I’m on my tiptoes as I round the corner. I grip the side of the wall and peek my head into the living room, expecting to see at least two people.
All I find is Kiwi sitting on the couch with her eyes squeezed shut, a worn novel in her hands.
“I know.” She hisses. “Just back off.”
My eyes widen. Looks like Kiwi is cray-cray. I clear my throat, and she jumps.
“Mother truck stop!” Her eyes pop open to large white orbs, and she slams her book with a loud smack. “You scared me!”
A laugh stops the obvious question from passing my lips. “Mother what?” I round the corner and raise an eyebrow.
Her eyes squint so hard they almost disappear. “You scared me.”
I hold up my hands. “My bad.” I glance around the room, and back at her. “Was someone just here? Or…”
She hisses. “Yes, he just got here. And he should go away.”
Inching a few steps toward her, I ask, “Were you talking to yourself?”
She scoffs and tucks her bang behind her ear. Her arms fold across her chest and she fixes her gaze off to the side of the room.
“Of course not.”
Then she mumbles a stream of something I can’t make out and makes faces like a five-year-old.
I whistle.
Bitches be crazy.
Her eyes snap back to me.
And scary. I gulp.
“You still here?”
I ease farther into the room, like one of the white guys on the shows Sadie used to watch on her laptop approaching a wild beast. The ones that are always British, or British adjacent.
I throw an arm in front of me, defensively. “You a’ight?”
She points a blood red polished finger behind me. “Out.” Then she holds her book back in front of my face.
I squint against the yellowish light of the lantern beside her as I inch closer. “Jane Eyre,” I say after seeing the title. I grin a little. “Ah shit, girl. That’s my jam.” I cross the room and plop down beside her. “Have you made it to the first tense scene between Jane and Rochester?” With a wink, I hold my arms at my sides and thrust my hips. “Dude wants to tap it.”
She shuts the book again and squeezes her eyes shut. Fury rolls off her in waves, pun intended. I stop thrusting and stare as she rubs the skin above her nose and breathes in and out.
I lean away. I don’t want her to flip out and try and make me kill myself again.
“My bad,” I say lightly, trying to dissolve her tension. “I should have said spoiler alert.”
Her head jerks at me and the thick bang falls back over her eye. A spark of red flashes deep from the dark of her eyes, then flickers out, like a dot from a laser pointer shutting off. I clamp down on my lower lip.
“Why are you doing this?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Trying to be my friend. Do you sense anything…” She shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to rattle the rest of her question to her lips. “Do you sense anything friendly in me when you’re around?”
I grin. Kiwi has claws.
“No, not really.”
“Then why bother?”
I can’t tell from her etched from stone expression if she’s being serious. She sounds less harsh. Curious. I don’t risk dipping into her for a taste because last time I felt her I almost clawed my face off. Clearing my throat, I half shrug.
“Last night before we leave this place to face death.” I shrug my shoulders up further. “Our lives will be in each other’s hands… figured it might increase survival odds if you like me.”
Her expression settles into something a fraction livelier than still water. A low fraction.
“I don’t need to like you to have your back.” She starts to open her book again. When I don’t respond, she lets her gaze drift back to her novel. As she does she mutters, “Don’t have a voice.”
I lean toward her slightly.
Don’t have a voice. A choice?
“What was that?” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone.
She just rolls her shoulders and makes a low air running out of a tire noise. Not a hiss. Just a low whistle of exasperation. My frustration mounts with each second she ignores me.
Finally I clap and ask, “Wanna bang?”
Her head turns slowly with a kind of I know-he-didn’t reflex. “I don’t. Like you. Why would I want to…” She flicks her tongue across her lips. “Bang?” Her nose scrunches at the end of her question, and I smile.
Can’t help it.
That’s the difference between female things and male things. We don’t have to like you to fuck you. Not at all. I don’t bother explaining this to Kiwi.
“You sure? Might be our last shot.”
“I’d rather get fisted by a grogan.”
