My heart rate accelerates, and I glance around in mild confusion. It’s nothing fancy—the wood of the floor and walls is kept bare to highlight its natural beauty. The curtains, blankets, and rugs are all white. I assume it’s so the place feels clean and modern, but I don’t know for sure. I didn’t take note of the details when I entered earlier, and I give myself a moment to ponder them.
Miles walks over and takes a seat on the bed next to me.
“Here,” he says, holding the plate out. “You hungry?”
I spy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I eat half and feel the weight of exhaustion settle itself back onto my being. I lie down and stare at the ceiling.
“You gonna be okay?” Miles asks.
I nod. It’s all I can do.
“I’ll shut the curtains.”
I want to tell him thank you, but by the time I gather the energy to do so, the curtains are drawn and the room sits dark.
I slip into sleep once more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I WAKE on my stomach, my internal clock ringing at the crack of dusk.
It’s night. I know it to be true. It’s time for me to get up.
A pair of hands runs the length of my back. I stiffen and arch up, but whoever it is pushes me back down with gentle motions.
“It’s just me,” Miles murmurs.
He straddles the back of my legs and runs his hands over me a second time, raking his fingertips across the skin. I shudder beneath him, confused but enjoying his touch. He grazes one of my injuries—a bruise on my ribs—and I gasp. Miles pulls away and avoids the spot, keeping his kneading close to my spine. Once the dull pain subsides, I relax into the caressing. I’d purr if I could.
“You’ve been sleeping for a long time,” he says in a low and soothing voice.
“I needed it.”
In comparison my voice is gruff and rusty. It doesn’t help that I speak into the blankets, half lying in a pool of my own sweat.
I attempt to stir and get up, but Miles urges me down with his hands. “I should shower,” I say.
“I don’t mind.”
I rest back on the bed. “How’s your brother?”
“He’s upset that we don’t have any hits for him. And that he can’t leave. And that we kidnapped him. He’s in a constant state of… anger. To put it mildly.”
“I can imagine,” I drawl.
“I’m gonna try talking to him once he’s detoxed a little.”
“Heh. Good luck.”
Miles massages my shoulders and the nape of my neck. I moan into the bed. He’s good at pleasing me, that’s for sure. I sigh and stretch my arms above my head. I get hard thinking about his affections, and I realize I’m still wearing my pants. Damn. I hate sleeping in clothes. I must’ve been desperate.
“Did you rest at all?” I ask, wondering about the day that took place without me.
“Yeah. This is a nice cabin.”
“I enjoy it.”
“I thought you liked the city more.”
“Depends on my mood. I’m not feeling the city life much lately.”
“You’re planning on leaving, aren’t you?” Miles’s tone is more accusatory than anything. He doesn’t stop with his hands, but I feel the shift in his mood. I tense under him. I don’t want to have this conversation.
“Nothing’s set in stone,” I say. “Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Miles stops his hands. For a moment the room is mute. I hear him sigh, and he leans down to kiss my back. “Think about it long and hard, okay?” he whispers. “I’d rather have you with me than be taken care of.”
I don’t reply. He deserves something better than me—he just doesn’t realize it. Once he has a fat stack of cash, a lot of his problems will disappear. He can have the life he always wanted, and I can go die off in the wilderness somewhere, most likely from lung cancer. It’s the ideal scenario.
I sit up on my elbows. “I gotta piss.”
Miles gets off me and I roll to the side. My bladder can’t take much more. I feel like a racehorse that’s been holding it for over twenty-four hours. I hustle to the bathroom and unzip my pants. I wait a long moment—being hard makes it difficult to unload—but eventually I groan in sweet release.
I finish and go to the sink to wash up. My skin has a fine layer of sweat and grime. I need a shower.
I shed the last of my clothing and step into the spacious stall. I flip on the water—it’s freezing and I jump away—but the heat comes within seconds. I splash and scrub my body clear of the drunken hobo scent and replace it with whatever lavender bullshit the cabin rental place stocks.
