Carry Me Home

by Lia Riley

  “Here’s the million-dollar question…What do you want to do?” She twiddles her thumbs. They go around and around slowly, and my mind spins her question, caught in a sad, lonely hamster wheel.

  “I…” How’s everything for an answer?

  “You and me.” The thin white cotton tank doesn’t hide much. The dark pink points of her nipples are visible beneath. “We have unfinished business. You know that, right?”

  She’s right, but hearing her say it, really put it out there, gives us both pause.

  I swallow hard, and she giggles shyly, a thick, husky sound in the back of her throat.

  I want to replace that giggle with a moan.

  Her steady gaze keeps me in lockdown as her hand wanders, skimming her skirt. “Want to touch me down here?”

  If she’s trying to mess with my mind, mission accomplished. “You serious?”

  She huffs a little, blows the bangs off her face. “First up, I don’t fuck around. If I ask for your touch, I mean it. But remember, if we do this, we can’t undo it.”

  I stare at her. Charged seconds tick by one after the other.

  “So, what’s it going to be?” A flush blooms across her clavicle, rises up her pale neck to color her freckled cheekbones.

  Is this the right move for us? For her? Worse, what if she’s messing with me as revenge for what happened to Talia and the minute I say I want her she’ll laugh in my face? There’s only one choice. Look in her eyes and decide based on what’s there.

  What I see takes my breath.

  She wants me.

  She wants me as much as I want her.

  “You in or out?” Her words are casual, but they don’t match the gaze.

  “In.” I say the word like it strangles me. It’s all I can do not to grab her now. “I’m in.”

  “Fine, but remember, you’ve been warned.” She crawls toward me. “And it’s just this once.”

  “Once?” That’s never going to happen. “Why?”

  Her gaze darkens, desire replaced by uncertainty. “I think that’s all we get, you and me. One shot. Get out of each other’s systems,” she whispers, her mouth an inch off my zipper.

  She thinks she can play me, that I’m this safe thing. She doesn’t know how bad I want to taste, touch, fuck, and feel. My temples pulse. “Go on, then, or are you all talk?”

  Her gaze slams me like a rogue wave. “Dare me.”

  “I’m not daring you to suck my dick.”

  “Pity.” She sucks her top lip, and there’s an audible pop on the release.

  “Look, I’ve never done this.” How fucked-up to admit that I’m over twenty and never had a girl’s mouth on my cock.

  “Shut the hell…” She pulls back a little, sinks into the couch cushion. “Oh God, you aren’t joking.”

  My mouth is dry. It’s hard to form the words. “No.”

  “But I don’t get it. You could have any girl.”

  “I don’t want any girl,” I mumble. “I wanted to be with someone that I…”

  She narrows her eyes. “That you…”

  What do I say? I’m not ready to admit half of what I’m feeling to myself, let alone to her. There goes my zipper. I don’t want to look because I’m afraid she’ll stop whatever she’s about to do.

  The blood pounding in my head diverts to my lower stomach as my balls tighten. I fall back on my heels, my ass against the armrest.

  Her tongue circles my tip, soft, barely a caress. “Holy shit,” I grind out. “Holy shit.” She brushes my sensitive head with the flat of her tongue, then works the underside until all my previous fantasies feel like nothing. Shit. She sucks harder, and I slide way in. I’m worried I won’t fit, but she takes me down, deep into a tight wet heat that makes it difficult to breathe.

  I’m buried in her mouth. She hums against my skin, watching me, pupils dilated, through those long lashes. Her cheeks hollow as she bops up, tickling my balls, only a graze but enough to make me lose my mind.

  “You’re beautiful,” I gasp, meaning each word, and not just because she has my dick in her mouth. She’s either the simplest answer or the biggest fucking catastrophe of my life. “Sunny, stop, I’m going to…”

  She pulls back. “I want you to do it.”

  A few more slow, hard sucks and I explode in one quick, hot flash. My thoughts are obliterated, replaced by white noise.

  Fuck. Afterward I try to focus, but it’s hard. Jesus, what she just did…

  “So.” She shifts backward, licking her lips. “How was that for your first time?”

