by Jo Raven
Her face fills my vision, and I think I hear her laughter, and music, and I’m floating on a cloud, light and free and happy.
Then I jerk awake once more, cursing, my phone vibrating in my pocket. Unknown number, the words flash on the screen, and I stare at them a moment too long before I click connect.
“Yeah?” I rasp. My throat is dry. “Who is this?”
“It’s Kayla.” Her bright voice fills my head and the room and the world. “I was wondering if you wanted more soup. And help. I could come right over, if you need me.”
“I…” My lungs fail me. My brain freezes. She’s offering to help me, to be here for me, despite the godawful way I treated her in my desperate anger.
Silence stretches like a tightrope between us.
“Just say yes,” she whispers. “If you want me to come over.”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
The tension breaks. I can almost hear the crack.
“Okay then.” She laughs softly. “Be there soon.”
***
She knocks on the door, so softly at first I’m not sure I heard it. It’s eight in the morning, and she’s right here, stepping inside my apartment, her red hair caught in pigtails, her dress green, her boots black. Her mouth curls into a quick smile.
She’s like a ray of sunshine.
“Good morning.” She lifts a brown bag. “Breakfast?”
I step aside to let her in, still kinda stunned that she came. With breakfast. That she called and asked and offered…
Nah, maybe I’m still dreaming.
But she wanders into the living room, bends over Jason’s curled-up form and a flash of sadness passes over her expressive face. She pulls up the blanket a little higher, pats Jason’s hair.
The sting in my chest at the affectionate gesture is unexpected. I rub my hand over my thumping heart, not sure what it means.
Then she heads toward the kitchenette, her heels clicking faintly on the linoleum, and I follow her.
She’s taking tall Styrofoam cups out of the bag, and the smell of coffee and cinnamon is like a wake-up call zinging through my system.
Then she takes out donuts, and my mouth waters. It’s the combination, I think hazily, of the sugary smell and her pretty curves in my kitchen. She’s shrugged off her coat, and I can see how the green dress hugs her body, tracing her pert ass and her round tits so perfectly I can almost feel them under my hands.
The image of her dark nipples under my fingertips isn’t one I’m gonna be forgetting any time soon. Or her mouth against mine.
“I got you a sugar-sprinkled one,” she says, and the words hang in the air without meaning, like strange birds or falling stars.
“What?”
“Your donut. Seth said you prefer plain sugar-sprinkled donuts. Right?”
“Thanks.” Seth remembered that? She asked him about my donut preferences?
It’s too hot in here. Must be why my eyes are burning. It’s just that, fuck, I can’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me.
“Look, Kay,” I say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, that was fucking unforgivable—”
“I’m sorry,” she starts at the same time, “I shouldn’t have barged into your bedroom. I should—”
We both stop.
She looks good enough to eat and lick all over, like a piece of cherry candy. I lick my lips, and right on cue, my dick goes diamond hard in my pants.
Jesus Christ. Don’t know what the fuck’s happening. She’s like a line of lightning, zapping my nerve endings, making every part of me clench with need.
“This keeps happening,” she says, a grin spreading on her face. “Us talking at the same time.”
“It does?” For some reason my lips twitch. It happens when she’s around, even nowadays when there’s little to smile about.
“Uh-huh. I have no filter on my mouth sometimes, and say stupid stuff, but my memory works fine.”
“Stupid stuff, huh? Like saying you had a crush on me?”
She starts, and I wince.
With a silent groan, I lean back against the counter and fold my arms over my chest. Guess who’s the one without a filter now. “Kay…”
Her cheeks are turning crimson. She puts one of the Styrofoam cups next to me. “Yeah. That’s part of the non-filter thing.” And before I process this tidbit of info and decide what it means—she does have a crush on me, or not?—she changes the subject. “Will you tell me why you were so upset when I came into your bedroom?”
I shake my head, because no way am I telling her, and yet my mouth says, “My brother.”
“What did he say to you?”
