Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  I climb into bed and throw the covers off my body. Voracious laughter reminds me I’m missing out on all the fun. Stupid test. Stupid Mama. I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be seventeen next month, but, that doesn’t matter because they’ll always regard me as a little girl. That’s what happens when you’re the youngest.

  The fan by my bed squeaks, the rhythm familiar, and despite my irritation and the party outside my room, my eyelids close with the heaviness of sleep. I don’t know how long they stay shut, but a prickle of unease pulls me to consciousness. The sounds of merriment down the hall mute as my door latches with a soft click.

  There’s someone in my room.

  My first reaction is to feign sleep. I can’t say why, other than I’m a little curious which of my relatives snuck into my room. Maybe it’s my brother? With my eyes closed, I focus on keeping my breathing even. I wish I weren’t sleeping on my stomach, or that my face wasn’t smooshed into the pillow. I’d be able to peek and see who it is.

  My sense of hearing heightens but there’s no movement in my room, no sounds. I strain to listen and the click of my bedroom door lock practically slams in my ear. The same unease that woke me surges full force and sends goosebumps across my flesh. Desmond wouldn’t sneak into his own room. He certainly wouldn’t lock the door.

  Get up! My mind commands, but my body doesn’t obey.

  Not when the bed dips, and not when the weight of a hand presses against the back of my thigh.

  It’s my leg. It’s his hand. It shouldn’t feel weird, but it does. I don’t know how, but I know it’s not my brother’s, or my parents’ either. The bed dips again. My heart beats hard and fast in my chest, so much I wonder if it might shake my entire body.

  Whoever is here brushes my hair to one side. Breath, heavy and warm, blows across the back of my neck. It’s all I can do to not shiver. A body presses against my side, longer, bigger, stronger than me, but still doesn’t say a word. My neck grows hot from the stranger’s breath, and then a pair of lips presses down. They’re moist and move up toward my earlobe.

  If I open my eyes I could make out his face. But I don’t. Instead, I hold perfectly still. So damn still. As if it’ll somehow stop this, or maybe I’ll wake up even though I know this isn’t a nightmare.

  The kisses continue, and his body presses onto my back. I can feel his hardness. His arousal. I think I might be sick. The hand on my thigh skims higher, under my pajamas.

  Get up! The command is loud in my mind but my muscles don’t move. He doesn’t go away, and I keep pretending this isn’t happening. Panic fills my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. His hands explore with sure movements. His touch is assertive, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it only confuses me more. Why would he do this?

  Scream! But my mouth doesn’t move. My eyes won’t open, either. I can’t bear to see his face.

  Disgust coils in my gut, boiling and churning with each of his touches. But he doesn’t know. He can’t hear my thoughts, and he doesn’t stop. The pads of his fingers brush against my most private areas. My nipples harden, and the flesh between my legs grows wet. As much as I don’t want it to, my body reacts.

  Shame. Heavy and thick, it douses my thoughts. Why can’t I push him away? I want to. I hate what he’s doing. I hate him for doing this, and all I want is for it to stop. But I’m mute.

  I clench my eyes and block it all out. His breath. His touch. The audible squeak of the fan blades. I don’t want to be here anymore.

  “Jayla,” Austin says.

  In the safe space of this hotel room, I’m so caught up in reliving my nightmare aloud it takes the scrape of Austin’s voice to jolt me from my past.

  “Don’t, okay?” I pull my hands from his, needing the space. “I don’t need your sympathy. It was a long time ago. I’m no longer that girl.” But that’s not entirely true. It’s why I don’t bring this up. Why I don’t ever talk or think about what happened. When I was telling Austin, it was as if I was back there again. Sixteen, frightened, and confused as my cousin assaulted me while my family celebrated unknowingly down the hall.

  “I’m sorry for what you lost.” Austin swallows and the Adam’s apple of his throat bobs as if he’s fighting with his emotions. “What he took.”

  “I didn’t fight him.” I brush off Austin’s concern with a whisper. I don’t want it. “I never said no.”

