Romance: North: (Hot New Adult Bad Boy Romance, Alpha Male Rock Star Rebel Romance) (Contemporary Mystery and Romantic Suspense Short Stories)

by Allen, Jade

  Mary’s blush deepened. “Do you really think you’re going to convince me that you just want to see my ink to check the artistry?”

  I snickered; she was right.

  “No,” I admitted. “I wanted to see if you were telling the truth about it not being where I think.” Mary scowled, her arms tightening across her chest, and I bit back a groan at the sight of her tits pushing up against the neck of her shirt.

  “You’re being really inappropriate, Alex,” Mary said, pressing her lips together.

  “You like it, admit it,” I told her, unable to keep from grinning. “The only reason a woman like you gets tattoos where her clothes cover them up is so she can reveal them to someone she likes at the right time.”

  Mary opened her mouth and then shut it abruptly. “That doesn’t mean I want to show them to you,” she said, the color in her cheeks burning brighter every moment.

  “You wouldn’t be blushing like that if you didn’t,” I countered. “Ever fuck a patient before, Mary?”

  “No,” she said, almost biting the word off. “I haven’t. I’m a professional.”

  I glanced at the door to the art room.

  “No one has to know. I’m sure we’re not the first people who’d use this room to fuck each other’s brains out. Besides, you have a key. You can lock the door.”

  Mary stood quickly and my heart beat faster in my chest, my blood roaring in my ears. She looked at the door and then looked at me, and the look in her eyes was hot enough to melt steel.

  “I have lost my goddamned mind,” she said, turning and almost sprinting to the door. I laughed as quietly as I could as I watched her fumble with the keys on her lanyard, finally sticking the right one into the lock and turning it over. “If you tell anyone, Alex North, I swear to God you will not be able to find a rehab place in all of Florida that will take you.”

  She strode towards me, her shoes clack-clack-clacking on the old linoleum, and I felt a jolt of heat shoot through my body. This was really about to happen. I was about to fuck my counselor’s brains out, right here, right now. Mary stopped in front of me, taking a breath, and reached down to the fly of her jeans.

  “Stop,” I said, pushing her hands away and leaning forward. “Allow me.” I looked up into her dark eyes with a little grin.

  I could feel Mary trembling as I unbuttoned and unzipped the fly of her jeans, peeling the denim down slowly. I caught the sight of her lace-trimmed black panties, and as I tugged at the waistband of her jeans, the black-lined petals of her tattoos peeked up over the lace; one soft and ruffled, the other bloom sharp and linear. The peony and the lotus. Mary twisted slightly and I could see the fine calligraphy anchoring each of the blooms on either side of her hip, the words disappearing underneath the lace of her panties.

  “Where’s the rose?” I asked, looking up at her with an eyebrow raised.

  Mary licked her lips, her cheeks still delicately pink. “Further down,” she told me quietly. I tugged her jeans down off of her hips completely and the yellow petals came into view, right at the top of her thigh were the line of her panties ended on her left leg. I pulled her jeans down to her knees and admired her for a long moment, leaning in a little closer to get a better view of the details.

  “Very good shading work,” I murmured, reaching out to brush my fingertips along the edges of the peony that decorated her right hip. “What are the lyrics?”

  Mary shivered as my fingers tugged at the waistband of her panties, revealing the bottom of the bloom. “It’s a Silverchair song,” she said, her voice breathless. I turned her hip to look at the first block of text, reading it in the fluorescent light. All the bridges/ in the world/ won’t save you… I nodded slightly and turned her the other way to examine the second half of the text. If there is no/ other side/ to cross to… “It—it came out when I was a teenager, and it always seemed pretty significant to me.”

  “I’m the last person to give someone shit about their tattoo choices,” I told Mary, looking up from my examination. Breathing in, I could smell the sweet smell of her radiating from her panties, mingling with the light perfume she wore. “Now that we’re here, might as well enjoy it.” I licked my lips, glancing up at Mary’s face.

  “Seriously, Alex,” she said, her eyes dark with lust and wide with a little fear. “If anyone finds out about this, I’m fired. And you’re out of here—and Big J won’t even have to try and get anyone into the facility to take you out.” I nodded.