“To stop calling him. To leave him in peace. That I fucked up so badly I can never make up for it. He tells me that every Friday when I call to check on him. Well, the few times he answers the phone.” Stop, mouth. Stop talking. “He’s right.”
“He says that to you?” Her eyes are round like coins and dark as she turns toward me, the red leaching from her cheeks. “Seriously?”
“He hates me. Keeps running away. Doesn’t want me calling. Won’t visit our mom, and she’s so sick, but he won’t fucking believe me, or even listen, and I…” I can’t catch my breath. I push off the counter, lean against the door. “Fuck, I don’t know what else to do.”
Oh God. God, why can’t I stop talking?
“He can’t hate you. He’s your brother. I can’t believe you did anything bad enough to deserve that.”
Laughter tears up my throat. It hurts. “Shit. You don’t know me, Kay. You know nothing about me.”
Her gaze falls away, and her mouth turns down at the corners. “Then tell me.”
She looks hurt. Dammit, I’m doing it again. Snapping at her when she’s being nice.
The bitter laughter dies in my throat. I push off the door and grab the plastic up, open it, and gulp down the coffee, let it scald my mouth.
Need to stop talking, stop laughing. I sound too damn cheery for someone responsible for the death of his brother’s girlfriend, a girl I helped raise like a younger sister. No matter what I do, I’ll never be redeemed, and I know it.
***
“Why don’t you go catch some sleep?”
I look up from where I’m hunched over my coffee at the kitchen table, blinking blearily. “Huh?”
I could have sworn I was at Damage Control and talking to Raine. He was there, for some obscure reason, and telling me to get lost.
Same old.
“Go to bed. Shoo.” She smiles, and I’m left staring. God, she’s more beautiful every time I look at her. Am I losing my mind? “I’ll take watch. I’ll wake you up if there’s need, I promise.”
“Kay, I’m a dick to you all the time.” There goes my mouth again, doing its own thing. “Why are you even here? Why are you sticking around?”
She leans over me—strawberry and apple scent, so sweet—and cups my cheek. “I told you. You’re pretty.”
For some reason, that makes my mouth twitch into a half-smile. Again, dammit. “Funny.”
“Pretty and tired, and I told you, I’m here to help out. So let me. We’re friends. Right?”
I nod, push myself upright. Friends. Even if I want more, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one bright light I can see, the one warm flame. She can’t know where I’m coming from, the things I’ve done, the hot mess my life is, and I can’t lose her.
And yet when I look down at her upturned face, I need to give something back.
“My brother’s name is Raine,” I begin, and she gives me a blank look. “My family name is Storm. My mom apparently thought it was hilarious. Ocean for me. Raine for my brother.”
I see her make the connection in her head. “Ocean Storm,” she whispers. “And Raine Storm. Holy crap, that’s… cruel. Was she a hippie or something?”
A hippie. That would have been fun, maybe. But in fact, the name was the least of our problems as we grew up in the trailer park—and that wasn’t my point. My point was…
Fuck. Don’t know what my point was, or why I thought I could talk about my parents to her, not unless I’m prepared to tell her the whole sordid story, and I’m not.
Can’t explain it to her without telling her more, and the longer I stick around her, the more trouble my big mouth will get me in.
So I turn around and walk out of the kitchen. Go to bed, she told me. That’s what I’m gonna do. After a few winks, things will be clearer. Have to be. And my mouth and body will be back under control.
I like her. Really like her, and how she makes me feel. That she came here to help me, take care of me.
Problem is, I like her too much. I want to let her in, let her come close, and that will never happen. She doesn’t know about my past, about what I’ve done and what I need to do.
I can’t afford to like anyone as much as I’m starting to like Kayla.
This is dangerous stuff.
Unbuckling my boots, I fall into my bed. My head barely hits the pillow before I’m tumbling into dreams and shifting darkness. Drowning in memories, real and imagined, in horrors that happened or may happen still.
