Breaking the Habit

by Anne Berkeley

  “You stick that tongue out at me and I’m going to take it,” Shane threatened. “Then I’ll pickle it and eat it for breakfast.”

  “Nah uh!” Levy objected, but he slapped his hands over his mouth to be safe. “Yew no hab it!”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I poo yew hair!”

  “Really? You’re going to pull my hair?”

  “Uh huh!”

  “Girls pull hair.”

  “No, I poo yew hair and yew cwy liked a girwlll!” Levy broke down in giggles, laughing at his own genius. “Yew hab girl hair!”

  Jake guffawed. Jaxon laughed along, as did I. But Shane, his face went blank, shown up by a three year old. “What did you say?”

  “Yew hab girl hair!” Levy continued, spurred on by Jake’s laughter. “Is wong!”

  “Your hair is long too.”

  “No, Momma cutted my hair. Yew hair is wong.”

  “Long hair is cool.”

  Levy shook his head, unconvinced. “No is not.”

  “Sure it is. The girls dig it. Don’t they, Emelia?”

  My mouth bobbed as I gapped like a fish out of water. The right thing to say eluded me. I landed on a sheepish smile, which caused Jake to laugh harder, and Jaxon to flush.

  “Carter wasn’t lying,” Shane observed. “You really don’t like my hair.”

  “I don’t hate it. Long hair just isn’t my thing.” It was always in my face, especially during sex, sticking to my skin and getting into my mouth.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It’s awful presumptuous to think that my opinion of your hair counted for anything. How long have we been together, Shane?”

  “Long enough.”

  “I told you what I thought of your hair a million times,” Jake objected. “My opinion never counted.”

  “It still doesn’t.”

  “But we’ve been together half our lives.”

  “That’s out of necessity,” Shane promised. Reaching out, he grasped my wrist and pulled me onto his lap. “I’m humiliated, beautiful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “How short?”

  “You don’t have to get your hair cut on my behalf.” Please, please, please, cut the hair, I pleaded mentally.

  “Hypothetically speaking, if I got it cut, how short?”

  Loosely, I gathered his hair at the back of his head, wrapped my hand around it and pulled. Indulging me, he tilted his head back. “Mm, now dip me back.”

  “What?”

  “Dip me.” Indulging me again, he dipped me back. His hair fell over his shoulders, and landed in my face. “There—about that much.” I pinched a length of his hair between my index and middle finger, indicating the desired length.

  “If I would’ve known it was all about sex, I would’ve cut it a long time ago,” Shane murmured into my ear. “All you had to do was say.”

  “You’ve got yourself a keeper, Shane,” Jake said, staring across the table at us. His face was split with a wide smile. “I like her priorities.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Ok, let me up.” I flexed my abs, trying to sit up, but Shane, holding my wrists, gave no quarter.

  “You hurt my feelings, Emelia.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’re you going to do to Band-Aid my pride?”

  “What do you have in mind?” Shane’s gaze moved to the puppies and back. The corner of his mouth rose in a mischievous grin. I immediately grasped his intention. “You wouldn’t.” He would.

  “Rake, Fiend, come give mommy kisses!”

  “Shane!” I warned, wincing as Fiend lapped at my cheek. “Shane!” I turned my head the other way as Fiend came at me again, but Rake was there at the ready.

  “But they love you. Don’t you Rake?” Shane cooed, goading them on. “They love their momma!”

  “Merda! I’m going to kick your ass!”

  “Das a bad wood,” Levy, Jake and Shane said in unison. Jaxon laughed, though it might’ve been at the dogs as they coated my face with puppy chow scented saliva.

  “Italians forgive, Shane, but they never forget. Remember that,” I threatened. Anything else I was going to say was cut off when Rake’s tongue nearly penetrated my mouth. I pinched my lips shut, hindering any such offenses.

  “Whoa, she went silent,” Jake observed. “Better let her up, man, or you’ll be sleeping in the doghouse.”

  Taking heed, Shane yanked my wrists, pulling me upright and out of reach of the puppies’ tongues. "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

  "I guess you'll find out tonight." I moved to stand, but once again found myself in Shane's grip. He stared back at me, his eyes speaking a thousand words. None of them intimated an apology. My mouth went dry. My face flushed.

