by Asia Marquis
But eventually I guess Gran and Poppa felt sufficiently bad for their single-parent daughter. They finally agreed to meet me when I got into high school, not that it mattered by then. Not in terms of anything that was really going to have a long-term effect.
I don't blame them. Especially not when I saw the pictures they had, the ones that they'd managed to get before my mom started popping those needles into her skin.
We might have been twins. Now that I'm getting older, I can't help wondering. She looked, all the time I knew her, like she'd been hit by a bus.
Would I look like that, if I had stayed? What was it that was different between her and me, that made it so she was always on that stuff, and I never even needed to try it?
People like Beauchamp were the ones who did that to my mother, and it's people like me who save her. That's the only difference that I can figure out.
But now, more than my mother ever did, he seemed to be upset. He almost seemed human. The others drank in silence, but I could see the others watching him.
Even Hawkins had stopped trying to talk to me, after the bomb went. He froze up, like really froze up. It was at that point I figured out that he wasn't going to be much use to me. Not any more.
He was fried. He wasn't even much use to himself, not any more. I made a mental note to call Danny and get him the hell out of here before he hurt himself.
Spider, the person Hawkins had pretended to be for almost a year now, would have to figure out his own way out, but it wouldn't be hard. Not the way he was taking that biker's death.
Nobody dared to speak. I pulled down my third glass and reached behind the counter to grab the beer dispenser. Nobody tried to stop me.
The elder Beauchamp stepped back, pushed himself away from the bar, and went over to Ryan. He clapped his brother on the shoulder.
"You gonna be alright? I ought to get back home."
"You go ahead, I'll clean up here," Ryan said.
Even I could hear the distraction in his voice. He was a million miles away, thinking about other places, other things. Questions that he couldn't answer, or something.
Logan took a long minute looking at his brother. Worry was easy to read in his face, but it was his own problem. Nobody else was going to try to save him from it.
Hawkins finished his drink. It was only his first, I thought. He had been nursing it. Not like me or Ryan.
"Boss, I—"
His eyes shifted over to me, looking for a message or something. I didn't give him anything.
"Go on, Spider. Get out of here."
Every time I saw him, every time my eyes slipped away, Beauchamp seemed to age. Like the death of his members was sapping his own life.
I reached over and filled his glass. Ryan took a drink from it like he hadn't even noticed that it had ever been getting low.
Hawkins looked at me again, and again I acted like I didn't see it. He scurried off, not wanting to get himself embroiled back in something when he had the chance to leave. Even if it meant he hadn't delivered the resignation he'd hoped for.
"Ryan, I'm—"
"He was doing what I told him to do."
"It's not your fault, Ryan."
"Yeah," he breathed. He didn't look like he believed it. "I guess not."
"You didn't know, did you?"
"I should've known. Should've seen it coming. Shouldn't have let myself get caught."
"It's not something that you can control."
"That's easy for you to say." He seemed like he had something else to say, something more, but then he stopped himself. Put his hands back on the glass in front of him, feeling the cold beer.
He took a drink and that was the end of whatever his thought was going to be.
"You can't save them all, Wes."
"That's rich, coming from a cop."
"You just—man, you look like hell."
"Well, that's fine."
I don't know when I started leaning in on him, but I noticed the smell, warm and heady and pleasant, of his scent. A cologne that I didn't recognize.
It went to my head, more intoxicating than the beer that half-filled both the glasses left on the bar. I pushed myself back upright, but the scent was in my head, now, and I could smell it from all the way over here.
The scent set my skin on edge, stood my hair on end. I wanted it to stop, but more than that, I just wanted it to keep going.
"Ryan," I said softly.
He looked at me, and before I could stop myself I pressed my lips into his.
Chapter Eighteen
RYAN
I don't register what's happening right away. I think it's the alcohol, or perhaps the events of the day, that are getting to me. Something, though, meant that when Maguire kissed me, I didn't see it coming.
Her lips are soft. Nothing like me. Her body feels good pressed against me. It's soft, like her lips. Like a woman's body should be.
Maguire loses her balance, leaning off her stool, and falls into me a little. This time I'm paying attention. I catch her in my arms, prop her up a little, and take another kiss as my reward. The first one was so unlike her—idle, searching, even calm.
The second one doesn't have nearly so much of her control over it. She doesn't get to dictate how much fire is in it, but I can feel the passion she's giving back as my arms wrap around her, and this is the Maguire I know. Hot enough to burn you.
I feel the way that her body moulds to mine, even through the clothes, the way that her skin sings where I find little patches showing, where her shirt lifts up a little because her arms are wrapped around my neck.
The energy in the little bar is electric, pulling me in closer to her. I shouldn't be doing this, I know. It's a mistake for us both. But I don't care any more about what we should do. I never cared, not with a woman this good.
I can feel the way that her heart beats. The way we're pressed together, her heartbeat feels almost as strong as my own, like it's right inside me. My teeth pull at her lips, her tongue probing and dancing with mine, an explosion of kisses and lips and teeth and mouths.
