by Sierra Hill
The one thing I do appreciate about Mica is that she isn’t a flirt. I trust her implicitly. She’s loyal to a fault and would never go after another guy or one of my friends. She has a strong moral fiber and character in spades, unlike most of the other girls I’ve hooked up with in the past. One of which, Rainey, who was hanging around today in the café.
I know she saw me with Mica, but as soon as Micaela left, Rainey was all over me. What’s the phrase? Oh yeah, like stink on a pig. I saw the look she gave Mica and saw her whispering to her friend as Mica left the building, but I couldn’t hear what she said. It couldn’t have been very nice, though, with the way her eyes bore holes in the back of Mica’s head or the ugly cackle that came from her friend’s mouth.
I hightailed it out of there as soon as I could, heading into my Spanish class and then back home when class was done.
Now that I’m getting ready for tonight, I’m both excited and weary about hanging out with my friends from the hood. I’ll be the first to admit that they haven’t always been the best influence on me.
I didn’t grow up in the best section of Phoenix and because of my dad’s authority issues (he was dishonorably discharged from the Army when he was twenty, before he met my mom), he’s been hired and fired so many times, it meant we were always scraping by. So, our house was a dump and we lived in a crappy neighborhood most of my childhood.
When I heard that Alex had enlisted in the Army and would be leaving for boot camp in a month, I couldn’t let him leave without seeing him again. The party is being held at a local pub in the old neighborhood and I am looking forward to hanging with them all. Alex, Dodi, Coffer, Metcalfe and Brant.
I’m more interested in being with Mica, though. And shit, doing the things I told her I would do tonight gets me hard just thinking about it. Every time I fuck her, I want to do it again as soon as I’ve come. She has this magical spell on me and she’s all I ever think about.
Even in my sleep, I dream about her taste. Her lips. Her hair. Her perfectly tight and wet pussy.
I’m still in awe she finally gave it up to me. I’d tried so many times before and she’d given me just enough to continue my habit. But now that I’ve gotten the whole package, I can’t stop. I need her in a way that resembles my need to breathe.
Fuck, I’m hard right now.
Setting the comb down I’d just been using on my wet hair, I slide a hand over my erection that pokes through the towel wrapped around my waist. I squeeze and palm it hard, letting the sensation take over.
I conjure up the images from last Sunday night when we were studying in her apartment. I was on the couch with a book over my lap trying hard to concentrate, but instead my eyes kept scanning over the sweet curves of her body.
She was stretched out on the floor on her stomach, her books and notes strewn out around her, a pen between her teeth. Her legs were hooked at the ankles, swinging behind her, her chin in one hand. From my vantage point, I could see the sweet swells of her breasts plumped and pushed up from the floor beneath her, and the sexy curve of her ass. It was all too much.
I left my book on the couch cushion and made my way to the floor on all fours, crawling over to her as she barely noticed my movements.
I came up behind her on my knee and pushed up the edge of her tank, exposing the soft skin of her lower back. Arousal flooded me when I noticed the shivers across her flesh from my touch, as I drew circles with the tip of my finger over and over again across the terrain of her back.
She murmured softly – maybe even mewled at how good it felt – and I chuckled when she finally let go of the pen that fell to the floor with a plop, and she dropped her head to the side on the carpet.
Leaning over her delicate body, my lips traced her perfectly sculptured spine, my tongue drawing wet patterns along the way. Sliding my hands underneath her hips, I unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, tugging them down over her ass and down her legs as she assisted with a lift of her body.
The sight of her naked butt and the silky, smooth legs had me as hard as a motherfucking rock.
I grabbed her hips and hoisted her up onto her knees, as she gave me a cry of surprise.
“Shh, just let me…”
I didn’t even finish the sentence as she relaxed in my hands, as I pressed her head back down against the floor and her arms stretched out above her head, spreading her legs wide.
With her bare ass in the air, I had the perfect vantage point to see the wetness that glistened and beckoned me. The sweet, faint scent of feminine arousal from her pussy made my mouth water as I spread her open with both hands on her cheeks, leaning down and swiping up with my tongue. She whimpered and bucked underneath my ministrations and I groaned at the honey, tangy taste lingering in my mouth.
“Fuck, Mica. You taste so good.”
And then she whispered the word every man wants to hear.
“More.”
I would’ve given her anything and more in that moment. And every moment since.
My dick in one hand and the other holding me up against the counter, I jerk myself off recalling the hour I spent getting her off with my fingers and my mouth, and finally burying my cock inside her, taking her from behind while she was on all fours.
Every time with Mica is great, but that one particular night was utter perfection. The way she lets me fuck her without reservation makes me weak in the knees. She holds this natural sensual power over me and I can’t get enough.
My self-induced orgasm barrels out of me now, my legs tingling and going numb as I shoot over my bare stomach, my hot jizz instantly turning cold as it lands on my belly. When I finally come down from the climax high, I look into the mirror and scowl at the man before me.
“How can you possibly give that girl anything?” I mutter to myself. “You’re nothing and nobody. A monster.”
