by Joya Ryan
Well, you’re right.
Which is why I shouldn’t be touching you.
Ever.
You’re too clean.
Too innocent.
Too young.
“You think I’d go fuck someone else tonight if not for you?” I ask, hoping your answer will be the cold water I need to walk the fuck away right now.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Am I wrong?”
No, you’re not wrong. I’d walk away from you tonight and try to fuck you away by using the closest willing woman.
“You shouldn’t care and there are no turns. I’m not a fucking Ferris wheel.”
“Neither am I,” you say sharply. “And I know that you want me, so stop trying to deny it. I’ve watched you walk away for years. Tonight, stay. Right here with me.”
Your soft hands gently slide down my stomach, coming out from under my shirt and back up to my neck. You cup my face. Jesus, your palms are fleshy and soft. Like velvet. If you’re this soft on the outside, I can only imagine what it feels like to be inside of you. And I want to find out.
So. Fucking. Badly.
“Coe,” you whisper. Your thumbs slowly moving from the corner of my mouth out, then back. Caressing my face. Like you give a shit. Like you see me in this darkness. I can’t remember anyone ever holding my face. Ever.
I can’t remember the last time I was held in general.
“Shay.”
You kiss me softly. No tongue. No force. Just your sweet lips, open slightly to taste mine. Is this how you kiss the boys at school? The thought drives me mad. Anyone who’s ever had their hands on you, I suddenly feel the need to end. They don’t deserve to feel you. Myself included.
“Stop,” I say.
You move your lovely face away, but you leave your hands where they are.
“Why?”
I need to tell you that I’m not this guy. That I’m not soft and kind. I need to scare you, get you to stay away from me. To leave. But I want to feel you. I want you to stay.
“I told you, I don’t do soft, sweet bullshit, Shay.”
“And I told you I can handle it.”
I scoff in your face. Your hands move to my neck, down to my chest.
“You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Stop treating me like a child.”
Fine.
“Be careful what you wish for, little girl. You want to be act like a woman? Big legal adult now? Want to be with me?”
You nod your head, your hair shifting and hitting me with that flower smell all over. Fuck, you smell good.
I cup your throat, then slowly put my first two fingers to your lips. You’re still. You don’t know what to do. Jesus, Shay. What am I supposed to do with you?
I gently push and you open your mouth.
“Suck,” I say.
You do. Good girl. I imagine you’re sucking my cock instead of my fingers. Just the thought has me ready to come in my jeans like a damn teenager.
I pull my fingers from your lips and put them between your legs. You gasp. I knew you’d gasp. You’re about to say a lot more…
I roll my fingers beyond your panties and along your folds. You’re wet. Not dripping, but just enough to let me know you did like my kiss.
Your hands on my chest grab at my shirt. Little fists. Holding on.
That’s right, hold onto me.
Your legs move wider. You want more, don’t you?
I put one finger in you, and holy God, you’re hot. So fucking hot, you’re melting. I want you wetter. You have to be wetter. You’re nowhere near ready for me. No matter what you think.
“Do you even know your own body?” I ask, genuinely curious. You’re eighteen, I’m certain you can’t be a virgin. There’s not much to do in Mojave besides fuck or run around with your friends. I’m sure you had a boyfriend or two. Senior prom. All the opportunities. But you are young. Nothing could have been that good for you. Yet.
“Y-yes,” you tell me.
Liar. You don’t know. But I’ll teach you. Show you. I feel in control. Happy. Calm. I’m getting my fix, Shay. Don’t think I don’t realize it. I can’t think beyond the moment. Why this is bad. I just like the calm you give me. The way you feel. The way you make me feel.
“Good,” I placate you. “So, you know how this feels…” I go deep into you. So deep that my finger hits the spot I’m looking for and my thumb is against your pouting clit. You want it. Your body does too because your sweet cunt has clamped down on my hand. But you don’t even know what it’s asking for.
I move my finger inside of you while rubbing my thumb against that sweet little bud of yours.
Your fists tighten in my shirt.
“Oh…Oh, Coe. I…”
“Have you ever come?”
“I don’t know. I think, maybe.”
That’s a no.
I wonder how many times your soft hands have touched this perfect skin, tried to make yourself come. Could you not finish yourself off? No other man could since you’ve been with boys, I’m sure. But I can make you come, Shay. And you’re going to need to hold on for this.
“Have you ever touched yourself here?” I move the finger inside of you faster.
“No…I’ve never…I’ve never touched myself inside before. Only the outside.”
“Do you like it?”
You nod your head.
“Say it,” I demand.
“Yes, I like it,” you breathe.
“You’re going to come tonight, Shay. And you’ll never question it again. You hear me?”
“Yes.” Your mouth grazes mine. I duck away and bury my face in your neck. If I kiss you, I’m going to fuck you. And I’m trying to keep some kind of damn control here. Get out of this with still a shot at getting into heaven.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m going straight to hell.
Your sweet cunt squeezes my fingers. You’re close and I don’t care that I’m a lost cause. I just need to feel you come for me. I’ll jack off later thinking of this moment. First, I need to get you there. I need it more than my next damn breath.
“Coe…?”
