Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

  After Max left, Casey sat in her room for long minutes smiling to herself. She immediately grabbed the pencil and paper and drew something she’d never drawn before. This time, it wasn’t a picture of a person sitting alone looking at her. It wasn’t someone she’d like to make real and one day have a chance meet. And it certainly wasn’t a lost playground in a field empty of children.

  This time, she didn’t have to draw a face first then add a name to her memory. She was drawing from that memory, and the person’s name was Max.

  His tall body, marked with dark tattoos which travel down his arm, his kind eyes, and calm demeanor make her feel safe. Although only being in her room for a few minutes, she felt the years in this cell were merely a small, unwanted chapter in her young life, versus being the only chapter she clearly remembers.

  When he asked if she knew about the school she had drawn, she nodded then felt a saddening pain. She vaguely remembers having a few friends at one time. Their faces aren’t fresh in her mind. They’ve been replaced by new ones she’s created on paper.

  Her time at school was minimal. She’d missed more days than she’d attended. When teachers or kids would start to ask too many questions about her absences, her mom would move her to the next, where it would ultimately happen again. Sometimes, the school was far from home and her mom would be late in taking and picking her up.

  The teachers were always nice. They treated her with kid gloves, offering her special attention and sometimes keeping her away from the others. They were her friends, so as she thinks of them she understands her connection to Max. He cares about her as they did.

  The other kids, no matter where she attended, would make fun of her dirty clothes, fingernails, and hair.

  Max touched me.

  She felt his warm hand rest gently on the crown of her head. He wasn’t threatening to hurt her, or pulling her hair to get her moving in the direction he wanted her to go. He wasn’t doing anything her own mother would do. Most importantly, to her, he didn’t seem disgusted, offended, or taken back by her appearance.

  He doesn’t scare me at all, she thinks as she holds the sketch up and stares at it thoughtfully.

  He’ll really like this one.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The knocking at the door is pointless. My hand reaches the knob before Aimes can finish trying to get my attention from the other side of it.

  Swinging my apartment door open, his large body stands alert and ready for my reaction. His thick, long, dark hair looks out of place. His generally tan skin burns red from his apparent angry disposition.

  I don’t give a fuck about Aimes’s mood.

  Pushing past him and forcing my way into the hall, I find Emma leaning against the wall near my apartment door. Her purse hangs from her shoulder, her arms crossed around her middle. She’s looking down at her feet and the wall behind her appears to be holding her up.

  “Em?”

  Turning her head towards me, she looks past my shoulder to Aimes, who stands at my back.

  “She’s eaten,” he tells me. “She’s okay, but do you want me to come in?”

  “For a few minutes,” I return.

  I’d rather he not, but I need to talk to him briefly before being alone with her.

  Once we’re all inside, Em makes a straight line to the chair in the corner of the living room, which sits across from my couch. Once there, she takes a seat and slips off her shoes. Her face isn’t as bad as I’d imagined it would be.

  Thank fucking God.

  “Can’t stay but a second, but she’s got enough clothes in the bag I had her pack before we took her with us.” Aimes hands me a red gym bag; its weight tells me Em’s left her husband for good.

  “Thank you,” I return, walking into the kitchen and nodding at him to follow.

  Leaning my body against the counter and watching Em sit quietly while looking at her phone, I ask Aimes, “What happened?”

  “After Luke called, I talked to Lelow. We decided we’d do a drive by her house. It’s locked up so tight, no one gets in . . .”

  “Lelow,” I state.

  That son of a bitch can hack just about anything. The harder it is to break into, the harder he tries and the more excited he gets once he’s done it.

  “Yeah. It was dark and there weren’t any lights on. We didn’t figure anyone was home, but tried anyway. When we got to the door, we waited for Greg to answer. Thought for sure it’d be him.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Nope. It was Em. She looked like she’d been crying, so Low smooth-talked your girl into letting us come inside.”

  My girl.

