by M. C. Webb
The elevator doors silently open, and I exit without looking at the operator. A sudden waft of perfume is my first indication that something isn't right. I jerk my head up at the smell of gardenias and see a small figure sitting in a red coat, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Her chestnut hair has spilled out from the jacket and looks like waves of silk, finely woven and shiny in the halls florescent light. Our eyes meet and the overwhelming sensation of being kicked in the gut slams into me. I nearly hit the floor with my knees.
We say nothing, and I can barely take a step forward as Kizzie elegantly rises. Before everything happened, I never really appreciated her beauty. Sure, I thought I did, but looking at her now, it was but a drop of the ocean of emotions I feel for this woman. Only one of my many regrets with her.
I keep my face free of expression and inch toward her as if, at any moment, she’ll disappear. Kizzie stands still, eyebrows slightly knitted as she watches me reach out, raising my hand to touch the birthmark on her neck. Her skin is smooth and soft, just like I remember. No, it's even better now. There's a slight sheen to her eyes as she drinks me in, taking her time, looking at me, getting to know me all over again.
“Colt?”
The sound of her voice weakens me further, and this time, I do hit my knees, bury my face into her abdomen, and wrap my arms around her hips. Unashamed and unrepentant, I squeeze and inhale the smell that I know. It’s so familiar and represents warmth in a cold world. It's her, Kizzie. It's always been her, will always be her. With that acknowledgement, I also know the loss of my life years ago was to be in this moment, this place in time, just so I will know peace, even if only for a second.
There is no rest when half your soul is wandering the Earth without you.
This woman has the ability to breathe life quite literally into me without even knowing it.
“Kizzie…” I rub my face on her belly, desperate to feel. “Oh God, Kizzie. Is this real?”
Delicate fingers slide through my hair, and I can only weep harder.
“Colt, stand up. Let me see you.”
My legs operate at her command, and I stand, helpless to deny whatever she bid me. A small hand brushes a tear from my face, and I reach to do the same to her. The movement’s so natural, I'm reminded again of how much time I've wasted chasing things that don’t matter.
Gluttony the priest had said. Never satisfied, spiritually starved, deprived of love, so all my life I have force-fed my soul with things it did not need, seeking a fullness only certain things can provide. Kizzie is one of those things; that’s why I follow her. I am starved for her, and I know, without a doubt, I will never get enough.
Placing my hand on the nape of Kizzie's neck, I pull her toward me and reach around with my left hand to punch in the security code of my hotel door. With frantic movements, I back her into the room and then turn us both to push her body against the door with mine.
“Tell me this is not a dream,” I demand, pressing my cheek down to hers, kissing the shell of her ear lightly. A feverish desire takes over the shock. “Or that I'm dead. Kizzie, tell me, please?”
Her only response is to turn her face toward mine and wrap her hands around my neck, pulling me closer, pressing sweet lips to mine. A groan of pure pleasure leaves my lips at that first touch. Almost transcendental and surreal, I pull at the zipper of her coat. She does the same to mine, not stopping once it is off, but moving on to my pants and shirt. Threads pop, and fabric rips as we tear each other's clothes off and kiss frantically. I grow impatient and rip her jeans and panties down and off her legs. Staying kneeled, I lean in and nuzzle the warm flesh between her legs. Slowly, softly, I kiss and rub my nose through the silky crease, pausing to press harder at the nub. Kizzie grabs fistfuls of my hair, tilting her hips to give me better access.
Sliding my tongue just inside the honey, I work at her core, delving, teasing, suckling the dew from the rose. Using my thumbs to peel back the layers, I rotate my face and press my mouth dead center. Kizzie lets out a loud moan of approval, and she rocks her hips in rhythm with my stiff licks. She grinds down on my face, hard as the orgasm revs up, and I have to give my cock a hard pull to calm down so I don’t come on the floor. Chest heaving, body shaking, I hold Kizzie as she rides out the waves of pleasure.
Slowly, she returns to Earth as I softly kiss her swollen lips. Mind blown, I settle back on my haunches, and I look up at the woman in awe. Her face is flush from satisfaction, and she grins down at me. That look is promising, and I know, I won’t fuck her. No, as bad as this boner hurts, I’ll wait until we talk. Wait until we get some things settled. But before I have a chance to do more than stand and prepare to speak, Kizzie is turning me and pressing my back against the door. The metal is cool against my hot skin, but I have no time to process because Kizzie is gripping my cock and lowering to her knees. The sight of her mouth opening, eyes staring up at me and her tongue extending followed by the complete invasion of her mouth makes my legs weak. Reaching out, I hold the wall and the door handle so I won’t fall over, but then the sucking begins and my orgasm rushes to the tip. I lean my head back and close my eyes.
