breath to stem the urge to dig into my emergency stash.
Aren’t all of those stashes non-emergency stashes now?
The fruity scent from last night trailed behind her.
Before we got to her apartment, a voice yelled across the walkway between the upper floor of the main house and the semi-detached garage where she lived.
“Rory! Hey, Mom and Dad are going to be late tonight.”
She sighed and I adjusted my shoulder as the sound ignited every nerve pathway through my body. The whoosh of the exhale spoke pain to me, even if it was just her ingrained response.
“It’s Wednesday. I should’ve known.”
“Hi. I’m Spencer, Rory’s brother.” He held out a hand.
I tried to release Rory’s hand but she held on. I cleared my throat. “I’d like to shake his hand.”
“Fine.”
I leaned to her and whispered, “No more ‘fine’. If you’re asking for honesty from me, I want to hear an honest response from that beautiful mouth of yours, too.” I kissed her cheek.
Her eyes opened wide and she dropped my hand.
“Spencer, this is Drexel Mason. He’s—”
“I know who you are. Dad talks about your sales achievements a lot. Nice to meet you. I think you’ve been here for parties before.”
“A couple.” I glanced at Rory and she blushed.
Spencer turned and motioned behind him. “Mr. Mason, this is my boyfriend, Marc.”
“It’s Drexel,” I offered to both of them.
The shy young man stepped up and shook my hand.
“Marc’s going to stay for dinner, too.” Spencer backed away. “I think they’re picking up Mexican, but I could be wrong.
“Olé!” Marc offered and Spencer laughed. “Hey, you wanna join us for a game of Call of Duty, Drexel?” Marc asked, dropping his Mexican dance-inspired arms.
“No thanks, maybe after dinner.”
Spencer grabbed Marc’s hand and tugged while walking backward. “Great. Later.”
Rory’s apartment looked different than the last time I was here.
The time I entered into a personal hell and almost didn’t come out.
Music played over the surround sound and bright lights illuminated the space, in contrast to the earsplitting silence and soul-chilling darkness I’d experienced.
“You want a beer or glass of wine?” After stripping her coat off and throwing it over a chair, she walked into the galley-style kitchen.
I removed my coat and placed it on top of hers. “Beer, please.” Shoving my hands in my pockets to stop the shaking, I wandered the room. “Looks a little different from when I was last here.”
“What?”
“You rearranged the furniture.”
“Oh, yeah. I forget you were here after Presley and Jude’s wedding. But how could I forget, I practically threw myself at you. Right?”
She had, but we’d both played the flirt-before-fuck game. It was an endless and fantastic contest of who could build the sexual tension highest. I didn’t know if there could ever be a winner, but I could tell we both wanted to find out.
At least I’d give it my best, to make sure she was a winner.
I heard two bottle caps hit the counter. She tucked her legs under her body as she sat on the sofa and held out a beer to me. I relaxed back into the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.
<
br /> “Drexel? What’s wrong?”
Does she really need to know?
I want to be honest.
She wants me to be honest.
Tell her.
She set my beer on the coffee table. “You probably think I’m still a child for living at home, right?” I opened my mouth to disagree, but she held up a hand to stop me. “Let me explain. My father grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home and he really believes in family.” Her shoulders tensed. “I’ll be honest, he can go overboard with his protective instincts and I don’t necessarily agree with everything he asks of Spencer and me, but his heart is usually in the right place. When he asked me to move into this apartment, saying no would have crushed him, and honestly, I really like it here. It’s far enough from the main house that I can do my own thing, which actually included screaming on a big solo finish last night, thinking about someone.” A flush of pink crossed through her porcelain skin and I chuckled. “But it’s close enough I can still visit them when I want to. They rarely come to visit me, just knowing I’m here and safe seems to be enough for now, but I know I can’t live in Mommy and Daddy’s castle forever, Drexel.”
I cringed, remembering I’d said those words years ago.
“Aurora, I was jealous back when I said that. My home was more like a boardinghouse. My parents never asked me what I was doing, where I was going, or who I’d be with. They really didn’t care.”
She reached out and her fingers slid into mine. “I knew you needed someone to care for you.”
“I’ve done fine on my own.” I snapped the sentence at her and pulled my hand back to my lap.
“No one said you haven’t, but we all need to know someone wants to know where we are and where we’re going, even if it’s just for a day. Sometimes we want a person to know those things every day of our life.”
I looked away. Her words were nice, but the past had a way of obscuring hope, and my arm was throbbing to my heartbeat—making it hard to concentrate on anything else.
She popped up from the couch as I reached for my beer.
“I need to change out of these interview clothes.” She motioned to the brown slacks and blue sweater.