by K. L. Savage
Two halves of a whole.
And to think there was a time I thought we didn’t fit, that we would have to force ourselves together when nothing has ever felt so right.
Sunnie flips me onto my back, and she looks like a goddess sitting atop me like this. Her long hair glowing in the low light of the candles, and with how her hands are pressing against my chest, her breasts are pushed together.
Real.
Better than any cut-slut the club can offer.
My eyes lock to where we are connected, and her blonde bush is unruly from the time spent here since we aren’t allowed razors, but I love it. I never want her to get rid of it. The soft curls give cushion as she rocks against me. I give them a little tug, and Sunnie’s hips stutter against me, and I pull on the hair again. She digs her nails in my chest like dull knives trying to break the skin, but they leave a pinch.
My hands grip her hips to help her move faster, and with every rock our shadows embrace on the wall. The candles are slowly burning out since they are small and cheap, stolen from the chapel here at the rehab center. Soon we will be engulfed in darkness, but for some reason, being in the dark with her doesn’t bother me.
“God, Patrick. I’m so close.” She fucks me faster, harder, grinding her clit against my pelvis with every drag of her pussy along my cock. Our skin slaps together, and her juices flow freely along my cock and thighs. The squelching gets louder the faster she rides, and she feels unbelievable.
“Come for me,” I beg. I want one of us to fly high, and I know it isn’t going to be me. The more I chase the orgasm squeezing the inside of my shaft, the further away I get from it. I won’t come, but I don’t need to. She’s still the best I’ve ever felt.
She shakes her head and closes her eyes, her lips pinching in concentration as she focuses on the goal. “I’m there. I’m right there,” she says through tight teeth, and I fasten my fingers into her flesh, holding onto her hip bones to help her move even quicker.
Sweat drips down between her tits, and I sit up, flattening my tongue against her sternum and the salty drop only has me thirsting for more. I wrap my arms around her and lay my cheek against her chest. I meet her thrust for thrust and she leans back, hands on my thighs, and she cries out to the night sky.
Sounds like a plea for mercy, but mercy has no home here, not with people like us.
I roll us so she’s on her back, and I get a quick glimpse of the flush on her cheeks. The hairline is damp, and her eyes hold frustration and need. I flip her onto her stomach and hold her head in my place, shoving it against a pillow.
I look my fill, eyeing her flawless back and round ass. A snarling growl escapes me when I lock onto us. I’m shining with her juices. My hands glide down her spine and spread her cheeks to get a better look.
Fucking hell, how can I not be able to come when I’m inside a woman who looks like this? Who makes me feel this good? Her folds part as my fingers dive between her crease and see the cream painting my shaft. Her hole has the crown of my cock inside and she tries to push back, but I stop her by inserting a finger alongside me and fill her again.
“Wha— Oh, I can’t.” She shakes her head.
But she does.
I insert another finger, stretching her wide while using my free hand to keep her left cheek open so I can see what I’m doing. This is the brink.
“Oh my god, I’ve never felt so full. Patrick, please,” she begs.
I want to give her what she wants.
What I want.
What we need.
I watch my fingers and cock disappear as I enter her again. Her moans and broken breaths urge me forward, and after a few test strokes, I fuck her relentlessly. The hard pound of my pelvis shakes her ass, and she screams at the top of her lungs. I fall forward, my front against her back, and slide my hand over her mouth.
“Shh, babe. We can’t get caught.”
She mumbles something, but I can’t understand her.
I let my hand fall away, and she gasps. “I can’t help it. You feel so good. I’ve never felt like this before.”
I lay kisses along her neck and sigh. “I know; me too, Sunnie.”
She turns her head, and our lips meet in a frenzied chaos. She bites my lip, and I suck hers into my mouth. Sunnie is strife, an energy so powerful she’s completely wrecked me on the inside.
I hate the man I used to be, and with her, I want to be someone I’ve never been before. I don’t know who that is yet, but I have a feeling I’ll be better than I ever was before.