The sensation vanishes as Kizzie stills. Completely tortured, I look down to her staring up at me.
“Watch me, Colt,” she says, just like no time has ever come between us, and we are still sneaking around so nobody knows we’re together. A flood of emotions courses through my body as ecstasy renews at the return of her wet mouth which takes me to the brink. My teeth gritted, I groan as her small hand pumps with every suck. Kizzie senses the pressure building and fuck, she opens her month wide as jets of cum erupt from me. Hot streams pulse and land on her tongue, and it’s pleasure I have never known. The intensity of it forces my eyes closed, no matter how hard I try to stay focused. I cuss and groan from the release then slump like the dead holding myself up until Kizzie is out of the way and I can slide to the floor.
She giggles when the skin of my back makes a squeal on the door as I fall, landing on my ass. All I can do is laugh. I laugh so hard, my chest rumbles. It lasts so long, it turns into hysteria. Kizzie is holding her stomach, tears streaming as she shakes with joy. It’s the first time I’ve laughed since before that night. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh since well before that night, a sound I will never grow tired of. I calm and watch her breasts shake as she wipes her eyes, and the sadness returns. As if sensing my change of emotion, Kizzie’s laughter dies away, causing me to grieve the loss anew. My chest cracks wide open knowing this is all I’ll ever get.
“Can you ever forgive me?” I ask simply.
Kizzie frowns and tilts her head.
“Not for Owen, I’ll have to figure out a way to deal with that. I want you to forgive me for never saying I love you, for not telling the world you were my girl, for keeping you a secret, but most of all Kizzie, will you forgive me for not thinking you were more important than the wins, the draft, or the money? I am sorry.” My voice cracks with regret. “So fucking sorry.”
Kissie places a hand over her heart, and tears flow from her eyes. I lean forward and pull her onto my lap, burying my face in her silky hair. A sob escapes her lips, and I squeeze tighter.
“Hush now. It’s all right. You don’t have to, but for my sake, I had to ask.”
This does the opposite of comfort her. It apparently was the wrong thing to say because her shoulders begin shaking harder.
“You are the biggest asshole,” she says through sobs. Kizzie pulls away from my chest and punches my shoulder as hard as she can.
“Ouch,” I say rubbing the spot. Kizzie scowls and punches the other arm.
“You asshole!” Before she can do it a third time, I catch her hand mid-swing.
“What did I say?” I ask helplessly.
“You wait all this time to say you’re sorry? You didn’t think to do that, oh,” Kizzie looks up towards the ceiling as if trying to work out the math, “years ago?”
Is she serious?
“No one
was really in a good place back then, if you don’t remember. I had this thing called a trial, which I lost, by the way.”
Kizzie growls like a cat then stands abruptly and throws her hands in the air. She marches over to the kitchen bar and picks up an unopened roll of paper towels. They’re hurled toward me as hard as she can. I reach out and catch them midflight then stand to possibly catch whatever she throws next.
“Why are you sorry now? Why weren’t you sorry back then?” Hands on hips, Kizzie stills as I think how to respond.
I can’t answer right away. Instead, I toss the paper towels through the bar opening into the kitchen and pull on my pants all the while Kizzie stands naked and waiting. Once the top button is secure, I push my hair back off my forehead and mirror her pose.
“Honestly, Kizzie, I didn’t know forgiveness was even an option. I had pretty much settled for purgatory until, by happenstance, I saw you a few weeks ago. I followed you to the church out of curiosity, but it quickly turned into my waiting for you, memorizing when you would go, then anticipating seeing you to just catch a glimpse. In my head,” I raise a finger and circle it in air to indicate my crazy, “you were happy, married, maybe even had some kids, but after a few searches on the internet, it became clear none of that was the case for you. It wasn’t long before I grew obsessed and lived for those church runs. Like I said, I never thought seeing you again was an option, and it wasn’t until I talked with the priest today, it dawned on me.”
“You went to church?” Kizzie wraps her arms around her middle, and my eyes watch as her breasts meet. I nod and look away, not wanting to have more to grieve over than I already do.
“The priest is all right. He kind of explained some things to me, things I really never thought of.”
Kizzie reaches for my t-shirt and pulls it over her head. Then she gathers her hair, pulls it to one side, and stares back at me. She looks young and beautiful, as if time does not touch her, and all I want to do is look at her.
“That was the point, Colt.”
Lost in memorizing every detail, it doesn’t register what she says at first.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What point?”
Kizzie walks closer so we are inches apart, and she’s craning her neck up at me.
“Owen never turned on you, Colt. He got tricked into answering some questions. The guy told him if he cooperated, you would never be in trouble. Owen thought you must’ve owed a big debt and tried to pay it only it turned out to be an investigator and by then, it was too late.” My chest rips open at her words, but before I can respond, Kizzie continues, “I will answer the first question. Yes Colt, I forgive you.” Her hands glide over my bare chest and pauses over my heart. “I forgave you a long time ago, so does Owen. As long as you forgive me?”
