Up to Me

by M. Leighton

  With his hands on my legs, he urges me into motion. In and out, his tongue moves within me. Back and forth I move on his tongue, rocking on my knees, sliding over his face. His lips and face stimulate all parts of me at once and it’s nearly more than I can bear.

  My breath comes in quick bursts. My fingernails dig into the wood of the headboard. My hips rise and fall over his mouth. My pulse races out of control.

  Faster and harder I grind against him. When I hear his moan, it flips open the floodgates of pleasure and my world flies apart on the tip of his tongue.

  He holds me to him as I close my eyes and give in to the spasms that wrack my body. Before the contractions fade into blissful nothingness, I feel Cash move. Within seconds I feel him behind me. I feel his fingers probing me, gliding in and out of me. And then I feel something bigger.

  His first quick thrust takes my breath. With a groan, he pulls out and slams into me again, renewing my orgasm.

  Wave after wave, I feel my body squeezing tightly around him. I’m so full, so very, very full. I feel him everywhere, like he’s penetrating all the way into my chest. Over and over, he withdraws his length and then drives it back into me, seating himself more deeply each time.

  “Take it all, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. The words are so hungry, so erotic I cry out.

  His rhythm increases and so does his breathing. I know what’s coming. I know he’s coming.

  His body stiffens and he growls with the first pulse of his climax. He pounds into me in short strokes as he leans forward and twists one hand into my hair and buries his teeth in the skin of my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t break the skin; it only enhances the pleasure that’s already flooding my body.

  And just like that, I’m exploding all over again. Coming apart. Wrapped in Cash’s arms. Holding him within my body.

  Within my heart.

  Within my soul.

  CHAPTER SIX- Cash

  Sundays are big visiting days at prisons. It’s always sad to see the number of families sitting at the separated tables. Kids talking to fathers they barely know. Wives talking to husbands they barely see. Lives lived in a way that’s barely human. In a place like this, it’s easy to see that all mistakes, large and small, have consequences. The larger the mistake, the heftier the consequence. I just hope nothing I’ve done or have to do in the immediate future land me in here. I think I’d rather be dead.

  On autopilot, I go through the familiar motions of getting in to visit my father. I’m sitting behind the glass, my hands folded on the table in front of me, when they bring him in. Although I’m not aware of wearing any particularly telling expression, something I’m doing alerts my father.

  He gets right to the point the instant he picks up the black phone on the wall. “What happened?”

  I meet his concerned eyes, eyes just a shade or two lighter than mine, and I shake my head once, casually reaching up to tap my right ear with my fingertip. He watches me intently for several long seconds. I know he’s processing it all and that contingency plans are being formulated as we speak. Or don’t speak, as it were.

  Finally, he nods. Just once, a short, curt bob of his head. He understands. I can see it in his eyes.

  “Nothing happened. It’s just been a long weekend. Work’s been busy.”

  The conversation drifts to mundane topics, nothing that would be totally out of the ordinary for one of my visits. We catch up on people and events and daily real life things, nothing worthy of any extra attention. I’m hoping it’s just enough to lull any listeners into a lazy state of boredom.

  Finally, Dad steers the conversation back to the most important thing. But, crafty guy that he is, he does it in such a way that it doesn’t seem obvious. At least I hope it doesn’t.

  “So how’d that fishing trip go? Catch anything?”

  I don’t fish. Nash did, but I never have. Dad knows that. And that’s how I know that we’re not really talking about fishing.

  “Nah, it was a no-go. Ended up spending the weekend hiding out. You know, to work.”

  He nods slowly, meaningfully. I know he picked up on my use of the term “hiding out.”

  “It can be dangerous. To work too much.”

  “Yeah, I know it can be,” I say, nodding for emphasis. Still he watches me closely. It’s like we’re carrying on a much deeper conversation without saying a word.

  “Gonna have to hand over some of the important duties to someone else I think.” I hope he understands what I’m really going to have to hand over.

  “Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, Cash. Things don’t always turn out like we want. Or like we plan. Sometimes, you just have to go with it and do what you think is best. It’s all about surviving this life.”

  “I feel like my hands are tied.”

  He nods again. “Well, giving up everything can have a whole different set of consequences. Do you have a Plan B?”

  I shake my head, raising my hand helplessly. “No, but I’m open for suggestions. I’ve still got time. Just not much. The club’s in trouble.” He scratches his chin, still watching me. “Anything you can think of that might help? Anything else I can do?”

  “You’re so damned stubborn,” he murmurs. “You had to go all in, didn’t you? With that club. And risk someday going down with the ship.”

  Before Dad got arrested, he didn’t want me to have the books, didn’t want me involved. I convinced him that not only would they provide us with some leverage, but that they would also keep me safe. As long as Dad’s employers knew the books were…somewhere, they could never risk making a move until they confirmed who had them or where they were.

  Only now they’ve confirmed the who.

  “That’s what I’m trying to avoid. Thought you might have some advice. You’re a pretty smart old man, after all.” I say this with a grin, a loving one. And Dad recognizes it. I see it in his eyes, all the affection I have for him reflected there.

  “You need help at the club.”