Your sweet voice is asking me everything in that one word. My name.
“You’re there, baby. Come for me.”
I add my other finger, surge deep, and rub fast. It’s too much for you; I can feel it. Your skin lights up against mine. Your pussy rains on my fingers and your sheath tightens then spasms.
“Coe!” Your strangled breath is barely audible. You hold on. Good girl. You come hard, I keep up my fingering. Now you know what a real orgasm feels like.
And now I know I’m fucked for life thinking of this moment.
You wrap your arms around me and hug me. Like I’m the only thing you can cling to. Like you want me close.
I want you close.
But I won’t keep you.
I won’t even keep you in this moment—
I pull my fingers from you and step back. The night air hits me and my damp hand is chilled. Realization of how wet you were hits with every gust of cool air. You came a lot. Hard. Drenched me. All I can think about now is what you’d feel like wrapped around my dick.
It’s an instant obsession. My high has let me down. You are my high, and I’m crashing, hard. Every inch away from you makes me think more about my next hit. My next taste of you…
Never.
There can be no next time.
Get out of here before I change my mind, Shay.
Now.
Your eyes are wide and bright. The only thing I see in the darkness. Your shadow is moving. Adjusting your skirt? Reaching out for me? I’m not sure. Because I’m backing away. Step by step.
“We’re done,” you whisper. Not a question, but not a confident statement. Are you dazed, Shay? Realize I’m a fuck that doesn’t deserve to be inside you in any way?
“Move away from my truck,” I say.
You do. For the first time, you listen to me. You move. Take a few steps in the direction
of the crowd. The unknowing crowd several yards away that are still watching fireworks.
You’ll be fine. Just go back to them. Go back to whoever you came with. Just go.
I walk to my truck, open the door, and get in. Slamming it, I see you slowly walk toward the crowd. I put my truck in gear and that’s when I see it. You, on my fingers. Sweet cream and pink…
Pink.
Blood.
You came for me, Shay. And for that, I broke you and made you bleed for it.
I kick my truck into reverse and peel out.
“Fuck!”
I can’t remember the last time I hated myself more.
Chapter 2
“You look like shit,” Trade says to me.
My brother doesn’t miss much, and even though I’m an asshole, I don’t relish the idea of him thinking me so. He thinks I’m a good guy. I want to keep up that illusion the best I can. Even though we both know I’m a former addict that practices hard every day to not think about getting high.
You know what else? I look like shit because I fingered you last night and haven’t slept since. We’re coming up on twenty-four hours since I felt you come around my hand and between hating myself and reliving every damn second, I’ve been teetering somewhere between permahard and disgusted with myself.
“I feel like shit, thanks for noticing,” I tell my brother. He came out to my place to check on me. He’d never say that, but I know him. Always a watchful eye on me, hoping I don’t slip back into my junkie ways.
I let him do whatever he feels he needs to. Even though it crushes my heart a little each time. Or maybe it’s my ego. Maybe both. But I’m older. By a few minutes, sure. But still older. I don’t need the people closest to me thinking I’m going to relapse. I won’t. No matter how much I struggle. You were right, Shay. I fuck and race to keep busy. To chase that high I miss. But I’ve never gotten higher off anything than I had off you last night.
And that was just a sample.
I’m minding my own business, tinkering on a few small engine pieces on my race car. This is normally Trade’s job. He’s the mechanic. I’m the racer. But I need to do something to get you off my mind. I’m surrounded by nothing but desert out here and it suits me. Keeps me away and there’s a solitude to my simple dwelling and lifestyle.
Despite my preferences of having my own space, I still get found. Like last night. By you. And once again, my thoughts turn to your lips. Your soft inner thighs that flexed and squeezed around me as you came.
“Something on your mind?” Trade asks.
Yeah, something is on my mind. You. You are on my mind. Why the fuck couldn’t you have left me alone last night? Why am I still thinking of you? Why did you have to be a virgin?
Virgin.
That one word has been rocking through my mind all damn day. Last night, there’d been a hint of blood on my hand, Shay. I know what that means. Do you? Do you even realize what happened? Other than you coming, of course. I broke you. Made you bleed. Which means no one else had been as deep in you as I had been.
A thought that has me hard again.
“Nothing I need to talk about,” I say, closing the hood of my car and wiping my hands on a rag. Trade folds his heavily tattooed arms over his chest and looks at me. It never ceases to amaze me how we accidentally dress like twins. Tonight, we’re both in white T-shirts and jeans. Though Trade’s skin is marked up with art and mine is bare. Other than that, we’re built about the same. Do you notice, Shay? Do you care? Trade would be the better Anders brother, you know. He’s the better man. Which is why I can’t talk to him about you. I can’t tell him I have it bad for an eighteen-year-old. Sure, you’re hot beyond your years. Mature. But it doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful and clean in a way I wouldn’t dream of corrupting.
Well…I’ve dreamed of it.
And I’m getting harder.
Fuck this. Fuck my thoughts. Fuck you.
I need a release. That’s all. I need to stop thinking of you and your virgin body and your sexy mouth. How clean are you, Shay? How dirty would you be interested in getting? Would you promise me I’m the only one that would get to touch you? Feel you. Be inside you.