Needing a break from this position because my knees hurt, I lay on my side and roll her onto hers. Our bodies are drenched in sweat and dying for breath, our bodies shake from the exertion used to get us to that peak, that damn mountaintop, but the climb to get there is both excruciating as it is pleasurable.
We’re too broken to feel anything other than the drugged high we have forced upon ourselves over the years, and now we have to pay the price. Maybe once we stop comparing what is supposed to feel good or better than the heroin or alcohol, maybe that’s when we will be able to jump off the mountain.
Makes no sense. Sunnie feels like a million shots of rum, an exquisite taste of the finest import; something a man only gets once in a lifetime.
My heart knows what’s good for me, and Sunnie is the best there is. I wish my mind would get with the program, but part of me still longs for that taste of forbidden fruit.
“Damn it,” she cries, punching the floor with her fist, and a candle tips over, spilling hot wax on the blanket next to us. Luckily, the wick is dead or this would have been a catastrophe. “Stop.” This time her body is shaking for a different reason.
I do what she says, fucking exhausted and sweaty from sex and the attempt to get us to come. I turn her over and lay her head against my chest when she jerks back and smiles, wiping her undereye.
“You are so sweaty.” She giggles, but her laughter falls short when she realizes she didn’t orgasm.
It isn’t a tantrum. Again, I guess a normal person would say, “It’s just an orgasm,” but to us it’s more. There’s something blocking our pleasure center, and until we win, we are bound by the chains of addiction.
Prisoners in our own minds.
“Hey.” The word comes out in a frog-like croak since my throat is dry. I’m pretty sure I’ve sweated gallons of water. Both of us sound like we have run a marathon. “So are you.”
“And for what?” she asks, taking the sparkling grape juice in her hand and guzzling it. I’ve been in that position enough to know she wishes it was liquor.
Something she can’t ever have with me.
“For me? Getting to experience you. If I get to have this with you, for as long as you want me, and I never orgasm, it will still be the best sex of my life.”
“Really?” She tightens her arms around her legs, pulling her thighs to her chest, hiding the curves of her breasts, but the position gives me the view of her swollen cunt.
My cock is still hard, furious and throbbing, but there’s no use trying again. Not tonight.
I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. I realize I do that a lot, kiss her. I can’t help it. She’s turned me into a fucking sap, which is ironic, considering I’ve been a mean, rude son-of-a-bitch for the better part of my life.
“Really.”
“Me too,” she whispers, laying her cheek on her knee as she stares at me through light lashes.
Reality is hard to fucking face, but with Sunnie, maybe the journey won’t be so bad.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PIRATE
“Pirate? Are you with us?” Flower asks me.
Hell fucking no I’m not. I’m still in that abandoned room that looks like it was in the stone-age. I’m imagining Sunnie, naked, riding me.
It needs to happen again. I want her.
“Yeah,” I lie, clearing my throat and laying an arm across my lap under the desk to hide my growing erection. Jesus, I’m a grown man in fucking school, nee
ding to hide myself. Yep, fucking high school all over again.
“Then you will agree to ask God to remove your shortcomings?”
Right. The seventh step in the program. I’ve had problems with the steps since the third one, and I’ve kept my mouth shut ever since. The third step was to turn my will and life over to God.
Yeah, I don’t believe in God or some higher power. If God existed, he wouldn’t have let a seven-year old girl get kidnapped, raped, and murdered.
“Hmm, no,” I say, tapping my pencil against the desk. “Yeah, I’ll admit my shortcomings, and I’ll even go talk to my therapist, someone who can actually help me instead of some magical being that apparently is supposed to make me feel better.”
Yeah, there are a bunch of nonbelievers in here because no one is shocked that someone finally speaks the truth.
“I see,” Flower says. “Well, as long as you have a higher power, even if that is a therapist, that’s progress. Now…” She quickly changes the subject and smiles at Rob. “Today, we are going to share our stories. Maybe some of us can relate, and maybe some of us can’t, but we are here to listen with no judgment. This is a safe space.” She always says that, as if trying to reassure no one is going to get up and throw punches. “Rob, would you like to share your story?”
