Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Was she pleased with everything we did?”

  “I didn’t tell her.” After I explain, Misha wants to go over to Midnight’s apartment.

  I stop her. “She wants to be alone.”

  “Is she suicidal?” she asks.

  “I doubt they would’ve sent her home if she was.”

  But then I wonder, so I make a call. All I get is that information regarding her treatment is confidential. Even when I explain that I’m worried about her condition, they tell me nothing. They do say they’ll have her therapist call. And she does.

  “Mr. Kirkland, Midnight is many things, but she never showed any suicidal tendencies while she was here. There are other issues we addressed and I did suggest she stay another thirty days to prevent her from relapsing back to using, but she refused.” I know exactly why too.

  “I see. Thank you for returning my call.”

  My thoughts are eased, but I’m still worried about her. Why wouldn’t she at least talk to me? A month is a long time, but that comment about how they hurt her disturbs me. To what was she referring? Did they physically abuse her in there?

  My mind won’t rest until I know, so I shoot her a text.

  I need to know if you’re okay. Believe it or not, I’m worried about you. It wasn’t my intention for you to have a terrible experience there. Please call me.

  She’s all I dwell on until I get home that night and the phone rings.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Midnight asks.

  “We actually have a lot to go over. Can we meet?” It’s only about six and I offer to take her to dinner.

  “I’d prefer takeout at my place.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I never do anything I’m not sure of. Except for one thing, and I was right on that. Massaman curry with shrimp, brown rice, and a fresh roll.” She names the place and I hang up to place the order.

  When I show up at her apartment, she looks like a waif. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of baggy pants. Her eyes look ... old. They’ve aged since she left.

  I set the food on the kitchen counter and then stare at her as she pulls plates out of the cabinets.

  “I brought some beer and wine as well,” I add, not knowing if she had any beverages since she’s been away for the last month.

  “Thanks. I didn’t think about that.”

  “So, what’s your pleasure?”

  She lets out a snicker. “Gummy bears.” Then she loads up our plates. After she hands me mine, I follow her to the living area where we sit on the sofa. I’ve poured us a couple of glasses of wine, after she admitted she’d prefer that over beer, and we eat.

  “I love this food,” she says around a mouthful of curry.

  “It is good. I’ve never been there, but I’ll definitely be going back.” We eat in silence for a few until I ask, “What’s up with the gummy bears?”

  “They’re my crack. Everyone has something, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Oh, come on. Name yours.”

  “No, I’m clean of addictions.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her deep violet eyes fasten onto mine and their intensity has me hypnotized. I’ve never seen anything like them before. “Give it up.”

  “No, I really don’t have any. Alcohol only occasionally, and a cigarette every now and then when I drink. I smoke weed once in a while, but not enough to amount to anything.”

  “I know.” She grins like she’s discovered something super important. “You have a secret addiction to porn.”

  I laugh. “No, porn’s good—what man doesn’t like it? But no addiction. Sorry, I’m clean.”

  She studies me for a long minute, then uses her fork as a pointer. In a sort of singsongy voice, she says, “Maybe addiction is the wrong word. Weakness is more like it. You must have some kind of weakness. What is it?”

  She’s touched a nerve, one that doesn’t need exposing. “Everyone has weaknesses.”

  “So? Name your worst.”

  I aim my gaze at her. “Nope. Not until you share one of yours.”

  She sits up straighter and takes a bite of her dinner. After she swallows, she says, “Broken people are your weakness, aren’t they? You saw I was broken and thought you could put me back into working order. That’s why you brought in Harley, or Helen. Isn’t it? Is that your addiction?”

  How is she so astute? I gulp down some wine and face her. She’s not going to drop this. “I don’t see it as a weakness, but I do like to help others, so in a sense, I suppose you’re right.”

  She pushes a chunk of long, shiny black strands out of her eyes. “Nah. It goes much deeper than that. You’re flawed, Harrison. You see, during my stay in rehab, I had a lot of free time, more than I’ve had in years. I thought about a lot of things, and you were one of them.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You really shouldn’t be. There were times I wanted to use your face as a punching bag.”

  “Ouch,” I say, leaning back and rubbing my jaw.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t nice. It was so bad, in fact, that every night before I fell asleep, I’d curse your name and tell myself somehow I’d make you pay for sending me there.”

  This is really shocking. I’m speechless.

  “Surprised by that, are you?”

  “I have to admit I am.” All I wanted to do was save her career. And the more I think about it, the more it pisses me off.

  “I can see those little fix-it cogwheels spinning in that smart brain of yours.”

  A man can only take so much, and she just pushed me to the cliff’s edge. “Let’s get one thing straight. I was saving your sweet little ass, saving your fucking career by arranging for you to go there. That was it. There was no ulterior motive. It wasn’t because of a weakness of mine. If you needed fixing, it had nothing to do with me. My goal was to clean up the shambles your damn career was in with Alta, which, by the way, you haven’t even asked about. I’ve had to pull a couple more strings while you were unavailable. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, your little friend, Trent, used the video he filmed and had it uploaded to several porn sites, which had thousands of downloads by the time we got to it. I took care of that too, you’re fucking welcome. Holt Ward will no longer be a problem either. The lawsuit he filed has been dropped—the one you weren’t aware of because my team took care of it in your absence. Don’t mention that to him, by the way. Your career will skyrocket, thanks to that rehab stint.” I stand up, with every intention of leaving.