  “No. Don’t do that. Don’t diminish what you lost.” His voice is rough. “You were a child.”

  “He was only a few years older.” I swallow, my throat thick with the truth.

  Austin levels his stare right in my face so I can’t miss his concern. “He didn’t have your consent.”

  I nod. Because that right there, it’s my why. It’s why I shut men out. It’s why I became a police officer. It’s why I agreed to making those damn videos with Austin.

  “Did you tell your family?” He reaches forward, the pad of his thumb wiping a tear from the corner of my eye before it falls from my cheek.

  I get a lockdown on my emotions. I don’t cry, not about this. The bastard who took my choice doesn’t deserve tears. He doesn’t deserve a second thought. I won’t give him that power over me, not anymore. “No. What could I say? They wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”

  Confusion crosses Austin’s features. “Why? I thought you were close with your family.”

  “Because”—I swallow the bitterness—“he was my cousin.”

  Austin’s jaw tics with strain and he blows out a long breath. “Your cousin did that to you?”

  I nod and recite the information I’ve long ago memorized. “Most sexual assault abusers are a friend or family member of the victim.” I clench my hands into fists, the pain of my nails as they dig into my skin keeping my mind in the present. “One in three girls and one out of every seven boys will be sexually assaulted by the time they turn eighteen.” It’s a sickening statistic. One I’m a part of, though more than likely it’s undervalued because most don’t report or tell. Like me.

  “I’ll kill him,” Austin practically growls. His body is tense, muscles tight, and he’s obviously upset. His threat comes out more like a vow, and though it’s completely insane for him to commit murder for something that happened to me, a tiny part of me sighs in relief at not being the only person outraged about this.

  “Hey, now. Don’t go making death threats with a former cop as witness.” My joke doesn’t bring even the hint of a smile to his lips.

  “So, you what? Smile and give him hugs at Christmas?”

  “I did. For several years.” The shame I’ve worked so hard to overcome threatens to berate me again. As a trained police officer, and someone who’s been through years of counseling, I’m all too familiar with the psychological elements resulting in abuse. I know my reaction is natural, as well as misplaced.

  “Please tell me he met a painful and untimely death.” His hands reach for mine and I let him peel open my clenched fists. He threads our fingers together. “That way I don’t have to track him down and commit first-degree murder.”

  “My parents’ marriage fell apart. Everything fell apart after we left Phoenix. He was a cousin on my dad’s side, and since Desmond and I lived with Mama after the divorce, I never had to see him again.”

  “You never told your mom?” He seems surprised.

  I get it. Because my mama and I were always close. At least when we lived in Arizona. Things changed when we moved away. She was torn up, and just trying to survive those first years without Dad. I don’t even think she noticed the change in me. Or if she did, she blamed herself. “She had enough to deal with, and I didn’t need to add to the drama.”

  “This isn’t a little gossip, Jayla. It’s abuse.”

  “I know, Austin. You don’t have to tell me.” A laugh escapes my lips but it holds no humor. “But if I don’t let this go, it eats me alive. I choose to let this go.”

  “And make sure it doesn’t happen to other women.” His eyes widen with
the realization. “That’s why you agreed to the videos.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You realize this makes you even more attractive, right? You’re already drop dead gorgeous and a complete badass, but now . . .” His gaze is hungry, but it’s full of so much more than lust. Admiration maybe? It’s the last thing I expect to find, and yet it obliterates the apprehension I had about sharing this part of myself with him.

  “Now what?” I whisper. It’s a loaded question.

  With my hands still tangled in his, he brings them to his lips and places chaste kisses across my knuckles. His gaze never leaves mine. “How am I going to stay away?”

  My breath catches in my throat. The intensity of his stare eats right through the last of my defenses. My soul is cracked open and vulnerable, ripe for his taking. I should retreat. I should shut this down. But for once I give in to the tiny whisper of my heart that begs for safety, for love, for home. “I’ll kick you in the nuts if you get too close.” The retort flies from my lips, though it lacks any real malice.

