by JB Salsbury
“Miss Raven, it’s been a pleasure.” Charlie’s face looks concerned.
I wipe my eyes and smile. “Thank you, Charlie. It was nice meeting you.”
Jonah tosses him a thick fold of bills and a chin lift and guides me to the front door. I beeline it to Jonah’s room to take off my dress and wash my face.
Stepping into the bathroom, I flip on the light and recoil at my reflection. Walking closer to the mirror, I tilt my head and squint.
Holy heck.
Black eye makeup marks channel down my face like a road map of mayhem. Blotchy red marks on my cheeks and forehead highlight my bloodshot eyes. I look like a demented prom queen, minus all the blood. And Jonah held me like this, as I screamed every cuss word I could think of.
My hands fly to my mouth. He must think I’m a lunatic.
Words thrown from my hissy fit come rushing back. The memory of Jonah’s hazel eyes, wide and set on me while . . . While I made a total fool out of myself.
Hysteria swells in my chest. I roll my lips into my mouth and force back the maniacal laughter. A fluttering bubbles up from my chest as I recall my mom’s face when I stepped to her table. Laughter explodes, ricocheting off the tiled walls. Mark’s face when he saw Jonah has me doubled over. The sorry sack looked like he soiled his briefs.
The intensity of what happened sinks in. I muffle my frenzy into a washcloth, hoping its cool contact will ease the delirium. My cheeks hurt from smiling and I check out my blurred reflection. Crazy eyes, bleeding black tears, huge smile. Pure, certifiable insanity.
I collapse into a torrent of giggles, causing rivers to stream down my face. Tears born of laughter feel so much better than those born from pain. My jaw aches, but the howl continues to tumble from my lips.
My side cramps. I press against the pain and try to calm down with deep breathing.
It doesn’t work.
My stomach muscles contract as I cackle without control. The sound fades in waves as I trade oxygen for lunacy. Is it possible to die of laughter?
I sense movement from the corner of my eye. Jonah is standing in the doorway, frozen and staring. Without the breath to speak, I hold up my palm and pray he gets the message. Yes. I’ve officially lost it.
“What the fuck?” he whispers.
I shake my head, pleading with him to stop. If he speaks another word, I’m pretty sure I’ll cough up my kidneys from laughing.
He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He didn’t listen. I squeeze my eyes shut, and soundless laughter racks my body.
“I . . . can’t . . . stop.” I manage to get out the words before another wave of laughter brings me to my knees.
“Baby?” His lips are twitching like he’s fighting the urge to join me in Crazytown.
He closes the distance between us in two long strides and he kneels in front of me. His face is fixed in a sexy half-grin; his eyelids are low and lustful. He grabs my face hard, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention. My laughter dies under the intensity of his stare. Blood races through my veins and my belly somersaults. Heat blooms in my chest and I lean in.
“There she is,” he whispers.
My pulse surges with a furious passion that is anything but funny. Eyeing his full lips, I get closer, pressing my chest against his. My tongue slowly makes a pass along my lower lip, preparing for his attention.
“That’s my girl,” he growls before his lips cover mine.
Exploring his mouth, desire consumes me. I scrape my teeth along the inside of his bottom lip and swallow his answering groan. All the emotions from this evening are spiraling together to fuel the kiss and ramp up my need. I rip through his dress shirt, buttons bouncing off the marble floor. Pushing it from his shoulders, I run my hands down his rippled abdomen, digging my nails in as I go. His hands tangle in my hair to deepen the kiss. The smell of mint and aftershave permeate the air and seduce my senses.
His hand trails down my arm, leaving a wake of fire against my skin. With a gentle touch, he finds the slit of my dress, pushing the fabric aside at my hip. Still on my knees, I spread my legs in anticipation. He grips my hip then slides his hand down to where I need it most. I groan and roll my hips into his hand.
He stills. I smile.
“All night?” His voice is dark and hungry.
“Yes, all night.” My answer is spoken through the satisfied smile that pulls at my lips.
