by Jo Raven
Weird. But not off-putting, and he obviously liked it.
His cock is thick against my thigh, long and heavy like an iron bar. I lift my hips a little as our tongues twine, pressing up against his hard-on, and he groans, a sound of pure need.
I want him naked, bared to me. In every way. I cup his hard jaw and pull back, his mouth releasing mine reluctantly with a soft pop.
He’s breathless. His eyes are super dark with desire, the blue swallowed by the pupil. He starts to sit up, and I follow him until we’re face-to-face again.
His T-shirt is stretched deliciously across that ripped chest, across his abs, showing off every ridge and hollow. His gaze dips from my face to my boobs, and I look down, too, belatedly remembering I’m naked from the waist up.
Oops.
“Pretty,” he says, and as if in reply, my nipples perk up again.
Come on, nipples. Never had a cute guy chat you up before?
Guess not.
“Now yours,” I say, my voice gone husky and low. How didn’t I see this one coming in the cards?
“Mine what?”
His eyes finally lift back to my face, a bewildered expression in them that makes me want to laugh hysterically. “Your man-boobs. I want to see them, too.”
“My man-boobs.” His voice cracks into a snort. “Seriously?”
“Never been more serious in my life. You’ve seen me naked. My turn.”
He nods solemnly, grabs the hem of his T-shirt. “Since I’ve already seen your muffins, I guess it’s only fair to let you see my man-boobs, and my mighty snake.”
Mighty snake. I swallow a laugh laced with excitement. “Wait. Did you just compare my boobs to muffins?”
“They’re sweet.” He smirks. “Don’t pout, Sweet Muffins. I love your tits. They’re perfect.”
“Sweet Muffins?” I glare at him, not sure I like the pet name, but then he starts pulling his T-shirt off, and I forget what I was going to say.
Damn…
Hot. The guy’s hot, not pretty. Hot and hard and muscular and inked, and oh my fucking God…
“You, uh.” I gesture at the upper torso of a Greek god, only with two huge, bad-ass tattoos covering parts of it—a snake and a skull. His abs ripple as he throws the T-shirt down on the bed. “Are, uh.”
There are no words.
“Are what?” He rubs a hand over his ribs, and I notice splotches of color there and across his chest—yellowish and green, some dark purple.
Bruises, and now I remember why. The car accident.
No idea why, but my throat goes tight, just like it did when I first saw them. Thinking he was in any sort of danger, any sort of pain, hits me straight to the heart.
Because we’re friends. Right? That’s the only explanation.
I clear my throat to hide the inexplicable emotion welling inside of me. “You’re only half-naked. You still have pants on. And socks. And underwear. And ink.”
One dark brow goes up. “You want me to take off my ink?”
A snicker escapes me. “Good God, no.”
His ink is hot—but it’s like secrets wrapped over his golden skin. I want to know what they’re hiding.
I lean in to stare at the snake trying to bite his right nipple and the skull on his left pec and get distracted. The reason I’m poking his pec with my finger is just to make sure it’s a real tattoo there and not some fake crap.
That’s right. I swear.
“What do they mean to you?” I whisper.
He draws a sharp breath. “The snake is the mark of Damage Control. Zane gave it to me when he picked me up from the street and made me his apprentice.”
“You were on the street? Why?”
He shrugs, sending more luscious muscles shifting and rippling. “My old man hates me. He kicked me out. That’s what the other tat is for.”
Kicked him out.
God…
And there it is. That gleam of darkness. That crack in his pretty boy façade that draws me like poisonous honey. Draws me in and makes my heart ache.
He is one of the Damage Control boys. Damage is their middle name. I should have guessed.
“What about that one?” I point at the smaller tattoo on the inside of his arm, the one he’s rubbing now, absently, like always, the one I glimpsed many times in the past but never thought to ask about.
Never thought it had a meaning. A winged being. An angel.
He blinks down at it, his hand stilling its movement, his face paling. Then a flush seeps into his cheekbones, and he shoots me a sharp, cocky grin as he straightens and reaches for his zipper.