  Her words stop me. “We’re not finished.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You can handle your own messes from now on. My work with you is through.”

  “I wasn’t talking about that.”

  I’m clueless. What the hell is she referring to?

  “When I was in rehab, they opened old wounds. That’s what I’m blaming you for.”

  Patience is one of my finer attributes but currently, it seems I’m out of stock. I tilt my neck to look toward the ceiling, praying to some unknown deity for more. Then I level my gaze at her. “Seems everything’s my fault and that makes an assload of sense. I think when you checked out of rehab, you left your damn brain there.”

  “You asshole.”

  “I believe you’re the asshole. You need more than gummy bears, my friend. They aren’t cutting it for you. Maybe you need some happy pills or something.” My insult level climbs.

  “Oh, that’s a good one. Such a man thing. When a woman has a right to be angry at something legit, they automatically tell her she needs happy pills.”

  “You hit a key word, and that’s legit. What you’re saying and insinuating doesn’t come close to being legit. You sound fucknuts. Look, whatever happened to you in your past, I’m totally sorry about. But it’s not my damn fault.”

  She gets in my face and yells. “No, it’s not. But opening up those old wounds is.”

  “Yeah? You wouldn’t have wounds if n
othing had happened, hence, not my fault.”

  “Ugh. You are so stupid.”

  “You just said I was smart.”

  “Oh. My. God. I can’t talk to you anymore,” she says.

  “I was trying to leave but you wouldn’t let me.”

  The next thing I know, she flies at me, but instead of slapping or punching me as I expect her to do, she kisses me. Angry kisses. I have zero time to react. We’re suddenly bound together, and I can’t determine where one of us ends and the other begins. Her teeth sink into my lower lip and I taste blood. It’s hot as fuck, spurring me into action. I pick her up beneath her thighs, backing her into the closest wall and propping her up with my knee.

  Her fingers tear at my shirt like she’s a possessed demon, shredding the fabric with her nails. It doesn’t matter because my hands are doing the same to hers. She’s naked underneath her baggy sweatshirt and I know what to expect. Sick as it may sound, I’ve watched her porn videos, even rubbed one off to them more than I care to admit.

  Her nipples point directly at me, and as I gaze down, a hand lands on my chest, shoving me away. She doesn’t speak, only moves to the button and zipper of my jeans. Those actions have frozen me in place. Her experienced hands have my cock exposed in seconds and I watch, fucking mesmerized, as she sinks to her knees and takes the whole thing down the hatch.

  Midnight knows how to suck a man off. The thought ekes into my brain that there’s a good reason for this. She did it for a living in the triple-X film industry. Should I care? Maybe, but right now, my hands burrow into her silky hair and I let her do the job. I’m not sure if she’s aware, but her moans are almost as hot as what her mouth and tongue are doing to me. When her finger rubs a tiny circle behind my balls, I don’t have time to tell her my cum’s about to explode into the cavern of her throat.

  I growl out an orgasm that lasts way longer than usual. Then I glance down to see her wipe a dribble of my jizz from the corner of her mouth.

  Plowing my hands through my hair, I wonder what the hell just happened. One minute we were arguing, and the next she’s dining on the vine. If that doesn’t make me hungry for more, I don’t know what could. Only she has a different idea. When I reach to pull her up, she backs away and says, “I think you should leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “I’m pretty sure you know what the word means.”

  My fingers tighten around her arm and I practically drag her back to the sofa.

  “Sit your ass down. Now.” I slide my hand across my hair again trying to figure out what to say to her. This scene is like one out of a movie, only I’m not an actor and not sure how to deal with her. It’s also beginning to freak the fuck out of me because I care about her. I don’t know how or why, but I do.

  Her lavender eyes darken as she glowers. At least I haven’t frightened her. For a moment, I thought maybe I had.

  “I’m not sitting down.”

  “Yes, you are. Moments ago, you kissed me like a sex-starved animal, then sucked me off, and now you tell me to leave. I want to know exactly what’s playing out in that brain of yours.”

  “Why? So you can fix it? I’m gonna let you in on something. I’m broken, Harrison, and not fixable.” She yelled at me—as in, shouting at the top of her lungs.

  This time I don’t ask but shove her down onto the couch. She doesn’t seem to respond to nice.

  “I asked, but apparently you don’t like to be asked. Now sit the fuck down and stay there. When two people have sex, it usually ends up differently.”

  “What world are you living in? That’s not the way it works for me.”

  “So, what next? Am I supposed to pull out a handful of bills and pay you?”

  Her arm comes out, lightning fast, and strikes. Only I’m faster and catch it.

  “What the fuck happened to you in there, Midnight?” I ask her, my tone softening.

  She pulls her lower lip in and bites it. It makes her look like a little kid.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I have some answers.”

  A long sigh rolls out of her and she tries to tug her arm from my grip. “I’m not pressed for time,” I tell her.

