Giving It Up

by Amber Lin

  “You say you were with him, huh? What, did he leave you pregnant or something?”

  “No,” I ground out. “Colin’s not like that.”

  She laughed. “I guess not. He wouldn’t leave you high and dry, not my boy. He’d just pay you off probably.”

  A shiver took me, even though the room was burning up. That was dangerously close to what had happened. At the time I’d written it off. After all, he’d thought I had betrayed him, making his actions more a kindness than an insult.

  “He’s got money, I know that,” she said. “He came here once a few years ago, saying I should leave here, he’d buy me a house. But what do I want a house for? My customers know me here, and I’m comfortable. Getting on in age and don’t want to go nowhere, least not till I meet my Maker. So he sends me money now and again. Thought that might be why you’re here, for the money, if you was pregnant.”

  I scowled. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “Don’t look it, sure, but you forget I’m a fortune-teller.” She thought that was hilarious.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m not pregnant, but thank you for talking to me.”

  “That’ll be ten dollars,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Hey, I’m sure you don’t want Colin to know you was sneaking around, checking up on him. Call it a keeping-quiet fee. I could probably charge you more, and you’d pay it, but you’re lucky I have morals.”

  I pulled a twenty out of my purse and slapped it on the grimy fold-out table between us. Storming out of the little trailer, I heard her say, “Got your change,” before the rickety door slammed shut. I drove out of the trailer park so fast my rear wheels spun on the gravel.

  God.

  I’d wanted to know more about Colin’s past. I’d wished he would tell me, but it was clear that never would have happened. Bad enough that he was naturally taciturn, but telling something like this, it was impossible. There would be no way to explain the quiet horror of that place, the matter-of-fact evil of that woman, or the brokenness of his family.

  But even as I ached for the boy-Colin, I worried over the man-Colin. She’d hit a little too close to home, that woman, with all her talk of paying me off. Not just that he’d done it before, but that he seemed to be doing it now. After all, he’d said I could stay in the house, that he didn’t want me to go.

  I’d hoped it was because he’d meant to come back, but he’d offered her a house too. He felt some obligation to her for raising him. That was so like him. Did he also feel an obligation to me? Is that why he wanted me to keep living there?

  He would pay the bills or send me money. I would live in his house but never see him. Did he think I would sit meekly in his house, growing old and crazy?

  Like hell.

  I picked up the phone and dialed. “Rose? I need your help.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I stumbled in my too-high heels as I wove my way to the bar. The thin fabric did little to shield my body from the dancers around me. Plus, it itched. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find I’d broken out in hives from the stretchy synthetic stuff.

  I’d even filled out a little, eating real meals instead of Bailey’s leftovers. I’d plumped up too, in places that attracted attention from the men I passed.

  The stools were full, so I shuffled to the side to wait for my drink. Too far over and I’d get groped. On the other side the bar was crusted with black stuff I didn’t want to speculate about. It was like one of those medieval torture chambers where the person had to stand in the middle or fall on spikes.

  I wouldn’t leave, of course. My purpose was too important.

  Between the strobing lights and grind of bodies, I’d never find him. He would already be here. What if he didn’t come at all?

  He had to.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” a low voice said. My heart thumped, and I turned. It wasn’t him.

  This guy wore a wifebeater and hair spiked into a Mohawk. I hadn’t even known that was in style. I was too old for this scene, though that had little to do with the pitter-patter of the calendar. I’d grown into a woman, or at least my own version of that ideal. I had a ways to go, but I had the time to do it in. And hope. I had hope now.

  “I’m waiting for someone,” I said.

  He smiled, flashing white teeth. “I can be your someone.”

  Ugh, what did I expect at a bar?

  “Sorry,” I said. And I was. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was the kind of guy I could date, but there wasn’t any chance of that.

  He melted back into the throng of dancers.

  A space opened at the bar, so I sat down. The bartender slid me my drink.

  At least the alcohol was the same. Watery, the way I liked it. I never wanted to be out of control, never again.

  A hand closed around my arm, and I jumped. The briefest of flashbacks assailed me, of another man grabbing me from behind at this bar, but it faded as I turned to Colin.

  He’d come! His familiar face drowned out the rest of the club.

  It had been a test, I saw now. Not that I’d wanted to hurt him or stick it to him, but I had to know how he felt about me. If he could let me come here to sleep with another guy, coupled with the fact that he’d moved out, I’d have to assume he really didn’t want me. And then I’d have to move out, because I couldn’t remain a squatter in his house.

  Rose had done her part and told Colin that I was back on the prowl, heading to the club to pick up some random guy for rough sex. I’d played my part, but I wouldn’t have followed through. If Colin hadn’t shown up, I definitely wouldn’t have had sex with any of these guys.

  But he’d come, looking angry and fierce and everything perfect.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he raged. “You’re leaving. Now!”

  “Thank God,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  I hopped off the stool and grabbed his hand, then beelined for the exit, practically shoving people out of my way in my haste. Once outside I put my hand against the brick wall and sucked in air, but it stank. We needed to get away from here.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Home,” he practically thundered. “You’re going home.”