  “She refused at first, but then gave up her front and let us pass. Greg wasn’t there anymore, so Low kept her talking while I cased the place.”

  “And?”

  “And it looked like World War Three in there, brother. Tables turned over, couch cushions tossed around. Em looks broken, Max, but she’s not. He got in a few good slaps to her face, but other than that, I think she’s physically okay. She’s a little shaken on the inside, though.”

  I take in a calming breath. “How long have you had her?”

  “Not long.”

  My face gets warm, I feel my lips tighten, and my body tenses. “You should’ve fuckin’ called me the second you knew something was wrong.”

  Calmly, as only Aimes can be, he shakes his head before responding, “Her request, not mine. She’d been through a lot, so I agreed with her that we’d wait ’til she’d regrouped. She knows you, Max. She didn’t expect you’d give her much time once you knew.”

  “No, goddamn it, I wouldn’t,” I admit.

  “Anyway, Low’s looking for Greg now. He’ll turn up, and we’ll handle it. Your girl want to press charges?”

  My girl.

  “No,” Em states from behind Aimes.

  Our heads turn in her direction, where she’s leaning against the wall. Her face is red from tears with only a mild bruise under her left eye. Her lip is just slightly swollen. She didn’t take too much of a beating; the one Greg will get will sure as fuck be much worse.

  He’ll get exactly what he deserves.

  “I don’t want to press charges. It’s done, and I’m okay.”

  Lifting my body from the counter, I walk to her and carefully run my finger over her bruised face. She doesn’t flinch or cower.

  “What do you want, Em?” I ask quietly, almost a whisper.

  A small look of worry crosses her features, but Aimes and I hear her only request. “A divorce.”

  “That’s easy, Emma,” Aimes tells her. “But I gotta tell ya . . . I’m not satisfied with only that, and neither is Max. I’m talkin’ to Greg.”

  “When you talk to him,” I reiterate. “Tell him I said hello.”

  “Can do,” Aimes returns, eyes on me. “Can I fuck him up?”

  “No!” Em snaps. “Jesus, that gets you in trouble.”

  “Not if I do it right,” Aimes expresses lightly.

  Grabbing Em’s hands, I don’t feel the shake I had expected. She’s calm.

  Good girl.

  “I don’t want either of you to do anything. I said I’m fine,” she pleads.

  “It could’ve been a fuck of a lot worse, Em,” Aimes tell her. “He wasn’t living there anymore. There will be no more surprise visits.”

  “But it wasn’t worse, and he’s gone. Let this go.”

  “Won’t happen,” I put in.

  “You’re both freaking me out.”

  Smiling, Aimes says, “Then don’t pay attention because as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t get to walk away.”

  “C’mere, Em,” I call to her when she looks away.

  “No,” she returns sharply.

  Pissed.

  Aimes interrupts her annoyed stance, breaking the tension with his invitation. “I’ll check in later. Goin’ to meet Low and Tommy for a drink. You guys wanna come by?”

  I look at Em, who turns to Aimes and says, “No, I’
ll have a drink here. Thank you for all your help.”

  Walking past her, Aimes gets in my way, forcing me to take a step back. He bends slightly and grabs Em’s face in his hands. She winces when he pulls, but he continues. I stand close, waiting for him to step out of bounds and piss me the fuck off.

  “You’re gonna be fine. You’re a little ass-kicker. I’ll take care of the rest. You stay here with dumbass, keep his shit straight for me.”

  She smiles enough that it reaches her eyes as he kisses her forehead and walks away. I follow and Em stays where she is.

  “What about Owen?” Em calls out to Aimes.

  “I’ll keep him. He’s probably chewing up every piece of my furniture right now, but he can stay with me ’til you figure out what you’re gonna do.”

  “Thank you,” she exhales. “He’s a good boy,” she finishes with relief.

  Aimes nods and once we get to the door, he turns to me and whispers, “So, can I fuck him up?”

  “Is it important to you?” I ask.

  Raising his chin and standing tall, he says, “It is, if it is to you. He hurt her. I think he’s earned it.”

