8 Mile & Rion

by K. S. Adkins

  I don’t know how it happened or why, but he started…smiling. It was a beautiful smile just like I knew it would be. His eyes crinkled at the sides, his teeth were white and fuck me, he had one dimple. My heart couldn’t take the dimple. That’s when I decided I wouldn’t give up. I wanted him to be mine by any means necessary.

  “I win,” I declare, throwing myself in his arms.

  “Win?”

  “I made you smile with three days to spare,” I tell him giggling. “So that’s three dinners, dessert, dancing and one other thing but I can’t think of anything right now. I’m too busy memorizing your smile.”

  “You don’t lose bets do you?”

  “Nope,” I tell him kissing his cheek. “I’m all about the long shot.”

  “Rion,” he says quietly, “I need to kiss you again.”

  “You never have to ask, Loyal,” I say pulling him down to the couch.

  “I wasn’t asking,” he growls, following me down but smiled while he did it.

  Fuck yeah, I won.

  ‘Kissing is one thing, to be kissed back and tackled by her passion is another.’

  ~Loyal Hart

  Taking her mouth I tried to be gentle but found that I couldn’t. Not when she sucked my tongue into her mouth and tried swallowing it like a fucking oyster. When her hands gripped my sides, pulling me closer, my dick thought it would be a good time to get in on the action. Moving her so she was across my lap she deepened the kiss and then I pulled her slight weight down so I could feel her all over me.

  Feeling her, that’s all I wanted. It was also probably not the best time to tell her that despite my thirty-five years on this planet I wasn’t all that skilled. I’ve been with the whore who, while we were together, wasn’t very adventurous and refused to experiment. Although right now between the two of us, we seemed to be managing.

  “Tell me where you want me,” she pants, breaking her mouth from mine. I would have growled at her to shut up and keep kissing me if it wasn’t for her hands holding my unshaved face and the look of hunger in her eyes.

  “You’re good where you are,” I tell her bluntly wanting back in her mouth.

  That wasn’t working for her so she leaned back in my lap, holding my face then tilting it up so our eyes met. “Tell me,” she urges me. “I want this to be good for both of us.”

  “Don’t matter,” I growl, leaning forward.

  “It matters to me,” she throws back, “and it should matter to you too.”

  “We gonna do this or what?”

  Her smile falters but she recovers quickly. Dammit, I don’t need a fucking lecture, I just want to get her off. “Under me,” I tell her. “That’s where I want you.”

  “Under you,” she whispers thinking on it. “I can work with that.” Standing up first, she reaches her hand out to help me off the couch. When I looked confused, she takes the other hand and leads me down the hall. Entering her bedroom she stands in front of her bed and slowly pulls her shirt up and over her head. Tossing it to the floor she doesn’t lose eye contact but does lose the bra. Not covering herself up, she smiles at me again and says, “Your turn,” so I pull my own shirt off and throw it on top of hers.

  Next she unzips that tight skirt and slides it down her gorgeous legs stepping out of it. She uses her foot to fling it away from her. My breathing is labored, my dick fucking hurts and my hands are itching to touch that soft skin.

  “Loyal?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Your turn,” she says standing there like a god damn wet dream. Her tits would sit in my palms perfectly and that was all I could focus on. Following her lead I drop my jeans, kick them away and eagerly wait for what’s next.

  “Come here,” she says, crooking her finger at me.

  Two steps forward, I was there towering over her. “Now what?” I ask, wanting to tackle her.

  Stepping around me, she climbs on to the bed, lays down with her head on the pillow and tells me what to do. “Finish undressing me,” she says, then adds, “please.”

  Climbing up the bed starting at her feet, I straddle her and then I couldn’t help it. I ran my hands slowly up her soft legs and watched as her eyes closed. She likes this? Reaching the last piece of clothing I slip my fingers under the lace and pull down. When I get stuck, she lifts up allowing me to work them down her body until the underwear are around her ankles.

  I cannot fucking breathe.