What the actual deuce you drop after a late night of Taco Bell kind of crap is that to say? For some reason, I have to stop the smile that starts to curl my lips. Shaking my head, I stand and wave as a farewell gesture.
I don’t get a reaction of acknowledgment, so I scoff and trudge out of the room.
I consider going back outside to reel in one of the females that were nipping at me earlier. But I don’t want to. I’m not really a womanizer; I’ve just had a lot of relations. Side effect of being a siren.
I’m not feeling it tonight. I drop my feet heavily on the stairs as I head to my room. The footsteps echo rhythmically, letting my mind tunnel, then expand like a firecracker. By the time I reach my room, I find a female I didn’t even realize I needed to see.
Not in the actual room but in the space inside my head. The slot that the submitted slide into.
Juliet’s icy eyes regard me as they always do. There is no wiping away that poker face. I can feel her changed, though only slightly. I don’t know if it’s because I yanked her out and found shallow waters, or if it’s because I allowed her more autonomy than my last submissive.
For the mission’s sake.
Now I need something. Something I’ve been avoiding.
“Sadie still hasn’t come by.” I avert my gaze. Am I ashamed? Annoyed? Unable to look the psycho that tortured me as easily as some people paint by number, in the eyes yet? Not without ripping the life out of her and delighting in that monster piece of myself instead of steering it away?
Doesn’t matter. She nods.
“I will make sure she’s there at breakfast in the morning.”
My mouth gapes and the words thank you flit through my head. I beat them away. I clap one hand on top of a closed fist and nod, glancing back up. “Good. That’ll do it.”
Her mouth starts to part, and I shut my mind to the size of a pinpoint before I hear what she was going to say. Can’t deal with Juliet too much. Not tonight.
I have some shit to face. Something I should have manned up about a long time ago. I lay in bed and string words together in my head. Words that need saying. Words that might be the difference in who, or what, I wind up being.
Something digs into my shoulder and rips me from the pit hole of a nightmare. My eyes snap open, and I struggle to a half seated and sweaty position.
“Pike?” Something whispers my name. Low. Terse.
My gaze darts around the room until it lands on a form slightly lighter than the pitch-black room.
“It’s me, Kiwi.”
A switch clicks. Darkness is washed away, replaced by dim, yellow light.
I close my eyes and grab my chest. “What. The fuck?”
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I let my lids rise slowly, giving my eyes time to adjust. My heart time to stop punching my insides. Whatever I was going to say hangs from my lower jaw when I see that she’s wrapped loosely in a bed sheet.
And that’s it.
Her plump mouth is pressed together, making her lips swell. Her expression is cautious. Maybe. I have to guess what’s happening because she doesn’t say anything.
I throw an arm over my knee and lean over it. �
�Okay…” I start to ask the obvious when she lets the blanket fall to the floor.
I hear a typical R&B song about fine asses and thighs, then my mind blanks. She steps closer, blocking the flickering lantern light, and perches one knee up on the bed.
I’m surprised my mouth doesn’t water.
She sighs and gives me an almost resigned look. “Look, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve…” Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline and I nod. She presses her lips together like that’s enough.
She inches for me like she’s testing pool water. Like she’s deciding if she can just jump in or not. I can’t do anything but stare like I’ve never seen a naked female.
Which is a huge ass compliment to her and every tempting inch of skin I can’t pry my gaze from. She has that kind of body that makes you do things you know you shouldn’t.
I struggle to maintain eye contact. It’s almost doable. The red smudges around her jet almond eyes glint like they could burn into you at any second.
Which in her case, is not a clever Muse metaphor.
Her breath hitches right before she touches me. Her head tilts against her shoulder. “So, you in?”
I extend a hand to her. “EWB.”
The flirt of a grin touches her lips. “What?”
I almost wink but my head swims. “Enemies with benefits, girl.” My voice comes out just above a whisper.