Which is kind of distracting. Okay, a lot distracting. Because hey, the bulge at his crotch is pretty impressive. Almost as impressive as his taut, muscular chest.
And far more intriguing.
“This what you wanted?” he winks at me and starts pushing his pants down.
Holy shit, he’s going commando. Is he trying to kill me?
If he pushes his pants down one more inch, I’ll be saying hi to his naked snake. Cock. His obviously very big and hard cock, if that bulge is any indication.
Oh God. My face feels hot, and the throb between my legs returns.
Ridiculous. The guy went down on me not five minutes ago. He’s seen my muffins and tasted my pussy, so what if I see his—?
Holy shit. Wow.
He’s working his pants lower and lower, exposing his thick, hard cock inch by inch. I lick my lips, because my mouth has gone dry.
Yeah, I was right. That’s a hell of a big cock. This boy is packing a nuclear missile down there.
He’s still shoving his pants down. How big is that thing? Is this for real?
Good Lord, that’s so hot. Is it too hot in here? I have this sudden urge to fan myself.
Suddenly, his hard-on springs free and swings up, slapping his stomach. He jerks and groans, and I gasp.
Whoa.
His cock is as gorgeous as the rest of him. Big. Long. Golden, the head flushed and shiny, thick veins pulsing on the underside.
I bite back a moan. My mouth honest-to-God waters. I didn’t know I’d ever get so turned on by a guy’s dick. That I’d want to touch it, pet it, stroke it—and then lick it, take it in my mouth.
He reaches down, curls his fingers around the base, gives it a squeeze. So sexy, the way his big hand is wrapped around his big cock.
I’m about to self-combust with want. My boobs ache. My nipples are so hard they could cut through glass, and crap, I’m wet. I can feel it between my legs. I’m throbbing so badly inside it hurts.
Never wanted anyone so damn much. This is crazy.
“Kay…” He’s panting, his grip on his cock tight. His gaze flicks from my bare boobs to my face and back. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Fuck, I need to come.”
And I want to see it. Feel it.
I lean forward, put my hand over his, and he lets out a gravelly moan. In our combined hold, his cock grows impossibly larger, and pearly drops form on the slit of the crown and run down.
His breathing grows harsher. He tugs on his hard-on, his hand shifting under mine. Up and then down. His eyes close, his lashes dark crescents as we stroke together, our hands moving over his cock.
His chest glistens with sweat, muscles rippling, and more precum leaks down the sides of his cock, coating our hands. His balls are pulled up tight and heavy, and God, I think I’m going to come just from watching as he chases his orgasm.
“Shit.” He plants his free hand on the mattress and leans back a little, thrusting into his fist. His eyes flutter open, blue peeking through. “Kay.”
The pressure between my legs is unbearable. I reach down, under my skirt, place my hand over my mound, swallowing a moan of my own. I’m so close. I press my fingers a little, pushing the tips into my pussy, and a ripple of pleasure rolls into my core, so intense I cry out.
Oh God, I’m coming again, my body folding over as the pressure breaks into pleasure and heat.
&nb
sp; “Fuck, Kay…” He groans, his cock jerking violently in our hold. I look up, because I want to see this, see his face as he comes.
It’s twisted in a grimace, torn between pain and pleasure, his mouth open, his brows drawn together. His cock jerks again, spraying his chest with cum. It’s pooling between his pecs, in his bellybutton, dripping down his sides onto the covers.
One more spasm, and he groans again, his back arching.
“Damn,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, and lets his head fall forward. His hand shaking, he lets go of his softening dick to grab his discarded tee and wipe his chest clean. “Holy fuck.”
I totally agree. Jeez, I can’t catch my breath.
“Kay...” He sits up and reaches up to touch my face. His eyes gleam for a second, right before he leans in to kiss me. “Wish I could stay,” he whispers against my lips.
Back up. What? Where is he going?