  “Don’t leave marks where people can see them, and don’t brag about it around town.”

  His eyebrows rise in mischief. “So, you’re telling me to get creative.”

  “Very.”

  A small voice from behind me breaks in and surprises us both, “I can hear you two scheming. You’re worse than high school boys, and you’re not nearly as cute.”

  “This doesn’t offend me,” Aimes tells her before opening the door and stepping through it.

  I laugh as she says, “I didn’t think it would.”

  * * *

  Leaning my body against the door Aimes shut seconds ago, I stare at Em. My hands are braced behind me. If I leave them unrestrained, they’ll act on their own accord and grab her with more force than I’d mean to.

  The entire hour I waited for Em to get here was excruciatingly painful.

  The anger stirring inside, knowing Aimes, of all people, had her with him, fuels a possessive fury I’ve never known before when it came to women. The ache to touch her, guard and protect her, was powerful, and I didn’t know what to do with the frustration I felt wanting to be near her.

  Aside from knowing Greg had taken his hands to her, and knowing she was in some ways damaged, whether physically or emotionally, I still fucking wanted her—in my house, in my bed, in my possession.

  “Are you going to say something?” she asks with hesitance.

  The red welt on her cheek stares at me cruelly, reminding me that another man, her husband, violently touched what I’ve always wanted to claim as mine.

  “No, Em. I’m not.”

  “Are you going to stand there against the door for much longer? I’m not going to run away, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “No, it’s not,” I tell her. “You’re not going away again. Not ever.”

  Her face gets serious, her eyes darting around the room then coming back to mine. “Max,” she whispers on a breath. “Can you say something?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Em, if I let go of my back against this door, I’m comin’ at you,” I tell her and watch her eyes widen. “When I say I’m comin’ at you, I mean once I do, I won’t stop until you’re under me, begging me to stop so you can catch your breath.”

  She inhales a breath, deep and restless. Her hands and arms fall to her sides as she stands waiting for what I’ll do or say next. Her breathing, judging by her rapidly moving chest, is becoming labored.

  “C’mere, Em,” I order.

  Ignoring my request, she asks, “Are you upset?”

  “C’mere, Em,” I repeat, this time louder and with more force.

  Walking to me slowly, her long, dark hair drapes over her face and she uses her fingers to place it behind her ear. I’d love nothing more than to fuck her the way I mean to, the way I’ve wanted to. I’ve thought of pulling her hair, biting her soft skin, pushing myself inside her and forcing her to accept me as I am, but I can’t. She’s been through a tough time. I’ll maintain control.

  As much as I’m able to.

  Once standing in front of me, close enough I can smell her breath and skin, she stares up at me and her dark brown eyes glaze over.

  She wants this.

  “I’m goin’ to fuck you, Em. Hard and heavy, and it’ll be quick the first time. Then I’m not letting you out of here until I’ve had my fill of you. And so there’s no surprises, you should know that could take a while.”

  Her breath catches and her mouth drops open, then shuts. She’s studying my bare chest, and from here I see her focus on my piercings.

  “I want to take you without anything between us. So, I need you to tell me right now if you have any problems with that.”

  Shaking her head, she voices her answer. “No,” she says softly, “I’m on the pill.”

  With a mild, thankful relief, I tell her, “Then take off your clothes.”

  Looking around the apartment, the lights glow from wall to wall. In front of us is a large window without coverings. She turns her back to me to observe it, and for a second, I think she’ll deny me this.

  I’m not moving to the bedroom. There’s no time.

  “Em?” I prod her with urgency.

  With her back still to me and the open view of the cars passing on the highway from the balcony window, I watch Em’s arms come up in the reflection. I inhale a breath when I see her start to unbutton her shirt.

  It’s achingly painful to witness.