She nods, then pushes me back onto the bed and straddles my chest. My muscles tighten with electricity. Unlike her temperament, she’s soft, a west wind. My hands go for her waist. I dig my fingers into her flesh, not rough, but not gentle.
She stifles a gasp. “What do you want, Pike?” She raises one eyebrow, and I feel a rise of excitement. I swallow and try to get some of my smooth back.
“I want,” I say, tightening my grip, “to make you come,” I breathe the rest out. Her eyes glaze over. Legs tighten at my sides. I hit on something she likes.
I sense a bit of a freak.
I roll my hand around to the small of her back and push her toward me as I sit up straighter. Our faces are inches apart. Blurs of movement from her chest rising and falling graze my vision.
I decide to play. I run my finger up to the back of her neck, trail it around, and trace a line down to her navel. By the time I get there, her breath is as uneven as my own.
Raising my leg, I force her down my body a few inches and lean in, grazing her neck with my lips. I close my eyes, listening and feeling her responses.
I drag my lips to her sternum, then drop my head into the valley of her breasts. Her hands dig into my loose dreads. I pinch my fingers around her dime-sized nipple, rolling them back and forth.
She half squeals and half gasps like a confused little pig.
It’s cute. I smile.
“What are you..?”
I place my hand between her legs, and she gasps outright. Sure this time. Then I slide my fingers inside her. She squirms and lets her head fall back.
Shutting my eyes, I enjoy how she feels. Like thick honey dripped over my fingers. I enjoy her noises. A clipped moan here. The swell of an “oh, god” there. Moments later she tightens around me. My jaw clenches because I start to think she might rip off my fingers.
She loosens, then tightens back up a few more times. My fingers are safe. I slid them out and up to her clit. She almost brays and slaps her palms into my chest.
“N… no.” Grabbing my hand, she pulls me away, and I smile. She sits trembling with my hand clasped under her chin, eyes closed as if in thought. I squirm, wanting her so bad it’s starting to feel wintry blue in Pike Jr. land.
Then she forces my hand between her legs. I only hesitate a moment. Then I play some more. This time she sounds almost like she’s in pain. On the verge of crying out. Then she sucks in a breath and holds it.
I think to lay her back. I’ve always loved kiwi fruit, but she comes again. Hard. My muscles tense, trying to keep her steady on my lap. I give her a moment. Just long enough so I can lay her back without rushing, when she rears back and smacks me across the cheek.
My head snaps left, and I freeze. Then, my mouth stretches open. I press a hand to the sting in my face as I slowly turn back toward her.
She’s postured on the bed like a fucking cheetah. Her teeth are bared. I scoot my ass back until I’m pressed against the headboard.
“What the hell was that?” My voice comes out half drunk and turned on, and slightly pissed the frick off.
“That was… amazing.” She breathes. Then her eyes narrow and something flickers in them. “But I still hate yo ass.”
I laugh. What else can I do? This female is get-you-fucked-up crazy. I try not to read too much into the fact that I still want to pound her all night long.
Before I can say anything, she launches at me. She smacks into me and my head cracks into the headboard. Tears well in my eyes. Teeth gritted, I grab her wrists and jerk her back. She rips out of my grasp, grips my hips, and drags me down. Then she climbs back on top, and my breath hitches.
For a moment I worry for little Pike. Slowly, I reach for her wrists again. I hold on tight. She yanks my arm toward her mouth and sinks her teeth in.
“Ah!” I jerk away and glare up at her. “Goddamnit, girl.”
“Don’t be a little mitch.” She smiles. It’s the lightest I’ve seen her look.
Godamned sadist.
As a one hundred percent real nigga, I hit her with my warning face. It says stop playing. I don’t look at the bite mark ‘cause I’m not, as she cautions, a man that acts like a bitch. Or a mitch. Her thighs tighten around me. A slow smile reaches my lips.
I decide not to get into it with her. Not when I can fuck the crazy right out of her. I ready myself for a full night when she slides on top of me.
Gently, thank god.
