by S. Ann Cole
Thankful he hadn’t woken up before me, I gingerly removed my leg from around him. I moved my arms next, carefully inching away until our bodies were no longer touching. As I made to creep away, something locked around my middle and yanked me back to the ground, drawing me into a hard, wonderful warmth.
Holy shiznit. I knew this was a bad idea. How could I have fooled myself I wouldn’t fall asleep lying on Xavier’s chest?
“Tell me I’m hallucinating,” came his deep, soul-melting voice.
“You’re hallucinating,” I quickly agreed.
I tried to move again. I failed.
His arms didn’t budge. “Feels damn real to me.”
“Hallucinations usually do.”
He moved, rolled me onto my back, and pinned me down, torso to torso. Judging by the sharpness of his eyes and the lucidity of his speech, he’d been awake for a while.
Stupid, stupid me.
He stared down at me, searching. “You came back.”
I couldn’t help the arching of my eyebrow. “Uh, no. You passed out in my elevator.”
He frowned, deep, as if trying to remember the events of the night before. Abruptly, he released me. He drew back. Pushed up on his knees. Scrubbed his hands down his face. “Sorry. I didn’t…shit. Sorry, Chino.”
Getting to his feet, he looked around, gaze lingering a long time on the pillows and the comforter. He seemed stuck in a limbo with a devastating downturn of his eyebrows. Apologizing once more, he stepped around me and plowed downtrodden steps toward the elevator.
Seeking fortitude, I clutched one of the pillows and pushed up onto my knees, my heart splintering piece by piece as I watched him stride in.
Fingernails digging into the supple softness of the pillow, I struggled to find the words to stop him. I didn’t want him to leave, but I was honest-to-God tired of being the one to fight for my relationships. No one believed I was worth fighting for? Two years ago, Davian didn’t. Now here Xavier was, walking away.
He never thought I was worth chasing when I left him. No, he’d waited for me to come back. Why? Why?
Why couldn’t he have been different and fight?
Head hung low, eyes to the ground, he hit the down button, and with each second I waited for the door to close, my heart pounded hard, harder, and even harder. Somehow, I knew this would be the real end. This was the one chance we had left to either say “goodbye” or “welcome back”.
As the doors began to close, I gave up strangling the innocent pillow and my mouth managed to form the words, “Xavi…”—His head snapped up as if he’d been waiting, hoping, praying I’d stop him—“…don’t go.”
Not so much as a beat passed before he was out of the elevator and rushing toward me. He dropped to his knees so we were face-to-face. We stared at each other.
Silence. Pregnant, poignant silence.
“You’ll leave him?”
“I was never with him.”
A frown formed, chased off by confusion. “What?”
“For someone who’s been in the media for nearly all your life, I can’t understand how you could just run with every rumor.”
“What’re you saying?” He was beside himself. “You and Davi—”
“We have a kid together. A kid we moved here and are raising together. Being around each other is unavoidable.”
“You knew Jess and I aren’t together?”
“Only recently.”
He nodded. He shook his head. Nodded again. Warring with his thoughts.
“Xavier…” I sucked in a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you come after me and apologize? Why did you let it go this far? Get this bad?”
Sighing, he rocked back on his heels. “Was ashamed. Of myself. Gave in to jealousy. Left you in my bed and got caught making back-up plans with Jess. To even begin to justify that, explain it, how could I? Should’ve come after you, true. Just didn’t know what I’d say if I did.
“Naming the bar after you, that was my ‘creative’ way of apologizing. Of letting you know it’s only you…only you for me. It didn’t work. By the time I realized how serious it was and that I needed to come get you before it got bad, there were pics, and videos. Every day was something new. Convincing. So…I accepted defeat. Figured it was futile to compete with him. Thought it was what you wanted all along. An excuse to run back to him.”
“If I wanted an excuse I wouldn’t have chosen you, Xavi. Do you see how much sense that doesn’t make?”
“Messed up.” He caught my fingers, stilling them, and it was then I realized I’d been twisting them between us. “Messed up bad, Chino.”