  She lifts her foot, allowing me to slide them off and add to the pile. I do, but I really wanted to keep them as a gift instead. “My turn,” she says, sitting up and when her tits are close to my face, nature took over. Grabbing them I squeeze her in both hands and when her hands come to my shoulders and she whispers, “Harder,” I do that too. Jill never let me touch her freely like this.

  I’m so lost in her that when she tackles me to my back and straddles me I can only blink. “Tell me it’s me you’re thinking of right now, Loyal,” she says looking sad. “Tell me that it’s just us here.”

  “Just you,” I tell her hoping she doesn’t catch the lie. “Just us.”

  “Okay,” she says, leaning forward and then with nimble fingers she guides my boxers down from my waist to my ankles. Sliding them off and tossing them, she sits back on her heels and fucks me with her eyes. I’m not sure if I like it or not, but if this is what she wants, I’ll let it happen. “Strong,” she whispers, running her fingers through my chest hair, down my stomach and then, before I could take another breath, my dick was in her hands.

  It felt foreign, but good. When she started to stroke me, I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t blow. Jill never did this either. Fuck the woman never did anything. I barely know this woman and she’s jerking me off because for some crazy reason, she wants me. I’m fucked up about it. I’m loving it, I’m hating it, I’m fucking confused.

  “Stay with me,” she urges. “Look at me, Loyal.”

  Opening my eyes I see her flushed with need, touching my dick and enjoying it is too much. But my dick didn’t know that, my dick was happy. Thrusting into her hand she works me harder which causes me to thrust harder and then she starts moving her hips over my leg. Somehow she straddled it and I can feel her wet pussy dripping on me when she grinds. God knows Jill was never wet either. Fucking her was like rubbing one out with a handful of sandpaper. Watching her watching me though, it took about another thirty seconds when it happened.

  Without making a sound because Jill hated it, I exploded all over her hand and myself. It’s the hardest I’ve ever come in my life to date. Trying to regulate my breathing, I feel her release me and I shudder all over again when the air hits me. Opening my eyes, I expected to see her smiling at what she’d done, only she wasn’t.

  Instead she slowly moved away from me, grabbed a robe from the back of the door then handed me a bath towel to wipe off. I don’t want to wipe it off, but I do because I don’t want that shit on her bedding. When she looks at the floor prepared to leave, it hits me with crushing force.

  I didn’t get her off.

  ‘Big girls don’t cry, we pout.’

  ~Junior Reynolds

  I’m a big girl. A grown up. A god damn tax payer too sometimes but, I swear to god, if I had to hear him say ‘Jill’ one more fucking time I was going to rip his big dick off. He wasn’t aware that he even did it, which was worse. I could have been anyone willing and it wouldn’t have mattered. He didn’t see me. He saw her.

  That hurts.

  Still, I tried. I knew he needed it, hello! I needed it too. I knew when he kissed me he wanted me, but it wasn’t my face he saw when he came it was…

  Whatever, I needed to get back to work anyway. Tossing him a towel and turning to leave he jumps out of my bed and beats me to the door. “Wait,” he growls in my ear then walks me backwards to the bed attempting to lay me down.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, pushing him away.

  “It ain’t okay,” he growls, trying to pin me down again. “You get your turn.”

  “I don
’t want my turn anymore,” I whisper trying not to cry. “Just move please.”

  “Move?”

  “Move!” I snap, needing to get away from him.

  He tags my arm, stopping me. “Dammit give me a minute and I’ll get you off,” he promises me.

  “What’s my name, Loyal?”

  “What?”

  “My fucking name,” I repeat, seething with pain and jealousy. “What is it?”

  Blinking at me he starts to open his mouth but I stop him.

  “Rion,” I say to him with anger and hurt. “It’s Rion. Not Jill. Rion. I’m not her and she’s not here. Say her god damn name in the same room as me again and I will cut you. We clear?”

  “What the fuck does that whore have to do with anything?”