And oh, my damn.
Maybe it’s the possibility of her being my last lay but I’ve never felt anything this good in my life.
My face contorts with an oh, oh, oh, on my lips. I can feel my expression get dumber with each thrust of her hips.
I try to think through the buzz. I clench my jaw around a groan and squeeze my eyes shut. She leans over and sinks her teeth in again. A shot of pain rips through my neck.
I throw my arms around her and hold her against me. She tries to rear back, but I hold her tight. With a grin, I press my lips to her ear.
“The safe phrase,” I say. “Is greasy snow plough.” I grab a handful of her sculpted ass. “Greasy snow plough.”
She giggles. It sounds out of place, but kind of nice. I let my arms loosen, and she straightens.
“I don’t give a shit about safe phrases.”
So much for my mandom.
It’s the last moment of clear thought I’m allowed before she rides me into a stupor.
The whisper of a familiar song drags me away from sleep I don’t want to leave.
“Let the bodies hit the floor…”
I let out a lawn mower sound and flip over onto my stomach.
“Let the bodies hit the floor…”
I wave my arms and swat something at my ear. A booming knock jostles me wide awake.
“Hello?” I shoot up in bed, a sheet over my head, glancing around in blank-eyed confusion. The door creeps open. I pull the sheet down in time to spot Tripp’s smiling face.
For a moment, I panic. Another quick glance around soothes me. Kiwi is gone. Last thing I need is to acknowledge whatever we did last night. It was great, but also terrifying.
“Time to get it moving.” Tripp’s voice is crisp, like he’s been up for a while.
I rest my gaze on him and nod through a yawn. “Thanks, man.”
He sniffs the air and throws me a question with his eyes. His hands plant on his hips. I sniff like it’s as involuntary as watching someone yawn, and a grassy, sweet smell greets me. I glance at my nightstand and notice Oscar for the first time. A swirl of smoke rises at his back. The flaking remains of a bundle of what smells like white sa
ge sits in a fan-shaped blue shell.
“Why you burning incense?” Tripp’s voice snaps me back from trying to remember the last time I saw that shell.
As I focus on his suspicious expression, I realize it must have been with the shit Juliet brought here.
I’ve always run with witches. We seem to have an affinity for one another. Kiwi must have found it in my stash of herbs given to me by a good friend. A witch that died saving my life.
“Uh, just trying to relax. To be on my game,” I lie as I climb off the bed. I let out a short whistle, and Oscar swoops to my shoulder.
“Uh huh.” Tripp’s way of calling out my bullshit. “See you downstairs in twenty.” He softly closes the door behind him, and I sigh relief.
“Let the bodies hit the floor…”
The song that crept in my head through sleep echoes from Oscar’s beak. I turn to him. His beady eyes are inches from my face.
“Can you not be a dick when you know I’m leaving in a few hours?” I rest my hands in the praying pose against my lips. “Or is that too much to ask from my lifelong wingman?”
He cocks his head. Finally— “Let the bodies hit the floor…”
He used to sing that every time he caught me the morning after. Oscar’s idea of a joke, rude little bastard. His song hangs in the air until I’m laughing.
It is a good one.
You know, because usually females don’t make it anywhere but to the floor after a night with me.
It shouldn’t be funny, but my shoulders shake with laughter. It almost gushes out of me. I can’t even explain to him that Kiwi made it through the night because she isn’t human. I didn’t sing for her. I don’t bother to explain it because I enjoy the laughter rippling through my body.
I enjoy the memory of how he used to sing up the pretty girls in the park of downtown Oxford for me. How he’s always felt like a brother despite being a blessed African Grey parrot. To me, he’s just Oscar. The brother that used to fret around my shitty two bedroom apartment like an OCD remix. So I stand and laugh with him.
And he lets me.
He knows that I have to leave him here with Sadie. He knows why, and he knows I’m depressed about it. So, he lets me laugh through it. He lets good memories fill me and doesn’t say a word to interfere.
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