Despite feeling clean, my body still aches. My injuries won’t disappear as easily as they did on Miles. I grab a towel and dab the water away, careful not to touch anything sensitive. I toss the towel when finished and walk back into the bedroom.
Miles waits for me on the bed, leaning back with his legs spread. He’s dressed in casual attire—he must’ve gone out for clothes at some point because everything he has is brand-new—and I enjoy the way his jeans hug his thighs and his T-shirt clings to his lithe body. His short hair is slicked back, and he has a sleek handsome look about him that’s hard to describe. It’s suave. I like it.
Miles catches me staring. He widens his legs farther and motions to the bed with a tilt of his head. I walk over, crawl onto the mattress, and take a seat with my back against the headboard. Miles jumps onto my legs, his knees on either side of my hips, and pins me back, forcing his tongue into my mouth.
His rough urgency excites me. If I had known he was so pent-up, I would’ve rushed through my shower.
He tastes good—minty—and I suck on his tongue. Miles presses hard against me, trapping my head in place and scraping his teeth against mine. I tilt to the side to get deeper and enjoy the way he offers soft moans with each new position. I turn away and breathe before licking his lips. The look in his eye is exhilarating.
Miles pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the floor. I run my hands down his sides and circle my thumbs on his firm flesh.
“Wanna ride me hard?” he asks. “I’ve been thinking about it for the past few days.”
I chuckle, my breaths husky. “I always wanna ride you hard. But I don’t think I can do it tonight.” Then again, maybe he should ask me halfway through, when I’m not thinkin’ straight and all I can feel is my throbbing cock.
“What do you wanna do, then?” he asks, unbuttoning his pants and exposing the fact he isn’t wearing anything underneath.
My mouth goes dry as I run my tongue along my teeth. I love his eagerness. He’s erect and leaking onto the front of his jeans. I don’t have much time left with Miles, and the fact hits me hard. My mind goes to some odd places when I’m aroused, and I decide that tonight we’ll do something different.
“Lie down on your back,” I command.
Miles jumps off me and removes his jeans. He gets back on the bed and complies, propping one leg up and flattening the other. I crawl on top of him, trailing my tongue and teeth across his stomach, chest, and neck, before flipping around and positioning myself over his mouth, his own erection in front of me, twitching and wanting.
Sixty-nining with a guy has never been on the top of my to-do list, but I want the experience of tasting Miles—I like that’s he’s tender and beneath me, his flesh inviting.
I lower my hips and he reaches up with his mouth to take my cock, licking the top and underside as I get situated. Once down he swallows me to his gagging point and holds my hips with his trembling hands. The warm chasm of his mouth is slick and welcoming. I thrust slow and deep, and he angles himself to better allow me access to his throat. He’s a good boy—I love it when he does what I want without me telling him.
I reward him by dragging my lips along his shaft. My heavy breathing gets him shuddering, and I take my time. I don’t know if he’s ever had another man’s mouth, but I intend to make sure he remembers this.
Wi
th gentle motions I cup his balls and massage them between my fingers. I’ve done stuff like this in the past, but it’s been a long while and the newness of it gets me worked up more than before.
I lick the tip of his dick and take the precome in one go. Miles whimpers—he’s desperate. How long has it been since he came? I don’t focus on it much with his tongue circling me, though. I thrust faster and deeper, pushing the limits on what he can take without gagging to the point of pain.
Miles spreads his legs and trembles. If he could, I’m sure he’d be begging. I close my mouth around him and suck down to the base of his full erection, thankful he trims his hair. The salty flesh and heat of it all tastes erotic. Precome and saliva slick my mouth. I caress his cock with my tongue and I toy with the rim of the edge, knowing full well I get a whole new range of feeling whenever it’s played with on me.
