Breathe Again

by Fields, MJ

  Two fingers guide the cube down the center of my belly with a slight dip into my belly button, making my stomach tense then relax as I continue down and inside my panties, where the liquid pools into the fabric as I slide it between my pussy lips.

  My doorbell rings just as I moan at the sensation.

  Rushing over, I leave the melting cube in my panties and open the door only slightly to stick my head out. Much to my surprise, Jonathon stands at my door.

  I open it wider, and he smiles his appraisal at my almost naked state. He doesn’t speak; he just steps inside, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me to him. His tongue invades my mouth while he shuts my door behind him.

  He roams my body with his hands as I pull at his shirt, trying to get skin to skin with him. We break apart for him to strip, and when we make it to the living room, he turns me around and bends me over my couch.

  “I’m here for my snack,” he growls as he drops to his knees behind me, pulling my panties down and off and finding the remnants of the ice cube. “Got too hot, did you, Annie?” he asks as he slides two fingers deeply inside me. “I’m about to set you on fire.”

  That’s my only warning before his hot mouth hits my pussy in wild abandon as his tongue teases my opening and slides over my clit. Then he drops his fingers, moving his head to directly under me.

  He eats me like a man starved and savoring his last meal as he massages my inner thighs. The sensations overwhelm me. I swear the couch is the only thing holding me up as orgasm after orgasm rips through me.

  My body trembles when he moves away, giving me a small break before he slides his cock to the hilt.

  “Jonathon!” I cry as he slides out and thrusts back in.

  My body is weak as he sets the pace. Every time I think I can’t take more, he slides out and rolls back in at a different angle, making my body come alive again.

  I moan, scream, squeal, and quake in ecstasy before he stills inside me, and then I’m hot from his come filling me.

  He pulls out and guides me to stand. I feel it trickle down my leg, but I don’t have the energy to move and try to clean it up right this second.

  Jonathon smiles. “That look of satisfaction in your eyes, Annie, that’s my heaven.”

  “Mmmm,” I manage to purr.

  “Gotta get back to work.”

  And just like that, he is gone, leaving me smiling.

  ~Jonathon~

  Her pussy is fucking gold. Her heart is, too. How the fuck did this happen? How did I get so attached in such a short amount of fucking time? I wonder these things as the elevator door opens and I walk out into the lobby to head toward the gym.

  I see Nina at the security desk as I quickly make my way out the door. I love the old lady, but I already blew off my time at the gym to see Annie. Nina would talk my ear off, and then I would miss the whole damn day.

  I walk in and head right to my office.

  ***

  Four hours later, there’s a knock on my office door, and it immediately opens.

  “Jonathon, sorry to just barge in here.”

  “Beth, it’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Nina, she’s on her way to the hospital.”

  I stand up and grab my keys and coat.

  “They think she may have had a heart attack.”

  “Beth, lock—”

  “Go. We got it,” she says, following me toward the door.

  ***

  I pace back and forth in the waiting room. Every time I go to the desk and ask to see her, I get told the doctor will be out to speak to me soon.

  “How fucking soon?” I snap when I have had enough.

  Chapter Six

  ~Annie~

  “Nina,” I say quietly to my newest patient.

  She tries to speak, but nothing she says makes sense. Her words are slurred, her left cheek drooping, and she looks confused.

  “Can you squeeze my hand?” I ask, taking her frail left hand in mine.

  Her grip is loose.

  “How about this one?” I ask, taking her right.

  She squeezes tightly.

  “Very good,” I tell her then turn to step out and tell the doctor I think she is suffering from a stroke, but she doesn’t let go.

  “Nina, I need you to let go.” I smile kindly at her, and she attempts to smile back. “I need to go get the doctor so she can diagnose you and we can get you feeling better.”

  Her grip doesn’t loosen, and she again says something that I don’t understand.

  Dr. Quiggly walks in, and I again try to let go of Nina’s hand, but she won’t let me. Honestly, if she needs me this much, I certainly don’t want to let go.

  So, I don’t.

  “I think she may have had a minor stroke,” I whisper as she moves closer to Nina.

  She looks down at her tablet with Nina’s information. “The paramedics thought heart.”

  I shrug, and she nods.

  I’m not a doctor, or a paramedic, but I am a damn good nurse, and I know that Dr. Quiggly knows it, too.

  “All right, Nina, let’s get you feeling better.” She smiles at her then looks at our hands and winks at me. “She can stay.”

  So, I do.

  After an hour, Nina has been treated for a minor stroke. Her speech, although slow, has started to become easier to understand.

  “Anyone I can call?” I ask, sitting on the stretcher next to her.

  “My boy, Jonny.” She tries to smile.

  “Husband?” I ask because of the twinkle I see in her cloudy gray eyes.

  “My grandbaby’s,” she whispers. “She’s in heaven. Thought I’d see her today.”

  “Well, today is not your day,” I say, picking up the plastic cup with the bendy straw.

  “September 11th,” she says after taking a sip of water and clearing her throat. “We lost her and her boy, my great-grandbaby, that day.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’ve been ready to see her again, but she wants me here.”