His eyes lock on mine, wide and fascinated.
“What? You didn’t expect me to wear panties with this dress, did you? It’s too low cut in the back. I had to go commando.” Who knew something as simple as not wearing panties could give me so much power? And power over someone as strong and commanding as Jonah is a potent aphrodisiac.
“That would have saved us a whole lot of trouble tonight. If I had known you were naked under that dress, I can guarantee you wouldn’t have seen Camille or your mom. Hell, you wouldn’t have seen much outside of my sheets.”
I place a soft kiss against his lips and stand. His eyebrows drop low as he watches me with rapt attention. I turn my back to him, but peek over my shoulder and wink. He stares at me, a helpless look on his face.
Yes!
I slip a strap off my shoulder, making sure to keep my eyes locked on his. He licks his lips. I turn and glance over my other shoulder before sliding that strap down. His fists flex against his massive thighs. Inch by inch, I drop the dress lower in a lazy striptease. His eyes glaze over beneath heavy lids as I reveal the backside of my naked body in painstakingly slow steps.
Finally, with the dress pooling around my feet, I step out of the silken fabric. I’m left standing in my high heels. And nothing else.
Jonah rises to his feet. Still with my back to him, I’m attacked by a moment of self-consciousness and cup my breasts to hide them from his view.
He steps behind me. I can feel the heat from his body and smell the spice of his cologne, but he’s not touching me.
“Turn around,” he demands gently.
My head swivels his way, followed by my body. The clicking of my shoes against the marble floor is the only sound in the room next to my quickened breath.
His eyes take me in from hair to heels. With a feather light touch, he removes my hands from my breasts. “No hiding.”
He runs his fingers from my hand, to my shoulder. They continue their journey down my spine to my bottom. I suck in a breath as he traces the line down between my legs and back up leaving a trail of heat that pools in my belly. He walks in a slow circle around me, never breaking his fingers contact with my flesh, skating around to my stomach, my hip, and back while he walks.
His gaze is dark and predatory as he stalks me. Gorgeously sculpted muscles painted in brilliant colors catch and reflect the light. I stare at him unabashed, watching his reflection in the mirror when his circle is complete and he’s stopped behind me. His silence speaks volumes while he takes in my form.
“Leave the shoes on.” The jagged edge to his voice sends a delicious tremble up my spine.
I turn toward him and grab the waist of his slacks. The evidence of his arousal is pressing against his fly, pushing the fabric past capacity. I run my fingers along his length, feeling steel beneath wool. His hips flex into my touch.
“Jonah—”
“Step back, baby.”
I move back until the cold granite presses against my backside. His hands grip my waist and lift, setting me on the countertop. The heat from his kiss and warm hands at my breasts erase the chill of the icy rock against my bare skin.
He presses himself between my legs, gripping my hips with impatience. I fumble with his belt and zipper, his breath escaping on a hiss when I finally release him. I gasp as he slides a hand between my legs, forcing a tremble of need to slither down my spine.
“Jonah, the bed. Now.” His barely-there touch and gentle coaxing has me begging for his possession.
A flash of his one-dimple smile and heavy eyelids
almost push me to the edge. He works between my legs with magical fingers. With my hands braced behind me, I press against his hand.
“Not going to the bed, baby. I want to watch us.”
His words are confusing, but I’m too lost in the sensations to ask for explanation. My heart races; pleasure coils deep in my belly. A moan falls from my lips. He moves his hand, and I miss it for a second before I feel his heat press against me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He buries himself deep and captures my mouth. With one thrust, my vision explodes in Technicolor sparks. Tingling shards of ecstasy flood my body. I call out his name, rolling my hips and riding out my release. He covers my neck and shoulder in wet kisses. Caught up in my free fall, I wrap my legs around his waist and rock against him, greedy for more.
“So fucking pretty.” He runs his hands from my hips to my knees and behind him to my calves. “Love your shoes, baby. I want to feel them digging into my back. Wrap me tight.”