  “They put me through those stupid psychobabble sessions and this is the end result. Happy now?” I get the feeling she wants to stick out her tongue at me, and I do the unthinkable: I laugh.

  “You motherfucker.”

  “I am a lot of things, but never that.”

  “I went through hell in there and you have the nerve, the audacity, to laugh at me.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at what you went through. It was only that your expression had you looking like you were ready to stick your tongue out at me.”

  Then she does and I totally lose my shit.

  Her fingers suddenly pinch the shit out of my nipple and my laughter turns to a shriek of pain.

  “Not so funny now, is it?”

  “You are so fucking mean. Has anybody ever told you that?” I ask.

  “No, but so are you. It seems we are on equal footing.”

  “You’re nothing but a spoiled little kid. I only tried to help you and here you are, acting like a little shit. You need to grow the fuck up.”

  “You know what? Why don’t you get the hell out of here? I don’t need to continue the hell I went through. A month was long enough and I am anything but spoiled.”

  “I disagree.”

  We glare at each other in silence. And then something comes over me as I grab and kiss her. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, other than falling into the pit of nutsville. I am sure of one thing—this will not end well.

  Chapter 12

  Midnight

  He’s so damn irresistible. I shouldn’t want him, but I do. I shouldn’t have kissed him, but I did. Even though I’m furious with him, his lips are undeniably addicting. For thirty days, I fantasized about this man and here he is, kissing me, touching me, and nothing in this universe could prevent this from happening.

  Passion flares deep within me, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Flames lick my skin, heating me in every imaginable place. Oh, I’ve kissed more men than I care to count. Fucked just as many, if not more. Only they never stoked the fires like Harrison does. Kissing him empowers me, frees me, gives me back this part of my life that was so ruthlessly torn away. Vile memories are replaced with a face and body that I’ve dreamed of and desired for the last month. Maybe if I get him out of my system, I can get on with my life. Only I doubt that will happen. One taste of this man will probably be worse than any heroin ever could be.

  Sinking my fingers into his thick hair, I kiss him back with everything I have. It’s dirty, wicked, raw, but oh so good. How can I want him so much, the one I want to hate? This isn’t something I ordinarily do. Even getting him off was a surprise to me. But I had to taste him, have him in my mouth. And the pleasure it gave me may have been more than what he got. The sounds he made when he came … oh I’ll never forget that.

  His cock is still exposed and I wrap my hand around it, enjoying its velvety thickness. If only I could feel it pumping deep inside of me. But after our little verbal exchange, it’s probably the last thing on his mind. Maybe I can change that. Making men desire me is my area of expertise.

  My hand slides down to his balls, where I squeeze and massage them. Then I rub that place he was so fond of earlier. But he quickly breaks off the kiss.

  “Stop. Are you gonna go psycho on me again?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. A few minutes ago, you told me to leave when I wanted to eat your pussy. What’s it gonna be, Midnight?”

  “You wanted to eat my pussy?”

  “Yeah, but I never got to even try because you were shoving me out the door.” He rubs his face and I hear the scratchy sound his scruff makes. God, I’d love to feel the rub of that between my thighs.

  My hands slide under the waist of my pants and I push them down. I’m
not in the mood for games. All I want to do is fuck. Let’s get the party started.

  “Follow me.” I lead the way to my bedroom, where I also have some condoms stashed just in case he didn’t bring any. I climb onto the bed and spread my legs. “I’m ready.”

  His expression registers shock. “Jesus. Is this what you usually do?”

  “Why waste time is my motto.”

  He grimaces as his cock deflates a bit. That’s not very encouraging. Maybe my attitude is too casual for someone like him. “I look at sex between two consenting partners as a very casual thing. You have to see it from my perspective, and please don’t lecture me. If it bothers you, maybe you should leave.”

  He doesn’t speak, only stalks aggressively toward me. It’s both sexy and scary. My thighs automatically close.

  “Nuh-uh. None of that. Don’t act like some kind of tease with me. Keep ’em open.”

  I comply as I watch him step out of his jeans and remove the shirt I destroyed with my nails. Harrison has ink and it’s sexy as fuck. It definitely amps up my horniness. In a superfast move, he snatches my ankles and drags me to the end of the bed. From between my thighs, because he’s now kneeling on the floor, he says, “I’m extremely fond of casual sex, but your attitude is more of a two-dollar hooker than that of a consensual partner.”

  Is that how I acted? He gives me no time to ponder my harlot behavior before he dives between my legs and assaults my pussy. His tongue has me feeling like a virgin on her wedding night, and I spent two years in the porn industry, getting sucked and fucked, oftentimes by multiple partners, including women, who are supposed to know what to do with said pussy. No one has ever done to my nether region what Harrison is doing now. I’m afraid to ask or look.

  There may possibly be an alien that’s invaded my vagina and has taken residence down there for all I know. An enormous ripple of pleasure vibrates through me. I do know this—I am building up to an orgasm of massive proportions. And no one, at least not of the human variety, ever gives me orgasms. I am O-negative. Period. And I’m not talking about blood type.