Before I can ask, his hand grips my chin, and his tongue plunges into my mouth, setting me again on fire. Then he draws back, this thumb stroking my lips, his gaze hot and heavy-lidded. “Thank you for everything. For helping me out with Jason, for the muffin the other day, for letting me touch you. I’ll never forget you.”
I’m hypnotized, unable to think of a reply to that. It’s because of the way he looks at me, I think. Like I’m beautiful. Like he means every word he says.
But he’s leaving, and wherever he’s going, it’s obvious he thinks he’s not coming back.
***
“Hey. Hi.” It’s Saturday morning, and I’m pacing my living room, my cell pressed to my ear. “Sorry to bother you with this, it’s probably nothing, but is Ocean there with you?”
“Just a sec,” Micah says, music blaring in the background. He’s at Damage Control, where DeathMoth is rehearsing for the convention next week. “Too loud in here.”
“No problem. I tried to get ahold of Jesse and Amber, but they’re both MIA.”
Haven’t seen Ocean since yesterday morning. After he kissed me and told me he’d never forget me, he shut himself up in the bathroom to shower, avoiding me. And by the time he finally emerged, distracting me with the tiny towel wrapped around his lean hips and all that muscled flesh and inked skin in display, it was time for me to leave for class.
I told him we had to talk. I asked him what he’d meant. I promised I’d just listen. I had to know.
He said nothing, his expression shuttered, closed off.
And he wouldn’t answer his phone when I tried it yesterday evening.
Maybe I should finally make up my mind and stop thinking about him. Man, if only it were that easy…
“All clear. Go,” Micah says at the other side of the line. “What’s up? You sound worried.”
I am.
Also, the cards were vaguely sinister. The Hanged Man of the Major Arcana—signifying sacrifice. The Ten of Swords of the Minor Arcana, signifying defeat, loss, and endings. Swords do come up a lot when I try to read Ocean.
And okay, I also got the Ace of Cups for compassion and love, but still.
“Kay?”
“It’s about Ocean,” I say.
“What about our sunny boy?”
See? That’s what I’m talking about. These past couple of weeks he’s been anything but.
“Something’s off. He isn’t acting like himself lately, and he’s been talking about…”
Micah huffs. “Talking about what?”
“About leaving.”
My rainbow stockings slide on the carpet with each step as I continue my frantic pacing. It’s a little like skating. Like losing control of the wheel.
That’s how I feel, and I can’t calm down. Not until someone tells me how ridiculous I’m being, and that I should stop.
I’m hoping this someone will be Micah, since my go-to buddies have vanished to do what couples in love do, I guess. Spend time alone. Suck face. Try different sex positions.
Does love turn you into a sex machine? It would sure seems so, and come to think of it, it wasn’t any different every time I met with Ocean these past weeks and days. In the kitchen, in his bedroom, in—
“Leaving where?” Micah asks quietly, as if he’s trying to decide whether I’m drunk out of my mind or pulling a prank on him.
“Wish I knew. He wouldn’t talk about it.”
“But he said he was? When was that?”
“Yesterday morning.”
I stop at my row of plants and pet them. One of them, my agave, is losing color, its leaves curling and going brown around the base.
“Just that? He said, I’m leaving?”
I run my fingertips over the dead parts of the leaves. Dry, rough. “He said he wished he didn’t have to leave. And then he said…” I straighten. “He said he won’t forget me.”
“Are you serious now?” Micah’s voice rises and falls. Maybe he’s walking. “He said that?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck. He can’t have meant anything by it. I mean, he’s away almost every weekend lately. I bet you ten bucks he’s coming back. Damage Control is the guy’s life.”
Then why do I have this cold, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach?
“He’s not a melodramatic guy,” I say, and I’m mortified when my voice wobbles. What the hell, Kay? “And it’s not like there was anything going on between us and he had to lie.”
“Wasn’t there?”
I freeze half-way to the far wall. “What do you mean?”
“Guy’s got eyes only for you. What did you think I meant?”
Shit. “Nothing. So you think he’s off to visit whoever it is he visits and is coming back?”