  “Because she loves you,” I tell her, holding the cup up to her mouth.

  “She loves Jonny. We worry about him.”

  “I’m sure he worries about you, too.”

  “Moved here from New York City to take care of me. Was a cop.”

  She is clearly proud of her son, or son-in-law.

  “That’s an admirable job.”

  “He couldn’t save them, so he came here. Saved me from eviction by buying up the place. Told him not to, but he said that’s what she would have wanted. Used her life insurance money.”

  “That’s wonderful of him. I bet he’s worried. If you let go of my hand, I can try to contact him.”

  Minutes later, I walk out to the nurses’ station to grab her information so I can make a call. Every phone is in use, so I head to reception. The sooner I contact Jonny, the sooner I can get back to Nina.

  When I walk through the door, I hear a man sneer, “How fucking soon?”

  I look up and see Jonathon.

  “Sir, we’re doing the best we can.”

  “Annie,” he interrupts Sharon. “You wanna help me out?”

  “Of course,” I say, quickening my steps to him.

  “He’s looking for a woman name Nina.” Sharon rolls her eyes.

  I hit the button under the desk to open the automatic doors just as realization strikes.

  He’s Jonny.

  ~Jonathon~

  When Annie rushes toward me, I look at her eyes. It calms me.

  “Nina is gonna be okay, Jonathon,” she says, and relief washes over me.

  Nina is my late wife’s grandmother, and the only piece of her I have left. She is the reason I’m in Detroit. Well, partially. I wasn’t about to let her lose her place, and well, I needed a fresh start.

  “Thank fuck. She’s all I have,” I admit as the emotions become too much.

  “You told me I wasn’t alone, and I’m telling you, Jonathon, that you’re not alone, either. She’s not all
you have. You have me.”

  Reaching out, I grip her hips, pulling her to me and crashing my lips to her.

  “I’m falling in love with you, Jonathon,” Annie says on a pant with so much emotion in her eyes.

  “And I you, Annie.”

  She smiles at me. “Breathe. We can breathe again. So can Nina.”

  I smile back. “Yes, we can breathe again.”

  After a quick kiss I close my eyes and ask a question I am almost afraid to. “Don’t leave. Stay. Work here longer. Let us see where this goes.”

  I open my eyes and look at her.

  She is smiling, and beautiful as she nods and says, “Yes.”

  The End

  If You Like This Short

  If you liked this story, then find the inspiration behind it in Use Me (Caldwell Brothers 4), where Tatum Longley spends her time in Detroit, finding a muse and writing about Annie and Jonathon. Use Me, although part of a series, is a complete standalone story.

  Use Me Excerpt

  Use Me

  (Caldwell Brothers 4)

  New York Times Bestselling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard-hitting nonfiction to romance.

  But first, she must find a muse.

  Angelo has no desire to form relationships, when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six-foot-five, long-haired, tattooed, dangerous-looking man on his ass.

  Will he be able to resist the temptation? Or will he allow her to use him?

  *** This is a full-length, standalone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, though it is recommended. ***

  Chapter One

  Legacy Gym

  Present day

  I look around the gym. The walls are black and mirrored, the floor is black cement covered in red mats. The back wall, where all our daily equipment is stored, is covered floor to ceiling in black lockers. Hand wraps, gloves, medicine balls, headgear, nut cups, first-aid equipment, and clothing that have our logo on them.

  Our logo. I am a part of something. There was a time in the not so distant past when I wasn’t sure I would ever be anything. There are still days I couldn’t give a shit less if I do.

  To the left are sparring mats and a few pieces of cardio equipment. To the right are free weights, a few high-end weight training machines, five heavy bags, seven speed bags, and five timing bags. In the middle is where I prefer to spend my time and energy. The cage.

  I look at the large clock hanging above the doorway to our office. Nine-thirty at night. That means I have been here for thirteen and a half hours.

  Eight hours would send a normal man my age running home to his family, to a hot meal, or to a bar where he could have a drink and relax with his friends. I am not a normal man.

  Normal men don’t have blood on their hands, and if they do, they have it with remorse in their hearts, or the blood came from fighting a greater cause. The blood on my hands came from an anger that took control, from the rage within me, a rage that still controls me.

  “Put one foot in front of the other. Stand tall and proud. Make the decision that you are both of those things and never let them think any differently. You are a good man, a good kid. Your past doesn’t define you; your present and future do.” Shaw, my father’s oldest and closest friend, words ring inside my head as I look at the picture of him, Jagger, and I hanging on the wall, illuminated by bright white up-lighting.

  If only putting one foot in front of the other wasn’t so hard. The weight of the world is heavy on my neck, making holding my head high almost impossible.

  Shaw believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Now Shaw is gone.

  After killing the lights and locking the doors, I let out a breath and walk toward the door in the back left-hand corner of the gym that leads to my apartment upstairs.

  I stand in the apartment above Legacy, a gym that Jagger Caldwell and I inherited. A gym that trains people like me. It was willed to us when Shaw’s fight with cancer ended.

