by Tracey Ward
“What makes a good Mila story?”
“She’s happy in it.”
I hesitate, trying to think of a story that makes me happy. I have a lot of wild stories. Crazy ones full of twists and turns and a penguin stolen from a roadside zoo, but none of them are exactly ‘happy’. My life is entertaining as hell, but as I lay here struggling to come up with one feel-good tale, I’m worried by the fact that I’m coming up short.
I shake my head against his impressively soft pillow. “I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Okay. What about your parents? Tell me a funny story about one of them.”
“That is way easier.”
Over the next hour I tell him stories about my family. Weird stuff. Like how Daddy bought an island without knowing where it was and how Mama body doubled for Meg Ryan once because Meg was worried her tits were too small to be on the big screen. I tell him about my grandparents in Florida and Belgium. About how I barely speak to any of them because Mama’s parents don’t approve of Daddy and Daddy’s parents are don’t approve of Mama. Daddy’s parent’s retired from being fabulously wealthy socialites and moved to Belgium about a year after I was born, probably in protest to the marriage. They own a villa there. We own one on the hill behind them.
I don’t tell Tyus that last part.
In all of my stories, I try to downplay our wealth to make myself seem more normal. I’m worried he’ll think the money has made me weird, or weirder than I very obviously am. Normally, I don’t care. People can think what they want to think and fuck them if they think anything ugly about me. But I care what Tyus thinks. I want him to know the real me, but the best version of me. The me I’ve been trying to be for the last year.
Eventually, Tyus passes out. His arm is still under my head, his hand still in my hair. His face has gone slack with sleep, his lips parted slightly. It’s the first time since I met him that I have a chance to look at him without being interrupted or feeling like a psycho, and I take full advantage. I eat him up with my eyes, and I’m still hungry for more. I could stare at his face all day and never get tired of the surreal beauty in the build of his features, but eventually the warmth of his body and the dark in the room gets to me. My eyes start to droop and my mind wanders into the gray woods inside my mind that always leads to sleep.
The last thought I have before I fade away is that this, lying here with him, is a happy Mila story.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TYUS
The first I hear is her breathing slowly.
The first thing I feel is her hair in my hand.
The first thing I smell is the islands on her skin.
The first thing I taste is her mouth against mine.
I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, but I don’t have to. I’m drawn to Mila’s mouth like we’re magnets turned toward each other; forced together by the natural laws of attraction. Her breathing stops for half a beat when my lips touch hers, but then she’s awake. She’s aware.
She’s wild.
Her tongue immediately invades my mouth. Her hands find my face, holding me steady to stop me from pulling away, but there’s no fucking way I’m going anywhere. My head still aches like my brain is swelling, trying to break through the bones in my skull, but I don’t give a shit. All I can think about is her and her body and the fact that she’s in my bed. She’s in my arms and my mouth. She’s rolling me onto my back to straddle my hips, and her heat is on my dick. It’s calling to him, taunting him, and I’m breathless at the thought of sliding inside of her.
She pulls away to sit up straight on top of me. I open my eyes to see her tugging at the bottom of her shirt and I smile when I see the number on the front.
“You’re wearing my jersey,” I tell her admiringly.
She smiles, glancing down at it. “I promised you I would.”
She goes to lift it again, but I reach out to stop her. “No. Leave it on. I like the way it looks on you.”
Mila’s smile widens. She guides my hands to the hem, sliding them up and under the loose material that gives me room to feel her. She doesn’t have to lead me far before I’m reaching for her on my own, cupping her breasts in my hands.
She sighs with relief when I touch her. Her eyes go closed, her head falling forward so her dark hair is a curtain around her. Then she’s grinding on me. She moves back and forth over me slowly, her hands on my bare chest. Her nails scratching it lightly. Her breath hitches in her throat when I tweak her nipples, her body shuddering violently.
“Easy,” she whispers.
“Since when do you want to slow down?”
“I’m really…” She winces, slowing her thrusts against me. “I’m sensitive. I can cum really easy.”