  I considered that. “No,” I said. “I think I told you once that I don’t bring guys home.”

  “I’m not coming with you,” he ground out. “I’m putting you in the car and sending you there.”

  “I’ll drive to another club,” I said.

  “Then I’ll follow you there and drag you out.”

  “How very stalkerish,” I said. “Do you follow girls around in clubs often?”

  He stopped then and closed his mouth, probably because he had followed me at the club, according to Rose.

  “Do you have a motel room we could use, perhaps?” I asked.

  He glared at me. I knew he wanted to tell me to go home, but he knew it wouldn’t work. And perhaps it had dawned on him now what I was about in this game. Or maybe he’d known all along and come anyway, his baser instincts winning out over whatever strange logic had kept him away.

  “I need it,” I said. Getting fucked was the least of it. I needed him.

  That seemed to decide him. Even as some of the fury faded from his eyes, lust filled them. We were going to have sex tonight.

  “Follow me in your car,” he said.

  “I think I know the way.”

  His eyes promised retribution for my mocking tone. I could only hope.

  I followed him anyway, not wanting to risk it, but I’d been right. We pulled into the same motel, drove to the same building near the back, and parked in front of the same motel door.

  It had to come to this. We’d both fought the good fight, but it had been over since we first saw each other. All this sex and pain and love had been inevitable, almost fated. Now I was getting sappy. Maybe I did, in fact, need a good, hard fuck.

  I beat him to the door, but I didn’t have the key so I turned and watched him slowly leave the truck. Was he j
ust now accepting the inevitability? Or would we fight one last battle inside that room?

  I stepped aside to let him open the door. He let me in first, and I dropped my purse on the same fabric chair and strolled inside.

  The room was different than before. Last time it had been all clean and musky in the blank slate of an unused hotel room. Now it was lived in, strewn with clothes on the floor and bottles on the dresser.

  Paperwork was spread across the rumpled sheets as if he’d been working there. I picked a few up and found information about leases and sales and transferals of rights.

  I looked up sharply. “You aren’t selling the place?”

  “A new location.”

  “Really? Like a franchise?”

  “I’ll still own it. Both of them.” He gave me a wry look. “I found myself with too much time on my hands.”

  I smiled. “Give up a bad habit, did you?”

  “And a good one,” he said, somehow closer to me.

  The answer popped into my head. Oh? Well, we can fix that right now. Cheesy, but then his mouth was on mine, and I’d missed it. I’d missed its warmth, its taste, its very Colin-ness. Because it was him and he knew me and he loved me. Even if he never said it, not with words, because that wasn’t his style. He said it with his actions, taking care of me and getting angry when I did stupid shit. And he said it with his body.

  With his tongue as it swiped along the seam of my lips and touched against my tongue. You’re mine, it said. If you’ve forgotten, I’ll prove it to you. The love words were only in my mind, but he’d put them there. I’d been too afraid to try, to even imagine this, but he’d insisted with his feeding me and bathing me and caring for me, and all I wanted to do right now was give some of it back.

  I pulled his shirt up, to feel his abs and then around to his back. He ripped the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, then unbuckled his jeans and kicked them off. I’d thought we’d take it slow, let it build, but his urgency was hot, contagious.

  I started to pull off my clothes, to catch up, but he stopped me.

  “I want to,” he said.

  My lips curved. “You like to do that. Undress me, wash me, feed me.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He was infinitely distracted as he circled me and slid his hands up my skirt.

  “I can do those things on my own, you know,” I said on a gasp as his fingers found a spot. “All on my own.”

  “I’d rather do it,” he said. “Every day.”

  It was the closest thing to a commitment I’d ever heard, and I wasn’t picky. I groaned as my head fell back.

  He took my clothes off piece by piece until I stood bare and wanting in the middle of the motel room. We jumped onto the bed together, forgetting who was telling who what to do. It wasn’t nearly so much a power struggle as it was a joining. We both wanted this, so what was the use of pretending to fight? He didn’t have to order me to do anything; he only had to ask.

  I tasted his body, salt and musk, down his arm and when I got to his hand, I sucked a finger into my mouth. Almost like I was avoiding the good parts, but I wasn’t. I was making up for lost time with the rest of him, all the Colin that I’d taken for granted. I’d never paid nearly enough attention to his forearm, with the banded muscles and soft hair. Or his hands, with their rough calluses and scarred knuckles. I kissed them, one for every hurt.

  He was half reclined on the bed as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to lie back and let me or sit up and take over. I loved that I’d made him like this, indecisive and eager. I moved sideways to the pale skin of his hip. That soft patch of skin that’s not quite his ass or his front, so soft. The softest part of him.

  No, that definitely wasn’t true. I moved inland, to an even softer place. A soft lick along the shaft of his cock, right in the middle, another neglected spot.

  His body jerked. “Fuck.”

  He reached for me, ready to turn me over. Probably to lick me and make me come as he had that night. I wanted it, but I wanted this more.

  “Please,” I begged. “I want to make you feel good.”

  “That does make me feel good.”

  We froze for a second in an awkward tableau, each of us reared up off the bed, ready to pleasure each other but being denied.