His moaning around my cock is heaven. He imitates my strokes and brushes the head of my dick with his tongue. It’s my turn to moan into him, and I bite back the urge to fuck his face hard. I do ease myself all the way to the base, slow enough to avoid him kicking back the intrusion to his throat. The grip around my cock is tight the deeper I go. His throat is untested, and I enjoy the feeling of it stretching to accommodate me.
I pick up the pace with my mouth, careful to avoid cutting him with my teeth but getting it close enough to “threaten” injury. He quivers each time my canines run the length. I’d never hurt him, but even when I’m sucking his cock I like to think I have him controlled under me.
I move my hands from his balls down the cleft of his ass. Saliva from my efforts runs in rivulets down to the bed, coating his ass and getting things wet enough for play. I take my time inserting a finger—slow enough for the experience to be pleasurable the whole way through—and he groans in satisfaction.
Lust gets the better of me and I thrust hard and quick. Miles doesn’t protest. He goes as limp as possible and takes me all the way, digging his fingernails into my skin as he suppresses his urge to gag. While fully planted in his throat, I feel a tightening in my lower gut and clench my whole body with the wave of release. My mouth closes around Miles in a tight embrace as I empty my seed deep inside him.
I pull out as he coughs for air. He doesn’t make a move to get up, and I continue my work on his erection. Without my cock in the way, he moans aloud with each full descent along his shaft.
“Pierce,” he whispers. “You’re really good at that….”
I slowly insert a second finger and pick up the pace. I’m tired—awash in afterglow delight—but having his cock in my mouth keeps a bit of the heat alive in my gut. I’m half tempted to put my flaccid dick back into his mouth and have him suck me hard for a second round. I doubt it would work, considering my busted-up condition, but the thought excites me.
I don’t dwell on it long, however. I can feel Miles swell for release. He arches his back, and his balls tighten as I take him deep. He comes into my mouth, and I allow the tangy flavor to flood my senses. I don’t get excited over semen, but Miles is a different story. I like knowing what he tastes like.
I swallow and lift off him as I roll to my side.
Miles scoots close and locks his mouth with mine, the flavors of sex mingling in our kiss. It’s erotic in a way I haven’t experienced before. I pull away and run a hand over my mouth, rubbing the edges to relax them after a prolonged period of use.
“What got you into that?” Miles asks, tucking his hands behind his head.
“I wanted to try something different,” I say between long breaths. “You like it?”
“Y-yeah. I mean, I didn’t think you’d do something like that, but… I enjoyed it. I wouldn’t mind if we did it more often.”
“Hm.”
I crawl my way up the bed and rest my head back on a pillow. Miles chases after me and tucks his head between my arm and chest.
“Why do you think the Cobras are after Big Man Vice’s kids?” he asks.
I snort. “I have no idea. To fuck with him, most likely. Anita would have a conniption fit if her children were harmed.”
“Maybe. Why didn’t they want to kill you?”
“I suspect they were going to once Diver spoke to me. This is the Cobras we’re talking about. He probably doesn’t trust his underlings to do anything meaningful.”
Miles nods. I keep him close.
I POCKET the key to my safe deposit box and exit the bank.
That’s it. Everything is done. All that’s left is the grand finale.
I glance around Noimore as I get into Brisko’s van. The muted rays of sunlight filtering through the overcast sky reflect off the chrome of a thousand cars going to and fro. Once I set off Jeremy’s trap, I’m skippin’ town and never coming back. Nick won’t be looking for me much as the turf-war bullshit settles down. By the time he realizes I’m missing, it’ll be too late.
I finger the key in my pocket as I drive through town. I hate rush-hour traffic, but my mind is preoccupied. People could be flipping me the bird and I doubt I would notice.
My only regret with this ordeal is leaving Miles. I think about him all the time—for the past five days it’s the one thing I fluctuate on. A piece of me wants to tell him everything. A piece of me also wants him to forget I even existed. What would a younger version of me want? I don’t know. It’s bullshit thinking like that, which is messing me up.
