Slammed

by Skyla Madi

  “Chloe’s hungry and I don’t really want to pull my breast out in the middle of a park,” Olivia announces as her white sneaker touches the court. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I chime in with a smile before Seth can answer her. “Flop it out. I don’t mind.”

  Seth glares at me from over his shoulder, his jaw tightening. I roll my eyes. He should know me better. I’d never take another man’s girl—especially his. I’ve been on the receiving end of Seth’s rage once and I don’t really want to end up there again. It turns out broken ribs hurt like a motherfucker.

  “You’re so charming, Jackson,” she deadpans, flicking her braid over her shoulder and pushing Chloe’s weight on her hip.

  Chloe looks down at me and smiles widely, exposing nothing but pink gum. I smile back when I feel my heart swell in my chest.

  “Chloe thinks I’m charming,” I reply, leaning back on my elbows.

  “She smiles at your goofy face, not your charm,” Seth says, reaching out and pulling her from Olivia’s arms. Chloe fusses in his embrace, screwing her cute, chubby face up and crying out in frustration. He cradles her face into his shoulder, soothing her. “I know, Honey. His face terrifies me, too.”

  “I think it terrifies most women,” Olivia adds and they both chuckle like idiots.

  “Ha. Ha,” I deadpan. “You’re both hilarious.”

  With a soft tap, Seth kicks the ball in my direction and it rolls to a slow stop by my ribs. He has a look on his face, one that bears the force of our previous conversation. The one about Selena. I give him a slight nod and his eyebrows smooth out, taking years off his age.

  “I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow, yeah?” he asks and I shake my head.

  “Can’t. I’ve got things I need to do.”

  It’s a lie. I don’t have things I need to do, I just can’t stomach the thought of going back there and reliving the memory—or experiencing the trauma of seeing Amelia again. It’s funny how one person can turn a safe haven into hell. I’d rather train alone in my small apartment than risk seeing Amelia again.

  “All right, well, I’ll give you a call in a day or two.”

  I flick my head in his direction. “All right, man. Catch you later.”

  Olivia offers a small wave and a polite smile as they turn and head for the road. I watch them, not really focusing on anything in particular. I become mesmerized by the way they smile and laugh at each other, genuinely enjoying each other’s company. I angle my head. Maybe I long for that; with Amelia, it was constant shit—a big heap of it, one after the other. And with Selena, it’s constant argument. I want to be happy with her, to joke and laugh like we used to when we met, but somehow, things don’t run as smoothly between us as they once did. I think it’s because I know how strongly she feels for me and hear how often she voices it. But I’m too much of a coward to express my feelings for her because I’m terrified. If you don’t start up a relationship, it can’t end.

  I keep my attention on Seth and his family as they put a crying Chloe into her car seat and hand her toys to keep her happy until they make it home. It’s then I realize Selena is the only thing I truly have. I have no family. I have nothing that is truly mine. I had Seth and his friendship, and I still do, but his family will always come first. Darryl is someone I call friend, but he’s more Seth’s than mine, and we rarely see eye to eye. Selena is it. Realistically, she’s my best friend…the only one I can trust with all of my secrets. With a sigh, I fish my phone out of my deep pockets and unlock the screen. I swiftly search my contacts until I reach her name. I stare at it for a little while, barely hearing Seth’s horn as he drives off. When my screen darkens, threatening to lock again, I tap her name and the little phone call button. I roll onto my side and hold the phone to my ear. The phone rings, ring after ring, until the last possible second.

  “Hello?”

  I feel my lips curl upwards at the sound of her voice. Surprisingly, she doesn’t sound sad, angry or confused. She seems…relieved. Even so, it took her a long time to answer her phone and I know she was pondering whether to answer it or not. I guess it doesn’t matter. She answered in the end.

  “Hey. What are you up to?” I ask, figuring if I start off on a casual note before inviting her to a place like the underground it will increase the odds of a ‘yes’ answer. It’s funny, when Seth suggested I invite her, it was the last thing I wanted. Now, I feel like I can’t do it without her.

  “Nothing much. I’m currently shopping for a dress.”

  “A dress?”

