by Lyrica Creed
“You can answer to your mother whenever. But me?” I shot to my feet, and Ivy backed down a couple of wary steps. “I’ve never done a damn thing except support you in everything you’ve ever done. There’s Facebook. Snap Chat. Twitter. Email…” Breaking off, I was distracted by Ivy’s designer clothing and accessories. “You’re so freaking selfish! Out here living it up while anyone who really gives a damn about you is worried sick.”
“I know it was shitty of me. But you have to understand.”
“I don’t.”
“You of all people understand dropping out of sight over… over public embarrassment.” Understanding seemed to dawn. “That’s what you’re doing here in the middle of nowhere. Where the paparazzi marks hide away. It’s almost the twentieth anniversary…”
Did Ivy truly believe what she was saying?
There was no way Ivy could equate not shooting at least one message to say ‘hey the rock stars didn’t murder me and toss my body in the Black Rock desert while passing through,’ with my getaway to Lake Arrowhead. The most important difference was I myself would have let Ivy know where I was. I wouldn’t have dropped off the face of the social media map.
I lost it and lunged at Ivy, slapping the fruity drink from her manicured hands. When the glass shattered on the floor, and the contents miraculously missed splashing the designer dress on the way down, I tossed my own drink and watched the stain spread on the silk.
Ivy’s eyes were huge globes before her lids narrowed in fury. “What the fuck! You bitch! Do you know how much this dress cost?”
“What do you care? You didn’t buy it, right? You―” I stopped myself just in time before calling my ex best friend out for whoring around with celebrities.
A slight cough alerted me to our spectators. We had begun the discussion in relative privacy, but now our raised voices and Ivy’s cocktail bath had drawn attention.
I spun on my heel. Now that I’d seen with my own eyes that Ivy was safe, I wanted as far away from her as I could get. The next embarrassing scene spanned only a couple of seconds. Ivy shot her arm out. I wasn’t sure if it was a silent plea or if a full-out bitch fight would have ensued, had I not tripped in my haste to get away from what felt like a betrayal of our tight friendship.
I was surrounded by tanned feet in open toed shoes on marble so glossy, I could see my reflection. Gasps and murmurs flew above my head. Pushing myself up, I kept my eyes straight ahead and ran for the door.
Chapter 41
Entering the empty cabin, I tripped again on the furry rug stretched in front of the den fireplace. My hands stung with the impact of protecting myself a second time from a face plant. Instead of righting myself, I simply sat in the shadows.
The room was bathed in the gold hue of the sunset when Gage appeared. When he simply sank down in front of me, it reminded me of the night before in the pool. His fingers fiddled with my knot of hair, freeing it from the bun, and then the pads of his fingers brushed soothingly against my scalp. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, surrendering to the massage.
“Want to talk about it?” he whispered against my hair. I shook my head. He devoted a few more minutes to the soothing ministrations of his fingers and then stood. With the turn of a key, the fireplace leapt to life. The flames entranced me, easing even more of the tension from my tendons. He locked the door, drew the drapes, and dropped the blinds until we were in our own little world. He took a moment to dock his phone and adjust the volume on a mellow playlist. As the first measures of the ‘feel better’ tunes began, he reclaimed his spot, but scooted forward, one leg on either side of me until our bodies were all but touching.
His fingers splayed my cheek, his thumb brushing my lips in what I was learning was his prelude to a kiss. I knew the action well now after only a few times—knew all I had to do was turn my head if I objected. I didn’t.
The kiss was as sweet and tender as the one in the water had been. I wrapped my arms around him, arching until my chest was flush with his. Our tongues mated and mingled until the tingly sparklers firing through me began to flare and flame. We hadn’t broken the seal of our lips; our breath only heated the kiss more. His fingers curved to my upper arms, and this is where they remained despite the rest of my body longing for his touch.