“What the hell are you doing? You developing a tic now?” Trade asks me.
Apparently, I look like a lunatic warding off my thoughts of you. Thanks a lot.
“I’m tired.”
Trade looks at me for a long time. “What—who—did you do last night? I saw you leave the fireworks.”
“Are you Sherlock Holmes now? Stay out of my business.”
“You’re the one who stomped off last night. And now you’re tired.”
I swear to God, if Trade uses air quotes one more time, I’ll lose my shit. I can’t tell him about you. Not yet.
No…there is no yet. There will never be anything between us. Now or ever.
If I could get my damn dick on board, that’d be helpful.
Too bad Trade knows me well enough to know I’m full of shit and something is legitimately bothering me.
“Look, I won’t pry. But whatever has your mind in chaos, do what you need to do to get it right. I don’t want you to…”
He was going to say…Relapse. I can tell by the sad look of concern in his eyes.
I can’t blame him for worrying about that. And he’s partly right, I need to get my mind right. He’s seen me high. He’s seen me go through withdrawal. I don’t want to put him through that and I sure as hell have no intention of falling off the wagon. It’s been years. But it still hurts. I crave it. Not as much as I crave you. I know from experience that the day after a good hit is the hardest. Which is today. I want something so badly. You.
I think of how calm and easy it is to get lost in this kind of high.
Like I got lost in you.
You.
A light hits behind my damn eyes like a fucking cartoon character with a bulb above his head. You’re my high, Shay. You make me want. You make me calm. You make everything feel easy and overwhelming. I have a sense of control when I’m with you. Yet, I’ve never been racked with such raw need that I could explode at any moment. I had a taste of you last night and I want another fix. A deeper fix.
Fuck…I’m more screwed than I thought. Because I need to do something. I can’t be sitting here thinking of what drugs feel like in my blood. I think of you instead. Not a different thing. You light up that same blood I have. Blood that’s been tainted. Blood that craves you.
“You struggling? Need a meeting? Support?” Trade asks, his voice all too serious.
“I’m fine. I’m not going to fuck up my sobriety.” I glance at him. He’s worried. “I’ll get it together. Just a lot on my mind.”
He nods slowly, like he doesn’t believe me. Can I blame him?
“Alright. I’m heading to Mic’s to meet Quinn. Wanna come?”
I shake my head. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
“Alright, I’m here, brother. Anytime.”
I know he is. Because he’s a good man and even better brother.
I nod.
I watch him leave, then look at my truck sitting in the driveway. Time to leave the racing car and go get the fix I need. Or figure out a way to detox completely.
#
I knock on your door. The same door I’ve knocked on a thousand times in the past looking for a fix from your brother. Ironic, now I’m looking for a fix from you…but in a very different way.
At least I know your brother won’t answer the door because he and Wade, my cousin, went to prison several months ago for dealing the shit they were.
I’m not sorry those assholes are in jail, Shay. What I am sorry about is the expression on your face when you open the door and see me.
“What do you want?” you ask me.
You’re not happy. I can’t blame you. I want to ask you a lot of things. I want to say a lot of things. Why is nothing coming out of my fucking mouth?
You raise your brows and cross your arms o
ver your perfect tits. How did I not pay attention to those last night?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought of opportunities missed. Opportunities I want back. What the hell am I doing here?
“I ah . . .” I adjust my stance, trying to go for a cool demeanor and hook a thumb in my belt. Your eyes dart down to the motion and I like the idea of you glancing at my cock. “I wanted to talk about last night.”
The screen door creaks as you move toward me. Before you come out, I hear another voice. A voice I recognize. Your grandmother. This is her house. She’s raised you and your piece of shit brother since you were both young. I’ve been to this house many times, but it looks darker than normal. It wasn’t a shithole before, but it wasn’t great either. It was modest. And for whatever reason, it looks worse than I remembered. Granted, I haven’t shown up to this doorstep in a hell of a long time since I’ve been clean. There’d never been any reason to show up except to get your brother to deal.
“I’m just going to talk to Coe outside for a second, Grandma. I’ll be right back,” you call over your shoulder.
“Coe Anders? That boy your brother runs around with?” I hear her call back. I close my eyes. Your grandma isn’t stupid. She knows I was mixed up in her grandson’s drug game. Knows we were asshole guys that got wasted together.
Her slow footsteps followed by the sounds of wheels rolling along hardwood get closer. I haven’t seen your grandma in a while and it’s shocking. She’s getting old. And the oxygen tank she’s pulling behind her makes my own chest hurt.
“Coe Anders,” she says, making eye contact and getting closer to the door.
“It’s good to see you, ma’am.”
I’m going for respect and politeness, but she doesn’t say anything. She likely hates my ass.
“I’ll be right back, Grandma,” you say to her softly and kiss her cheek. Yep, it’s really fucking clear she hates me. But you push the screen door open and walk down the driveway. I follow you. Your grandmother is left leering at me for a solid ten seconds before slamming the front door. She worries about you. Worries that you’re with the likes of me. I would worry too. You’re the one good thing around this place and all the shadows that follow me.