  "Who wants cake?" Tate said, interrupting our internal conversation. Balanced in his hands was a birthday cake shaped like a drum, with Gretsch made of fondant scripted across the side. As Tate placed it on the table in front of Levy, I noticed a pair of drum sticks resting across the top. They looked like they were made of cookies the kind that were filled with chocolate crème in the center.

  "I want a cake like that," Shane voiced, looking over the thing with envy. We all were. It was a work of art.

  "Is mine," Levy objected. "My cake." He reached for the drum sticks, but Coop grabbed his hand.

  "We have to sing Happy Birthday first, Lev." She looked to Tate to start the song, unconfident over her own voice after weeks of disuse. Tate shrugged and sang the first line. Coop joined in, and then the rest of us fell into place. Coop sounded great. The rest of us not so much, but rarely did the general public sound good singing Happy Birthday. It was a sad fact.

  “Now make a wish, Lev,” Coop instructed, “and then blow out the candles.”

  “You gotta get them all, kid,” Jake added, “or you don’t get your wish.”

  Levy smiled widely. “I wished I want a puppy.”

  Shane chuckled under his breath, just loud enough that Tate heard him. “This is your fault,” Tate accused. “If I have to get him a puppy, you’re cleaning my yard.”

  “He’s going to be cleaning your yard anyhow,” I pointed out. “At least until I can get my own place.” Luckily Garrison didn’t charge much in rent. I was able to put a little into savings, enough for a security deposit and to cover the utilities.

  Tate glanced at Shane, who shook his head ever so slightly.

  “What?” I asked, glancing between the two of them.

  Cooper was quick to try and divert attention, and Levy’s candles were getting low. Wax was beginning to pool on the cake. “Take a deep breath, Lev, and blow out the candles.”

  Levy’s cheeks ballooned. He knocked the flames of the three candles with little effort. “I getted them! I getted them aw!”

  “So, kid, have you done any gigs?” Shane asked Jaxon before I could press any further. Coop and Tate fell into banter about whether or not they wanted a dog. Jake filched a drum stick from the cake and was munching on the thing while taking amusement of Tate and Coop’s latest quandary.

  “I do open mic nights around town when I can get in, and when I can get equipment.”

  “You don’t have your own?”

  “Nah. In school, I did, but I had to give it back when I graduated,” Jaxon explained. “They were only leased. My stepfather refused to buy them. Said they were waste of time. They were fine as a hobby, but I’d never make a living off playing them.”

  Jesus. If that didn’t sound familiar. Shane must’ve agreed, because his frown returned. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his smokes and tapped one from the pack. I think Jaxon had just won Shane's vote.

  “Interested in an apprenticeship?”

  “An apprenticeship?”

  “Tate’s putting together a band for Coop. I’m not promising anything, but you’ll gain some experience, and make some connections.”

  Visibly anxious, Jaxon ran a hand through his hair, considering the possibility p
resented to him. “Are you shitting me?”

  Everyone let the language slide. Jaxon was understandably excited. Besides, Levy was absorbed in his cake, which he was beating with the remaining drum stick. Shane caught the atrocity out of the corner of his eye, and shook his head.

  “As long as you don't treat your equipment like him, no.”

  Chapter 21

  Steel gray eyes stared back at me, held my gaze as the man moved deliberately within me. They spoke of words we refused to say, declarations withheld by fear and distrust. And then they were gone, shielded with a thick fringe of lashes as a rack of pleasure rippled through his sweat slicked body.

  Shane’s mouth snapped closed. His jaw flexed. The enamel of his teeth ground together. His hips stilled, withheld the orgasm that wanted to take him. His hair hung just past his jaw in a freshly shorn edge that curled on the ends in an unruly flip, despite his attempt to tame it with a flatiron.

  Threading my hands into his hair, I flexed my abs and strained upward, rasped the line of his jaw with my teeth. My tongue darted out, tested his stubble. He tasted of salt, and felt like fucking heaven. Leisurely, I dragged my tongue down his throat, closed my mouth over his Adam’s apple, and swirled my tongue in a wide circle.