  I suppose he did it to make sure his promise to his best friend, my father, was kept. He made sure I had something, an income, a place to live—a piece of something tangible while I served out my parole sentence for a crime I committed eight years ago.

  Honestly, it feels more like a curse, a cage, a confined space, than a new beginning.

  My body aches. It’s bruised and sore, all feelings I not only accept, but embrace. The harder I push myself, the more men I get in the cage with to train, the more hits I take, the closer I get to controlling the fury that simmers just beneath a boiling point inside my soul.

  I walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the distressed mirror above the small sink that is rust-stained from the constant drip of a faucet that I keep telling myself I will fix, but I have no intention or desire to do so.

  I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and turn toward the shower to start the water. It takes a good five minutes for it to heat enough for my liking, and while I wait, I brush my teeth and open the cabinet.

  I stare at the last bottle of pain meds prescribed to Shaw. I pocketed them after he died when the rage became worse. It is a battle of wills to tame the beast inside me. Waking up and looking in the mirror, knowing what I did and why I did it.

  I twist off the childproof cap and count as I dump the pills out into my hand. Twelve. I have twelve nights left to sleep, and then the nightmares will ensue. I make a mental note to space the pills out to every third day. I can do without sleep for that long, no more.

  I let them fall one by one back into the bottle, except one, as I feel my exhausted body become tense again. Anxiety is starting to creep in, so I take the last pill in my hand, toss it in my mouth, and swallow it down.

  Before the pill’s effects kick in, I get in the small shower and bend so the water falls over my head instead of hitting the middle of my shoulders. When the water starts to run cold and I feel a bit drowsy, I step out, towel my hair lightly, and then drop it to the floor, allowing my body to air dry. Then I look up at my reflection and see a man who looks much older than his twenty-five years.

  My eyes, once bright green and alive, are now dead and unreflective of feeling. My hair, once cut close to my scalp by my father’s own hand, is now well past my shoulders and a mess of brown waves. It’s only down after a shower or bedtime; otherwise, it is always tied up in a knot on the back of my head. I don’t have any damn desire to go to the barber. That would mean I would have to talk to someone. I’m functioning just fine here without making those types of connections, and there is no appeal in changing that up.

  I run my hand over my beard. It’s been three days since I last groomed. I shave every fourth or fifth day, but never down to the skin.

  I am six-foot, five-inches of intimidation. I weigh in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds of muscle, and my skin is covered in black prison ink. I have no desire for anyone to look at me and become confused as to who I am. No desire to have someone look at me and want to know more about me, or who I was. I have no desire for anything but the occasional release I can get anywhere. All I have to do is force a smile and say a word or two in order to get that need met.

  My appearance is intimidating. It keeps people away. I’m not trying to give off the illusion that I’m unapproachable. Illusion would imply it wasn’t real.

  It is real.

  I am Michelangelo Mazzini. I was once called a saint by my peers, my teachers, and anyone who knew me.

  Not anymore.

  Now I am known as Kid.

  I lay on the king-sized mattress that sits in the middle of the floor and stare at the ceiling, waiting, waiting, waiting for sleep to take me. The numbness that is my life isn’t holding me back. Rather, it’s my mind that won’t turn off, waiting for the next move.

  I try not to close my eyes on my own. I wait for exhaustion and the drugs to do the work for me.
Otherwise, I will be fighting a losing battle.

  Chapter Two

  Tatum

  “Tatum, this is not what’s selling anymore. We need something …” Melanie pauses as she sighs.

  Melanie and I have been friends since I sat next to her in a Shakespearian literature class we both enrolled in as an elective while attending Columbia for our Masters’ programs. Hers was in the classics; mine was in religion and journalism.

  She loved fiction, a story you could get lost in, and I loved nonfiction, a story that didn’t allow you to run from your boring life, but showed you a life that you could get lost in and know it was real. Fairy tales were never meant to be believed in. They are stories written to scare children into behaving or else, so why waste time on them? Show them how to cope, what to avoid, and maybe a story that inspires them to do the right thing of their own accord.

  She is the yin to my yang, the spring to my fall, the day to my night. The point is, she’s the lost-in-her-head kind of daydreaming chick, whereas I am the one who wants to get lost in reality to avoid getting lost in my head, and worse yet, believing that shit is even possible.

  I am sure she has no other writers like me on staff. I am sure of this because one night, over drinks at Hotel Empire, she told me so. She told me in the sweetest way she could that I was my own worst enemy. That I had talent in abundance and was just too stubborn for my own good, and that if I were anyone other than “the Tatum” that played her Romeo a couple years ago, gaining us both an A in that godforsaken class, she would have walked away a long time ago.

  We are opposites in our views on life, but who we are on the inside isn’t much different from the other. Both of us left our hometowns, knowing we were destined for greater things. And unlike most, we are willing to work our asses off to become. It landed us both in New York City, a city where we knew no one and no one knew us. A city that I swear wants to eat up young girls’ dreams and spit them back in your face.