I pulled apart, and we sucked in breaths, refueling our cells with oxygen. He seemed disappointed, and then something akin to shame filled his face. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to kiss you better, take your mind off things for a minute. And then I meant to stop. I know it’s not the right time with all that just went down―”
The raspy apology ceased abruptly when I pulled my shirt over my head and let it drop. His lips parted slightly, seemingly in surprise, but in one sweeping motion, he had his tee shirt off too, and it landed in the vicinity of mine. Our bodies collided again, and I whimpered as our skin melded together.
“Damn, Scar.” He muttered into my mouth. “I lose my mind when you make that sound.” And in response, I vocally rewarded his words with another hum of bliss, dragging an echoing groan from his throat. His hands roamed, up and down my back, fingers dipping beyond the waistband of my jeans until they met resistance of the denim snug against my ass. Wandering to my front, his hands and fingers continued his nomadic exploration, around my waist, flattening over my belly, thumb swirling into my navel, and dragging upward with agonizing slowness, before dipping into my bra and coaxing another octave from me. The slight friction of his callus-roughened fingertips fed the frenzied fire lapping at my body.
As for my explorations, I couldn’t get enough. The heat of his skin. Silk and steel. Ink and indention… My fingertips pressed until they dipped into the ridges of his ribs, and I swept my touch down to the heat of his abdomen, and down more. In one deft movement, I freed the top button of his fly and then ripped the zipper down. The whispering grate of metal sent a jolt of heat like lightning between my legs.
I reached, greedy for my prize, but right when my nails lightly raked the front of his briefs, he captured my wrist. Containing it in the curve of his fingers, he wrapped his other arm around my waist and used his weight to ease me back until I reclined. Locking the imprisoned hand to the carpet, he stretched over me, bracing his weight as he dipped in for another kiss.
I was panting as loud as Rascal had been in the boat. My skin was ablaze. A sheen of sweat cooled slightly in the wake of his hot breath as he kissed and tasted every inch of skin his hands had traversed. If I could have spoken, I would have begged harder than the occasional “please,” when his tongue licked and lavished in delicious ways. Gage’s tongue was as skilled in its devotion to my body as it was in each kiss. It blazed down my cleavage, darting beneath the strip of bra. With his free hand, he pushed at the material enough to tongue trace the ultra-erotic zone beneath each breast. Brushing with his lips in a side-to-side motion, he trailed down bit by bit, teasing the hyper-sensitive valley where my ribcage met. And then with one long lick back up, he coaxed another frantic whimper from my lips.
At long last, he released the hand he’d held hostage and unfastened the fly of my jeans. Wasting not a second of this freedom, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down. When they reached my knees, he swiftly dragged them the rest of the way, releasing my ankles from the tight hems and yanking the denim off.
He sat back for a moment, feasting those dark eyes appreciatively over me. My bra had been pushed up, out of the way, but not unhooked, and now, I released the front clasp.
“Really? It would have been that easy?” He let one of his smirks fly, but a glint of adulation lit his gaze as he took in the twin peaks and filled his hands with their goodness. “So beautiful… I guess you know that, though. You get to see ‘em every day.”
I felt my lips curve in response to his antics and then gasped, bowing up from the rug when he dropped back down to both elbows and again worshiped that proclaimed beauty with his teeth, tongue and lips—this time without the hindrances of lingerie.
I
tried to ease the ache between my legs, wrapping a leg to his waist and rubbing my throbbing core against his open jeans. The zipper pull settled for a moment in the perfect place on my silk panties, and I sighed out a pleasured hum. He growled against my skin and released me long enough to shuck his jeans.
He’d just pushed them over his hips when he stalled. “Shit. I have to get a condom.” He pulled them back up and ordered sternly, “Don’t move.”
“You don’t have one in your wallet?” I’d slipped the billfold from his pocket and tossed it to the side when it had dared to get between my hands and his fine ass. My neck craned, seeing the wallet right out of reach. But I was talking to his back. He was already across the room and then out of sight.
I thought about following despite his order to stay put. Now when he was no longer distracting me with desire, the bed sure sounded more comfy than the carpet. It only took a second, though, for the musing to derail, becoming a speculation of how many had been in that bed. I remained where I was.