“For what?” I ask, sounding pained even to my own ears.
“I knew you were following me. I’ve been leading you to that church for weeks now in hopes it would help you.”
Wrapping my arms around her waist just so I don’t lose my balance, I swallow back any type of resentment.
“Okay,” I say nodding.
“But it was worth waiting? It was worth chasing me?” Kizzie asks, hope evident in every word.
Saying nothing, I pull her close, pressing her head against my chest.
“If—” But my phone vibrates in my pocket, cutting us both off. I ignore it, but it vibrates again. With a growl of frustration, I pull it free. Not recognizing the number, I slide it open and bark, “what?”
“Colt?” a male voice demands.
“Yeah, who is this?” I ask just as demanding.
“It’s Lobos, Detective Lobos.” My insides clench, and I release Kizzie to spare her of any morbid news and walk to my window, hoping the voice doesn’t travel. “I have news, you want me to come by or just relay it over the phone?”
“Now is fine.” I say, not turning around but sensing Kizzie can hear everything.
“Turns out Ms. Perez was pretty sick. Medical examiner found she died of natural causes, due to severe dehydration and starvation. Her assistant says she’s not been well for some time.”
My jaw slacks, and through the reflection of the window, I can see my mouth fall open.
“Apparently, it was her friend in the car you hit that night on the bridge. The assistant says Ms. Perez had it in for you, wasn’t happy you got out on parole. She wanted to make you pay somehow but something changed her mind after you were with her. She told her agent you’d suffered enough, and she was going to let it go. Some time during the night, her heart gave out. I guess holding on to stuff like thing ain’t good for the ticker.”
Saying nothing, I just listen in disbelief.
“Anyway, I thought I’d let you know. Take care, buddy.”
The detective hangs up, and I can do nothing but stare out the window at the tiny ray of sunlight peeking through the dark skies. I am sorry for Mirana, sorry for all of it. I will be for the rest of my life, but I can look at all the dark, or I can focus on that sliver of light with everything in me. Maybe if I focus hard enough, it will be easier to see, maybe even become brighter. Even though I don’t deserve it, I can’t help but wonder if it’s possible I can be one of those people in café, walking their dog with their arm around their spouse or attend Mass like a normal person and not sit in the shadows. Maybe I can play the market, gamble legally, and even help college athletes through the shit storm of trials?
There’s only one way to find out.
Turning, I toss the phone on the couch and cross the room to lift Kizzie off of her feet, holding her tight against me. For a moment, all I can do is stare at the woman knowing she is priceless.
“Yes, I forgive you, under one condition.”
“And what’s that?” she asks, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“That we will be married in the church, by Father Michael, and we will argue over the cap on the toothpaste and socks lost in the laundry. We will have a dog we can put those horrid winter boots on so his feet won’t freeze on the pavement when we walk him.” I shake my head, knowing I’m rambling. “I don’t care what happens, all I know is, you are my obsession. As much as I tried to deny it, you are what I glut for because I will never get enough, Kizzie. I want you, and when you think I’m satisfied, I’m going to want more. There’s no negotiating. It’s all or nothing, but you have to say yes because I can’t starve myself of you a day longer.”
Burying my face in her neck, I kiss the birthmark as she murmurs a tearful, “yes.”
As the tension leaves my body at that one word, I know, without a doubt, this is the very thing I needed all along to finally be satisfied, content, filled to the gills. No longer will I roam this world in search of what my soul needs, starved and fulfilling those seven deadly sins to the fullest. I will place them one after the other on a shelf, except I think I will keep gluttony, but only when it comes to Kizzie. With her, it is impossible to have enough.
READ THE OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
PRIDE: Scott Hildreth
GREED: Geri Glenn
SLOTH: Max Henry
WRATH: Gwyn McNamee
ENVY: Kerri Ann
LUST: FG Adams
GLUTTONY: M.C. Webb
ALSO BY M.C. WEBB
THE BLACK TRILOGY
Fade to Black
Black as Night
The Black Remnants
STANDALONE
Second String
Breaking the Girl
The Boy, Broken
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M.C. Webb is a contemporary author of dark romance.
First published in high school, the attention shy writer avoided publication for many years, opting to limit her work locally. Her now widely released bibliography includes the suspenseful "The Black Trilogy" a touch of second chance love in "Second String" and newest spellbinding novel "Breaking the Girl".
Born in Chatsworth Georgia, M.C. spent most of her childhood in the deep south until l
anding in the place she calls home today, Knoxville Tennessee. She loves interacting with readers and is a huge supporter of film, football, hockey, and the blues.
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