Fucking nightmares and deep dark lakes of stillness where you hover while waiting for the end. The judgment. The accident that will take everything away again. The failure to save those you swore to save—the money hidden under the mattress stolen, the getaway car broken down, my old man blocking the door, a deck of cards floating around him, burning.
The black water closes over my head. It’s cold, and I’m shivering, and trying to breathe, but I can’t, a howl lodged in my chest like a stone.
Until a voice seeps through the fear, calling my name. Gasping, I surface. It happens by degrees, one rasping breath at a time.
There’s a slight weight on my chest, like that of a small bird. I remember holding one as a child, a sparrow Raine and I had found outside the trailer.
But when I open my eyes and look down, I find her hand, and her body curled up beside me. She’s gazing at me, somber and quiet, her mouth like a flower bud.
I lift my hand to her face, to her satiny skin, stroke an errand stand of red hair off her face, and it’s so soft my whole body turns toward her, burning.
Need her. Need her like she’s my next breath of air. She’s burrowing under my skin. Warming me to my bones. Making my blood hum.
She starts to pull away, and I panic. Not ready for her to go. I just need a distraction from the dreams and the worry, I tell myself, and I know I’m lying.
It’s more than that, this need for her, so much more, but if I sit back and think about it any harder, the panic I’ve been barely staving off is sure to pull me under.
“Kay,” I whisper her name, and she stills. When I lean closer, she shivers. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Her lips part, and I can’t help but kiss her, falling into her, losing myself in her.
So sweet, toffee and strawberry and cream. A groan rises in my throat. Need her. Need more. I shouldn’t be kissing her, wanting her, I really fucking shouldn’t, but there’s no way in hell I can stop now.
Chapter Nine
Kayla
He’s kissing me, his mouth hot and demanding, his hand sliding up my face, slipping into my hair.
Missed his mouth on mine, I realize, and God, he tastes good, like licorice and dark, salty caramel.
No guy has the right to taste and smell so good after waking up from a bad dream, drenched in sweat. A dream I came in to wake him up from. He’d been shouting in his sleep, twisting on the bed, his hands curled into tight fists on top of the covers.
And now his lips are over mine, rough and soft like raw silk.
Like him.
I lift my hand to his face without conscious thought. His stubble is rough under my palm. He runs his tongue over my teeth, over the roof of my mouth, and fire spreads down my body.
My brain fizzles out. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want this. Kissing him again has been on my mind since that first time in his kitchenette. But a tiny part of my sluggish brain whispers that this isn’t such a good idea.
Because running my hands over some serious man-candy like Ocean is cool. Kissing him once and bragging to my friends is okay—though I just realized I didn’t brag about it. Weird.
Anyway, copping a feel could be filed under “man-candy reconnaissance,” but a repeat? That’s like stepping into a minefield. I’m here as a friend, right? Are we friends? Are we something more?
Something less?
Then he swipes his tongue over mine, sending electric sparks over my skin, and the thought fizzles out. He shifts so that he pins me down on the bed and presses his body to mine.
Oh God, yes. So good, better than I imagined. Can’t think when it’s Ocean kissing me, touching me, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met. I can’t hold back anymore. All my doubts and questions and fears fade in the onslaught of desire. I’ve wanted into his pants for months now.
Heck, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him from the moment I met him—but he never seemed to care, so I’d convinced myself I didn’t care, either.
I reach up, tangle my fingers in his blue hair, soft like feather down, and arch up against him. He gasps against my lips and breaks the kiss.
Before I can protest, just as I start tugging lightly on his soft hair, he lays his body right on top of mine, long and strong and hard, propping his elbows on either side of my head, hedging me in.
Looking down at me, his blue eyes wide, his face soft with wonder, like I’m a hallucination. Or like he’s still asleep. Still dreaming.
“Fuck, Kay, you’re…” But he never tells me what I am because he dives for my mouth, invading my senses, and his body moves over mine, a heavy, hot wave.