  My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans, willing my hands to free it. I don’t take my eyes off our reflection and I see myself unzip them while standing a few feet behind her. Her hands remove her shirt and it falls to the floor in a silent rush before they move to her back and skillfully unhook her bra. Next, I get a full view of her perfect, round, curvy chest through the window, and I plead with myself to stay in place. The zipper of her jeans teases my senses, knowing they’re wrapped around her wet flesh beneath them.

  Bending at the waist, she removes the jeans; her perfect creamy ass begs to be slapped and reddened under my palm. Standing straight after she’s taken them off, she turns around and faces me.

  The sight of her leaves me breathless.

  “Now, come over and undress me.”

  Her eyes narrow at my request, realizing it wasn’t a suggestion. She stays in her place and her face flushes.

  “Em, I could stare at your naked skin all night, but it’d be a pity to waste the time when I could be tasting it.”

  Her legs move and pick up speed the closer she gets to me. Her lips crash into mine, her tongue searching my mouth. She’s controlling the force of our movements and she’s pushing her body in to me with all the strength she’s got.

  Swallowing her moan, my hand clutches the back of her head and I tug her hair harshly. She doesn’t slow her assault on my mouth. Instead, her other hand moves to my jeans and she reaches between us, finding my cock hard and ready.

  Pulling back and forcing me to let go of her, her eyes blaze in heated passion.

  “Don’t stop, Em. Do what feels right.”

  Both hands line up at each hip and she tugs to get the jeans down. Positioning herself on her knees, she looks up at me while tossing them to the side. Once they’re gone, both of her hands move to my cock. Her tongue licks the tip and I’m forced to tilt my head, slamming it into the door behind me.

  “Christ,” I hiss.

  Sensing my resolve is weakening, she pulls me further into her mouth until my tip feels the back of her throat again and again. My hand moves to the back of her head, pulling her up and down with my momentum. Drawing in and out, again and again, my gut clenches; my body wants release.

  “Fuck, Emma. Take it,” I beg.

  Just as I’m about to come undone, I open my eyes and look in the window’s reflection. Emma on her knees, her mouth wrapped around my cock
, and my hand in her hair; the image is too fucking much.

  Dropping my gaze and watching her work me in and out at a rapid pace, I push her head back far enough she lets me go and looks up with a confused expression. Bending slightly, I help her stand and prod her toward the couch. My large hand pushes on her ass, and I bend her over the back of it.

  “Look at us,” I tell her, whispering in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to watch while I’m doing it.”

  Turning her head toward me, I give her a smile. Her eyes, still blazing, widen slightly. Her mouth opens and I thrust into her, sliding my tongue inside her mouth at the same time my hand moves between her thighs, forcing them apart.

  Her deep moan as my cock invades her tight wet pussy is swallowed by my mouth on hers.

  After a few thrusts, she looks straight ahead and finally notices the reflection in the glass. Her hands brace on the back of the couch and I continue to relentlessly pound into her. Her chest shakes with my movement. My hand reaches to her front and slides through her wetness, bringing more to her swollen clit. My finger circles the sensitive area around it then assaults the clit itself, spinning her into a maddening fury of release.

  “You are so fuckin’ beautiful when you come on my cock, Em,” I whisper, still thrusting into her body, holding her hair in my hand as our eyes meet across the room in the window’s reflection.

  “Max,” she whispers, tightening her grip around me, making it harder to push in and pull out.

  “You’re in my bed now. You’re staying with me.”

  “Max,” she says again. This time, her body starts trembling.

  “Let me hear you come again, Em.”

  “Yes,” she says, gripping the couch near her waist.

  I can’t hold out any longer. A look at our reflection is my undoing. She’s staring at me, and the familiarity of her takes up the room. Leaning down, I lick her neck, tasting the sweet sweat sheening her skin.

  I thrust for the last time and release everything I have. She stills against me as I do and rests her head back onto my shoulder.

  Once the shudders of my body subside, I don’t withdraw. Kissing her temple and laying my hands over hers as they continue to hold the couch for balance, I quietly tell her, “I’ve thought about having you for so fuckin’ long, Em. We fit.”