“You feel like you’re gonna cum already?”
She shakes her head. “I’m trying not to. I don’t want to yet.”
“But you could that easy?”
“So easy,” she sighs. “If you touched my clit right now, I’d go off. Boom.”
My dick thrusts hard against her on its own, eager for her. “Jesus, that’s tempting.”
“Don’t. I waited for this. I want to enjoy it.”
I take hold of her hips and control her rhythm, grinding her slowly on my dick that’s only a thin layer of cotton away. Her jeans, my drawers – they feel like nothing. Her heat is hitting me with every roll of her hips and I almost lose my shit when she starts to tremble in my hands.
“You feel me?” I ask her, my voice low and rumbling in my chest.
“Yes,” she whimpers.
“Are you ready, baby?”
“Yes.”
In one effortless move, I flip her off me and onto her back on the bed. She lets out a surprised cry that sends my blood soaring. I toss the comforter aside so I can see her and I take hold of her pants in both hands. They’re tight, the denim practically painted on, and I take my time peeling them off. I kiss her as they go down. On her stomach. Her thighs. Her knees. I lick a line along the back of her calf. I nip at her heel, blowing cold air on the ticklish underside of her foot. She squirms and giggles, her voice high and trilling like a bell at Christmas.
That’s how she feels to me – like Christmas. Like a gift.
“Tyus,” she calls to me. “It’s cold.”
I yank off my underwear and throw them somewhere on the other side of the room. I pull a condom from the nightstand and roll it over my dick before I cover her with my body. I feel a rush of pride as I keep her warm with my heat. I kiss her slowly as I let my weight press down on her. I let my body mold to hers until we’re lined up like stars in the sky and I can feel true north pulling at my heart. She writhes, feeling me with every inch of her skin, and when her legs fall open to guide me home, I’m a ship on a dark sea. I’m following her where she leads me because this, us, was always going to happen. We’re inevitable as air. As the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, and it feels like fate when I slide inside her.
Mila moans quiet and low like an animal as I enter her. I go slow to make sure she’s ready for me. Her body is a hot spring. She’s wet, warm, and so fuckin’ small I’m scared I’m not going to fit.
“Keep going,” she pleads, her voice rising an octave. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
I push past what I worry is her limit. My head falls forward against hers as I try to keep myself together but she’s too damn tight. She’s pushing me. Stressing me. Sweat breaks out on my skin as I try to control myself, but then she’s rocking her body against me and it’s a lost cause. We find a tempo together and I dive in deeper with each thrust. I knock the air from her lungs, then mine. I grunt against gritted teeth as I try to hold on, to make it last for both of us.
“Tyus. Tyus,” she cries, and I know she’s close. She’s warning me. Begging me.
I kiss her as I slow my thrusts. “I know, baby girl. I know.”
“Don’t slow down.”
“It’s too soon. I’m not done with you yet.”
�
�I can go again.” She pulls my face down to hers, biting my lip aggressively. “I can go all fucking night.”
“Christ,” I exhale excitedly.
I drive into her, deep and hard. Farther than before. It’s enough to send her over the edge. She holds onto me as she cums. Her grip is iron tight on my arms. She throws her head back, her mouth open in silent release as she clenches down even tighter on my cock. I have to stop moving to ride it out or I’m going to follow her on the spot, and that’s not happening. I’ve been dreaming about being with her since the day I met her and I’m not about to let it end in under a minute. If she says she can go again, she’s going again.
As her body relaxes, I pick up the pace again. I go slow, for her sake and mine, but she finds the edge faster than I can pull away. A second orgasm rips through her, this time making her whole body shake with the force of it, but I don’t stop. I barrel through it, taking her body to the brink again before she’s had time to come down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whines desperately. “I can feel everything. It’s so sensitive. Fuck!”
“You need a break?”
She pinches her lips together, shaking her head violently. She looks up at me with watery eyes and flushed cheeks, her lips bleached white by the pressure she’s putting on them. But then she smiles, and the color comes back to her mouth in an incredible rush I can feel in my chest.