He was soon back, and as his jeans came off, I mirrored the motion, removing my last scrap of clothing. His touch on me, now without that little barrier of silk, had me struggling to hold back a scream. He fused his lips to mine and explored this new territory as thoroughly as he had every inch of my skin. The tips of his rough fingers trailed over, caressed, and then after one last trace up my slit, slipped inside. One long digit plunged deeply, and as exquisite as it felt, my insides clenched, wanting more.
Was that me? Had I expelled that desperate scream? He answered with a groan, and a second finger joined the first. This time a satisfied moan left my mouth.
“Open your eyes, Scar…”
I’d slipped inside a vortex of sensation without realizing my lids had drooped. At his quiet command, they flew open, finding his gaze inches from mine, staring into my soul. His thumb dropped, skimming over my most private lips, and then pushing past them. Without blinking, he held my captive look while caressing all around that sweet point of pleasure. I knew I was squirming, as he continued to finger fuck me. Instinctively my body worked to guide the touch of that elusive thumb, and maybe just as instinctively I held back a scream until he pressed—ringing my bell.
Only then did I subconsciously reward him with the crescendo of sound he’d plied from my body. He continued to strum, playing me as fervently as Claudine. Back and forth, around and again with his thumb. In and almost out, over and over with his long fingers.
Having been introduced to those skilled fingers in the shower around this time yesterday didn’t lessen the effect of his touch. In fact, it may have heightened every sense because I knew how exquisite the buildup and release was going to be. Thinking about our shower gave me a cognitive nudge, and I reached down, curving my fingers around what I’d deliriously deprived myself of last night. He groaned into my mouth and then cursed. His attentive touch fumbled for a half second when I slid my fingers down his silky steel length to the base and cupped the weight of his family jewels. I squeezed lightly, and another husky moan, mixed with a curse, filled our kiss. Curving my hand around him, I stroked.
Up. Down. Up down. Twist. I remembered and mimicked. His rhythm from the night before was etched into my mind.
He countered my action with his own attention to my ‘tunnel of love.’ The night before, the stretch, twist, and finishing hook of his fingers had been my big bang moment. But this time with my attention divided, a shriek tore through my lips and then a sound of frustration.
“Gage…” And my next mumbled words had never, ever, before slipped unheeded through my lips. Dirty talk was something I had always forced on occasion to speed up getting a guy off. Until now, crude four letter words had never slipped out in groans and pleas. “…your cock… inside me now…”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Obeying, he rolled on the condom and then filled me in one smooth move. He watched astounded when I uttered his name again—this time as a scream—and immediately exploded. I trained my eyes on his, basking in the emotion just beyond the fringes of his surprise. When I wrapped tighter to him and urged him on, I swore I saw a flash of cocky male pride. But then we were rocking and rolling. And in no time, I was again as worked up as him, my breaths as short, my cries crazed…
“Damn, Scar…” He eased his weight up some. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to crush you…”
“Breathing is overrated.”
He grunted something that may have been a syllable of a chuckle. Rolling to his side, he pulled me with him. “Sorry…” His lips brushed my forehead. “Seriously, I was out for a few seconds. That was… intense…”
“Intense.” I agreed and couldn’t stop a giggle from bubbling up.
“What? I just can’t think of any words spectacular enough for that.”
“Me either.” I touched my lips to the slight scruff on his chin.
He reached between us, and when the condom was tied off, he seemed embarrassed when he gazed around and then reached for his discarded boxers and rolled it out of sight inside them before collapsing again.
I understood. I couldn’t have stood and carried myself herself beyond this spot on the floor if the house had caught fire. His voice was listless, clearly sapped of strength when he whispered, “You asked why it wasn’t in my billfold.”
“Mmh hmm.” My lips never parted when I answered.
“I took it out. Removed the temptation when I realized how crazy you were making me. Fuck. Every time I look around you’re in a teeny tiny swimsuit or those black shorts. Always prissing around being your sassy sweet self. When we decided to figure things out between us, I didn’t put it back. Because I didn’t trust myself not to nail you in the heat of the moment.” He cuddled closer, one inked arm pleasantly weighting my breasts, and his voice dissolved to a mumble. “I wanted to date you. Proper. Instead of mauling you. But this thing with us has been crazy from the start.”
