by Rue, Rebekah
I nod.
“Love, I can’t see you. Can you do that for them? For me? I need to know that you’re alright.”
I swallow big, sniffle, and answer, “Yes. I’ll do anything you ask. And I know I’ll be okay. Do you want to know why, Heath?”
“Why, baby?”
“Because you make me okay.”
“Damn! That’s my girl.”
I smile. “Heath?”
“Yes?”
“Will you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Yes. You don’t worry about me. Put the phone next to your heart, and that’s where I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” I barely whisper.
“You’re welcome. I love you, Lo. Remember that.”
“I love you too.” I leave it at that.
Chapter XX
Talon
“So where’s this Heath guy now?” I ask, standing next to her, watching her do a squat in front of the gigantic mirror that stretches down the gym. Lo told me everything . . . with the help of Maggie. Days ago the three of us sat down and Lo cleansed herself of every sordid detail. When the moment got tense, we’d take a break or Maggie would jump in and take over. My heart broke a thousand times for her, but now she seems restored. I envy her peace, wondering how good it must feel to have all that shit off her chest and if I’ll ever be brave enough to do it.
I knew the lost, broken Lo, but that’s not the girl who’s standing in front of me right now. She no longer exists; she’s bolder, more certain of herself.
She never breaks eye contact with herself, just shrugs and completes another squat. “I don’t know, Texas?” She says it like a question, which is good because it means they don’t communicate. I really don’t want her keeping in contact with him. It makes me foolishly jealous to know she has a connection with this guy even though he lives four states across the US. Still her answer pacifies me; I can never lose her. On her way up, I possessively slip my hand around the back of her neck and stop her from doing anymore. I look at her straight on with intent, hoping she sees that I’m dead serious. “I don’t ever want you to hide anything from me, you understand?” Her eyes search mine for a second and then she nods. I believe her, releasing a sigh and dropping the hand from her neck down to her ass. I pull her into me so I can kiss her lips.
All because she’s mine.
“Please tell me you’ll come with us. It’s still not too late for you to get a seat.” I overhear Maggie tell Lo. Maggie’s trying to talk Lo into having Christmas with her and her family back home. I want to step up so bad and add my two cents, but from the expression on Lo’s face, I already know her answer.
“I don’t think I’m up for it, but thank you. Make sure you give everyone my love and tell them I miss them.”
Maggie is bummed, while my heart skips a beat to know she’ll be with me—that she chooses me—and something inside me wants to make it special. Maggie, Stone, Lo, and I are about to head to a deserted part of downtown Orlando. Hutch gave us the heads-up that there had been a lot of noise complaints around Wrecker’s and the cops were patrolling that area more to appease the residents. We stay away from there a few weeks to let it cool down and usually it’s no problem. So we have to move the party a little more North, kind of like our back-up spot. It’s seedy and has lots of homeless people, but it works perfectly because it’s surrounded by old skyscrapers and rundown high-rises. None of it is used anymore; it’s so badly vandalized and in rough shape that now it’s more of a graveyard for anything that stops there.
“You girls stay close to us. I don’t want any trouble tonight.” The Spikers clan is coming down, and they certainly aren’t known for their kindness. Two of my heats are against two of their best; I considered leaving Lo at home but selfishly need her with me. I have her by the hand, and I’m not letting her go until I pass her off to someone I trust.
In the near distance, the dark sky billows with rolling clouds filled with lightning bolts, which illuminate the ground below. Hopefully, we’ll have some time before the storm rolls in. We go through the usual check-in process and paint numbers on our side windows with shoe polish. From across the grounds, I spot them: the Spikers. They’re eyeing us, and I use my body to shield Lo. God knows if they try something with her I’ll have to be carried away in handcuffs. We glare at each other, a look to fuck with the other’s head: a grimace two fighters give each other before a big match. What those fools don’t know is I have a secret weapon and she’s standing next to me.
My number is called, but before I line up, I need one last thing. Right in the middle of her saying something, I kiss Lo like I never want another pair of lips to touch hers again, to stain her skin. Then I turn around and walk away. I leave her breathless and dazed as I thrive on calm confidence.
