by R. R. Banks
“And? What did you come up with?”
I let out a long breath, my gaze fixed on the building. “Back when I was in there, I really don't know what would have happened if there wasn't a St. Aggie's for me to go to,” I say. “I would've ended up on the streets. And who knows what would've happened after that. I guess I wanted to make sure that kids like me – like us – who wind up in bad situations, have a place to go.”
Darby looks at me, an inscrutable expression on her face and gives my arm a tight squeeze.
“You're a good man, Carter,” she says.
I shrug. “I just know what it's like to have nowhere to go and nothing to your name,” I say. “And that sucks.”
“You sure are a complicated man, Mr. Bishop,” she says.
“Not really.”
“Yeah, I call bullshit.”
I laugh and look up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I should probably get you home.”
“Actually,” she says. “I was hoping to show you something now.”
I let my eyes roam up and down her body, a scandalous grin on my face. She laughs and slaps my chest playfully.
“Not that,” she says. “Don't you ever get your mind out of the gutter?”
“Not really,” I say. “It's part of my charm.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I laugh. “And what are you going to show me?”
“You'll see,” she says. “Can you have Roger take us back to my place?”
I give her a long, even look. “And you wonder why my mind is in the gutter.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Such a pervert,” she says. “Just because I'm inviting you back to my place doesn't mean I'm propositioning you.”
“Doesn't mean you're not,” I say.
“I'm not,” she says, still smiling and shaking her head at me.
“Well damn,” I say. “I had my hopes up and everything.”
“Yeah well, life is full of disappointments,” she says. “Suck it up, cupcake.”
I laugh as we head back down the street, toward the waiting car.
* * *
“Darby, this is amazing,” he says.
We're in her studio, and I walk around the canvas, taking it in from several different angles. Her piece blends her original brushwork with clips from newspapers, making a sort of mixed-media collage effect. It's modern, and abstract, but powerful in its own right.
Once she took over the condo her aunt and uncle owned, she renovated the interior a bit, carving out a spacious studio for herself. There are several completed canvases scattered around – more of this mixed-media style of art, that are all just as striking. All with a powerful message.
On the canvas in front of me are headlines from a number of local papers about recent shootings in the city. She's painted what look like chalk outlines, abstract looking faces, and a stylized representation of both bullets and blood. It's moving. It's powerful. In a way, it reminds me of some of the pieces we saw at Harold's gallery. It carries the same powerful social message.
“I painted this after we visited that gallery in Brooklyn,” she says. “It inspired me.”
“I can definitely see the influence,” I say. “Kind of hard to miss.”
Other completed works I see carry strong messages about abuse, poverty, sexual assault, and hunger – Darby has a powerful vision, and voice with her art. It really is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Her work is dark, but profoundly beautiful.
“These pieces – they all need to be in a gallery somewhere,” I say. “People should be seeing these. People need to be seeing these.”
She nods. “I actually have a show coming up later this year,” she says. “I'm hoping to have a dozen pieces completed by then.”
“Your work is extraordinary,” I say.
She gives me a soft smile, her cheeks coloring. “Thank you,” she says as the doorbell rings. “Be right back.”
She hustles off to answer the door, and I walk around her studio a little more, enjoying her work. I always knew Darby was talented, but seeing her work now, and the message, as well as the progression of her maturity as an artist – blows me away.
I'm squatting down, looking closely at one of her paintings when she steps into the room wheeling a box in on a small cart, a puzzled look on her face. I already know what it is and give her a smile.
“You had something to do with this, I take it?” she asks.
I shrug. “Won't know until you open it,” I say. “Call it an early Christmas gift.”
She laughs. “And you say you hate Christmas,” she replies. “Looks to me like you're starting to warm up to it a bit.”
I shrug. “I just thought you deserved something nice.”
“You know, spending money on me won’t win my heart.”
“Not trying to win your heart by spending money,” I reply. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”
I lift the box and put it on a table that sits against the back wall. She uses a box cutter to open it and when she has the cardboard peeled away, she stands there, looking at the contents, a solemn look on her face, but one infused with a touch of awe, as well.
“I can't believe you bought this for me,” she says softly.
“I saw how hard it hit you, Darby,” I say. “I thought you might like it. I thought it could inspire you.”
She turns to me and smiles. “I do,” she says. “Very much. Thank you, Carter. This means – this means a lot to me.”
On the table is the piece from Morton's Gallery of Urban Art that had impacted her. A sculpture made of spent bullets. The piece had hit me hard as well. It's a serious punch to the gut. I saw the impact it had on Darby, and knew she needed to have it.
“If nothing else, I thought you might want to display it in your classroom,” I say. “Maybe, your kids can draw some inspiration from it like you did.”
She steps forward and wraps her arms around the back of my neck, pulling me into a tight embrace. I kiss the top of her head, relishing the feel of her body pressed to mine. It's these quiet moments we share that mean the most to me. It's what's been missing with all of the other women I've dated. Pretty much non-existent.
Which, of course, only makes me more determined to make her mine. To make her see that she and I belong together – that we were supposed to be.