“Unpredictable.” I agreed, and although I was too languid to add any more to his train of thought, a caboose passed through my mind. Did no convenient condoms mean he had sworn off other women during the phase when we’d realized our attraction but hadn’t yet decided to explore it?
Chapter 42
“C’mon.” He wasn’t sure if she had dozed or was simply sprawled against him, as wrung out as he was. “Let’s go to bed.” He smoothed a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and gently tugged as he rolled to his feet. She came up with him, as smoothly as if they’d choreographed the motion. Without waiting for her legs to straighten completely to a standing position, he scooped her up and stepped over the minefield of clothing as he headed into the hallway.
Her arms looped around his neck and her legs wrapped to his waist as naturally as if they’d done this lover’s walk for a lifetime. However, her tits smashing to his chest, brushing ever so slightly with each step was like nothing he’d ever known. And the heady scent of their time together inhaled with each breath he took was another nothing he’d ever known.
By the time he tugged the layers of bed linens open, bounced her gently to the mattress, and followed her down, he was hard again. Staking a knee between her thighs, he hovered over her, letting the tips of her tits dance in a tantalizing brush against his chest as he rubbed his lips in a back and forth motion over hers.
“Again?” He knew the word was more of a wheedled plea than a whispered question.
“Again.” She agreed, as he’d been ninety percent sure she would.
He’d used the same tone, the same puppy dog eyes on her when he’d needed help cleaning the game room before his dad would let him go to the movies at twelve. When at fourteen, he’d talked her into taking the fall when his dad was in a rage over the burned out pump in the Jacuzzi—after all, in his father’s eyes, she never did anything worthy of anger.
Thinking of their past together had panicked him this morning. Their past of memories and emotions was like a bottomless well. He was falling in love—possibly had already—and was in danger of falling
and falling forever.
They began with languid, lazy kisses, but within minutes, she crawled atop him, holding his body hostage with every caress of her hands and fiery touch of her lips and tongue. He’d pinned her down earlier as he teased and tasted inch after inch of her beautiful body, but she had him submissive with only her lips on his skin—and every flick of her tongue.
As his craze built, every alpha instinct had him wanting to flip their positions, and yet those XY chromosomes also got-off on the rhythm of her tits with her every move, the straddle of her legs over his hips, and all that thick, wavy hair swinging around her flushed face.
And then she let out a whimper of anticipation as she aligned herself perfectly and he lost it.
“Dammit, Scar!” In his next breath, he had her on her back and her legs wrapped in his arms.
And in the next breath was inside her.
“Seems weird without Rascal.” Her words were groggy, right before they drifted off.
“Mmh hmm. He’s fine though. Seth texted.”
“And when were you checking texts?”
“I’m a ‘multitasker.’”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’m offended.”
She giggled and her breath bathed his lips. He told her about Seth texting way earlier asking if Rascal could spend the night. She accused him of getting a dog sitter so he could make his move. And between kisses and laughter, they drifted into a doze.
By the time the rapping on the door roused him, he realized it had been going on a while. Disentangling his limbs from Scar, who barely stirred in her sleep, he jumped from the bed. Pulling open the closet, he skimmed a hand down the shelves as his eyes adapted to the dark room. Plucking a pair of khaki cargo shorts from their cubbyhole, he shook them out and stepped into them commando.
He poked his head through a tee shirt as he sprinted the hallway and then peeled it off when it didn’t stretch to fit him. As he entered the lighted den, he glanced at the shirt and saw the flower motif on the pink material. Wadding the obvious woman’s tee in one fist, he stopped by the fireplace mantel and switched off the music. He stooped, sweeping their clothing from the rug, bunching it all together, and jamming it into a corner of the couch with a pillow on top. Carrying the trash that had been with the clothing, he detoured back to the kitchen, burying it in the kitchen bin in the folds of the pink shirt. Twisting the faucet, he held his hands beneath the stream in the sink and then wiped them across his face, slicking the unruly strays of his hair back as he did.