“S-sure.”
I’ll give it to Rob. His stuttering has improved a lot since he has been here, which makes me think of Loch and his Tourette’s. The guy lost himself in cocaine because people never gave him the respect he deserved. He was picked on and eventually lost himself to drugs.
“H-hi,” he says.
“Hi, Rob.”
I can’t stand that everyone does that.
“I-I st-started drinking when my m-mom died. I think I’ve told everyone th-th-that before. She died of can-can-cancer, and I watched her ch-change from a beau-beautiful w-w-w-woman to skin and b-b-b-bones.”
That’s sad. “I’m sorry to hear that, Rob,” I tell him, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my voice.
The next person tells their story, then the next, and the next. My anger climbs. These people got into alcohol because they lost their jobs? Their fucking cat died? Yet Flower expects no judgment? I’m fucking judging. Rob is the only one with actual pain he has to deal with; everyone else here is weak. They don’t know real pain.
“I also lost my job—”
“Oh, give it a fucking rest,” I groan and tilt my head back, hating that I have to be here. Is this a rehab center for adults with real problems or a fucking daycare? Maybe it’s time I get Sunnie and I out of here. I can try to convince Reaper I’m ready to call it quits.
Or I’ll bust us out.
Fuck reasons. Fuck responsibilities. I’ll try to beat this addiction on my own with what I’ve learned so far.
“Pirate, that’s uncalled for,” Flower scolds me like I’m a child. Maybe my attitude is bad, but really? Drinking because you lost a job, hit a car, pet died… I understand mourning, but becoming dependent on alcohol? That’s a fucking stretch.
“Is it?” My voice is dark, gritty with an edge I can’t quite place. “You all are telling your sob stories, and all I hear is ‘pity me.’ I don’t hear reasons for real tormented pain. Pain so fucking deep, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to climb out of the blistering wound. I don’t want to hear anymore. My pain makes every single one of your stories a cakewalk.” I stand to leave, and Flower stands with me.
“Sit down, Pirate. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, lady. I’m done with this shit show. I’m wondering if any of you are real or are frauds. Actors to make us real addicts more comfortable because there is no way, Amber, that you have been an alcoholic for five years because you hit your mommy’s car. It’s fucking insulting to people like me. People who wouldn’t eat for days, just drink. Morning, evening, and night.” I take a step closer to Amber who looks away from me, ashamed. Good. She should be. Fuck her and fuck her bullshit story. “Alcohol was my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What did you eat?” I cock my head, analyzing her. “Salad? A nice gluten-free fucking muffin?”
“Pirate, I’m going to have to ask you to take a step back and return to your seat,” Flower orders, pointing to my seat.
I bet none of these assholes have such a severe addiction to alcohol that they can’t even orgasm with the woman they are falling for. Yeah, I’m fucking falling in love with that little ray of fucking sunshine, and I’m not the kind of guy who knows how to love. Sunnie is a learning experience, just like everything else around me since I can see with clear eyes.
“No, I don’t think so. Tell me, Amber,” I push, invading her personal space. “What was your choice of alcohol? Seagrams? Those little bitch wine coolers? Is that what got you through your horrible fender bender that happened in your goddamn driveway?”
“Everyone deals with pain differently. That isn’t fair. You can’t judge someone because of how they handle their experiences.” A flash of Macy enters my mind, and I throw my head back and laugh, holding my stomach as Heather, another alcoholic in the group, says to me. My laughter dies, and I pierce her with my eyes.
“I can because none of you, besides Rob, have given me a reason to share my pain after hearing these bullshit stories. This place is a fucking joke. And you’re wanting me to surrender to God?” I yell at Flower. “Where was God when—” I stop myself from letting my story slip, and I turn around, giving all of them my back as I walk away.
“Pirate! Your group therapy session is not over. You have to come back,” Flower calls out from behind me, but I keep walking, putting space between me and the people who call themselves addicts. Maybe I’m just insensitive to their stories and reasons, but I find them laughable.
If I were them, I’d be living a normal life, riding my bike that hasn’t been started in six years because I was always too drunk to drive it.
But if I were normal, that wouldn’t have led me here. I wouldn’t have met Sunnie.
I open the door and head out, passing a questioning Gale. The poor woman’s arm is in a sling, and she walks with a limp. She’s seated most of the time because of that asshole Lundon, who hasn’t shown his face since Reaper, Bullseye, and Tongue came here. I hope the fucker stays gone.
I head right toward Sunnie’s room and knock. “Sunnie?” I try the handle, and it turns, and I take a step inside, glance toward the bed and frown.
“She’s in her therapy session, Patrick,” Gale says from behind me. “Plus, you have visitors. When Sunnie is back, I will let you know.”
I walk out of the plain, bare room and shut the door behind me. As I start to walk down the hallway, Gale’ calls out, “I like you, Patrick. I like Sunnie too. I’m begging you, please don’t make me put in a transfer.”
I don’t look back, but I keep walking without saying a word. There’s no reason to give her hope or deny my feelings for Sunnie. I’m going to keep seeing her. I can’t wait to get out of here and take her with me. This place helps, but at a certain point, it smothers me. I’m starting to feel trapped.
And I hate that feeling.
I don’t feel like talking to anyone, but I walk into the main room and see three big bikers sitting on the couch. It’s Reaper, Badge, and Skirt. I’m afraid to smile and show them I’m thankful to see them, but something stops me.
Skirt gets up first, a big grin on his face. His beard is longer, and his hair is up in a ponytail. He’s still wearing his damn kilts. I hope he doesn’t bend over and flash everyone his goods. I might not remember much, but I remember that.
“Look at ye!” He brings me into a big bear hug and lifts me off the ground. “Fuckin’ hell, Pirate. Ye look good. Healthy, a bit skinny, but we can fix that.”
I chuckle and pull away from him. “Thanks, Skirt. Food here sucks,” I explain why it looks like I’ve lost weight. It’s not the whole reason, but I don’t want to get into the entirety of it right now.
“Shite, he has a damn voice. Ha-ha
!” Skirt celebrates and slaps my shoulder, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red, reminding me of Santa Clause. It’s the plump rosiness he has to his face.
I guess they haven’t heard me speak in a long time. They would forget how I sound.
“And there isn’t a slur,” Badge points out, holding a thick file in his hand. His head is shaved, giving him a mean appearance with the sharp points of his high cheek bones and tight mouth.
“Yeah, you look like you’re making progress, Pirate. I’m proud of you. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be home.”
A knife twists in my gut when I think about leaving without Sunnie. I don’t think I’ll be able to.
“Anyway, as much as I’d love to say we came for pleasure, we didn’t,” Reaper states, taking the file from Badge’s hand. “We have a few things to talk about.”
“You already found information?” I ask. I knew Badge was good, but I didn’t know he was that good.
“Don’t insult me,” he rumbles, and Reaper sits in the chair beside the couch, throwing the file on the coffee table in the middle of us. “Sit down, Pirate,” he orders, lowering his eyes to the chair behind me. There isn’t anger in his voice, but a softness that I don’t like one bit.
“We dug into Tom like you asked us to. And what we found isn’t pretty.” Reaper clears his throat and gives Badge and Skirt a quick glance.
The type of look that says they don’t want to talk about what they found.
Reaper studies the room to make sure we are alone, and when his eyes land on something, me, Skirt, and Badge look and find Gale sitting behind the desk, filing her nails. She’s staring at Reaper with a face that says ‘I don’t know if I like you’ but she’s figuring it out. Her eyes are slits, studying him.
“That little old lady scares the hell out of me,” Reaper admits, and Badge snorts in disbelief.
“You should be. She’s threatening to transfer me or Sunnie if we don’t keep our hands off each other. We have to be ‘friends’, but fuck that; I don’t want to be her friend.”