  “That whore’s name was the one coming out of your fucking mouth while your dick was in my hands! It was her name you moaned when you came all over yourself too. You’re either with me or you aren’t. If you’re taken, fucking act like it. You don’t get to do this to me again. My second chances only go so far.”

  Breaking away and slamming the door, I go across the hall to work while wearing my fucking robe. Hours later after I’d cooled down a bit, I did have to at least acknowledge he hadn’t said her name in lust, but rather disgust but that wasn’t the point.

  He’d said her name while my hands were the ones responsible for him coming rivers all over his stomach. Screaming internally at the unfairness of it all, he knocks once then comes in looking ten shades of pissed off.

  “You got a fucking problem, you stay put until the problems fixed.”

  “I got a fucking problem,” I growl, standing up and tightening my robe. “You, you’re my fucking problem.”

  “You want me to go, then?”

  “What I want is for you to level with me and tell me who and what she is to you.”

  “She ain’t shit to me,” he says, approaching my desk. “That’s all you need to know. She’s a whore, a liar and the biggest mistake of my miserable life. And she ain’t you.”

  “Then why---”

  Cutting me off before I can finish, he runs his hands over his head and falls into the chair. “Fuck, Rion can we please not talk about her? Every bad memory I have features her, alright? I’m here, trying to figure out how the hell I can get you to see past whatever it was I did.”

  “You know what you did. Let’s just say, for arguments sake it was me saying Peter on repeat. What would you do?”

  “I’d fucking kill him,” he growls and I can see that he means it.

  “Let’s call it a night,” I offer losing the will to fight. “I’m upset and I need to work it out, I’m going over to Senior’s place for a bit to sort through some things and I need to be alone for that.”

  “You can sort that shit out with me, right now.”

  “I’m not talking about us; although it’s refreshing to see you hold yourself in such high regard. I’m talking about his personal things. I’ve been putting it off anyway. I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t wait up.”

  Then, without another word, I walked out of my office, down the hall and straight to his. The second I walked in, the grief all but destroyed me. I can still smell his Old Spice and the cigars he smoked on Sunday’s. Wiping the tears away, I walk into the bedroom I was raised in, took one look around and promptly hit the floor letting the grief take me.

  ‘You can grow without destroying the things that you love.’

  ~Ed McMahon

  I gave her a head start. I fucked up, I know I did. Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry or that I don’t understand why she’s pissed off at me. I do. But I cannot, will not, tell her about the whore. Grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses from the apartment, I walk down the hall and into her dad’s place. Maybe if I get her drunk quickly she’ll get over it and want to kiss me again. I’d do just about anything to kiss her again.

  When I enter, I don’t see or hear her. It’s deathly quiet in here but this place wasn’t always quiet, you could tell. His apartment is the same floor plan as hers except it’s got man shit in it. Setting the bottle and glasses down, I walk over to the mantle and look at her life in pictures. Her old man didn’t miss a beat, I’ll give him that. Almost every photo has Rio in it and he certainly changed from the man he was then to the man I know now. Fuck, I guess this guy’s proof a man can change. The table next to the window is filled with her achievements and she had a ton. Honor role, captain of the debate team, softball team and numerous awards for competitive shooting. Then there are her degrees. Fuck, but she might be the smartest person I’ve ever met. She even graduated from U of M with honors whereas I barely graduated high school. Even with these degrees it’s obvious she’d rather be here taking bets. It makes no damn sense.

  Picking up one in particular, I trace her face in it. She’s holding an M16 in full camo and she looks fucking happy. I flip it over to see her old man wrote the date with the title war games 2013. Setting it back down the back unlocks and an envelope falls out and for fear of being caught creeping I pick it up, stuff it in my pocket and put the photo back like I found it promising myself to put the envelope back later.

  Heading toward the bedrooms, I look in the first which was his and she isn’t there. Opening the second I look and see she isn’t here either. Until I look down.

  “Rion,” I say, pulling her up from the floor and toward me. “What’s wrong?”