“I never want to stop with you,” she whispers shakily.
That’s all I need. It’s all I can take. I crash my mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely as I reach for her clit. One stroke puts her on the ceiling and I follow immediately after. My vision goes blurry on the edges as my head throbs wildly, but I couldn’t give a shit. I’m lost in the feel of her hugging me wholly. I’m drunk on the sound of her cries that vibrate against my lips still pressed to her mouth. She bucks beneath me, driving me deeper inside her as we both fall apart in each other’s arms. My sweat feels cold on my skin in the frigid air of the room, but I’m burning inside. Blazing. I’m a forest on fire, reduced to ash in an instant, and what’s left of me is falling. It’s sinking into her where I’m happy to hide. I leave a piece of me inside Mila; a piece I never knew I had, but I give it to her forever as I fuck her.
As I make love to her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MILA
November 19th
Cashlin Greene on Holmby Hills
Los Angeles, CA
Uncle Grant laughs loud and wet. His face is ruddy from his third glass of wine and he’s leaned back in his seat like he’s the king of Daddy’s castle.
I hate him. He’s a complete fuck up. My grandparents offered him a portion of his inheritance when he was twenty-six and struggling to make something of himself. They expected him to use it to start a business like Daddy, but Uncle Grant pissed it away. Three million dollars! How do you do nothing with that much money? I grew up surrounded by it, I cannot comprehend the idea of struggling for it, but even I can’t fathom blowing three million dollars on nothing. Literally nothing. He invested it badly, bought into businesses that failed before they started, and ‘loaned’ it to friends who disappeared the second he was tapped. When the money ran out, he asked Grandfather for more, but he turned him down. He said Uncle Grant would have to wait until my grandparents died before he saw another dime. He’s been mooching off Daddy ever since. It makes me grateful I’m an only child.
“Hell of a game last week,” he says proudly, like he had something to do with it. But that’s how he thinks. Ten years ago he told Daddy he should invest in a hockey team in Canada, and ever since then he’s taken full credit for the success of the L.A. Kodiaks. It’s not even the same sport but he tells anyone who will listen that Daddy wouldn’t own them if he hadn’t told him to buy.
“It was against the Bears,” I tell him dryly. “It’s not hard to have a hell of a game against the Bears.”
Mama frowns over her eggplant. “I thought you loved the Kodiaks, honey?”
“I do. I’m just saying it was an easy game.”
“Maybe it just looked easy because we finally had a functioning wide receiver again.”
“Anthony,” Daddy agrees around a mouthful of salad. He wipes his mouth with his napkin, nodding. “Finally. He was in good form. I don’t know why Coach Allen was so afraid to play him for this long. His back obviously isn’t holding him back.”
“He’s still not worth re-signing next year,” Uncle Grant comments.
I scowl at him. “Why not?”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious about football. Why wouldn’t we re-sign Anthony at the end of his contract?”
Uncle Grant laughs. “He’s a slot receiver in his fourth year. That’s retirement age for that position. He’s a hot rod with two hundred thousand miles on him. The engine’s going to blow soon. Time to start shopping for a new car. Ramsey isn’t ready, but he could be with a little more grooming.”
I stare at him with open hostility. “Tyus is a stellar athlete with a lot of good years left.”
“Since when are you so big on backing Tyus Anthony, huh? Is he your dealer or something?”
“Right. Yeah. He’s black so he’s a drug dealer.”
“It was more of a dig on you being a druggy than him being a dealer.”
“Yes, it was very intelligent. Only I’ve been clean for a year.”
“Fine, if he’s not your dealer, you must be blowing him, because—”
“That’s enough,” Daddy tells us both, his eyes burning down on Uncle Grant.
He shrivels under Daddy’s stare, wilting like a flower on fire.
Mama fidgets with her fork nervously. “Who is Tyus Anthony again?”
I shake my head. “No one. Never mind.”