“You did.”
Moving my lips in close to his, I just breathed.
His long-lashed lids shuttered down, creases of pain marring his forehead. “Where do we stand?”
Withdrawing my fingers, I rose quietly. Standing to my full height, I looked down at him.
He looked up at me.
Extending my open palm, I answered, “I know I want to stand with you. Always. Where do you stand?”
He studied my proffered hand for a moment before taking it, but he didn’t stand. He pressed a kiss in the center of my palm and then released it.
I suffered a brief moment of panic and disappointment, but then he crawled closer to me, closing the gap. Remaining on his knees, he circled his arms around my hips and tipped his head back so our gazes kissed. “Beneath you.”
My bones didn’t melt, but my heart did.
I felt the heat of his lips press just above my hipbone, and my fingers combed through his hair as a quiet sigh escaped me. He continued, lava-hot kisses burning across the waistband of my shorts.
Before he could tear them off and ravish me, I gathered the strength to grip his hair and yank his head back.
“No. This is more serious than sex.”
A slow smile yawned across his lips. “Babe, nothing’s more serious than sex.”
Releasing his hair, I backed out of his hold. “Before we can resume being ‘Xavi and Ally’, you have to get clean. I can’t have an alcoholic around my son.”
Letting out a frustrated grunt, he rubbed his eyes with his fists. It looked painful. “You don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
He sat back on his heels again. “Every time I admit into rehab and check out sober, it’s usually a matter of time before I relapse. That’s ‘cause I had nothing to lose. Until you. An addict needs a reason to quit. They got nothing to lose, only tryna quit ‘cause people tell them to, then it’s never gonna work.
“When you were mine, I knew what I’d risk losing if I took a sip. You were my reason to stay clean, but when I lost you, I also lost my reason to stay sober. Took the sip ‘cause if I didn’t have you, I had nothing to lose.” In a subservient pose, he placed his palms on top of his thighs, gazing up at me under those lush lashes. “You’re my rehab, Chino. You say we’re back on then I’m clean. That’s all it takes. You.”
Not even his band? He didn’t care whether or not he got kicked out of the band but cared whether he’d lose me? That’s… just not something I could believe. “How can I trust that?”
“Trust me,” he offered, “and everything else will be easier.”
Raking both my hands through my hair, I let out a noisy sigh and walked around in confusing circles. I’d never dealt with an addict before. How did I know it wasn’t the usual for them to give convincing speeches like that to avoid rehab? I needed to check in with Xena about that. In the meantime, however, I would give him the benefit of the doubt.
I ceased walking in circles and crossed my arms. “Okay. You may not want to check into rehab, but you definitely need to check in with a doctor.”
He looked at me puzzled.
“Tex told me you were spreading yourself thin, sometimes two women in one day. No way is my mouth or vagina going near that dick again until I see a clean medical record.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “Anything else?”
“Y
es.” I eliminated the gap between us and took his face in my hands. “I love you.”
An unidentifiable expression passed over his features as he averted his eyes, taking my hands by the wrists and removing them from his face. “Chino…did you…you do anything with anyone?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“No,” he told my pelvis. “Just wanna know. Peace of mind.”
“No, but…”—I shifted uneasily—“…I almost did.”
An audible whoosh of breath left him, surprising me. “Thank shit.”
Unable to help laughing, I commented, “So much for not mattering.”
“Lied.” He looked at me then. “Would’ve haunted me.”
“It was with Davi.”
He made me a ‘duh’ scoff. “Who else.”
Donning a scowl, I folded my arms. “Are you saying no one else would’ve wanted me?”
“Know you still love him, Chino. Nothing I can do about it. Can’t tell your heart what to feel. Know if it’s not me, it’s him.”
I assured him, “It’s never gonna not be you.”
He stood, finally, and, seizing my arm, he tugged so hard I slammed into him. Now here’s my big, bad, unconquerable Samson. Vulnerability gone. Cockiness succeeding. My king. “That better be the truth, Chino”—he tipped my chin up and lowered his mouth close to mine but didn’t kiss me—“’Cause I’m building my life on it.”
I gasped. “Pump faster.”
The shower.
I’d climbed in. He’d snuck in behind me.
“What did I say?” I’d snapped at him.
He’d shrugged. “Just wanna shower with you, is all. Like old times.”
“In old times, ‘just showering’ never once worked out.”
He’d grinned.
“Xavi, I can’t see you wet and naked and not want you inside me. Get out.”
Moving down to the other end of the shower, he leaned back against the wet tiles. “Will stay down here. You stay up there.”
Knowing there was no getting him out, I turned around and resumed lathering my skin. A moment later, I heard a low groan. I didn’t turn. I knew exactly what he was doing and I didn’t have the strength to resist giving in, so I kept my neck ramrod straight.
His groans grew. To block them out, I ducked my head under the shower. That, however, did nothing to block out the throbbing ache of my clit. Of its own volition, my soapy hand began gliding down my slippery skin, making a clear path down between my thighs. No. I stopped myself. This was exactly what the bastard wanted.
“Do it,” he urged in a strained voice from behind me.
“Get out.”
“Two fingers, Chino. It’ll feel good. Slip ‘em in.”
Damn him to hell. My hand finished its journey, and an everlasting moan wound through me as my fingers dipped into my slick heat.
“That’s it. Turn around. Lemme see.”
Dropping the soap bar, I turned, leaning back against the wall as he was on the other end. His abs tightened, pelvis thrust out as he held himself tight in his fist, jerking up and down.
“You’re a slut,” I spat.
“Deeper.”
At his request, I buried my fingers deeper, my hips thrusting up and out to swallow them.
“My Chino,” he whispered like a prayer.
I rocked my hips, grinding on my fingers while pressing down on my clit with my thumb, the way Xavier used to do whenever he was ready for me to explode.
“Pissed I can’t touch you right now,” he growled out, his pumps becoming more aggressive as though he were punishing himself.
“How many were they?”
“All were you to me,” he immediately responded, as though he’d been expecting the question. “Your eyes…you’re gonna come, aren’t you.”
“You. Are. A. Slut.”
“That makes you wetter?” he asked, licking his lips. “Thinking I’m a slut?”
Selling me out, my hips jolted forward, rocking faster on my fingers.
“Pump faster,” I gasped.
He obeyed. His hand flew up and down over his length, punctuated by harsh grunts and groans. His lidded eyes transfixed on my working fingers, his lips parted, sucking in air.
He looked so damn hot pleasuring himself, the head of his cock cherry-red and swollen.
“Wanna suck you, Chino,” he strained. “Wanna ease—”
That was all I needed to implode. A visual of Xavier kneeling before me, my leg hitched over his broad shoulder as he sucked hard on my clit.
My hips bucked and my whole body spasmed. “Xavi…”
A deep groan had me peeking one eye open. His stare was fixed on my mouth now, and he was rigid as he pumped himself so hard veins bulged from every crevice of him. His hips thrust upward and his entire body stiffened as he gritted out, “Shit. Shit. Shit, Chi—”
White bursts of pleasure spurted over the top of his fist, hindering his words. Eyes closing, he slumped back against the wall.
Before he could regain himself, I hastily rinsed off under the shower and slipped out.
I heard his chuckle as I was bolting through the door, but he didn’t follow me this time.
Eleven minutes later, I was standing in front of the dresser towel-drying my hair when he emerged.
He came up behind me, watching me in the mirror, limp wet curls drooping down his shoulders. The top of my head hit just below his clavicle, so tall and macho he was.
Eyes on mine in the mirror, he opened his mouth comically wide above my head.
Struggling to keep a straight face, I started to ask, “What are—”
“Look inside,” he ordered, pointing to his mouth before opening wide again.
Tossing the hair-towel over my shower, I turned to him and tipped up on my toes to peek inside his mouth.
“What am I looking for?” I asked, bemused.