  “Unreal.” My voice is a rasp. “I need to feel you. Now.” I tug her skirt. It’s easy, an elastic waistband. She leverages her hips a few inches, her pelvic bones jutting in sharp relief as I yank it off. She is covered by pink cotton shorts. There’s a dark patch, wetness at the apex, and a groan rips from my chest.

  I cup her a moment, so hot beneath my palm. She gasps and spreads her thighs further, her skin pale, smattered by a Milky Way of freckles. I want to map each one.

  I ease her panties off. There’s a soft dusting of ginger hair and glistening slickness. More. I need to see everything, and she parts wider. Her hips rock back and forth, her clit glistening. When I circle it with my thumb, it’s so slick I need to press firmly to keep a rhythm. I can’t stop. Her lids fall closed, and when she licks her lips, they look as slippery as the ones I’m touching. She starts to grind against my touch, and her participation is a relief. She isn’t going to lie there. She’s guiding me to the right friction and speed, responding with nods and clenching legs when I’m on target.

  “This okay?” I want it to be good. I want this to be incredible.

  “Mmm-hmmm.” Her dreamy gaze drifts from me, to the ceiling, then back again. “You’re not going to stop.”

  She’s not asking; she’s telling me. And I watch her eyes. She’s into the moment as much as I am. Her thighs quiver, fast as the beat of a hummingbird wing or the pulse in my neck.

  At thirteen, I loved her. Sunny was meant to be my first kiss, my first love, but our lives forked in a way neither of us prepared for.

  I don’t stop or pretend at fancy moves. I’ve been with only two other girls, and neither of them have a place here. This is red, wet, and…and…and fuck me.

  “A bit harder,” she purrs, and I press on her clit. Her hips buck. “Oh God. Yes, like that, perfect. Those slow circles are exactly right. Does this feel good?” She’s talking, demanding I be here. I’m not sure what to say.

  “Tell me,” she murmurs. “Is this what you expected?”

  “I…”

  “After the party, when you saw me, you thought about it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I slip a finger inside her, and her soft walls tense. This is a good place. I could lose myself in her secrets, and maybe I’d find the parts of me that have gone missing.

  “Did you touch yourself?”

  My cheeks heat.

  “You’re blushing. That’s cute.” Her eyes roll back when I crook my finger. “Fuck. God, right there.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m cute while I do this.”

  “Finger me?” She giggles. “You can say it.”

  “I know.” My eyelid twitches. “I know I can.”

  She settles a hand against her throat, near the mad pulse. “Tell me more.”

  “I like it.”

  “Go on.” She bites her lip.

  “I like this. What I’m doing.”

  “Details.”

  Damn. She’s insistent.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Because…” Her soft laugh strokes my dick like delicate fingers. “I want to hear your dirty talk, Green.”

  What’s locked inside me paces around, restless. I had to be so safe, so fucking overly cautious with Pippa that those feelings are blocked off.

  “I want you,” I pant. She grabs my wrist and tugs, burying my finger deeper. Her small, perfect breasts are right in my face.

  I lean down and mouth her d
usky nipple though her tank top while slowly sliding another finger into her tight heat. She makes noises different from anything I’ve ever heard. High and then deep, almost a sob, then kind of a laugh.

  “Your pussy is fucking hot,” I grind out. The moment the words tear from me, a quake constricts her inner muscles. “I love feeling you. You’re goddamn gorgeous.”

  “Don’t stop,” she gasps.

  “I’m not taking my hands off you until you come, got that?” These words, they feel incredible to say out loud.

  She jerks against my palm.

  “That’s it.” My voice is hoarse but clear. “Ride my palm.”

  Her eyes squeeze shut. “This is good.”

  I’ve made her tank top so wet that the nipple is clearly visible beneath. I want to jerk down the neck, suck the bare skin into my mouth and see if it tastes as sweet as it looks. But I’m not going to stop touching her. Every stroke is a defibrillator on my heart, jolting me to life. “You’re so wet.”