I’m up against a Toyota Supra twin turbo—fast son of a bitch. But this is the moment I’ve ached for, challenging others and dropping major cash into my ’stang, all for this. I don’t perform any compulsive sequences of movements to bring me luck; I simply wait. My eye is sharp, and my reaction time is even sharper.
The Strikers are cocky and arrogant. They’re known for playing dirty. The pot tonight is huge, but more than the money, I just want to affirm that their holier-than-thou mindset is just an illusion.
I set my tires on the starting line and wait.
Thweet. He whistles through his teeth to get my attention. Apollo I think is his name. “Hey, why don’t we make a wager?”
My window is down, so I glance over into his open one. “We already have one.”
“Nah, man, I don’t want the money, something better.”
I raise my chin slightly to let him know I’m listening.
“How about the winner takes that sexy-ass blonde you were hogging earlier.”
I have to turn my head because I’m going to bust through his motherfucking window. Then the bastard laughs. With one hand, I give the signal that we’re ready. I want to shatter him a new asshole and then shatter his jaw afterwards. I rev my engine several times to drown out the trash talking that continues and firmly twist my grip around Lo’s bracelets, giving me the sensation she’s sitting in the car with me, holding my hand and telling me I got this.
I take one last glance back at Lo, and she looks straight at me. With the tip of her hand, she blows me a kiss, which I catch and bring to my lips, savoring it. The warning horn blows, and a light conditioned sweat breaks out on my palms when I see the girl come out with her hands up in the air and stand in front of us. My focus sharpens, as I wait for them to drop. Drop them, bitch. Drop your damn hands, I repeat over and over. My heart is racing, pulsing with adrenaline, and then they drop.
I release the clutch precisely at the same time as I smash the pedal to the floor. We’re quick off the line: first gear quickly followed by second, third, fourth, then fifth. The world blurs out my window, and my heart beats as fast as my aluminum pistons. We hang side by side for a bit, and then Apollo pulls away with the distinct high-pitched hiss of nitrous oxide combusting in his engine chambers, but I don’t sweat it. Classic mistake. I bet he prematurely ejaculates as well.
The surge of power makes his steering wheel hard to control, and I swerve when he jerks into my lane. That mistake opens the door for me. We’re so close I grip the wheel tighter and focus on the finish line just ahead. Not far. Take it. Take it; it’s yours. His front bumper is aligned with my driver’s side mirror when I power through the finish line.
“Fuck yeah!” I holler, fisting the air. Everyone’s parked back at the starting line, so I loop back around and park alongside our group. Everyone cheers when I step out, which makes me feel like a prince, but Lo running and jumping into my arms is really what makes me a king. I hold her high so she has to look down, and I look up, our foreheads touching. Her lips romance mine, and she kisses me like I’m returning home from war. Fuck, I love her.
“I thought you were going to crash.” Her lips bru
sh over mine. “What would I do if you got hurt?”
I squeeze her tighter and move us so we’re angled away from everyone and lay into her, sucking and nipping at her lips to get them the shade of pink I like. “That will never happen. I’ll never leave you.” I’m distracted from Lo’s praising eyes when Duce slaps a hand on my shoulder, making me set her down and turn to him.
“Tight race, man. Tight race.” I want to kill him for cutting in on my moment, but he slaps a huge stack of bills in my hand and congratulates me. “Keep up the good work. If the skies don’t open up on us, you’ll be up again in a few.”
I thank him and shake his hand, handing Lo my winnings.
We watch a few more heats, keeping an eye on the horizon, nothing but heat lightning and thick swirling dark clouds crawling in. Then . . . drip, drop, drip, drip, drop. One by one, mammoth raindrops fall, transforming into a full-on downpour. “RUN,” someone yells, and instead of running to the shelter of my car, I pull Lo by her hand into a nearby large cement drainage pipe. Our clothes are drenched and suction-cupped to our skin, and we’re laughing so hard it’s hard to catch our breath. She’s in my arms, and I brace her weight, when she suddenly bows back, sticking her head out of the tube. Her tongue stretches out, collecting a puddle of rain water, drinking it down with a playful smile. Fucking hell, that is sexy. I want a taste too. I drag my finger so softly down the center of her lips, and she parts them. Her pink tongue comes to the edge, baiting me.