  Staying limp in my arms, she whispers, “Senior,” before clutching me like her life depended on it. Letting her cry, scream and hiccup she settles a while later but we don’t move. Looking around her room it’s not a girl’s room at all. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she had a brother or that Rio stayed here, until I looked a little harder. It was a girl’s room, just not a chick’s room. This room, though was all her otherwise.

  The memories were hurting her. Turns out, I didn’t like her being hurt. Picking her up, I left the wine on the table and carried her back to her apartment. She can go through his things another time when I’m there to help her out. Tonight though, she needs her rest. She’s had enough emotional bullshit for one day.

  Placing her in bed and covering up she whispers, “Stay,” in a tiny voice and I knew despite my issues because of Jill, of war and every other fucking thing in my life, I wouldn’t leave her side unless she demanded it. Even then, I wouldn’t ever truly leave. I’d just stay out of her way until she forgave me.

  Second chances she said. Damn, but I hope she gives me another one.

  “Ain’t leaving you,” I tell her pulling her to my side. “Sleep.”

  Unfortunately for me, I found out that the singer she listens to was Ray LaMontagne. For a guy who was never big into music, I was obsessed with listening to him. His lyrics were as much of a comfort to me as she was. The problem with comfort is twofold. Because once she fell asleep, I couldn’t help myself. Listening to his words and her breathing, I fell asleep too.

  ‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.’

  ~ Leo Tolstoy

  I was dreaming of him when his moaning woke me. Then the thrashing started. The anger in his voice kept me from waking him and certainly from touching him. When it comes to self-preservation, turns out I’m not a risk taker. Leaning slowly toward the lamp, I flick it on attempting to get out of the war zone. Watching him from the chair, I had to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from screaming at him to wake up and crying for seeing him in this kind of pain.

  What was he dreaming about that had him sweating and hurting himself like this? Random words with no meaning came from his mouth and I tried making sense of it, but couldn’t. Then he woke up swinging. My eyes went round at the ferocity I saw in him. The fact was, Loyal lets me see what he wants me to see. The quiet, fucked up Marine is not just a quiet, fucked up Marine.

  The man in my bed was a force to be reckoned with, a warrior both swift and brutal. Shaking himself out of it, he reaches over for me and when he doesn’t find me the
re, I see the panic take him over. “I’m here,” I tell him from the safety of my chair. But he’s totally wigged out and then it hits me. “You didn’t hurt me, Loyal.”

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says mostly to himself, still shocked he did in fact fall asleep. “I gotta take off for a while,” he says standing up. Getting up on my own two feet I say nothing, I just walk straight up to him and wrap myself around him. Weeks ago this man had been a Marine and that life made sense to him. Today he’s a civilian expected to just blend into society, but he can’t because he doesn’t know how. He wasn’t trained to fucking car pool and work at an office, he was trained to save lives or take them. You can’t turn that off and even after all those years although he tried, Senior never did either.

  “I have an idea,” I say into his firm, hairy chest. God I just want to…

  “I’m listening,” he says, hugging me back a little.

  “Let’s talk over coffee,” I tell him taking his hand. “I’ll even show you how I like mine.”

  “I can make coffee,” he says with no heat in his voice and about ten minutes and ten fucks later, he threw his hands up. “Show me,” he grumbles watching me. “Christ, it’s coffee it shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “It’s a Keurig,” I giggle. “And it’s not, look.” Showing him the ropes, I make his cup then he makes mine. Sitting there watching him take manly sips of his I started to get warm all over. I decided it’s the fact that he’s clueless to his manliness that makes me melt. He’s not model gorgeous and who really cares about that anyway. He’s battle honed, chiseled and raw. He forgets to shave, could care less about what he’s wearing, but he would kill Peter if I said his name in place of his own.

  How this male is single is beyond me, but the whore’s loss is my gain. I intend to make this unhappy man as happy as he’ll let me. It’s time to get on his level. Lucky for him, it’s something we have in common that I’m rather good at.