  I leaned back on the couch and pulled Mary down with me, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing her body against mine. I had just a moment to realize that I’d been right; I could span her waist with one arm. Then she was bringing her lips down against mine, and I groaned, my grip tightening as I opened my mouth and slid my tongue along her lips. Mary shifted against me, and I trailed my hands all over her body; I hadn’t realized just how much I had been thinking about what it would be like to get to know the curves I’d been watching until the moment my hands slid from her tits to her waist, tickling her ribs. I tugged the hem of her shirt up, pulling it over her head in a quick movement and letting it fall to the floor next to us.

  Bit by bit our clothes fell away; I shifted around and twisted underneath Mary until my cock sprung free of my boxers, until I felt her hand close around it. “Fuck…God, babe. If you don’t stop that I’m going to come in your hand.” She gave me one more lingering stroke and then her hand fell away, her weight shifting on top of me. I opened my eyes to get a full view of her heavy, firm tits; her pale pink nipples, now firm little nubs that begged me to suck and lick them. I cupped the heavy mounds in my hands, bringing each one to my mouth in turn and smiled against Mary’s skin as she gasped, trembling from the feeling of my lips and tongue worshipping her. She wriggled and writhed on top of me and I groaned out at the feeling of her hot, slick folds rubbing against my aching-hard cock, teasing me for what seemed like hours. I rocked my hips against hers, clutching her close, wanting more—but knowing I couldn’t hold out for long.

  I pushed down on her hips while I thrust up, and for a second I thought I’d lose it—that I’d come immediately, as Mary’s tight, wet, hot pussy wrapped around me. She moaned out, kissing me hungrily as her legs pressed against mine, every muscle in her body tensing as our hips met. I held her still for a long moment, trying to regain my self-control, and then we started moving together, touching each other everywhere. It had been years since I’d wanted it so bad; and with all the drugs out of my system, every little tightening of her inner walls, every little moan that left her lips, threatened to send me over the edge—I was so sensitive everywhere, it was like the first time I’d ever done E. We fell into a rhythm together, and I tried to keep it slow; I wanted to remember this when I was tossing and turning in bed in a few hours, when Gerard had gone to sleep and I could pretend like I had a little privacy. Mary felt so good, so right; I kissed her lips, her throat, her chin, as she rode me steadily, her hips twisting and shifting as she rose and fell, her inner walls tightening and flexing around my throbbing, aching cock.

  I lost all track of time and didn’t care; I wanted it to go on forever. I started thrusting harder and faster without being able to help myself, and Mary’s moans filled my ears, vibrating against my shoulder, my lips. I managed to hold back just long enough to feel her whole body tense, feel her shudder against me as the first wave of her climax rocked her. A moment later I tumbled over the edge and pushed my hips up against hers mindlessly as I came, moaning against her hot, soft lips while her body clenched around me tightly in little erratic spasms.

  We both collapsed, panting and gasping, and with my eyes closed, fireworks lit up the inside of my head, aftershocks of pleasure crackling through my nerves. I felt Mary’s weight shift what seemed like only a heartbeat later; it had to have been longer. I opened my eyes to see her standing, quickly pulling her clothes on. The tattoos disappeared behind denim, cotton and lace; her gorgeous tits became nothing more than a silhouette. “Remember,
Alex,” she said, smoothing her hair back off of her face. “One word of this and we’re both out on our asses.”

  I nodded, too spent still to talk.

  “Get dressed, and be out in the common area in fifteen minutes. The door locks automatically.” She turned on her heel and I heard the clack-clack-clack of her shoes on the floor as she walked quickly away from me.

  ****

  I walked into the Administrator’s office and immediately I saw Mary, seated off to the side in front of the huge, polished desk. The middle-aged man who ran the rehab facility, Dr. Farber, looked up as I came in. “Thank you for joining us, Alex,” Dr. Farber said, smiling in a way that immediately set off my bullshit alarm.

  “Not like I have a hell of a lot to do,” I said, taking the other seat in front of his desk.

  “We all have choices, every day,” Dr. Farber said in his sanctimonious tone; I’d heard that little homily enough times to want to puke, but I kept my face straight. “In fact, today we need to talk about choices.”