  “Fuck, Emelia!” Pinning my knee to my chest with his large hand, he began pumping his hips in a mindless rush to the end. Quickly, I slipped my fingers between my thighs in hopes of meeting him there. He was going to finish without me, not that he could help it. Lust had taken control. Nothing mattered but the end goal. He was chasing his peak.

  Despite my best efforts, Shane reigned victoriously. His spine arched, his head thrown back. Every muscle flexed and shuddered above me, against me, inside me.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ quit, Emelia,” he growled, when I abandoned my efforts for my own release. Withdrawing, he stroked his cock, spreading a warm lash across my fingertips as he coaxed the last of his orgasm. “Finish it. Now.”

  Obeying, I swirled my fingers in a circle, his semen slippery under my fingertips. There was something erotic about it, something intimate, Shane watching me pleasure myself. Letting my inhibitions slip away, I dropped my head back, closed my eyes, and let my knees fall wide.

  “Fuck, beautiful, you’re making my dick hard again.” The mattress dimpled beneath me. Shane’s fingers circled my entrance and then sank in. Involuntarily, a moan left my throat. “That’s it. Come for me.” Curling his fingers in a come hither motion, he began coaxing my peak.

  It didn’t take long. There was a mutual exchange of sexual appreciation. My moans spurred his groans. It compounded, repeated, until we were lost to one another completely. Inhibitions had no place between us.

  Reaching the summit of our efforts, I flung my eyes open, meeting Shane’s gaze with unreserved veneration. Surely he could read everything unsaid as I came, guided by his encouragement. I fucking love you, they said. I worship you.

  Pulling his fingers from me, Shane lunged forward and thrust in with his cock, filling me. He pumped his hips once, twice, riding out my orgasm. His lips met mine, swallowing my cries. My nails perforated his chest, scoring him with pleasure.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I collapsed, my body convulsing in a fit of ecstasy.

  Panting, Shane rolled to his back, taking me with him so that I sprawled over his chest. "I'm not going to fuck up, Emelia."

  The guys were taking Jaxon out to celebrate his twenty-first birthday with a few drinks. Shane wasn't the type to hang out, but he felt obligated to the kid. I tried to maintain a positive countenance, but my insecurities were bleeding through. I’d felt a morbid sense of dread every time the excursion crossed my mind. Shane was an alcoholic. It seemed injudicious to dawdle in the face of temptation. He was setting himself up to fail. "I didn't say you were."

  "Then why did this feel like a goodbye?"

  "You know that's not true. Where would I live?" I forced a smile. He told Jaxon he was going to be staying in Tate's pool house. My pool house. He even had my belongings shipped to his house from Pennsylvania—little to my knowledge.

  I shuddered at the thought. From what he had told me, his house was made of glass, and had floors made of polished concrete. It was cold and modern with sleek, unblemished surfaces—just the kind of house Tommy liked. The only saving grace was that it sat on the beach. I told myself that Tommy would've hated it for that fact alone. One tiny grain of sand would've sent him into nervous collapse.

  “You’re angry.”

  “I don’t know what I am.” Angry? Indignant? Freaked out? “You didn’t ask me to move in with you.”

  “Move in with me.”

  “I don’t think I have much choice.”

  “You always have a choice. Tate has extra bedrooms in the main house. If that doesn’t suit you, the kid can stay with me, and you can stay in the pool house as planned.”

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to move in with you,” I clarified. “It’s just that you had my stuff shipped to your house. We were together all but one weekend. What were you thinking?”

  “With my cock, apparently.” He was mad or hurt, likely both. Sliding from the bed, he grabbed his cigarettes from the nightstand, struck the flint with his thumb, and lit one with a long drag. He hadn’t quit smoking, but the way he dropped his head back and savored that drag, it was like he was embracing a long lost friend.

  “I’m not walking away, Shane. I just don’t want you making decisions for me. Even if you know with all your heart that I’d say yes or agree with what you have planned, indulge me with the question first.”

  “I’m fucking sorry, ok? I never—”

  Cutting Shane short, a knock sounded at the door, followed by the sound of Jake’s voice. “Rolling out!”