  “I’m going to come hard, Green.”

  “Now,” I order. “Do it.” I’m growling at her, my face buried against her small but perfect tits, my hand rocking against her heat. “Come all over me.”

  And incredibly, she does.

  “Tanner!” She lurches forward, digging her fingers into the back of my neck. Her nails sink into my flesh as she holds on tight, her thighs fastening on either side of my abs. “Holy crap. Goddamn. Shit, shit, yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.”

  Inside, her body rolls over my fingers like a wave. How would it be to feel this around my dick? Pippa never got off, at least not with me. I couldn’t ever do that—please her. But I pleased Sunny. Relief relaxes through my chest. I did it. I fucking did it.

  I pull back and sit on my heels. Sunny is living magma, all fire hair and flushed skin. Her tank top is hiked, revealing her concave stomach and the tiny mole next to her belly button. She draws her hands around her knees, locking her arms around them.

  I don’t know what to do. She isn’t looking at me. I want to kiss her. I want to thank her. I want to fuck her. My fingers are still wet, and I make a fist before I do something stupid like slip them into my mouth.

  “Well,” she says at last, “that was an unexpected surprise.”

  “I’m sorry.” Because when I want something, people get hurt. “I…” I glance around at her small, messy studio. The front door is across the room. If I run out now, I’ll ruin everything.

  But I will if I stay too.

  Chapter Eight

  Sunny

  Pretty sure that fancy green-tea mask was moot. I’m glowing all over. The throb between my legs lingers, the only sign what went down on my couch wasn’t a dream.

  Behind my closed bathroom door, total silence reigns. Tanner’s been in there awhile. What’s he thinking?

  I yank my skirt back on, pick up my underwear, ball it into my fist, and walk to the hamper beside my bed. It’s full, so I have to cram it in. I punch down the clothes, once, twice.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Damn, I like butterflies as much as the next girl, but not in my stomach. Face meet palm. I seduced Tanner Green—maybe not a technical home run but pretty damn close to out of the park.

  The strange vibe that’s always hovered between us was better locked away in an attic, wandering dusty halls and rattling the occasional chain. We could convince ourselves the curiosity was nothing but a trick of the imagination. But tonight that haunting little feeling went and became Patrick Swayze in Ghost when he gets behind Demi Moore on the pottery wheel and she’s all, Holy shit…Things just got real.

  I glare at the closed bathroom door. Impossible to decorate this situation with my usual optimistic gloss when I don’t even know what this is. Maybe the time had come to bury the hatchet with Tanner, but did that really need to be in the form of him burying his fingers inside me?

  No, no, it did not.

  My windows are open, but the studio is somehow airless, overwarm, and I swear I can smell myself—my arousal or whatever—floating around the room like a telltale horny miasma. I’ve hitchhiked into my own alternate universe. What I need is a towel and a guidebook that says “Don’t Panic,” but I’m not starring in a fun-filled Douglas Adams caper. Go ahead and title my memoir Hitchhiker’s Guide to Making Bad Decisions Worse.

  My phone rings on the dinette. Whoever it is can wait.

  I pace the room and ignore the phone as whoever it is calls back like a persistent asshole. Instead I turn on my electric teakettle and wait some more. It’s been five minutes and still no sound. Should I knock and check on him?

  My phone rings for the third time. Jesus Christ on a cracker. I’m sure news of the Great Sunny Letman Segway Accident has spread all over town, but I don’t want to rehash anything, at least not now, while I have this whole other unfolding crisis. I walk over to turn it off and my heart quickens when I see “Blocked Number.”

  Mom?

  As much as I don’t want to take this call, there’s no choice. Delilah and I rarely speak. She calls only on the rare occasions Hoss buys a throwaway phone, and he’d rather spend whatever few spare bucks they have on the necessities. Cozy things like bullets, assault-grade weapons, and bunker-building equipment. You know, because Armageddon could be right around the corner.

  “Delilah, is that you?” I ask, walking out the front door. She’s always preferred me to use her first name, even as a little kid.