“Sores, fungus, cuts, blood, herpes…”
“Ew!” I punched his chest and spun back around. “You’re disgusting.”
“Never went down on a chick unless I’m really into her, she smells damn good, or she’s classy and clean. Like you. Random stabs don’t get the mouth.”
I made a face. “Again: Ew.”
His grin could’ve blinded me. “So, my mouth is clean?”
“Of course, it is. Why—eehhfth.”
I let out a surprised, incomprehensible sound as he whipped me around and lifted me up, planted me on the dresser and shoved my thighs apart. “Still wanna suck you.”
My clit pulsed in frantic anticipation. “Xavi, we agre—”
“Said you wouldn’t put your mouth on my private parts. Never said anything about me putting my mouth on your private parts.”
I couldn’t help the grin splitting my face in two. “Private parts? Really? What are you, four?”
Sinking to his knees, he dragged me to the edge of the dresser, wrapped his arms around my thighs, ripped them wide apart caveman-style, then raised a brow and growled, “Will let my tongue answer that.”
His lips met mine. Down south. And at the first magical swirl of his tongue, I gripped his hair, dropped my head back and moaned in my throat.
Nope. No little boy here. This kind of tongue expertise came only with well-experienced man-sluts.
Phones off, internet disconnected, faces hidden from the world, we spent the entire day locked up in the penthouse. Watching bullshit western movies—Xavier’s favorites—and intermittently masturbating in front of each other like sick perverts.
The day following, we both went to get check-ups. That’s as far as our productivity went, as we came right back to the penthouse and did a repeat of the day before, still unable to do the actual deed until we got our results back.
It didn’t matter. It was nice just being with him again. Hearing his deep laugh rumble through me, furtively checking him out while he was engrossed in his vintage movies. Laying on top of him and listening to his heartbeat.
I missed him so much. Havi
ng him again rocketed me in the clouds. I felt invincible. Like there was no start or end to the world. Life felt timeless with Xavier. He made me feel like a different person. He made me feel like I was good. In every way. He made me feel.
I was half-dozing on his chest when his phone buzzed and he excused himself, strolling right out of the apartment in nothing but his jeans hanging off his hips. I stared at the closing elevator doors, wondering what he was up to.
Five minutes later the elevator pinged him back into the apartment. In his hands was a teetering tower of three hot-pink pastry boxes.
From the thick blanket on the floor in front of my 80-inch flat screen, I pushed up on my elbow and watched him saunter toward me with a half-smile. Carefully, he lowered down beside me on the blanket and set the pastry boxes down between us.
“When did you order pastry?”
He bit one side of his lip and peered at me under his lashes. “When you were doing a number two in the bathroom.”
Mortification colored my cheeks. I pushed his shoulder. “I wasn’t doing a number two!”
Lifting the lid on the top pastry box, he begged to differ, “Babe, you were in there for ‘bout thirty min. Then you took a shower. Even though we both showered less than two hours ago.”
I wanted to crawl under the blanket and die. “What if I was on the phone? Or masturbating? Or playing Candy Crush?”
A short laugh broke from his throat. “Well, if you were on the phone, masturbating, or playing Candy Crush, you were doing it while doing a number two.”
I started to sputter another denial, but he cut me off, “Chino, shit scent is shit scent. No matter how much amount of air-refresher you sprayed in there, that scent doesn’t die till it’s already informed everyone else in the house you dropped a dirty one.”
I groaned out, “Oh God,” buried my face in the blanket.
“Don’t be embarrassed, he tried to sooth, but his rumbling laughter defeated the attempt. “I shit, too, you know.”
“But you’re not supposed to know that I…do that?”
“Chino?”
“Hmm?”
“You plan on spending the rest of your life with me?”
I raised my head. “Of course, I do.”
“Spending the rest of your life with me means shitting out your tripe, vomiting out your lungs, and peeing out your weight in front of me.” From the box, he plucked up a delicious smelling, overly cream-filled éclair and moved it to my mouth. “And I’m gonna be doing the same. So get over it.”