  Mary was carefully avoiding looking at me. It had been a day and a half since our little break in the art room; she had been like a ghost ever since. Flitting through the room, not even looking at me. But God did I look at her. Any time she appeared, I pictured her tattoos, the way she’d looked on top of me naked, and remembered the way she’d felt, the way she’d smelled.

  “Alex?”

  I looked at Dr. Farber again. “Okay, choices,” I said, keeping my voice level. “What about them?”

  “You and Mary have both made some…bad choices recently,” Dr. Farber said. Although I could tell he was going for ‘regretful disappointment’ by the tone of his voice and the way he twisted his plastic surgery-carved face, his bottle-green eyes gleamed.

  “Have we now?” I stared him down. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. I know what you’re playing at.

  “It’s come to my attention that the relationship between the two of you is no longer…strictly…patient-counselor.” Dr. Farber smiled slowly. “I heard reports about noises in the art room.” I clenched my teeth together. “Of course, I’m sure you know, there are cameras at the ends of all the hallways. It wasn’t difficult to figure it out.”

  “We were just talking about my recovery,” I said, shrugging. “You got some perverts in here. Isn’t Mackenzie in for sex addiction?”

  “It wasn’t Mackenzie who came to me, or I would probably have dismissed it,” Dr. Farber said. He took a breath and exhaled a gusty sigh. “Unfortunately, I can’t have the two of you here if you’re going to disrupt the good work we’re doing, helping people get clean and sober. You understand, right Alex?”

  I swallowed. “You’re being paid really fucking well to keep me,” I pointed out. “You kick me out and that money goes away.”

  “There are a dozen people who’d take your bunk before midnight,” he said. “And I can’t have either of you jeopardizing my reputation.” Dr. Farber looked from Mary to me. “You have an hour to gather your possessions and be discharged. Mary, you will leave with him, under Tom’s supervision. My decision is final.”

  Dr. Farber pressed a button on his desk. “John, please come escort Alex to collect his things. He’s being discharged.”

  I stared at Farber; there was no arguing with him.

  I was fucked.

  About an hour later, I stood outside of Recovery Now, my suitcase at my feet. At least I’ve got my fucking phone back. Of all the things I’d had to hand over when I checked in, turning off my phone and handing it to the front desk woman had hurt the most. I had about half a battery charge left on it—or at least I had when I’d turned it off and handed it over. I sat on a bench, waiting for Mary to show up; she had her own discharge to take care of.

  The woman who stepped through the front doors of the rehab building looked like Mary K, the woman I’d come up against so many times and who I’d banged the fuck out of, but her normal expression of confidence, that knowing gleam in her dark eyes, was totally gone. She was pale, her eyes a little wild, her mouth in a blank frown. As soon as she saw me, I watched her reassemble the façade she kept up; her eyes sharpened, her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and her lips twisted in a not quite smile.

  “Do you have anywhere to go?” she asked me.

  I shrugged. “I could go to my apartment but J’s probably got someone waiting for me there,” I said sheepishly. “I could call my band mates, my label.” Mary looked me up and down, and I watched her take another breath. Her hand moved and I heard the metallic clinking of her keys.

  “Come on,” she said, picking up a box and hefting it up to her hip. “I’m going to assume that your dealer doesn’t know where I live, and I’m going to hope he hasn’t smuggled anyone into the facility yet to find anything out.”

  I smiled wryly. “You’re seriously going to let me stay at your place?”

  Mary shrugged and gestured for me to follow her. “I got into this business to help addicts,” Mary said simply. I followed her into the parking lot, a few paces behind her, carrying my suitcase. “You’re an addict, and you need help.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not really an addict,” I said. Mary turned quickly and met my gaze with the familiar level, knowing expression on her face.

  “Seriously? You’re going to pull that on me now?”

  I smiled. “I have a problem,” I said quietly. “But…I wouldn’t say that I can’t quit the drugs. I’ve done it before.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, you’re not using in my house. I don’t care what the reasoning is. I don’t care how much you want to. I catch you using in my house and you’re out, dealer after you or not.” She stared into my eyes; it was obvious that she was waiting for me to say something.