A sagging puppet at his mercy, I lock my ankles behind his back. He braces his hands on the counter’s edge, putting distance between our torsos. I watch in fascination as his eyes lower to our connection. I turn to our reflection in the mirror at the end of the double-sink countertop.
The visual of our bodies loving each other in an erotic rhythm has me memorized. His multi-colored biceps contract. Abdominal muscles ripple with every flex of his hips. My body sways in time with each delicious thrust, back and forth in waves.
For the first time, I see myself the way Jonah sees me: sexy, alluring, and even tempting. My long legs, tipped with stilettos, are wrapped tightly around his waist. Our eyes meet in the mirror. No smiles now.
Only scorching fire.
We watch our reflection and the pleasure builds. Our eyes lock in intimacy, liberating us of our need for words.
His gaze drops to my breasts, the driving power making them bounce. He bends forward, taking one into his mouth, and flicking the tip with his tongue. I grind into him harder, desperate for more contact.
A current builds, starting loose in my torso and condensing in my stomach. My lips part to accommodate my labored breath.
He pulls back, locks eyes with mine, and bites his lip. My hands sift through his hair and to pull his mouth to mine. A groan rumbles in his chest. His fingers dig into my bottom, the pinch against the sensitive flesh pushing me higher.
And like a lightning strike, I’m hit. My insides, once liquid, crystalize and shatter in pulses of euphoria. I throw my head back and moan. I fight to stay upright as my body enjoys the blissful indulgence.
He collapses on top of me before I feel his teeth sink into my shoulder. I tilt my head, and he groans against my skin, his body jolting from the power of his release.
My arms shake with the reverberations of my orgasm or from the strain of holding up our weight. He must sense my struggle and lifts his body to pull me to his chest.
Jonah holds me close, running his fingers through my hair while I come down and catch my breath. He places soft kisses on my face before we’re drawn to our reflection.
He smiles. “That was hot.”
I blush and agree. “Blazing.”
“I’m buying you a pair of those shoes in every color they make.”
“They’re 500 dollars.”
“Make that two pair in every color.”
His expression is serious, and I burst into laughter. All of the stress and pressure I’d been feeling from earlier dissolve to a distant memory.
With a small effort, Jonah lifts me from the counter and places me on my wobbly legs. I look down and notice his pants are still around his ankles. He kicks them off and kneels in front of me. One by one, he slips off my shoes so that we’re both standing naked.
He pulls me into his arms. “You doing better?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, remembering the state Jonah found me in earlier. “Guess I just needed the release.”
His body shakes with silent laughter. What is it with his sense of humor? I pull back enough to show him my confusion.
“Guess you got your release . . . twice.”
“Jonah!” I slap his arm and my face flames.
“Ow!” His humor fades and something serious works behind his eyes. “I Hhate seeing you like that.”
“It’s okay—”
“No. It’s not. I can’t wait for this shit to be over. For you to be free of . . .”
I rest my cheek against his chest and sigh. “Me too.”
He reaches over and flips on the shower. The room fills with steam. “Come on. I’ll get you all cleaned up. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Big day?”
His eyebrows hit his hairline.
My hand covers my mouth as realization dawns.
Tomorrow I meet his mom.
Twenty-six
Jonah
“I think I might puke.” Raven rubs her stomach, a grimace etched into her gorgeous face. She’s made herself sick worrying about meeting my mom. I couldn’t even get her to eat breakfast.
I wonder if any of her nerves this morning are leftover from her breakdown last night. I’d never seen a person go from rat-shit mad to completely unglued. When I overheard her laughing in the bathroom, I realized she’d reached her breaking point. I knew I needed to bring her back—to pull her from her hysterics and place her gently back into her skin.
Her skin.
My dick twitches at the memory of her slowly sliding off that dress, each sliver of delicate flesh, beckoning for my touch—the way her body responded immediately to the slightest brush of my fingers, opening to my unspoken request. Erotic flashes of her legs wrapped around my body flood my mind. Heat radiates from the red marks on my back left by her shoes. Watching the reflection of our bodies tangled together is forever branded into my memory.