  There’s a brief moment of hesitation before she says, “I’m going out tonight with some friends.”

  “Oh.” My brow furrows at the thought of all the short dresses she can choose from. “Right.”

  “If you want to do something, I can cancel?”

  Despite the minimal hint of hope in her voice, I prefer to play it casual. Still, the image of her drinking with her friends and being hit on by random, drunk assholes winds me up the more I think of it.

  “No. I was just calling to see how you’re doing,” I lie.

  I’m thrown off my initial purpose by clouded thoughts of Selena taking someone else home with her.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “How are you?”

  “Good.” I cringe at the stilted conversation. It’s not how I pictured this call to go.

  “C’mon, Selena.” I hear a husky, masculine voice shout in the background followed by an unfamiliar feminine giggle. “We’re hungry.”

  “I gotta go,” Selena quickly says and then pauses like the weight of the words on her tongue are too heavy to push off. “I’ll see you sometime soon though, right?”

  I feel my lips twitch at the corners. At least she wants to see me again. That’s a plus.

  “Very soon,” I confirm as a new approach begins to formulate in my head.

  With a content ‘bye,’ Selena hangs up and I drop my phone into my other hand. I sit, pondering my next course of action. Selena seems to enjoy Lux’s lounge bar so it’s only natural that’s where she’ll go first…

  And so will I.

  Selena

  I gasp as a large shoulder dips low and crashes into my hands, spilling my drink down the front of my brand new dress. The bourbon is cold, but it's nothing compared to the rogue piece of ice that managed to jump out of the cup and straight into my cleavage. I shiver as it melts, my mouth still wide open and shocked. The brute who slammed into me regains his balance—barely—and grasps me by the shoulder. He speaks, but it makes no sense. I think I hear a sorry, I even think I hear a comment about the white dress sticking to my bare breasts. Ugh. I shrug out from under his grasp and turn away. Behind me, another sorry is shouted and a woman shrieks. It’s not long before security tosses him out onto his ass.

  I glance around the club, looking for a space in one of the three bathroom lines. No such luck. I guess I have no choice. The bourbon is going to have to dry on the dress.

  As I squeeze through the crowd, I lower my semi-empty glass onto a random table. The mood to drink has left me. My friends dance and drink like they have no care in the world and here I stand, alone, thinking about the one person who probably isn’t thinking of me. It’s taken a lot of strength on my part not to go around and see him these past few days. I don’t want to appear too needy, though his presence is all I want. He’s all I think about and it’s fucking agony. I thought a night out would help, but it hasn’t. I keep thinking I see him hiding among the crowd, watching me. That’s how sad I’ve become. As strange and as utterly depressing as it sounds, the thought of him being here is all that’s keeping me from leaving. If it is him I keep seeing, I want him to approach me. To come find me. With an exhale, I turn and head back in the direction of the bar. Suddenly, I wish I didn’t let go of my drink. There’s no way I’m going to get through the night without a belly full of spirits and if Jackson is here, he’s going to kick my ass for it.

  I lean across the bar and shout my ord
er into the bartender’s ear. With a nod, she turns and fetches my order. I rest my weight against the bar, taking the pressure off of my ankles. Once again, I chose heels too high for the occasion, but I don’t blame the beige beauties. I lack self-control when it comes to shoes. They had to be worn.

  “Hey,” a warm voice blows against my ear.

  My hopes sky rocket, my heart falters and my lips curl into a smile I can’t fight. Slowly, I turn around but the face I’m met with isn’t the one I want. I feel my features fall as my stare settles on bushy eyebrows and chocolate irises. His attention, no longer kept on my face, fall to my boobs.

  “You’re leaking,” the drunk boy teases, his eyes flaring.

  Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “It’s bourbon, moron.”

  “Bourbon, you say?” His dark eyes flick between my breasts.

  “Yep. A total waste.”

  He smirks with a shrug of his large, broad shoulders. “I wouldn’t say it’s a total waste.”

  I angle my head, unsure of his angle. “You wouldn’t?”

  “There’s still time to save a few drops.”

  Bending low, he surges forward and grabs my hips.