Acknowledging that feeling of defeat, I move into my bedroom and open the top drawer, grabbing the pills that I know will help manage that self-loathing and pity. The ones that will bring me back up from the bottom of my despair and feed me the courage I need to be the guy Mica wants to be around. They’ll soften the edges of my mind and my memories so I can lie to myself and to her about who I really am.
So I can be the one that can make her happy.
The man she can believe in to do anything for her.
The pills will help me lie to myself so I can believe I’m the right man for her.
Chapter 18
Mica
Lance picked me up at my apartment just before nine, flowers in hand and kissing me sweetly at the door as I let him in with a silly grin on my face.
My heart let out a little sigh of contentment and happiness. A knot of butterflies unfolded and fluttered in my belly as he walked in, the scent of him lingering with every step.
This party tonight isn’t something I want to go to, but the way that Lance makes me feel when I’m with him – well, I’d do anything for him. I told myself I can hang with his old friends for a few hours if it meant I could be with him. That’s what friends do. They support each other.
Even though I have ulterior motives. I really want him to stay the night with me.
I grab my purse and we head out the door, but not before he stops and ravishes me with his eyes.
“You look smoking hot tonight. Shit, my boys are going to be so jealous.”
He whistles and spins me around with an admiring gleam in his eye, licking his lips as he does. I’m not wearing anything special. Just the skirt he mentioned liking, along with a flowery see-through blouse with a black tank underneath and shoulder cut-outs. When I steady myself to face him, he grins and leans down to place his lips on the skin exposed on my shoulder.
I hum at the contact, wanting him to explore more of my flesh with his mouth. When I feel his hands grip under my ass and squeeze, he groans and pulls me flush to his body. His mouth seeks mine and kisses me hard – as if he’s been pent up for ages. As if we hadn’t just seen each other mere hours before.
But I don’t mind. I let it happen because what else can I do? I want him just as bad. When I’m with Lance, I don’t think about consequences or responsibilities. I don’t worry about all the expectations my family has of me or doing what they want me to do.
When I’m in his arms, I’m just me.
Desired. Appreciated. Wanted.
His hand travels the length of my thigh, underneath the skirt, finding the bare skin of my ass. I wore a thong tonight and when his finger traces the lacy material in the crevice between my cheeks, I feel the hard length of his arousal pushing into my stomach.
I pull away from his kiss to catch my breath but also to make a recommendation.
“The way I see it, we have two options.”
His brow quirks inquisitively as he squeezes my ass and then swats it with his hand.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that exactly?” he asks playfully.
I bat my eyelashes and wiggle my hips. “Well, we could either go to the party and be surrounded by people. Or, we could stay here in the privacy of my bedroom and you can see what’s under this skirt.”
His response makes me feel like a powerful coquette wielding my magic with my words and body.
With eyes closed tight, mouth rigid and his head thrown back, he groans as if this is a painful proposition.
“Georgie, you’re killing me,” he murmurs in a low, taut voice. And then he takes a step back, at least an arm’s length distance and sighs. “You have no idea how hard you make this for me. It’s unfair, really but I promised my buddy I’d show up tonight. So let’s go, make a quick appearance, I’ll have a beer or two and introduce you to everyone, and then I’m bringing you back here. And because of your naughty little suggestions, I’m not gonna go easy on you.”
His body is suddenly back in front of mine, crowding me until I’m backed up against the door. I have to tip my head way back to stare at his eyes, which are wild and feral. Like a caged animal.
“I’m gonna fuck you fast and hard. I may even lose control, because that’s how you make me feel. You make me lose it completely.”
His words are harsh. Penetrative. Forceful. But they’re cushioned with the gentle glide of his hand down the back of my head. It only just proves the fact that there are two sides of him at any given time.
He’s sometimes the sweet and tender man and other times he’s also the rough, unleashed and maybe even a little lost man.
Both turn me on. Make me weak in the knees. And turn to my heart to a sopping mess.
“Okay, I can live with that.”
I open the door and he follows closely behind me, grabbing onto my hand to thread his fingers through mine to guide me to his car.
And it’s just like this that we drive to the bar on the opposite side of town. With my hand in his, either to cherish me or for fear of letting me go.
As it so happens, he doesn’t let go of me the entire night. In between introducing me to his friends, grabbing us drinks or just joking with the group, his hands are on me. They’re either wrapped around me as I stand in front of him, over my shoulder hugging me into the curve of his side or on my lower back as he leads me around. And I soak it up like a sponge.
We’ve been here for the past two hours and it’s not like I’m counting, but he’s had a lot to drink. I stopped at one – mainly because I’m underage still, even though the bartender didn’t even bother to check my ID – but also because I knew I’d be driving us home tonight. That’s kind of a given when Lance goes out to have a good time.
I’m used to his partying behavior. The first three or four times I saw him after our official first introduction, he was always wasted. Drunk on booze or stoned on weed. No one ever seemed to comment on it, it was just ‘how he is,’ so I didn’t think it was my place to ever say anything. With the exception of a few times he got really out of control, he was always a happy-go-lucky drunk, laughing too loud or hugging people or joking around -and seemed in control of things mostly.
The only time I heard anything to the contrary was when Ainsley said she’d sleep over at Cade’s and she knew Lance would get pass out drunk or drink until he’d puke his guts out and then be hungover the next day.