So I do what any horny, possessive, XY chromosomal man would do. I claim her mouth, lacing her tongue with mine, pulling her in so she’s straddling my growing erection. I grasp the nape of her neck with both hands, pushing my tongue in deeper, imagining it’s my dick while her body relaxes and she presses her weight into me. The air in the pipe is getting muggy from the heat of our passion, but fuck, neither of us cares. Her shirt is sheer, showcasing her hard nipples, which are stabbing me in the chest, and damn, does it turn me on. Lo untangles our mouths and swipes her hot little tongue crossways over the seam of mine, and I try to nip her tip, but she pulls away, giggling. Then she does it again in the opposite direction. I nip but miss again. I’m severely sexually frustrated, and she’s severely satisfied with herself.
I growl, needing control. “Baby, just remember I’m bigger than you, and I don’t lose easily.”
“Maybe I like pushing your buttons so you’ll force me.” Well, son of a bitch, I’m her man. I go in like I’m going to kiss her, but I don’t. I bite hard, making sure I leave her lips a little swollen. She makes the cutest little whimper that has every vein between my legs filling to capacity. Some things can’t be changed. I like it rough. The tender sweet side of me just hangs out in the darkness, rarely coming out to play. I don’t even realize my hands are popping buttons on her shirt until someone bangs on the top of the pipe and a head pops in.
“Hey,” Maggie shouts. “Races are cancelled; rain’s not letting up; time to go home. We’ll be in the car.” We both sigh in defeat, both so turned on it’s frustrating.
Lo squeezes my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
A week later I’m standing alone in this big empty house. In the past, I would have thought this was heaven, but now it’s lonely. Is that when a man knows he’s ready to take a wife? To fill silent rooms with chaos and happiness? To put her needs above his and give her security? So many marriages go to shit. What makes that happen? Kids, money issues, infidelity, stress, lack of sex, bad communication. The fucked-up thing is a person is four-hundred-eighty times more likely to get a divorce than die in a skydiving accident, yet everyone is afraid of skydiving, and no one is afraid of marriage. Look it up. I shit you not.
Everything is done, and I’m waiting for Lo to come through those front doors. It’s Christmas Day, but no one could tell from the décor in the house. Lo doesn’t feel like celebrating this year; she wouldn’t even let me get a tree. “If I so as much see a jolly grin on your face, you can spend the evening alone,” she threatened, poking a finger to my chest wall. She thinks over time society has lost the true meaning of Christmas; religion has become a distant memory with little importance. So I have a plan.
No typical Christmas colors or decorations have been used; it’s just a romantic scene you can envision in a Fabio love novel. Romantic, classic, the perfect environment to woo a lover, filled with all the things Lo loves. Cinnamon-scented candles infuse the air, only the accent lighting is on, soft music is playing in the background, and the fireplace is crackling because it’s unusually cold for December in Florida. It was a bitch to find one of those furry white rugs that I’ve seen in pictures, but yeah, it’s centered comfortably in front of the burning fire. I even thought it would be a good idea to open up and tell her about my little sister, but I changed my mind. It just seems too heavy to discuss on this holy day.
Tonight is all about Lo and Talon. I need to figure out what this something is that’s blocking us from being together one hundred percent. Does she doubt me? I don’t know what else to do besides surgically extract my heart and give it to her, bloody and beating.
The click of the lock breaks through my thoughts. Wordlessly, she stands in the entryway, staring at me for a few minutes, taking a large gulp of cinnamon-spiced air and exhaling with a smile. I shake a finger, walking up to her with a grumpy face. “No, go home. I can’t do it. No jolly grins allowed.” She smiles bigger, but I kiss it right off her face.
“Hi,” she whispers, threading my one hand between her two.