Funny how important that is to me, even if there’s zero follow-up in the fun-and-games category. I want him back. Not for his ripped chest and big cock—though that was hot—but for his smile and his gentleness and his big heart.
“Yeah, I do. I dunno if this is a secret, but it’s his folks he visits every weekend. He said something about his mom being unwell.”
“That bitch?”
He snorts into the phone. “You’ve met?”
“No, but who calls her children Ocean and Raine Storm?”
He chuckles again. “You’d be surprised.”
Hm.
Anyway, okay, he’s probably right. Ocean’s coming back, and the relief spreads through me like cool water.
It’s a strange feeling, like boarding a bus a second before it leaves the station. Like I almost missed something amazing, something that was missing from my life.
Someone.
I put away my phone and stare blankly at the wall. This makes no sense. But Ocean is coming back, and I want to know more about him, about his brother and his cruel mother and the things that make him sad, and angry, and happy. Somehow spreading the cards doesn’t hold a candle to asking him face to face and finally getting some answers.
Why I should need to know more about him is another matter. One I don’t exactly understand, but the need can’t be denied. The desire to break through his walls and see who he really is. Because he’s changed, or else his mask has crumbled these past months. He’s different.
More complicated. More interesting. More important to me.
Nothing wrong with that.
If only I stopped dreaming about him going down on me and fucking me hard with his big dick, everything would be peachy.
Chapter Ten
Ocean
Driving toward Milwaukee, a bunch of fresh lilies on the passenger seat for Livvy—they were her favorite flower—I wonder if this is the weekend it will happen. That my old man won’t be around, and I’ll just take Mom with me to find a doctor, and a hospital, and a place to live far away from the trailer park.
Where my old man won’t find her.
For months now I’ve been saving money, and planning, and biding my time, but last time she looked real bad. She says she doesn’t give the money I give her to him. That she doesn’t tell him anything.
I sure hope so. Fuckin
g asshole would gamble it all away in two minutes flat.
Like he always has. Every cent Mom brought home, every cent the government gave us, all gone down the drain before we even saw it. My hands grip the wheel of my Chevy until my knuckles turn white as memory after memory hits me.
Of Raine wailing in hunger as Mom rocked in her chair, a blank look on her face. My old man returning from another bad game in a temper, pushing us out of the way, kicking at us, cursing.
Myself and Raine eating cat food on a back porch in a street down from the park. Of searching through the dumpsters for rotten leftovers. Of begging from door to door.
Fuck it. I’m taking Mom away, and no regrets.
None, except for Damage Control, my art, my friends and Kayla.
Goddammit. Kayla.
Images and sensations assault me—the softness of her lips, of her skin, the heavy weight of her tits, the taste of her pussy. Her wide eyes, her crooked smile.
Fuck. Why now? Why did I have to get a taste, right before I have to fucking leave?
She called a few times since last night. I didn’t pick up. Hearing her warm voice is dangerous. It makes me forget about my decisions, about Mom and leaving.
I shift to second gear as I take the turn for the trailer park, and I have some trouble with it. Shit. I push harder, and there’s a “thud” from the gear box.
What the hell? I checked the engine after we were reamed with Seth and didn’t find any issues. Fluid levels looked all right.
Then again, I’ve been so sleep-deprived lately, what with Jason being sick, the nightmares and the more pleasant dreams about Kayla, I’m not sure I would have seen a pink elephant sitting on top of my Chevy.
At least the weather is good. Dry.
My hands clench on the wheel, tension radiating up my neck. My head throbs in time to my heart, the pain driving spikes into the back of my eyes.
My emergency backpack is in the trunk. I have it ready, just in case. And last night I talked to Jason. Told him the rent is paid to the end of the month, and that he can stay, even if I don’t go back.
He’s much better now. The fever has long broken, but his cough is bad. I hope he stays. Somebody had better use the apartment for as long as it’s available anyway. And I kinda like Jason. He’s a tough guy beneath the frail exterior.