  I laughed. “We can do it at the same time.”

  He laughed too, as if we’d reinvented the sixty-nine position. Silly us for not thinking of it sooner. This had all been done before, but it was new to us.

  He rested back on the bed, and I clambered above him. It took a minute, arranging my legs, bumping his nose with my knee, not suffocating him, and I giggled. Laughing during sex—it felt strange but exhilarating.

  Then he clamped his hands around my thighs and licked me long and slow, and I wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked different from this angle, all upside down, with his cock pointing at me. I walked my hands down his body until I reached it. I put my mouth to the tip, a chaste kiss.

  He sucked on my clit, and my body answered with an involuntary suck. He groaned and then licked me faster, sucked me hard. It made me wild, and I just attacked his cock, just messed it all up with my lips and my face and my saliva. It was dirty but not shameful. Sexy but not scary.

  We sucked on each other, taking pleasure and giving it back. The bliss of his mouth on me was only heightened by the taste of his cock in my mouth.

  But he’d hit a rhythm, licking my clit, and he put two fingers inside me. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t possibly think about sucking or stroking when I was so close. I left my mouth closed around him, letting the heat and the wetness and the vibrations of my moans do what they could for him. My hips rocked, and I tried, tried to hold them still, but even then I was shaking with the effort. It wouldn’t last. I couldn’t take it.

  He stopped for just a minute, and I almost screamed. “Ride me,” he said. “Do it.”

  Fuck, yes, I did. I was so close already. His tongue found my clit again, and I rode it mindlessly, letting my body sway and roll and find its release so it could take me with it. And it did. I came. I came on his mouth and tried so hard not to bite down, but that was all I could think.

  The pulse of his cock in my mouth was what aroused me from my stupor. I gave him one last, hard suck, swallowing the saliva that I’d left there as I came. It should have been gross, I should have been embarrassed, but it was just how I’d pleased him. I’d made him feel good and him me, and there was nothing at all gross or embarrassing about that.

  I rolled off him, because as much as I wanted to keep sucking him and make him come, I couldn’t even sit up. He didn’t need me to sit, thank God, and he turned me over onto my stomach. I started to pull my legs under me, to prop myself up so he could take me from behind, but he stopped me. Instead he slipped between my legs, barely spread far enough to cradle his hips.

  His cock dipped low and slid into me. It was the same thing, being fucked from behind, the same cock, the same hole. But it was totally different, because he wasn’t riding me or pulling my hair or anything like that, but just rocking into me. It was all pleasure, his cock in me, his chest curved around my back. The only pain at all was the small bite of his fingers into my hips, anchoring me to the bed, but it was the sweetest hurt.

  And, even sweeter, he began to talk to me, saying the love words he’d written with his body. “You’re beautiful, baby. I missed you. You make me crazy. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

  My mind responded to his words with hope and love and pride, but all that was drowned out when the angle of his thrusts pointed down, pinging a certain place inside me. He sped up too, both his thrusts and his words. “Allie, Allie, fuck, you’re so hot and tight. Just for me. Yes, just me. Fuck.”

  My mouth opened against the bedspread in a soundless cry. So close, so fucking close. His words tightened and wound, almost unintelligible, except I could hear my name and fuck in close succession. My ass canted back, begging for it. And then he said it.

  “I love you.”

&n
bsp; He froze, like he hadn’t meant to, like he’d surprised himself, but it was too late. I’d heard him, and I was coming. My body pulsed and shook, and I pushed, impaling myself on him to ride out my orgasm. That was too much, even for him, and he came with a strangled, wordless shout.

  He wrapped his arms and legs around my body like a cocoon, with his cock still inside me. I couldn’t move, didn’t want to. We panted together, using up all the air, sharing it. We stayed that way for a long, long time, neither of us wanting to separate. Whenever it was, it would be too soon.

  Only finally when I couldn’t breathe—I even let myself see spots—I shrugged at him, and he rolled off. But he grasped my hand, and I held his back. This was the part where I ran to the bathroom, crying, or maybe he did, but neither of us wanted that, so we held on tight.

  Our breathing evened out, and I felt my mind drift into that space between awake and dreams. Something held me back from sleep—it was the fear that this was a dream after all. That I’d wake up, and he’d be gone. Nice sex, Allie. See you next month.

  That wasn’t Colin, of course, but he might still leave. I had to be sure.

  I squeezed slightly, just to see if he was awake. He tightened his hand on mine.

  “I think we have to talk,” I said.

  He tensed, his whole body did, with an air of expectancy, and then said on an exhale, “I’m sorry.”

  Well, okay. He was sorry for leaving, that was fine. What I was more concerned with was whether he was coming home—

  “I’m sorry I did this to you. You lost your job because of me. That was fucked-up, like you said, but it wasn’t supposed to—you were hurt. Almost raped, almost killed, because of me.”

  I have an inkling that the man feels guilty as sin.

  He blamed himself for all of that, everything. No wonder he was so stressed out. Next thing he’d be blaming himself for what happened with Jacob, since he wasn’t there to protect me from it.

  “Christ, Colin. What an ego you have.”