My body has never been tolerant of alcohol, so I really don’t drink much because I don’t enjoy the feeling it gives or how it makes me feel woozy. I’ve never even been drunk, which Lance thinks is hilarious. As for weed, I’ve tried it once. Took two hits (because that’s what my brother told me to do to ensure I got a good buzz) and hated the weird floaty, time-warped sensation I got from it.
But I’m not a goodie-two-shoes or a narc, either. It doesn’t bother me when others drink. Witnessing Lance over the last year when at parties together, he likes to have a good time by letting loose. I’m not going to judge him for that. We’re in college, for heavens’ sake. He becomes the life of the party when he’s drunk and everybody loves him.
The only concern I have is that when Lance does stupid shit and goes too far. It scares the crap out of me because I never know what to expect. Or what he’ll do or how far he’ll go.
As I watch him drink another beer, after the two shots of Jameson he’s already had with Alex and a guy named Coffer, I worry that tonight might not end up the way I’d imagined. And it makes me sad.
I want him to have a good time. And it’s not like he’s ignoring me or being rude and hitting on other girls or anything, but I just see him slipping away moment by moment. Drink after drink.
“How’s my beautiful girl doing? Having a good time?” he slurs, his body swaying a little to the left until he grabs the table to hold himself up.
I nod, my smile not quite meeting my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Your friends are nice.”
Mostly that’s the truth. There is one guy, Dodi, that gives me the creeps. He’s slimy and it oozes off him. I’ve seen him back in the corner of the bar sitting in a booth, people coming and going from his table. It looks like some sort of transactional business is taking place, but I don’t see any exchange of product anything. It’s probably my over active imagination, but at one point I caught him staring at me.
Not in the usual way a guy will stare at a girl. Not with longing. But with outright contempt.
I shook it off and returned to the conversation we were having with Alex about his reasons for enlisting, but the feeling remained and my intuition told me he was bad news.
“They’re good guys. My buddies. They were there for me all those years, especially after…”
Lance stops short of saying anything more, so I squeeze his hand that’s wrapped around mine hoping it’ll keep him talking. But he doesn’t say more, instead gestures to the waitress who passes by with the beer in his hand for another one.
I’m about to lean up on my tiptoes and whisper in his ear that I think it’s time to get out of here when one of the guys comes waltzing over and grabs Lance’s attention.
“Dog, your dad’s here.”
And then everything changes. The hand that holds mine goes suddenly cold and stiff and then he just drops it to his side. He polishes off his beer – half a pint – in one swallow and an angry scowl forms across his mouth where the once happy, quirky smile had been previously.
“Fuck.” Is all he says and I’m reeling from the severe attitude change.
It’s like the room’s altitude pressure has changed as if we were in a descending plane. There’s still noise and celebratory laughter, but a cloud of hostility has swept over the room, concentrated over Lance.
“I need something stronger to drink. Come with me to the bar.”
He pulls my hand and we maneuver through the crowd.
I’m in the dark. I don’t know anything about Lance and his dad. He’s never once mentioned him to me and I’m not one to pry so I haven’t asked. But it’s pretty obvious by the way he’s acting that he isn’t happy to learn his dad is here.
The bar is crowded, but people make room for us as we belly up to it. Lance doesn’t look at me, he just stare
s down at his hands as if they offer the answers to whatever he’s thinking about.
Placing my hand on the center of his back, I stroke it cautiously, carefully observing his movements. He’s so edgy that he ripples with tension. I’ve never seen him act like this. Like he’s walking on a tight wire above a pool of sharks.
I’m careful with my words. “How about taking me home? Doing what you promised to do earlier.”
Whatever is between he and his dad, I don’t want to get in the middle of it. All I want is for Lance to take me home so he’s away from this environment. It’s obvious it’s not a good place for him right now.
Lance slowly turns his head toward me but I don’t see the guy I normally see. The cocky, funny, sexy man I’ve fallen for.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
My eyes widen because I don’t know if he’s being nasty or flirty. Something is off. His tone. The glint in his eyes. Everything is just weird.
I try to keep it light, letting my hand slide down over the curve of his butt and leaving it there.
“Si, I would.”
While the kiss is a little less than tender and holds a degree of sloppy drunk, it still manages to curl my toes. Any kiss from Lance will send me into the danger zone.
His hand wanders, finding my waist and pulling me in, similar to what he did earlier at my door. The other hand leaves the bar top and he fingers it through my hair.
He kisses my lips, my cheek, my jaw and then my neck.
“Mica, you have no idea how much I want you. What you do to me.”
“Mmm,” I murmur.
“I’m not sure I can wait to get you home to fuck you. I want you right now. I want to lift you up on this bar, pull up your skirt, and slam myself home into your wet pussy.”
He emphasizes this with a thrust of his hips and a yank to my hair and I gasp.
Yep, long gone is the tender sweet and out comes the raunchy and rough. And I hate to admit it, but it’s so hot. My belly does loops, like I’m jumping up and down on a trampoline. Or in a twin-engine plane that’s just swooped down and done a looptie-loo.