  “Hey there, Sunshine.” She’s got the scratchy voice, her crying voice.

  I roll my neck against the mounting tension. If that asshole hit her again…“What the hell is going on? What did Hoss do?”

  Nevada is only one state over, but it might as well be the moon. Hoss, her main man, as she pukingly refers to him, doesn’t take kindly to me or Mimsy. Mostly because we think stockpiling weapons and taking part in top-secret vigilante militias are ideas that fall somewhere between bad and worse. Then there was the night Mom worked late and he came over—

  Don’t go there. I swallow hard. The memory from that night is locked and dead bolted, never to be opened.

  I haven’t see Delilah for seven years, not since the time she hitchhiked back to Santa Cruz and lived in what’s now my studio for two weeks while Mimsy paid for emergency dental surgery. She’d lost her two front teeth. No. Scratch that. Losing is a bad word. Her piece-of-shit husband pounded them from her skull while she was eight months pregnant.

  And then? She went back to him, left in the night without a word. “Your brothers’ birthday is in a few days.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She sniffles. “Would you like to come have a party? We’re busy tomorrow, but if you can make it the day after…who knows? It might be fun.”

  “Me?” My peanut-butter oatmeal snack turns to cement in my stomach. Hoss hates the sight of me. The feeling is more than mutual.

  “Hoss is…away, and the boys want to meet you.”

  What can I say? This is my first chance to see my brothers. Get a sense of their situation.

  “Yes.” The word hangs in front of me, black and irrevocable. “Yes. I will. I miss you.” I don’t though. I’m so used to the fact she chose Hoss over me, the hurt is like a faded bruise, barely hurts to press. “Hoss is away? That means—”

  “Jail.”

  Evening has turned to night. It’s cloudy after the rain, can’t see if the moon’s full, waxing, or waning. “What’s happened this time?”

  “Usual crap. The police are out to get him.”

  I’m not going to hold Mom’s feet to the fire on this. Whatever stupid thing Hoss’s done, it’s not my deal. He’s gone, and this is my best chance to get my brothers in my life.

  “Yes, well, looking forward to coming out.” I force good cheer. She named me after the epitome of happiness, right? I’ve always tried to be upbeat, live up to my namesake, and you know what? I’ve done a damn good job.

  I hang up. The craziness that happened between Tanner and me inside my studio i
s well and truly over. I want to get on the road tonight. I have ample time to travel to get to their place in remote Nevada, but restless energy courses through me. Better to find a way to channel it before I get washed away. I’ll hit the road, drive east then south, and take my time through the mountains.

  I tilt my face toward the sky. Normally I don’t mind the fog, but why can’t there be at least one visible star? I could really use a little light.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunny

  I don’t know how long I shiver outside, barefoot on the dew-wet grass. There’s a long period of indifferent chill followed by a sudden warming, as two big hands brace my bare arms.

  “You’re cold,” Tanner says.

  I manage a single nod, refusing to lean into the warmth of his touch. I opened our Pandora’s box against all better judgment. We stand without speaking, me staring into the darkness and his fingers making soft circles on my skin. The same fingers that pressed me until I came like a freight train. Good thing he can’t see my blush. I need to watch my ass around him, literally. Otherwise I’m liable to shake it, and we’ll do something stupid like go at each other again.

  And that’s not going to lead anywhere good. Whenever Mimsy bakes chocolate macaroons, I tell myself “just a bite,” but an hour later the whole tray is gone. When I’m around something I want, I get greedy. I can’t stop craving more. It’s part of my makeup. But Tanner and I can’t be a thing, not with all the crap from our past. Better to slam the lid against the wanting, pretend tonight never happened.

  What’s this strange burning in the corner of my eyes? Delilah’s unexpected call must have hijacked my emotions. I’m so not a crier. Not these days.

  “Come inside,” he says gently.

  What am I going to do? Argue? Not likely. It’s cold. The night air slides fingers under my skirt, over my bare thighs.

  “Okay.”

  I turn and he’s still there, not backing away. If he apologizes for what happened, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.

  “Thank you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear.