Delinquents (Dusty #2)

by Mary Elizabeth Sarah Elizabeth

  Territorial.

  Spreading.

  Dirty.

  Closing our distance with a sense of certainty and pride not even a god could get away with, Dusty smirks, and I know I'm in too deep. His walk alone lays my conscience out and strokes deeply into it with every step.

  Smiling, I meet his black dead-on.

  “Hey, swag.”

  Lips I crave curve into a full grin, and for as different as so much feels, this person is the same as he's ever been when he looks at me. All disorder and daring and barely abided longing, he's still mischief, wrapped up and too bound to stay away.

  Playfully lowering his lashes over shameless proof of his habit, my hoodless-hoodlum tilts his head over mine.

  “Hey, sway,” he says quietly.

  I smile sky high.

  A COUPLE hours later, my boy's boys have joined us, and after a blunt in his room, we're back in the kitchen because I'm dying for more chocolate.

  Petey opens a beer while Thomas and Ben pour shots. I've got half a truffle in one hand and the other half in my mouth, and I want milk. At the same time I pull the carton from the fridge, the front door opens.

  Stoned-golden and giggling low, we all four look around the corner as Becka steps inside with sweat on her forehead and her board under her arm. Purple and pink and wind-tangled hair that's fallen from her ponytail sticks to her and her baby blue eyes gleam heavily.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, looking right at me.

  Unable to hide and too high to care to, I eat the other half of my truffle.

  “I was bored,” I say. “Where have you been?”

  “Just riding.”

  Maybe it's the pot, but everything feels awkward.

  Then this girl walks to me and steals the carton of white milk from my hand. She sips straight from it and Petey fakes being disgusted.

  “I'm going to shower,” she says, handing it back and wiping her forehead with the back of her arm.

  I pass the carton to Pete and take off after my girl.

  “I'm coming too!”

  BACK ON Dusty's floor, we're sore-cheeked and smoke-surrounded.

  To my left, Thomas leans against the foot of his bed like he used to. Pete's across from me with another blunt, cracking up so hard he has to pause the story he's telling every few seconds, and Ben's on my right laughing twice as deep and blushing even deeper. He falls over, covering his amusement with both hands.

  Between my boy's nightstand and his bed, I'm in the spot that's always been mine and I'm laughing too. We're as close to how we used to be as we can get, and I don't want things to change any more.

  As if sex and drugs haven't done enough to stunt and deform this togetherness, Becka's here. She's squeezed between me and love, laughing just as hard as Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, and I hate how spiteful I feel.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” she says, pulling from the bottle and passing it to her brother. “Remember that morning when we were getting ready for school, and Ben called to tell you he got his first pube?”

  I laugh because everyone does, but the grudge in me tightens.

  I need this, and she's in my space.

  “Oh, oh!” She turns to me, tapping my leg as I hit the blunt. “Remember when you screamed? In the bathroom? And Dusty came running up because he thought there was a spider?”

  Petey and Ben snicker, but I don't laugh. I hold smoke deep in my lungs and concentrate on not screaming.

  “That wasn't funny,” Thomas says, and I blow smoke toward his ceiling, exhaling slowly, steadily, and practice-perfectly.

  Love saved me, but his sister isn't fazed.

  “Okay,” she says. “You're right. That wasn't nearly as funny as when she asked me what a blowy was.”

  I force myself to laugh along, but hostility bites the back of my tongue.

  “I figured you'd know.”

  Pink and purple and in the way laughs like she's forcing herself too, and when I pass her the Philly, she smiles.

  “Don't be bitter, princess kid,” she says, curving her ankle around mine. “You know I love you.”

  “Shh,” Bliss whispers with her finger pressed to her kissed-too-hard lips.

  “There’s no one here,” I say.

  Baby turns away from me and walks toward the front door of my house. Her heels tap on the wooden porch until she removes her shoes and waits for me on the welcome mat with bare feet. Soft yellow porch light above her shines through Leigh’s hair. Her curls are loose, and her cheeks are fucked-too-long pink.

  “I know,” she whispers. “I don’t want to disturb the fireflies.”

  “You weren’t thinking about them before,” I say into her ear, slipping the key into the lock.

  Bliss turns the knob and leans back with the door, catching her footing right before she slips. She tiptoes into the house with her shoes dangling from her pointer and middle finger, as if we have to sneak around.

  My pops has business in Los Angeles, and my mom and little sister went with him. Becka wants to check out the schools and taste the beginning of her so-called future.

  I come up behind my girl and kiss the side of her throat. She smiles and curves into me, dropping her shoes beside the couch. I set my hands on her hips and push my already-hard-again cock against her. Leigh nibbles her lip and hums, tilting her neck for my mouth.

  “We have all night?” she asks, whispering. Chrome-white moonlight from open drapes brightens half of her face.

  I can taste my love on her skin, combined with salt from making her sweat. I know I’m still inside of her, drying between her thighs. Leigh wears my bite marks on the tops of her shoulders, over her rib bones, and on her ankles. I’ve kissed her purple, and overstretched her muscles and tissue.

  “Yes,” I say against her temple, leading her toward the staircase.

  I slip my hands under her shirt and push the tips of my fingers into her low-toned sides. She places her hand on the rail and sucks in a breath.

  “Can you?” I ask, moving my right palm over her soft stomach.

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  I dip my hand into the front of her jeans and feel where I was not even an hour ago. She’s hot and swollen and wet from earlier, like I knew she would be. She whines, tender and sore, but her mouth shapes up, loving this sensitive proof of crazy as much as I do.

  This girls loves when she can feel me long after we’re done, when all she has to do is press her palm between her legs to feel our ache.

  When we finally stumble into my room, I can feel my heart pulse in my dick … and in my pocket.

  Love me first, my bitch haunts.

  I pull off my hoodie and drop it to the floor reaching for the hem on my girl’s shirt. I kiss the dip between her collarbones while Leigh drags her deep purple nails down my biceps. Baby bites my ear as I reach back and unstrap her black B cup.

  She doesn’t love you like I do, cocaine continues, deep in dark denim.

  I lead my girl toward my bed—our safest place. She falls forward onto her hands and knees before crawling to the center of the mattress. I hook my hand into the waist of her jeans and pull until they get stuck on her thighs. She turns to her back and leans on her elbows, kicking her feet until her legs are free and skinny blues are over my shoulder, joining my sweater.

  Come on, baby, this addiction whispers.

  Topless in cotton underwear, baby sits up and stretches toward me. Amid her open knees, she smiles high while unbuckling metal from leather. Jingling with every pull and tug, my belt sings in her hands. My girl goes for my button, easily opening me up with the flick of her fingers.

  Don’t let her touch me, the demon in my pocket pleads.

  I pull my hips away and push Leigh back, curving my hands under her thighs and pulling her bottom to the end of the bed. Trying to ignore my habit’s desire, I drop to my knees and kiss from Leighlee’s knee to her bitten ankle.

  “Stay like this.” I stand to my feet and press my lips to her knee cap.
r />   Leighlee sighs.

  She knows. You know she knows.

  Slipping my finger into the elastic of her underwear, I say, “Take these off.”

  Green eyes daunt and strike, screaming everything she’ll never say again with her own voice—loser, you left me, I hate you. Those were a one-time deal.

  “Go,” Leigh snaps. She kicks my hip with her just-been-kissed foot and rolls onto her stomach.

  I tickle the bottom of her foot, trying to make it better, but it’s too late. I sniff and rub my eager nose. My gums tingle and my palms prickle. My body stands here, but my attention is already in the bathroom with my slut spread out and waiting, all lined up and vindictive.

  Hurry up, she laughs.

  I turn and go.

  My mind is one step ahead of itself. I’m closing the door, and I already know I need to flip on the light. I’m flipping on the light so now I need to empty out my pockets. I’m emptying out my pockets, envisioning myself cutting lines.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror.

  Look real hard, motherfucker. That’s you and me.

  Black eyes, black heart, black blood. I need a shave and a haircut. My nose is red. My nostrils slightly flare. I sniff.

  I toss my vindicator on the counter and turn the sink water on and let it flow to hide this noise from Leigh. After pulling off my shirt, I cup my hands under the water and sink my face in.

  Breathe in and drown yourself, pussy, cocaine pushes. It’s the only way you’ll ever be able to stop.

  With my palms on the bathroom counter, I look into the mirror again. Water drips from my chin and nose, and my hairline is damp. Faint purple-blue colors collect under my eyes, proving how tired my body really is.

  My form suffers, failing, withering away—diminishing—while my insides jump to their own altered up-tempo pace. My brain, my heart, and my energy run strong, fast and undying as long as I give in. But my eyes, skin, and complexion tell a different tale.

  Hmm … loser?

  No. That’s too nice.

  Expected.

  I squeeze my eyes closed.

  She won’t always understand. She won’t always accept. But I will, baby.

  I pull a towel from the rack and dry my face and hands. Then I pour this nagging bitch out onto the counter and cut her up with the razor I keep hidden behind the mirror. I let Her in with a rolled up twenty I hide under the trash can.

  She fucks quick and hard, steady as She goes. One, two … three. It takes no effort anymore. I’m good at this. Exceptional. Phenomenal.

  I tilt my head back and rub my nose with the back of my hand, and I chill while everything falls into place. My spine straightens and my heartbeat evens out. It’s too fast and rocking, but so much better. I roll my neck and crack a few knuckles before I chop Her into four more lines.

  So fucking swift.

  This time when I catch my reflection, I don’t give a fuck.

  Compelling and unbeatable, I’m confident. My eyes burn darker, and I hold my head higher as cocaine weaves and bonds Herself into my muscle and bone. Marrow is traded for lost inhibitions, and when I flex it’s pure strength.

  I turn off the water before switching off the light and opening the door. Baby Bliss is dressed in my hoodie, sitting on my computer desk with her legs crossed and the window open, letting late night October air in. Her lips hint blue, but her eyes are all determination.

  Slipping a cigarette between my lips, I light up and sit in the chair at her feet. I place them in my lap and smirk between drags. “What?”

  Leigh tries to pull ten little toes away, but I hold onto her right calf.

  After one more pull from my smoke, I toss it out the window over her shoulder and blow white fumes out to the side. I stand up and push my girl’s legs open stepping in between, digging my fingers into her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the desk until she can feel me against her.

  “Kid,” I tease. “Little girl. Pretty princess.”

  Her nails break the skin on the top of my hand. “Let me go.”

  I brush my lips across her cheek and sigh. “Baby, baby, baby.”

  She pushes her fists into my chest. “Get away from me.”

  I rock my hips against her, and the entire desk shifts and bangs against the wall. My pencil holder falls over and different papers scatter. Leigh’s hands move to the edges of the desk beside her. Her head falls back, and her lips part, letting out the sweetest little moan.

  She moves against my cock. I push back. The computer monitor falls over and paint chips off the wall. Leigh wraps her legs around me and whispers, “Come closer,” between little cries.

  The hoodie comes off easily, and she clings—lips to lips, chest to chest, stomach to stomach. I lift up and turn away from the window, surefooted and aware. I can hear and feel and smell and sense all. Thanks to seven white lines and strawberry blond kisses.

  Love is vivid.

  We fall to the mattress in a breathless hurry of open mouths and lifted hips and pulled cotton and pushed-down jeans. Leigh tries to slip me inside while I’m kicking my pants off. She groans in frustration when I pull back.

  But she gets the tip and loses her mind.

  My girl can’t wait, so I fuck her with my socks on.

  “Right here, baby,” I whisper, tilting her chin toward the side of my face, near my ear. “I want it here.”

  My girl knows, and she nods.

  I pump my dick a few times before I line up and settle on my elbows so I can get what I want. When I slide and push in as deep as I can, Leigh gasps right into my ear.

  Long and hard and loud, Leigh cries out. There is nothing more bittersweet than the first sound she makes. While she drags her fingers down my shoulders, I bring her right leg up. It unites us a little more, but not as much as we need.

  While I stroke deeply and fully, moving my hips with intent, I feel her nails inflicting damage to my already harmed skin.

  “More,” I groan into the side of her neck. “Harder, baby.”

  I won’t be satisfied until she splits me open and touches me on the inside. I want her fingertips to dance on vertebrae, and I want her arms to get tangled in veins and arteries. It’ll be enough when she’s elbow deep, coated in my life source. I need this girl to break apart rib bones and puncture lungs to reach for my heart. I want her to rip the right ventricle from the left, just to feel the very center of where my heart beats for her.

  “That’s you,” I’d say. “That’s where you are.”

  I dig my feet into the mattress for leverage and posture. My left sock slips down my foot and the sheets gather beneath us, starting to come undone. Leigh’s hands fall from my back to my bed, and her nails press into gray cotton. Her back arches, and I push in harder, pressing my pelvis against her clit. I lick her partly open lips. I whisper things I don’t even understand.

  I pull out and turn her on stomach. Leigh laughs lustfully, pushing her bottom up so I can slip in.

  I come, but I fuck through it.

  THE WORLD is static and clocks are dead. Stars are gone and the moon drops from the sky, leaving us in complete darkness while the sun is stuck in the east, unable to rise. The trees surrounding the house burn, and the walls from the house fall flat. My girl cries, “God, God, God. Please, please, please,” but even He has left us.

  We are the only people left in this universe.

  We’re alone, faithless and sinning. Love begs, pleads, and demands The King of Kings to hear her. She makes deals with Our Creator. “Give me this and I swear … I swear!”

  But love is losing religion, and there is no God here.

  Baby comes, tight and quaking around my cock. I press her to the mattress until she’s flat and I’m on top, slowly leading her through her namesake.

  She cries. Leigh always does.

  We keep going and hours have passed. All of the sheets have fallen from the bed, and my socks are long gone. I sit against the headboard while baby rides my dick. Her eyes are barely open
and I keep slipping out because we’re too wet.

  “I’m so tired.” She smiles lazily.

  Leigh’s arms fall slack at her sides, and her shoulders slouch. She falls into my chest and softly kisses under my chin.

  Carefully leading my girl to her back, I pull away from Leighlee and she shakes her head.

  “I’m okay. Keep going,” she says breathlessly. Her legs fall open, and I can see how too-loved her center is.

  We should stop, but we can’t.

  So I lift her hips and slip a pillow beneath her lower back.

  “Better?” I ask, settling between her legs again.

  She smiles with closed eyes and nods her head, dropping her knees completely wide. Then I’m inside again, fueled by obsessed love, and Her.

  WE’RE LYING on my floor with the blankets and pillows. Baby’s in one of my shirts with her feet up on the bed, and her red-yellow hair fanned around her head. She’s focused on the TV while I’m centered on the bruises I’ve put on her body in the last two days.

  Nothing slips my mind. Not a single thing is overlooked or forgotten. I ate her childhood and molded her into this person—cold and calculating and bitter—everything she shouldn’t be.

  The simple smile she used to get when she saw me and the excitement our secret used to create is lacking. I miss cream soda floats and snow boots that saved the world. I miss being on the phone with her talking about nothing at all. I miss the times when she melted over my touches simply because she loved me—only because she loved me.

  All of that has been replaced with this need to prove that we love each other and need each other the most. It never stops.

  Leighlee’s suspicious of everything: clingy, needful and defeated. She’s always touching me, binding us together however she can. It’s a pinky hooked in my belt loop, her toes touching my ankle under the dinner table, her mouth around my cock.

  We’re holding on, but I know that one day our grip will slip.

  I sit up and open the top drawer of my nightstand, reaching in for my bag. Baby turns her head to see what I’m doing but looks away just as easily—unaffected.