  “I’m not a shitty houseguest,” I said, feeling almost offended. “I don’t use in other people’s houses unless they’re using or have told me I can. Besides, I’m on a break from the drugs right now.” I had put it to myself that way—that I was just taking a break, being sober for a while. I hadn’t exactly committed to quitting altogether; I figured once I got out of the situation with Big J, I would figure out whether it was worth it to quit, or whether I had just let things get out of control for a while. After all, it wasn’t like I was doing heroin; at least not on the regular. I’d tried it a couple of times, but the high just wasn’t worth it to me.

  “Just remember,” Mary said, turning back towards the line of cars. She stopped at one; it was an old, run-down looking hunter green Volvo, a boxy-looking tank of a car.

  “Nice ride,” I commented. Mary glanced at me, unlocking the trunk with her key.

  “It gets me places,” she said with a kind of quiet contentment. “What do you drive?”

  I smiled down at my suitcase as I dropped it into the cavern of a trunk. “Currently? Nothing.” I shrugged. “I fucked up my last car somehow, I don’t remember how. One of my band mates said he’d take it into the shop for me.”

  Mary unlocked the car at the driver’s side and gestured for me to get in. The inside of the car smelled of her perfume and of cigarettes, an undercurrent of sickeningly-sweet coffee from an ancient spill. I settled myself into the passenger’s seat. “You smoke?” I asked her.

  Mary smiled wryly. “Off and on. Mostly when I’m stressed.” She lifted up the center console armrest and withdrew a pack of Parliaments. “Like right now.” I chuckled and took my own cigarettes out as Mary cranked up the car. Immediately I sighed in relief at the flood of cool air from the vents, even as I rolled my window down. Mary shook a cigarette free of her pack and put it between her lips, reaching down in automatic movements to put the car in reverse as her other hand pressed the window button.

  In a matter of seconds, we had both lit up our smokes, and she had pulled out of the parking spot, shifted the car into drive, and started to make her way up the lane, towards the exit. “Another rule: if I’m driving, I’m in charge of the music, and no bitching from you; got it?”

&
nbsp; I laughed. “That’s the rule for the van, too,” I said. “Unless you want to play some fucking ear-bleed Miley Cyrus shit, I won’t complain.” Mary snorted and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. She reached blindly into her purse and I watched as she found her phone, shoved the purse back down under her legs in front of her seat, and managed to somehow juggle the cigarette between her fingers, the aux cord, and her phone. She came to a stop at the light and looked down at her screen. After a moment, she selected something and set the phone down in a convenient cubby, taking another drag of her cigarette as the song started: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Soft Shock.” I sat back in the seat I’d taken. There didn’t seem to be anything for me to do except watch the scenery pass by, at least for now.

  ****

  The house that Mary pulled up to was both exactly what I would have expected and completely foreign to me. It was one of those old, old Florida houses; big jalousie windows, clamshell shutters pulled back. The exterior was a warm, cheery yellow; the door was painted a deep, sharp red. “Do you own this place or rent it?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

  “I own it,” Mary said, shifting the car into park and turning off the ignition on the car. “It’s always just a little too warm in the summer and a little to chilly whenever there’s a cold front, but it’s my place outright.”

  I nodded and followed her up the walkway, glancing around the sleepy-looking neighborhood her house was in; the south Florida sun beat down like a hammer, the humidity like a sauna. It was impossible to forget, even in winter, that you lived in a coastal swamp. Mary unlocked the door and opened it, and her security system shrieked as she took the few steps to the console. “Come on in,” she said over her shoulder, punching in her code.

  I stepped through the door, feeling—weirdly—more apprehensive even than I had when I’d walked through the doors of Recovery Now. The floors had almost certainly been redone at some point in the house’s many decades of existence; they were hardwood, instead of standard-issue tile or carpet. There was a beat-up, worn-down rug on the living room floor. Mary had an old, scarred leather sofa with an old lady Afghan thrown over the back, a much newer armchair, and a flat-screen TV on an entertainment center that I guessed probably came from IKEA. The thing that shocked me, though, was the sight of an acoustic guitar, settled on a stand, its strings gleaming. “You play?” I asked her, frowning as I pointed.