She pulls away first, her breaths coming hard. I can see in her eyes that she's not sure whether or not she should be doing this.
I know the answer, know that there's no way in hell we should be doing any of it, and I know there's no way either of us are going to stop. I lean into her, but she's going to have to cross that last gap between us if she wants it.
She's going to have to learn to surrendur, but first she needs to want it, and she has to show she wants it. No excuses in the morning.
She doesn't take more than a moment to decide, pressing herself back against me, taking the offered kiss from my lips with a hunger that surprises even me.
I enjoy the kiss a moment more, but I'm not satisfied stopping here, and if we're going to move to the next level, it will be on my terms.
I pull away, and she starts to catch her breath, as if I were doing it to give her space. I put my hand on her chest, pressing her back against the bar. She's pliant, now. Nothing like the first time that we were alone in this bar.
She leans back and I get to enjoy the first sight of her looking almost piable, almost convinced to give up control. I can see in the way that she acts that this isn't anything more than a game to her, not yet.
She'll learn, but I don't expect a miracle. Baby steps.
"Take off your shirt," I purr. As I say it, I wonder if she'll do it. The risk of her changing her mind is all too real. Then her hands start to move.
She works the buttons down. The first few come away fast. She's taking it off like she was going to get into the shower. But then she seems to catch herself, seems to remember that I'm looking. I say nothing.
She slows down, looking up at me through those thick eyelashes, and she undoes the next one. Now I get my first sight of those delightful breasts. The next one shows me a bit more, thefirst hints of her bra.
She undoes another. I have to take controlled breaths to stop it hitching in
my throat. She looks magnificent, too good. A large part of me wants to rip the cloth out of her hands, to take what I want.
I know that part of her wants that, too. I can see the desire in her eyes. I don't do it, though. I stop myself. Hold myself still and force myself to watch with my eyes—not with my hands.
She undoes another button. The only button left holds her shirt together in the way that a mean look might have. She gives me another one of those looks, through her eyelashes. The way she's acting, I expect a blush on her face, but I don't see one.
She undoes the last button and I have to force myself to go slow. My hands reach out and push the shirt back and off her shoulders. It slips back against the bar, held up by her back.
I pull her forward, my hands feeling like they're going to burn on her hot skin. The shirt falls harmlessly to the floor. I pull her head in for a kiss. This time I don't take long before my mouth starts to roam.
I kiss the line of her jaw, then dip a little lower, pressing soft kisses against the sensitive skin of her throat. I can feel the catch in her breath. I enjoy the way that her breaths are coming rough and ragged.
She lets out a sigh as I reach around and pull apart the catch on her bra, the straps now hanging loose on her shoulders, but when I pull away her hand comes up, the first clear sign of hesitation on her part.
I put a hand on hers, pushing it away, but without any pressure. She seems to think that's enough excuse, and lets me move her hand away. The bra comes with it, and I watch as her breasts are revealed in the dim light of the bar.
They're bigger than a handful, and topped with delightful pink nipples that look good enough to eat. I can't resist a moment longer, and pull one in between my lips, pulling back with a slurp. She arches her back just a little to press into my kiss.
I've got other things on my mind, though, as my hand moves lower and starts to explore. Maguire's the kind of woman who wears pants. It's not my favorite way for a woman to dress, but it suits her somehow.
It makes it real easy to find the place where they meet, and makes it real easy to avoid. My fingers dance past, only giving the bareliest hint that I had ever been aware that there was anything there to find.
Her body moves for a fraction of a second to try to follow my hand, to get it to go where I know she wants it. Maguire catches herself fast, though. She leans back against the bar again and tries to catch her breath, tries to regain her sanity.
That's when I decide that there's no more time for games, no more time for teasing. I find her core, pressing my palm against it through the soft fabric of her trousers. She can't stop herself pressing back into me, can't fight the desire inside.
My body aches to move faster, but I don't. I keep myself moving slow. I lean forward again, press another kiss into her breasts, and then trace the line of her collar-bone back up to her neck and let my teeth scrape along the soft, sensitive flesh, drawing out another soft mewl of pleasure.
Chapter Nineteen
MAGUIRE
I shouldn't be doing this. I can't let him do any of this. His hands explore across my body, though, and whatever resistance I might have had, even at this late stage, fades. I can't stop myself, never mind stopping him.
He teases a nipple to a hardness that I cvan't begin to imagine, a hardness and sensitivity that's almost painful. Then he pulls it between his teeth, pulling my chest and spine along with it until I can't do anything but act as his puppet.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. He forces it out of me, and when I try to take another breath in, the air won't come fast enough.
His fingers explore the place between my legs, rubbing and teasing and giving me everything I wanted, everything I needed. Feelings I didn't know I needed before he gave them to me.
It's not my first time, but I wouldn't have known that from the way that my breath hitches in my chest, the way that he steals the air right out of my throat. The way that each and every touch lights a fire inside me in ways I've never felt before.