She looks up at me and pulls me down to her, pressing her mouth to mine. Our kiss starts slow and gentle, but quickly gains steam. Our tongues swirl together, and I feel my body instantly responding to her. I want to stop this train before it gets too far down the tracks though, so I pull back and give her a wry smile.
“I thought you said –”
“I changed my mind,” she says, cutting me off with a mischievous grin. “Shut up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Shut up and get naked,” she says. “Now.”
I kiss her again, harder, and with more fire and passion. I feel myself stiffening in my pants, my cock growing harder by the second, begging for release. Darby grips me through my slacks, stroking and rubbing me, making the desire within me swell like a tide.
Reaching up, I unbutton her blouse and slip it off her shoulders, dotting kisses down her neck and chest. I unhook her bra and let it fall to the floor as her breasts fall freely into my hands. I slide my tongue down, and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking on it gently at first before giving it a slightly harder nip, drawing a gasp from her.
“Wait,” she says.
I stand up, thinking she's about to put an end to it, when she turns and hustles out of the studio. She comes back a moment later with a condom in her hand, and a sultry smile upon her lips.
“Better to be prepared,” she says.
“Absolutely,” I say.
I pull her to me, and kiss her hard, sliding my tongue in her mouth forcefully as I grip her hair and give it a firm tug. As we kiss, she slips my shirt off my shoulders, and lets it fall to the floor. Slipping my hands undernea
th her skirt, I pull her panties down, sliding them all the way down her legs. She kicks them off but leaves her heels on – which I approve of. Turning her around, I bend her down, making her brace herself on the wide, padded stool she uses when she works.
Grabbing her hair, I pull her head back and slide my hand back up her skirt. Standing behind her, I kiss her neck and shoulders, before plunging my fingers into her warm depths. She gasps and cries out as I start to bang her, driving my fingers into her again and again. She calls out my name, fueling the fires that are burning within me.
I slowly withdraw my fingers and let her turn around. I make her watch me, as I slip my fingers into my mouth, relishing the taste of her. Lust is shining bright in her eyes.
“Delicious,” I say, my voice heavy and thick with desire. “I can't get enough of you.”
“God, Carter,” she says, her breathing shallow and ragged.
I fall to my knees before her, sliding her skirt up and putting her thigh over my shoulder. Leaning forward, I plunge my tongue into her, savoring every last drop, needing more and more. It's intoxicating and heady and fuels the desire that's burning inside of me. I run my tongue over her clit, drawing a strong shudder from her before I slide my tongue back inside of her, licking her up and down,
“Fuck,” she gasps.
She has her head thrown back, her red curls spilling down behind her. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted. Reaching up, I cup her breast and pinch the nipple roughly. She cries out, her body trembling as she grips the back of my head, pushing me deeper into her.
A choked gasp erupts from her mouth as her whole body tightens up. She lets out a long, low moan, and then she explodes. She practically screams my name as her orgasm crashes down on her, and I push my tongue even deeper, feeling her pussy spasm around it.
I can't get enough of the feel and taste of her, and continue licking until she pushes me away, a look of bliss on her face.
“It's so sensitive right now,” she stutters, her breath even more ragged than before. “Too much of a good thing, Carter.”
I laugh and get to my feet and lean into her, kissing her with passion. I lift her up and set her on the stool, and she spreads her thighs for me as I step forward. She takes the condom and unrolls it down the length of my cock, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Fuck me, Carter,” she says, her voice husky. “I need you inside of me. I need you to fuck me.”
She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and wraps her legs around my waist, crying out as I thrust my hips, driving my hard cock deep into her. My body is shaking, my desire for her overwhelming, as I start to pound myself into her with reckless abandon.
“You are so fucking tight,” I moan as I thrust myself into her again.
Darby throws her head back, and calls my name as I drive my cock into her again and again. She's holding onto me tight, thrashing wildly against me as I fuck her, her eyes filled with desire and need. Her breath explodes from her mouth in bursts, and her body tightens up around me. She squeezes my cock with the muscles inside of her, making her even tighter, and I almost lose it right there.
Clamping onto my shoulders, Darby leans back until she's almost perpendicular with me.
“Carter,” she gasps. “I'm going to come again.”
“Then come for me, Darby,” I say. “Right now.”
And as if she was waiting for my permission, she does. With a long, shuddering cry, her body tightens up, and goes limp an instant later. She is trembling as I continue to drive my cock into her, plunging myself into her warmest depths. She's caught up in the throes of passion, her orgasm rocking her from head to toe.
All at once, I feel my body lock up tight. I throw my head back and cry out as I start to shudder. A moment later, my cock starts to pulse, filling the condom inside of her. Darby stops moving and grips the base of my prick, taking all of it into her mouth.
My breathing is ragged and when I look down, Darby has a pleased look on her face. As I look at her, I'm overwhelmed by the need to touch her. To feel her near me. Rolling the condom off and chucking it in a nearby bin, I grab her by the hips and pull her closer to me, kissing her hard and deep.