  “I’m open to it. Any suggestions?”

  “Here’s what you do. Take out two ads in the paper.”

  “Does anyone still use an actual newspaper?” I tease.

  “Some people do,” he says with a casual shrug. In this case, “some people” must be pretty important people. “But there’s an online place you can advertise, too. Don’t put the second ad in there. Only the first one. You might get a quicker response from it.”

  He goes on to tell me exactly where to place the ads and how to word them. I make notes in the crappy burner phone I’m carrying.

  “You should hear something in a few days. At the latest. Maybe getting some help around there will free you up a little more.”

  “Yeah. This is really becoming a problem for some of my employees, too.”

  He knows that Olivia bartends for me.

  “Well, this might be the answer then. Sometimes it takes drastic measures.”

  “I’m desperate. At this point, I’d be willing to try pretty much anything.”

  He nods again, but says nothing. In his eyes, I see regret. Deep, painful regret and sorrow. Although he doesn’t have the details, he knows that things are starting to go sideways. Coming to a head. And not in a good way, not in our way. Having to hand over the books was never part of the plan, never a consideration. After all this time, I never thought…well, I just never thought. And not thinking has cost me. And it might keep costing me.

  Unless I can figure out something else. Maybe the ads and whoever they’re signaling will be all the answer I need. I hope so.

  ********

  As soon as I get back to my bike, I check my phone. Signal is lost completely inside the prison. Olivia knew I’d be unreachable for those few minutes. She seemed fine with it, much more so than me. I rushed through the visit as much as I dared so I could get back out into the wired world. Now I’ve got four bars and no messages, which is a good thing. I guess. No emergencies. No reason to worry.

  Bu
t I wouldn’t have minded finding a text or a message from her anyway, reason or not. Just to let me know she’s okay. Or maybe that she missed me.

  After a few seconds of internal debate, I give in to the urge and push the button to dial Olivia’s temporary cell phone number. It’s not that I have anything particular to say. I suppose it’s just that, despite the fact that I’ve only been gone a couple hours, I want to make sure she’s okay. Just check in. It’s the polite, considerate thing to do. That’s all. Nothing more.

  Just keep telling yourself that, buddy.

  I roll my eyes at that voice in my head. He’s a smart ass.

  “Hello?” comes the sleepy response.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “That’s okay. I was just being lazy, but I need to get up. Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the prison. I’m getting ready to leave. Just thought I’d check in.”

  “Really?” There’s a smile in her voice. And a hint of something else. Pleasure, maybe? It seems like she’s happy that I’m checking in with her.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  She pauses. “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  Another pause. “I don’t know. I guess I just keep expecting you to…”

  She trails off, but I have no problem finishing her thought. She still thinks I’m one of her typical bad boy mistakes. Vaguely, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do enough or say enough or show her enough that I’m not like that. At least not in the ways that count. Or will she always compare me to them? If she does, she’ll always find similarities. But will she see the differences? And will they be enough?

  Sometimes it sounds like a battle I can’t win. After living the lives of two separate people for all these years, after having to pretend to be things I’m not for all these years, what I really want is someone who sees the real me and accepts it. All of it. The good, the bad and the ugly.

  But, that can’t be my primary concern at the moment. There are too many more important things to worry about. Like keeping everyone alive and safe and unharmed. Even people I don’t particularly care for, like Marissa. I couldn’t live with something like her death on my conscience. Or even her being hurt. I already feel like shit about this whole mess and nothing has really happened. Just the thought of it escalating and, God forbid, ending badly gives me a little insight into what Dad must feel. Every single day. He has the death of two loved ones on his hands, not to mention whatever else he’s done during his employment with the Russian mafia.

  Olivia clears her throat and brings me back to the present. “How’d it go?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. Do you need anything as I come through town?”

  “Ummm, not that I can think of. With what you brought last night, I think I’m all set.”

  “Good. Okay, I’ll see you in a little while for lunch then. We can order something up to the room.”

  Immediately, my thoughts go to the dining room table in the hotel room, to pushing aside china and crystal glasses and heavy silverwear, to tearing that damned robe off her and easing my body into hers.

  I bite my lip when I feel blood flow divert away from all my vital, thinking organs in favor of the fun ones. I’ve gotta stop thinking about shit like that. I can’t very well ride back to Atlanta, on a motorcycle, with a huge hard-on. At least not comfortably.

  “Mmmm, that sounds good.” Part of what makes me bite my lip harder is what she said; it’s like she knew exactly what I was thinking. But most of the reason is the way she said it. She’s got the sexiest voice when she talks low like that. It’s got a hoarseness to it, like a rumble that I can feel vibrate through me. Wakes my dick up every time. And he didn’t need any help today!

  “All right then. See you soon.” I hang up. I know it probably seemed abrupt to her, but it was either that or take a few extra minutes to walk off a boner before traveling back to the city. And I hate leaving her alone for one second longer than I have to. I’m pretty sure she’s safe, but I’m not certain. And as long as I can’t be certain, I won’t be taking any unnecessary chances.