I can't stand any more. I have to let myself lean back against the bar, have to find some way to hold myself up and hold myself back. The pleasure has already made my knees too weak to stand anything more than the task of keeping me connected to the floor.
Ryan stops his explorations, pulls his hand away. I can't stop myself feeling a little bit disappointed. The approach of something I couldn't refuse or deny had been tesing on the edge of my mind like a destination that I hadn't even realized existed until I knew that it was the only place I wanted to go.
Then I felt him pulling at the button on my trousers, felt it coming apart. The fabric dropped to the ground at my ankles, weighed down by my badge and my gun and my belt.
I look at him standing there, still fully clothed, reaching down for the last piece of fabric protecting me from the chilly night air. That's certainly not fair.
I stand up on my wobbly legs and reach down to pull at the hem of his shirt. I'm going to even the odds if it kills me.
Ryan's hand comes up and pushes me back against the bar. It doesn't take much of a push for me to lose my balance and fall back, not that I've got a long way to fall.
He pulls the thin cotton fabric of my underwear away from me, down my legs. His lips start pressing kisses into my skin halfway down my thigh. He follows just a little way behind the fabric as he pulls it off and away.
Then he traces his kisses back up my leg, teasing me with the thought of what's going to come. Eventually, I know, his kisses will find their way up to the place where I need them to be.
I can feel each time his lips move closer. Every eighth of an inch feels like it's almost there now, any second he'll press his lips into the folds of my womanhood and I'll—
His lips don't go near my womanhood. Right as I start to think I'll go crazy, he moves to the other leg, pressing his soft lips into my thigh, inside my knee, then tracing his way back up.
The cycle begins again, the building up. I don't know how long I can keep going like this. He's giving me too much, asking me to feel too much. I can't do it, not any more. Not if it's going to be like this.
And then, right when I think I'm about to lose it, he stops teasing me altogether. His mouth presses into me, his lips pulling my button into his mouth. He presses his tongue against my womanhood and gives it a swirl.
My entire body convulses with the pleasure, threatening to slip me further down the bar. I barely manage to hold myself up, but he's not done yet.
Where his tongue had swirled a moment ago, he replaces it with a finger, using his tongue to taste me in other places, in other ways.
His hands move lower, exploring the depths of my folds, invading my womanhood and probing. His tongue returns to exploring the hard, pleasurable nub at the top of my slit. Just as his tongue settles into a rhythm, the constant shocks of pleasure shooting through me like lightning bolts, his fingers find the right spot.
I let out a moan loud enough that anyone outside might have heard, and he seems to get the message. His hands move around in that spot, finding places to press that I didn't even realize existed. Finding new pleasures I hadn't known I could ever want until Ryan was already giving them to me.
My body goes tense, every fiber in me bunching up together at once, and then the world around me goes dark. I can't open my eyes any more, the pleasure is too much. My body's on autopilot, now.
I can feel my hands digging into Ryan's hair, pressing him into me more, as if there is more pleasure to be found if he just gets closer to the source. His tongue continues to explore, continues to shoot waves of pleasure through me. Pleasure my body has no more place to hold.
His fingers have found the right place, now, as well, and he's only moving enough to send me spiraling further out of control. My hands tighten in his hair, pulling and pushing.
My body knows it wants something, but it doesn't know how to get it. I want more. I try to get my hands to act the way I want them to, try to get my eyes to open. I get a brie
f glimpse of the bar around me, my eyes unable to focus, before my eyelids, too heavy to keep open, press shut again.
My hips, however, have none of the problems of my hands. They know exactly what they want, pressing in more, taking every ounce of pleasure I can get for as long as I can get it.
I can feel Ryan smile appreciatively into my pussy, lips and tongue and teeth all attacking my clit, drawing out pleasure long after I lost control of whatever the difference is between pleasure and pain.
I don't know how much longer I can keep going, and I certainly don't know how much longer I can stay standing. Still, somehow my weak knees manage to keep me upright, even if it's only barely. Even if it's only to keep the pleasure coming for another second longer.
Ryan seems to sense my distress and speeds up his ministrations. Orgasm after orgasm crashes into me, until I can't tell when one ends and the next begins. Perhaps they don't end, just building up, one orgasm on top of another in layers.
I can't move my body any more, except for my hips, which continue to move on their own, grinding in against Ryan's face. The man continues to lick and probe, supplying me with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of pleasure.
With a shout, my body finally gives out completely, leaving me barely able to hang on to the bar. My hips fall away, and with it, the magic stops for a moment. I force my eyes open. Ryan's arms are wrapped around me, and he's pulling me back to my unsteady feet.
For a moment I think I'm going to have time to catch my breath. Then he turns me around and leans me forward, pressing my weight onto the seat of a raised booth. My feet can almost reach the floor. I could move myself away, if I had to, but as I feel him line his hardness up with my waiting pussy, I don't think I want to.
Chapter Twenty
RYAN
I can't help myself, looking down at Maguire's body beneath me. I can feel the heat, where we're pressed together. The way that she trembles, I can feel the need that she's feeling, need reflected in my own hardness.