  “What the fu—”

  His mouth attaches itself to my dress, and my nipple, and he sucks hard. I grip his shoulders and I push against him. It’s then a searing pain in my nipple stops me. “Ouch! You fuck!” I squeal, digging my nails in.

  Beside us, people cheer and slap his back. Some even appear to be getting in line for a turn after him. I’ve been to parties before where girls fill their white t-shirts with booze and have men suck it from the fabric, but this is not one of those times. I fill my hands with his hair and pull until he sucks a painful inhale through his lips and releases my breast. I angle his head in my direction, gritting my teeth against the pulse of my nipple.

  “Asshole!” I seethe through a clenched jaw.

  It only takes a second for his head to be torn from my hands and a distinct growl to force steel into my spine.

  Jackson.

  Forcing himself between me and the man with a mouth like a vacuum, Jackson squares his shoulders and pulls back his arm. I don’t have time to react before his clenched fist surges forward and connects with flesh. Even over the sound of the music, I hear bone connecting with bone and a bout of worry fused with excitement ignites inside me. Surrounding club goers cheer and squeal in fear, and behind me, I hear the bartender call in security over her radio.

  Reacting, I wrap my arms around Jackson’s waist as he surges forward to grab the stranger again. When he feels my arms, he stops and grips my wrist. I’m tugged forward as he unwraps my arms from him and pulls me onward. I stumble over my own heels, but manage to rectify myself before I fall flat on my face. I cringe as he pulls us through the crowd that barely separates in time for us to pass. Over my shoulder, I see security push through the crowd in pursuit of us. A wasted effort, really. We’re on our way out anyway.

  I catch a glimpse of my friend in the distance and make a quick mental note to send her a text when I get home. I turn back in Jackson’s direction and he glares at me over his shoulder. I swallow hard. If I get home. We make it to the entrance and the two security guards that man the doors eye us suspiciously.

  “We’re going,” Jackson announces, daring them to do something about it.

  The guards remain in their staunch poses until we’re well out the door and halfway down the line outside. My heels click rapidly over the concrete and every now and then, I feel them falter under the pace.

  “Jackson, stop,” I order, trying to pull my hand back.

  The last thing I want to do is snap the heels on my two hundred dollar shoes or break my ankle.

  “We’ll stop when we’re at the car.” His tone is filled with anger. I hate that I’m the only person around for him to direct it at.

  I pull against him, trying desperately to dig my heels in, but it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger than me and I slide along the sidewalk as if it were made of ice. Before long, I see his truck parked up and waiting. Jackson fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks it from a few yards away. When we reach it, he opens the back door and shoves me into the back seat before climbing inside and shutting the door behind him. I fall backwards slightly, until my back is pressed awkwardly against the arm rest on the other side and the back of my head on the window. It’s deathly quiet in here, compared to the sounds of the busy city outside. All I can hear is the unsteady sounds of our breathing. For minutes, neither of us say a word. Instead, we watch each other, waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence.

  I’m the first to break it. I always am. I brush the curls from my face and shift uncomfortably on the seat. “So, uh, thanks for that.”

  “Are you all right?” he asks, though it lacks any empathy.

  “I’m fine. It’s not exactly my first club fiasco.” His jaw tenses and I regret my words. Instead of correcting them, I clear my throat in hopes to change the subject. “You followed me,” I state with absolute certainty.

  Jackson likes partying just as much as I do, but without Seth, there’s no way he’d hit the clubs alone.

  “I did,” he replies, not attempting to deny it. “And I’m glad I did.”

  I knew it. Here I was thinking I was going crazy because I saw his face everywhere I turned. I was right. He was there…watching me for hours. The revelation should make me feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. Is that sick? I don’t even care.

  I push off of the door and slip closer to him. “Me too.”

  His scent fills the car, overtaking my smell of bourbon, smoke, and perfume. I take in his attire—the tight, black tee and loose, dark denim jeans with white sneakers to match. I’ve always loved the way Jackson dresses when he goes out. There’s something sexy about the casual way he dresses himself.

  I lean my head against the seat, close enough for my lips to graze his shoulder. After a few minutes, he exhales and turns his face to look at mine. “I’m mad at you.”

  “I know.”

  “Why’d you buy a dress that short and in white, of all colors?”