  Austin’s lips curl up with his smile. “I’m surprisingly okay with that.”

  Moving to my knees, I close what little space is left between our bodies and straddle his waist to sit on his lap. His hard abs flex and he tips his chin up to meet my gaze. “This won’t be easy. I’m not like most women. I have to have control. I understand if you want out.” On one long exhale I spill the rest of my truth. “But if you’re gonna walk, do it now. Don’t fuck with my heart.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I swear.”

  My pulse races with his promise, but I still can’t trust myself to be swayed by pretty words. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  His finger brushes along my jaw and down the length of my neck. His gaze grows heavy, and I feel the hardness of his arousal press between my thighs. But his touch is tender as the scruff of his cheek rubs against my skin, up the column of my throat and down again, pressing sweet kisses as he moves. His touch is more worship than greedy, and I have to resist the urge to melt into him completely. My body comes alive under his sure and steady moves.

  I can almost picture him laying me down. Moving on top of me. Me enjoying the weight of his body. Being intimate without fear. He makes it feel possible. This. Us. Everything.

  My pulse speeds. My breath catches. I can’t deal. My hands press against his pecs and I shove so he lands on the mattress. I have control again. My chest heaves with each inhalation, but I’m no longer overwhelmed. “Hands here.” I press his wrists into the bedding, a few inches from where my legs straddle his waist.

  He doesn’t hesitate or fight my request. His fingers grasp for the sheets, and it’s the most erotic sight. His arms flex, his body tight and hard beneath me. I press my hands onto his chest and scoot up his body so our most intimate parts align perfectly before leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss.

  “Be sweet,” he whispers against my mouth as our lips brush. “Please.”

  If he hadn’t already stolen my heart, he captures it now. My eyes pinch shut, a vain attempt to hold back the surge of emotion that threatens to escape with tears. A part of me wants to fight this. But the other part wants to give in to his simple request. To at least try.

  I leveled him with my dirty secrets. He didn’t run. Even before, when I shared my body, he took only what I was willing to give. I trust Austin. I do. This time as we come together I offer him more.

  Sensual. Connected. Dirty and sweet. His hands never release their grip on the sheets, and I give in to the pull of desire that builds and explodes between us. There are no words this time, only mouths, tongues, breath, bodies—two people reaching for delicious release. Sweaty and intense, we’re the only two people in the world, or at least that’s the way it feels. This time is as good as before. No, it’s better. The buildup is slower, the coil of nerves at my sex tightens, edging me closer to release until I can’t hold off. Our bodies move together, still on my lead and on my terms, but this is no longer just sex. No, it’s very much like making love. This time when my orgasm hits, I give in completely because I trust without a doubt that Austin will catch me if I fall. And damn, that feeling alone is life altering.

  132

  Jayla

  I fell asleep.

  I can’t believe I fell asleep. After sex. In a bed. With a man. Not just any man.

  Austin.

  This is messy, I know, and maybe it was stupid to cross lines last night. What are we even doing? We never hashed out details. I don’t know what I want, or how this works. But no matter how many times I replay last night in my mind, I can’t find it in me to regret being with him. My muscles ache with that delicious soreness that only comes from a night of sex, and for once in my life I don’t feel shame or bitterness the morning after. I gave him everything, and he took it all willingly. My soul feels lighter, more free than it’s ever been, and if I could hold on to this forever I would.

  Austin’s rhythmic breathing keeps me rooted to this bed. I really have to pee, but I don’t want to break the enchantment of this cocoon we created to hide us from the world. Once I get up, the day begins and everything will change. My gaze drinks in the sight of his sleeping form, and I unabashedly study the ink on his skin. He’s so beautiful. He’s strong. He’s all man, and for last night, all mine. Something changed between us. The invisible line we drew between us is now non-existent. I can’t go back to work today and pretend last night never happened, but I’m no idiot either. He has his career, and for now I’m paid to protect him and the band. No doubt there would be consequences if we were to date publicly—if that’s even what he wants. Or what I want.