“Hi.” I take her, walking backwards, pulling her to the island in the kitchen, and remove her jacket and purse, throwing them all in a chair. Then I lean back and take her in. Her hair is wavy around her face, and she’s wearing an oversized comfy off-white sweater with spank-me pleather jeggings. Leopard boots bring her three more inches to my level.
“You look very nice,” I say, rolling my hands over her pleather booty and testing it with a smack. The crack is louder than the strike. I really like them.
“I knew you’d like them.” She smiles playfully. “You really went all out. I thought I said no celebrating.”
“Don’t get all upset, and we’re not celebrating the holidays. Go sit down in the dining room. The food is ready.”
I love control and tonight I am the maestro.
The dining room is completely set, so all I have to do is push in Lo’s chair and bring out the food. The room is accented with fresh flowers and navy-blue-and-gold glittery pieces. After almost six years, Stone’s mom’s precious china is finally getting some use. I bring out plates of lemon-buttered chicken with a side of garlic mixed greens and mashed potatoes. We overstuff ourselves, not worrying about cleaning up, and move our party to the living room sofa.
“Argh, yuck, I ate way too much,” she says as I take her hand and direct her to sit next to me. She does one better and cozies her head up on my shoulder, tucking her legs under her and her body into my side. I drape an arm over a thigh, cupping her knee, lightly kissing her head then resting my cheek on it, and feel a stir below simply from her body touching mine.
Silence, yet I can perfectly hear a hundred tiny words being spoken.
After some time, we pop on the television and watch the first five episodes of Outlander. Seriously addicting. After the fifth episode, Lo excuses herself to the bathroom, so I rush off to the kitchen, un-wrap the tray of fresh double-chunk brownies and chocolate-chip cookies, pour two glasses of milk iced to order, and sit and wait back in our spot. Seconds later she’s back, catching sight of dessert with a huge grin.
“Wow. I’m seriously impressed. You know this is the straightest route to my heart, don’t you?”
Like a sick fool, I just smile. “Eat up. We have eleven more episodes to finish.” And then I gaze into her solid stare, catching the heat in her eyes. I’m right there with her and my inner workings stir. Calm down. She’ll tell you when she’s ready to get physical.
Smoothly she drops to her knees between my legs and I’m thrown.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice shaky. Each time we start to mess around it gets harder and harder to stop. Her hands run up and down my jean-covered thighs while her mouth shifts over my zipper. My eyes stay firmly glued to the top of her head.
“Just let go and relax.” She hums.
That shit’s just not possible. The sound of my zipper has me tilting my head to the side to watch her work. Delving through all the layers, Lo reaches in and pulls me out with her small hand, moaning at his heavy appearance and brushing her velvety tongue once to the underside of the tip. Harshly, I suck air in through my teeth. “Fuuuuck!” That feels like electricity. I’ve been blown tons of times, yet none of them felt like this, new and exhilarating.
Her soft lips seal around my tip, firmly and slowly dragging downward, encasing my raging cock in wet warmth until the tip hits the soft patch in the back of her throat. I can’t stop my eyes from rolling upwards, and I rest my head back. Her mouth pulls back up and her palm travels behind in its wake, stroking my slippery length, using her thumb to massage my swollen tip in circles and then taking me deep again.
“Holy shit, Lo, you’re amazing. That’s it; relax your throat.” Both of my hands fist her hair while my hips uncontrollably push deeper, essentially making her choke. She recovers quickly, tipping her soft green eyes up at me, and continues to suck me right with long slow strokes. The sight is unparalleled, and I physically have to bite my lip to control the strong urge to turn this rough and aggressive. In between Lo’s sucking me and raking her nails down my balls, I carefully pull off her sweater and bra, leaving her bare so her nipples rub my inner thighs, turning them into torpedoes. Her tongue plays along my shaft and twirls around the head, gradually increasing its speed and intensity, choking me up.
My mind hops a one-way train to Lo’s Promised Land, and then it occurs to me that she’s still a virgin and I have to take this slow. Gentle. Usually I’d run this full speed into the ground, but I need this to be perfect for her. She trusts me. No virgin deserves painful sex, and I’m paralyzed with the overwhelming sense to please, cherish, make love.