  I kiss his shoulder, unsatisfied with my lips touching fabric not flesh. “Because you like it when I wear white.” I kiss him again. “You like it when I show my legs.”

  His brows furrow accusingly. “But you had no idea you’d see me tonight.”

  My heart swells in my chest and for a reason unknown to me, I want to cry because I’m here with him. All of the wishes I made between his phone call this morning and now are slowly coming true, one by one.

  “I hoped I would,” I confess, pushing myself closer. “I chose everything in hopes of you showing up tonight.”

  Even my drinks. Jackson favors bourbon over any other drink, and when he’s not around, I like to drink it. It’s sad but while I drink, I imagine it’s his tongue that put the taste in my mouth. I see the internal struggle on Jackson’s face as he fights to decide whether to let it go or not. If he’s scouting for an apology, he won’t get one. I had no hand in what happened tonight, for once. I won’t apologize for being groped and sucked on against my will. In a way, I’m kind of glad it happened. I’m curious, would Jackson have approached me if it didn’t happen?

  Subtly, he drags a slow inhale through his nose and expels it through barely parted lips. Opening up, all lines of anger fall from his face, replaced by a stone wall of nothing. No anger. No relief. No happiness.

  I still as he reaches out, his hand moving slowly towards my alcohol-soaked dress. I hold my breath as the length of his index finger slides underneath my breast and his thumb presses ever so gently against my nipple. It strains against the cold fabric, eager to greet his thumb as he leisurely begins to tease it.

  “Did it feel good?” he asks, his dark irises flicking to mine.

  I don’t need him to clarify his meaning. He wants to know if I enjoyed having the stranger’s mouth on me. A car drives by at the same moment, illuminating his face and leaving half
of it in shadows.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Even with Jackson my nipples are a hard limit. I don’t like them sucked too hard, squeezed, pinched or bitten. The thought alone is enough to make me cringe. Jackson’s thumb slows in tempo, both soothing me and aggravating the pain further.

  “Can I make it feel good?”

  I frown. He’s asking for permission? I resist the urge to feel his forehead for a fever.

  I start to shake my head. “Jackson—”

  “I want you to trust me,” he says, cutting me off. This time, there’s no question in his tone. He’s going to put his mouth on me whether I want it or not. I search his eyes, looking for something. Reassurance, maybe? I contemplate bringing up the fact we’re parked on the side of a busy road at twelve a.m. but I quickly realize he won’t care. Public displays of ‘affection’ aren’t something that bothers him as much as it would others and the windows are dark enough. I wonder if it’s something he grew accustomed to with Amelia. The thought causes a heavy twist of jealousy to burrow through my stomach, but it’s swiftly peeled away, along with my dress, as Jackson pushes the straps off my shoulders, exposing the tops of my breasts. He turns in his seat, craning his face closer to my chest, and tugs the fabric down. My ample bust bounces free and my heart begins to kick up its pulses, threatening my very foundations. I grit my teeth and hold my breath, only to let it escape subtly through my nose. His dark eyes are trained on my nipple and a small smirk dances upon his lips before they open and the tip of his tongue slips out. The first touch sends a jolt of tingles through me and I gasp, digging my fingers into his black leather seats. A second later his mouth surrounds me, enveloping my nipple with hot, wet saliva and I find myself arching into him. It feels nice, the softness of his touch. I’ve never had it before. Now I’m experiencing it, it’s weird to think I found comfort in anything less than gentle. For so long I’ve indulged in sex the way he likes it. Maybe it’s time he tries it the way I like it. His tongue dances and swirls ever so softly over my hardened peak and I’m unable to take my eyes off his face. His eyes are closed, his face completely at peace. If it weren’t for his eager hands tightly gripping my thighs, I’d assume he wasn’t affected by the intimacy of his gesture. My heart swells at the thought of him wanting to make me feel good in a different way than I’m used to. I could be reading into it, but Jackson is a biter, not a licker. He fucks, he doesn’t tease or caress. Surely this has to mean something? His teeth graze over my nipple and, instinctively, my body tightens until he pulls them away with a short air of impatience, leaving only the smoothness of his tongue.