I pass by the Nightquarter Café and see the establishment is closed. It doesn’t surprise me. The fights happening in the basement are illegal. Setting it up with customers in the main room would be a hassle.
The laundromat is set and ready to go. I finished the wires days ago, and now all I’ll have to do is walk in and trigger the explosion at the appropriate time. It feels good to get things done early.
A damn storm is lingering over the lake. Winds bluster in at odd times and the rain comes and goes without any definite beginning or end. It’s typical weather, but I’m in a better mood than most days and wish the surroundings would reflect that. It’s easy to get worked up on life after avoiding death twice in a row, after all.
I pull up to the safe house and step out of the vehicle. I open the front door and a wave of smoke hits me, dispelling any jovial feelings I had seconds before.
“What’s going on?” I yell.
“Everything is under control,” Rodger shouts back from the cabin’s kitchen.
I doubt that. Common sense is in short supply these days.
Rolling my eyes I storm into the kitchen and find the oldest Vice boy attempting to cook. It doesn’t look like anything difficult—a few pancakes and eggs—but somehow he’s burnt half of them and undercooked the others. I rip the spatula from his hands and shove him away from the utensils. The problem is apparent the moment I glance down. The heat on the stove is set to the max.
“Have you ever done this before?” I ask in a condescending tone.
Rodger shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t look that hard, though. I’m sure I’m just missing an easy trick.”
With one part sarcasm and one part melodrama, I slide the heat to a lower setting. Rodger frowns.
“Perhaps we should order out,” Rodger says.
I snort back a laugh. “Best idea you’ve had so far.”
“Three pizzas, then? One for us and two for Brisko?”
“I don’t care. Anything but you cooking.”
The place is a mess, and I straighten things out, if only to avoid a fire starting. Rodger watches me with an intent focus, and I glance back at him with a glower. He doesn’t pick up on my cue of irritation and instead gets in closer.
“I managed to get ahold of Luna,” he says. “It turns out she’ll be leaving the state soon.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Sounds like you have a wonderful relationship with your fiancée.”
“Apparently she doesn’t want to go back to her father,” Rodger drawls, staring at the oven but likely not seeing a thing.
I hate to inquire, considering Rodger’s tendency to pontificate on matters I don’t care about, but it’s obvious he wants some sort of attention.
“How did you meet this broad?” I ask.
“Out and about in town. She was shopping, and I bought her some new clothes.” He laughs. “I didn’t know at the time owning personal effects was against her tenets in life.”
So she was shopping but her religion doesn’t allow her to own personal property? I already know the punchline to this entire story, and it churns my insides—Rodger has no idea what’s going on.
This dame goes out shopping. I suspect she hates her father’s way of life—it would explain the negativity in the paintings she made—but couldn’t find a way out of her situation. Then she meets some rich kid who purchases her clothing—something she’s probably never had much of—and falls for him, despite his lackluster qualities. They fool around, he goes to their cult house, he falls for their cultist ways of life, she doesn’t like that and ends up running away again after he submits to their “you don’t need money, give it to us” bullshit. And now she’ll keep running until she finds someone else.
I pity Rodger. He should’ve eloped with the girl and been happy.
The thought stops me dead in my tracks.
Am I making the right decision? My situation is different than Rodger’s, but my advice applies regardless.
No. It’s different. It is.
God, I hate when I get pensive.
“Are you okay, Pierce?”
I turn to him with a lifted eyebrow. He motions to the countertop. I glance back and realize I’ve spilled pancake batter across the tiles. When did that happen?
“Get me a towel,” I say.
Rodger shrugs. “I used them all already.”
“Then give me your damn shirt.”
He removes it on command, and I find myself unable to think for a second time during this conversation. Rodger’s got a cut body—must have time to work out—and when he’s quiet, he’s delicious eye candy. I take the shirt from him and give the counter a hasty swipe, my eyes on him rather than my task.
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