He licks, bites and sucks on my lips until I’m writhing underneath him, my hands holding on to his lean waist, his rocking hips. He pulls back only to bow his head to my neck. He sucks on my skin, and it sends bolts of need down to my core.
“Need you,” he breathes against my wet skin, sending shivers skittering over my skin. His silky hair brushes my cheek. “Need to feel you.”
Oh God, yes.
He lifts a hand off the mattress and pushes my sweater up, his rough palm slipping under my blouse and brushing over my skin, finding my boob and cupping it. His thumb finds my hardened nipple and flicks over it, wrenching keening sounds from my throat.
His breath catches. He knees my legs apart, pressing between them, his hardness against my softness, and pushes my sweater and blouse all the way up, pulling them off me.
My hair spills around me, and he lifts a strand to his face, inhaling. “Fuck, so damn sweet.” He releases it and leans over me, his hand deftly burrowing between us, lifting my skirt, finding my panties.
My heart is pounding. My pulse is throbbing between my legs. I could stop him now, before anything else happens. Say I changed my mind.
But his hand only rests over my panties, over my seam, a warm weight. His eyes have darkened to a midnight blue. A flame plays in their centers.
I want him to do dirty things to me. Dirtier things. And I want to undress him and touch every inch of that muscular body, run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his lean hips. I want him, dammit.
Yes, I know I shouldn’t. We’ve already established this means nothing to him—and should mean nothing to me—but thinking about it is one thing, and having him pressed to me is something different entirely.
His lips ghost over my shoulder, trail down my chest. “I’m gonna put my mouth on you,” he says, his words puffs of warm air tickling me. “Taste you. Lick you until you come so hard you lose control.”
His fingers quest under my skirt, inside my panties, parting my seam, stroking my clit. Fire spills inside me.
“Please,” I whisper, lost, “please.”
He growls in reply, a deep and low sound that I feel everywhere, a vibration that flows through his body into mine. I arch helplessly against him as he licks one nipple, then the other,
over the flimsy material of my bra, then lower, down my belly. Every stroke of his rough tongue ignites small fiery bursts deep inside me.
He tugs my panties down and lifts a brow, a grin pulling at his wide mouth. It transfixes me. So open and bright, it makes all the grins and smiles of the past seem like pale imitations, fake masks.
Then he buries his face between my legs and the world explodes, sparkling away. His tongue does wicked things to me, licking along my seam, flicking over my aching clit, stabbing into me until my hips are coming off the mattress and my hands are clutching handfuls of his quilt. He has me moaning and panting, his hands holding my hips down as he takes his time torturing me, teasing me, making me lose my mind.
God. Feels so good. Never had a guy do this to me before. Never, and this is Ocean, holy crap, it’s him, his broad shoulders towering over my legs, his crazy blue hair shining. The boy I’ve been fantasizing about, the boy I thought didn’t want me, the hottest tattoo artist of Damage Control.
Hottest boy ever. And I… My breath hitches. The pleasure is burning me from the inside out, pulsing in my core. I won’t last, I can feel the pressure coiling tighter in my belly, a ball of painful need.
His tongue circles my clit, an eddy of mounting urgency. His stubble scratches the insides of my thighs, a dark counterpoint, and my pussy clenches so hard I cry out.
The wave breaks, and the tide rolls through me, taking me under. Pleasure bursts inside my core and spreads, filling me up.
Oh God… My head flops back on the bed as I pant, my lungs too small, my pulse fluttering, trapped in my throat. My body’s limp and warm and pliant, all tension gone.
He lifts his tousled head, eyes gleaming, and licks his lips. “Fucking sweet.” He watches me through heavy-lidded eyes. “Think I got a sugar rush.”
I snicker, a glow of a different kind of pleasure spreading through me. “Bullcrap.”
“Wanna taste yourself?”
I’m not sure I do—never have—but he crawls up over me and leans in, and we kiss. My hands slide up his strong shoulders to tangle in his hair. I taste myself on his tongue and lips—salty, sweet, musky.