She doesn’t actually care. She’s just trying to move the room past the awkward moment between Uncle Grant and me.
“Are you going to act like you don’t know him now?” Daddy presses.
I look at him guardedly. “I know him a little. I met him once at the Pats game three weeks ago. So?”
“You also wore his jersey to last week’s game.”
“Oooh,” Uncle Grant sings excitedly.
Another withering look from Daddy shuts him right up.
“It’s a jersey,” I tell Daddy calmly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve worn Kurtis’ jersey since his career started, even when he was with the Miners, and you’ve never said a word about it.”
“You’ve never met Kurtis Matthews,” Daddy reminds me.
“And meeting a man means I’m definitely going to fuck him, right? Is that it?”
No one answers me. Mama takes a drink of her wine, Uncle Grant stuffs his big mouth with bread, and Daddy stares at me silently. He’s making a point and that point is that I’m a whore.
And he’s not wrong. I did fuck Tyus. All night and part of the morning. Then I walked out the door and I haven’t talked to him since because that’s what I do.
That’s what whores always do.
I shove my chair away from the table. “I have to go.”
“Where are you going?” Mama panics.
She’ll get a headache over this. It’ll have my name on it and I’ll be punished for it with weeks of silence, but I can’t help it. I can’t stay here in this house, in my skin, for a second longer.
“Home,” I tell her brusquely.
Daddy stands slowly. “Mila.”
I kiss Mama on the cheek gently. She closes her eyes as I do and I know they’ll stay closed until I’m gone. I glare at Uncle Grant as I cross the room to Daddy. He stands tall and imposing as I approach him. His face is hard but his eyes are soft and sorry. It tweaks a little piece of me deep inside but I can handle pain. I’m good with it. I especially like all the ways there are to numb it.
“Goodnight, Daddy,” I tell him softly. I stand on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. The stubble of his beard tickles my lips the way it used to when I was a little girl.
I’m a
lready out of the dining room when he replies sadly, “Be good, Mila.”
***
There’s a contact in my phone named ‘T-Pain’. It’s not the rapper’s info. He’s in there under his real name, Faheem Rasheed Najm. The ‘T-Pain’ in my phone is Tyus Anthony. If Daddy ever decides to hack my phone, which he very well might after tonight, these are the most recent texts he would find:
11/14 9:57am: You coming over tonight?
11/16 4:21pm: You busy with school? if you need any help with math, don’t call me. I’m terrible at that shit.
11/17 7:38pm: What’s up? where are you at?
11/19 8:49pm: What the fuck, Mila?
That last one came in just a few minutes ago while Lonnie and I were in the back of an Uber on our way to Constellations, a new club that opened up downtown. It’s been attracting a lot of celebrities, mainly pro athletes. Hollis and Sloane are going to be here tonight hosting a birthday party for Hollis’ NBA star, Nick Howard. I wasn’t officially invited, but when the reservation confirmation was sent over to the club, I put my name on the list with a plus one. Just in case, because I know me and I know if there are enough opportunities to fuck up, I’m eventually going to do it.
I’m not answering Tyus’ text, just like I didn’t answer the others. At least if Daddy looks at my info and figures out who T-Pain really is, he’ll see that I’ve been ghosting him for days. It’s the most I can do to keep Tyus safe from the shitstorm I can feel brewing inside me. He needs to get away from me now or he’ll get pulled into my crazy, and not everyone gets away unscathed when that happens.
There’s a line outside the club when we get there. I can hear the music from the sidewalk and my body is itching to move before we even get in the door. I’m dying to hit the dancefloor and feel the pulse of the music bouncing off every wall in the place. I want to get lost in the noise and heat and smells that come with a night at the club. I’m drinking tonight, I knew it when I left my parent’s house, and my only real concern right now is that the joint I always keep with me isn’t going to be enough. I need more than a mellow high that leaves me hungry for tacos at three in the morning. I need oblivion. I need that anonymous, uncomplicated connection you can only make with someone when you’re fucking in a bathroom stall loaded on Molly.