A groan bubbles up from my throat, and Raven turns her attention toward me with narrowed eyes, throwing me from my sexy daydream. Her eyes get big at the sound of a mumbled voice over the airport’s loudspeaker.
“What’d he say? Was that it? Did they just announce her flight? I think that’s her flight,” she says, her eyes dart around the baggage claim carousel where we’ve been waiting for the last fifteen minutes.
Raven bounces on her toes like a kid who has to pee. My lips pull up. “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that fourth cup of coffee this morning.”
“She’s not going to like me. She probably wants you with some sweet, homey girl who, you know, bakes or loves scrapbooking, not a car mechanic who can’t even microwave popcorn.” She looks around like she’s mapping out an escape.
“You kick ass with a microwave, baby. Don’t sell yourself short.”
She glares at me, but her mouth ticks with the shadow of a smile.
“Baby, she’s going to love you. Trust me. Now stop jumping around like a fucking pogo-stick and come here.”
I throw my arm over her shoulder and she leans into me. Her muscles relax as my fingers trace along her skin.
“Excuse me, ‘Assassin’?”
A tall, awkward boy in the throes of puberty approaches us.
“Yeah.”
He shuffles his feet and avoids my eyes. He’s taller than Raven, but lanky. His messy brown hair hangs over his black-rimmed glasses. Printed in bold letters, his bright yellow shirt reads Stephen King is my Homeboy. I stifle a laugh.
“I thought it was you.” He flips a pen in his hand. “I’m a big fan. I’ve seen all your fights.” His voice cracks. “That take down against ‘Pit Bull’ Perez in oh-nine was the best I’d ever seen. I know you’re going to beat Del Toro tomorrow.
Raven gasps, and her grip tightens on the back of my shirt.
“I can’t wait to see the look on Del Toro’s face when you hold up that belt.”
You and me both, kid. Pride in my ability as a fighter, and anger for my inability to prove it, battle for dominance in my head.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate your support.” This kid’s got the height an
d the know-how. From the looks of his worn jeans, ratty shoes, and . . . everything else, I’d guess he gets his fair share of assholes at school fucking with him. That’s all any good fighter needs. Fuel. “You know your stuff. Any interest in fighting for the UFL?”
“Humph, I wish.” He shrugs and runs the back of his hand across his forehead, making his glasses lopsided. “My mom says I’m too weak for sports.” He scrunches his nose to straighten the frames on his face.
“What are you? About a buck fifty?”
“Just about.”
“You start training, pack on a little muscle. You’d be a perfect welterweight.”
His smile is so big that it looks as if it may break his face. “You really think so?”
“Think so? I know so.”
“Wow. Thanks, ‘Assassin.’” He stares at me, but his glazed eyes tell me he’s in his head. Probably picturing himself as a fighter five years down the road. He blinks. “Oh! Can I get your autograph?”
He hands me a black sharpie marker and turns around, motioning for me to sign his t-shirt.
“Sure, what’s your name?”
“Killian.”
“No shit?” Great name for a fighter.
“Yeah.” The backs of his ears turn bright red. “It’s Irish.”
I write a quick message on the shoulder of his shirt.
Killer Killian,
No one dictates your future but you.
The Assassin
I pop on the cap and hand Killian his pen.
“Good luck tomorrow night.” He stands a little taller, his voice more confident.
“You start training, you hear me?”
He smiles, nods, then turns and walks away.
Raven’s head burrows deeper into my chest. I instinctively pull her closer. Her arms wrap around my waist and she’s no longer bouncing and jittery. “That was sweet. You’re great with your fans.”
I kiss her head. “Yeah, well, they’ve been really good to me.”
But will they ever forgive me for letting them down?
“He seemed pretty confident that you’d win the fight tomorrow.” Her voice is almost a whisper as her arms tighten around my waist.