  Maybe last night was merely a hookup for him. Does he even want to date? What would the band think? The label? I could get fired, and if I wasn’t on this tour, we’d be forced to do the long distance thing. Could I trust him on the road? Would he have issues staying faithful?

  “Keep frowning and you’ll get wrinkles.”

  My eyes fly up to meet his. “You aren’t sleeping.”

  He chuckles, his voice still thick with sleep, and it sends tingles down my spine. He rolls onto his side to face me. “We pointing out the obvious? Because you’re beautiful in the morning.”

  Wrong. He’s the one with the unfairly perfect bed hair. His locks are just a little too long and my fingers itch to run through the curls. Instead, my hand goes to my own head and I cringe imaging how bad I must look.

  “Beautiful.” He draws my hand away and any smart retort gets caught in my throat under the heat of his gaze. My body thrums to life. I already want him again.

  “I need a shower. I should go.” I drag my gaze from his and climb out of bed. I also really need to use the restroom.

  “Funny.” He sits up in bed, watching as I move toward the open door. “My room has one of those.”

  My hands go to my hips. “But I need my things.”

  “We’ll have the concierge bring them to my suite,” he says so simply. It hits me just how much our lives differ, and how much money he must have. Add it to the list of the many differences between his reality and mine.

  “No, we won’t.” I gather my clothes from last night and head to the restroom before he convinces me to stay. We still need to talk, but I also don’t want to get caught sneaking out of his room. Last night we came together perfectly, but the harsh light of the morning sun illuminates all the ways this is wrong.

  I avoid his gaze until I’m safely locked in the bathroom where I relieve my bladder, dress in my clothes from yesterday, and pull back my hair the best I can until I’m back in my room with my conditioner and comb. My feet drag as I head back out to face Austin, confliction bubbling in my gut and slowing my retreat. I should stay, at least long enough to talk and sort this out, whatever it is between us. But I’m battling the impulse to run, to protect myself from the vulnerability that makes me feel more naked fully dressed in this hotel room than I did last night.

  “Hey,” Aust
in says with a slight grin when I finally emerge from the bathroom. A pair of sweats hang low on his hips, and he holds out a cup of coffee while another brews from the single-serve machine behind him. Fancy. Hotel suites have all the good stuff. “I thought we could talk.” The smile he wears almost looks unsure. Hopeful. As if he’s worried I might reject his offering.

  “Thank you.” I take the mug and take a long sip, glad I’m not the only one unsettled about where we stand.

  “I like you, Jayla.”

  “I know.” My lips pull into a teasing grin.

  He rewards me with a megawatt smile. “Yeah, and I think you might like me, too.” He scrubs a hand over the scruff of his face. “Last night was . . . incredible. Amazing. Fucking hell, I can’t even put it to words. But thanking you feels stupid, and also not enough, because being with you felt more significant and real than anything I’ve ever done.”

  My cheeks heat at his word vomit and all the compliments he throws my way.

  “Say something before I make an idiot out of myself.” He grips his coffee and brings it to his lips.

  I do the same and lift my brow, teasing because I can’t help but love this unsure and fumbling version of Austin.

  “Okay, more of an idiot.” He chuckles, setting down his coffee. “Please, put me out of my misery.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “Yeah.” His lips curve up until the grin takes over his face.

  “But how does this work?” I signal between us.

  His smile turns absolutely dirty.

  “Not that!” I roll my eyes. “I think we figured out how that works just fine.”

  “Maybe we give it a go once more to be sure?” He steps toward me like a man on the hunt. Like he can’t wait another moment to touch me. Kiss me. Taste me. I feel the same. His lips meet mine in a possessive kiss, one in which our mouths battle and bodies spark with lust.

  “Coffee,” I mutter between kisses, because I don’t want to spill the hot liquid on him or me. The way this is going, that’s a likely consequence. His lips leave mine and he takes a step back, grabbing my mug and setting it on the counter in a rush.