  CHAPTER SEVEN- Olivia

  I flip my head up from drying my hair and stare at my reflection. I can see the worry in my eyes. I don’t know if Cash can or not, and if that’s making things worse or not, but something sure is.

  It seems like the tension between us is growing. And not in a good way. The sexual tension is still there. For sure. But it’s taking a back seat now to whatever else is going on to trouble the waters.

  It might just be a collection of things. I know I’m feeling a little uncertain. About him, about the situation, about…everything.

  Damn Taryn and her stupid comments!

  I know I shouldn’t pay that much attention to her, but it seems like her words snapped me out of a trance, one where I was ignoring everything in order to focus on Cash. And look where that got me! A kidnapped cousin and an all-expense paid trip to a luxury hotel that might as well be a prison.

  It wouldn’t feel so much like captivity if Cash and I weren’t so tense around each other. I know what my issues are. It’s his that concern me. Why has he grown distant and uneasy? Is it just the situation with Marissa? Does he feel guilty? Is he worried about giving up the books and losing the only means he had of helping his father? I’m sure he’s feeling all those things. But the question is: is there more? Does it have anything to do with me?

  As I finish getting ready for work, I grumble silently over this strange new predicament and how selfish I am to be so focused on it when there are more important things at stake. When I’ve threaded thin gold hoops through my pierced ears, I shut off the bathroom light and make my way to the living room.

  “Okay. I’m ready whenever you are,” I say to Cash where he’s sitting on the couch, pretending to watch television. I can tell by the way he starts when I speak that his mind was elsewhere. Deep, deep, deep in elsewhere.

  He smiles. And my heart skips a beat. Just like always.

  “I guess it’s working out perfectly that you wanted to work tonight, huh? Now we both have reason to be there. You can make some money and I can keep an eye on you.”

  “You don’t have to keep an eye on me. In fact, we don’t even need to stay here probably. They have Marissa. You’re taking them the books. This should all be over with tomorrow, right?”

  I’m not sure what to make of Cash’s expression. But even if I did, I wouldn’t trust that I’m interpreting it correctly. I think I’m just too sensitive right now. To everything about him.

  He nods and smiles, but the smile is tight. “It should be, yes. Just bear with me a little while longer. Please.”

  The last word is added with a hesitant sincerity that makes me feel bad for…something. Like I’ve wounded him somehow. But I can’t imagine that’s true. Still, it seems that way.

  “Of course. Whatever you think is best. I mean, come on. Room service and marble bathtubs? What’s not to love, right?”

  “Precisely.” His grin still doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Let’s go make some money.”

  Ten minutes later, as we zip through the streets of Atlanta on his bike, I revel in the feel of having my arms wrapped around Cash’s waist. It’s the one time I can hang onto him without giving thought as to why I’m holding on or if I’m holding on too tight. Or if I should be holding on at all.

  I wish I had a giant rewind button. I’d take us back a few days, to the day he came to Salt Springs to find me, to the day I felt like I was his and he was mine, to the day I stopped thinking about everything else.

  To before I talked to Taryn. And she reminded me that leopards don’t often change their spots. They’re beautiful as they are, but they should be admired from a distance. Where they can’t reach you with their claws, claws that could easily tear a girl’s heart out.

  When Cash rounds the corner and Dual comes into view, my heart sinks. Taryn is already here. And she’s sitting in her car, no doubt waiting
for someone to unlock the doors and let her in. I heard Cash call Gavin, the part-time manager, and tell him not to worry about opening up, that he’d be in.

  Holy crap! I didn’t even think about that!

  As Cash drives past her car and around the building to his garage, I see her eyes follow us. Even through the tinted face shield of the helmet, I can feel the sharp tips of the daggers she’s throwing my way. I assume that this will bring an abrupt and likely ugly end to our truce.

  Dammit.

  The garage door opens with the push of a button on Cash’s bike and he guides us inside and cuts the engine. I hop off quickly, hoping Taryn doesn’t come around and make a big scene.

  “I’d better get in and get to work,” I say, handing Cash my helmet. Slowly, he reaches out to take it from my hand, eyeing me suspiciously. After several uncomfortable seconds, just when I think he’s going to make an issue of keeping our relationship (whatever it might actually be) from the others, he nods. I give him a quick smile and dart into the apartment, through the office and out into the bar itself, stowing my purse safely behind the counter.

  I waste no time getting to work, uncapping liquor bottles, making sure the coolers are stocked and then setting about to start slicing lemons, limes and oranges. I see Cash cross the room to unlock the doors, but rather than going back to his office, he goes outside. It’s a good fifteen minutes before he comes back in. And the thing that irks me most? About sixty seconds after he comes in, Taryn finally makes her appearance.

  And she’s smiling.

  Broadly.

  Now what the hell does that mean?

  The lump of nausea in the pit of my stomach tells me it means nothing good. At least not for me.

  I blink away the tears that sting my eyes. How could I be so wrong? Again! It felt so right. I was so close.

  Taryn starts to whistle as she gets her station set up. Whistle, for God’s sake! Call me crazy, but I think she’s gloating. Can whistling sound like gloating? Um, I’m pretty sure it can. And I’m pretty sure this does.