  Shane grabbed his shirt from the bed and tugged it over his head. On the way to the door, he tucked his coat under his arm. He reached halfway for the knob when he hesitated, and turned to face me. “I never wanted anything—anyone—so badly in my life, but I can’t be the only one putting effort into this relationship, Emelia. I’ve been chasing you for months, yet I feel like I’ve gained no ground.”

  “We’ve only been together a few weeks—”

  “But I’ve been invested a lot fuckin' longer! I haven’t had a drink or gotten high in months. When are you going to realize I’m not him? I’m not—”

  “He doesn’t have anything to do with this!” I exclaimed. “This has to do with you taking liberties with my possessions and not asking my opinion, so don’t deflect the fuckin’ blame away from your own faults by bringing up my misgivings! I have a valid fuckin' argument!” I trailed off in a long string of Italian profanities.

  By the time I’d blown off some steam, Shane had his coat on and his pants buttoned. “Beautiful, I’m not the one deflecting my faults. You are.”

  He was right. I was acting like his addiction wasn’t the elephant in the room. I refused to broach the subject. I avoided it all day. I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t afraid he would return drunk and slurring, but I was afraid. The very notion had my stomach in knots. I had made it clear before we became involved that drugs and alcohol were a hard limit for me, and a betrayal of that trust would cut deep.

  Contrary to his allegations, I was emotionally invested. I fucking cared. That’s why I was on edge. I didn’t want him to fuck up. I was in love with a recovering addict. He wasn't the only one waiting for that pivotal moment in our relationship.

  Exhaling a ragged breath, I pressed my palms to my eyes. What was I doing? I was deeming him guilty before he had the chance to prove himself. Up until now, he’d upheld his promise. He’d shown unreserved willpower while those around him flaunted his addictions. He’d given me no reason to distrust him. I was sabotaging our relationship with my own insecurities.

  Lifting my hands, I swiped under my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Shane’s posture relaxed. The muscles in his neck fell slack. “Don’t give up on me yet, Emelia. I’ve kept m
y word so far.” Moving to stand in front of me, he tucked my hair behind my ear and dropped his head to look me in the eye.

  “Ok.”

  “You sure?” Jake knocked on the door again, this time harder. Shane’s eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “Fuck. Off.”

  “You fuck off,” Coop replied through the door, “Em and I have a spa appointment. You’re gonna make us late.”

  Shane sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We good?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and forced another smile. “We’re good.”

  “I’ll see you in a few.” Dropping his head, he brushed his lips against mine, and then lured me into a deeper kiss. “That’s not a goodbye, it’s until later.”

  “Later.” Reaching up, I wiped a smear of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. The guys would’ve teased him mercilessly. Quickly, he pressed another kiss against my lips then turned and walked out.

  As Coop came in the room and shielded Levy from the puppies’ exuberant greeting, I heard the guys in the hallway razzing Shane. They were becoming rather well-versed in the art of swearing in Italian.

  “Vaffanculo!”

  “Merda! Dio mio!”

  “Che cazzo!”

  "The old lady handing you grief already?" Carter gibed. "She put you on a tight leash?"

  "Fuck off, Carter.”

  Tate ducked in and rolled his eyes as he pulled the door closed. “Should be memorable.”

  "Should be pandemonium," Coop clarified.

  “Should be boring without you, babe.” Tate looked like he truly believed it, too, as if being separated from her disappointed him.

  “Pussy whipped mother fuckers.” Carter slapped Tate’s back, grabbed a fist full of his coat, and yanked him back, tugging the door closed with him.

  “Idiots,” Coop said as their hoots and laughter faded down the hall. “They’re going out to party and drink, and do fun stuff like get trashed and make fools of themselves, and we’re going to get manicures. How does that make them whipped?”

  “More idiots than they already are?”

  “True. I’ll be fighting over the toilet with Tate in the morning.” Resting her hands on her hips, she gave me ‘the look’. I recognized it because I'd practiced it on her often enough. She would not be deterred from the point of conversation, which was centered on the argument Shane and I just had, no doubt.