A moment later, I step back and try to catch my breath. “Fuck, Darby,” I say. “You’re amazing. That was incredible.”
She gives me a wink. “Yeah, I know.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me out of her studio. I follow along behind her, my head and body buzzing with sheer ecstasy. Being with Darby fulfills me in ways I could never adequately express. Being with her feels like the missing piece to some puzzle inside of me. I can’t deny or ignore how I feel about her.
“Want to take a shower with me?” she asks.
I kiss her again, unable to get enough of her. “I'd love to.”
“How do you feel about staying the night?”
“I think I can pencil you into my schedule.”
She slaps me playfully on the chest and laughs. “Jerk.”
I follow her into the large bathroom, taking her in as she strips out of her skirt. I look her up and down, drinking in every last inch of her, desire burning inside of me again.
My heart swells as I look at her for another reason. We seem to be falling back into our old habits again. It almost feels like no time has passed at all, and no wounds were suffered. Almost. I know it's not true, and we both bear the scars to prove it.
But, being with her again, seeing her smile, it makes me think that yeah, even though we've still got some work to do to close the book on the past, and write a new future together,
Darby is finally mine, and I am hers. Just like we were supposed to be, all along.
14
Darby
“So, what's new in your life?”
I look across the table at Mason as he munches away on the appetizer in front of him. He chases it with a long swig from his glass of scotch. He seems a bit irritated and on edge today. I don't know what it is, probably something at work, but it makes me want to end the evening early.
Though, if I'm being honest, I want to end it early anyway, so I can spend some time with Carter.
We've been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I can see that things are already becoming serious between us. Despite all my resistance, we seem to be picking up where we left things a decade ago. It still scares me, but not nearly as much as it did before. Carter is a good man. I can see it. I know it. He's got a good heart and if there is one thing that's abundantly clear, it's that he cares for me. Deeply.
“Not a lot,” I say. “The usual.”
He nods and pops another morsel into his mouth, washing it down with more scotch. His eyes bore into me and I feel like a defendant, on trial, with Mason cross-examining me. It makes me feel defensive and on edge myself. I don't like the scrutiny he's putting me under.
“Seeing anybody?”
“I'm not going out with your flunky, Mason,” I say and laugh. “We talked about that last time.”
I take a sip of my wine as he leans back in his seat and stares at me. He drains the rest of his glass and signals the waitress for another. He's silent the entire time we wait for his refill. He just sits there, looking at me. The feeling of discomfort I'm feeling is suddenly coupled with an oppressive and ominous feeling as well.
“And why not?” he finally asks.
“Not interested,” I say. “Do I need a reason to not want to be set up?”
He shrugs. “I suppose not,” he says. “I just thought you might be looking for some company.”
“I'm not,” I say defensively.
A small, malicious smirk touches his lips as he leans down, and pulls something out of his briefcase. He tosses it across the table – it's one of the tabloids. Because, of course it is. It opens up when it hits, and I find myself staring at a picture of myself and Carter on the front page. My stomach drops into my shoes and my throat goes suddenly dry. We've been so careful about not being seen by the paparazzi when we're out. How did
this happen?
Somehow, despite how careful we've been, some asshole with a camera snapped a shot of us holding hands in Chelsea, looking entirely comfortable together – which we are. The headline, in big, bold letters screams, “Who Is The Mystery Woman In Carter Bishop's Life?”
“Care to explain this to me?” Mason asks.
I shrug. “I don't think I can,” I say. “It's not a very flattering photo.”
“Funny,” he says. “What are you doing with him?”
I take a sip of my wine and look at my brother evenly. “I wasn't aware I needed to clear my social calendar with you.”
He sighs and drains his glass again, signaling for yet another. His face is dark with anger and his eyes are narrowed, glowing with irritation. His distaste for Carter has always been obvious to me but what I see in Mason's face right now borders on pure hatred.
“He's a piece of crap, Darby,” he says. “You can do better than this asshole, wannabe gangster.”
“You don't know the first thing about him, Mason,” I clap back. “You never have, and because you prefer sitting up there in your ivory fucking tower, looking down your nose at everybody, you never will.”
“Hey, I'm okay with that,” he says. “I prefer to not associate with criminals.”
I scoff. “He's not a criminal.”
“You don't know him, Darby,” he says. “You're still blinded by your schoolgirl crush on him. You don't know the first thing about who he actually is.”
“Actually, I do know him,” I say, my voice growing heated. “I know him very well. It's you that doesn't, Mason. It's you who's blinded by your own insecurity and hatred.”
“Insecurity?” he chuckles. “Right. Good one.”
“You've never gotten over the fact that he kept you from getting your ass kicked at St. Aggie's,” I seethe. “That he made you feel like less of a man or something. In case you didn't realize it, he was trying to help your stupid ass, Mason. Not only that, but you can't seem to get over the fact that unlike you, Carter grew up without privilege or advantage. He’s truly self-made, and he's worked his ass off for everything he has. He's worked hard for it. And for whatever reason, that kills you.”