Chasing the High

by Beth Michele

  A loud groan tore out of him as his whole body quivered and he came down my throat. I swallowed several times, wanting every drop before releasing him. As he floated down from his orgasm, I kissed up his chest and along the grooves of his muscle, licking the sweat from his skin. When I reached his face, he wore a lazy, sated smile.

  He leaned up and pressed his lips to mine. “Hi.” I only grinned in response, loving how completely satisfied he looked—and messy. Damp strands of unruly hair stuck to the sides of his temples, cheeks glistened with sweat. His arms were limp against the pillow. I never realized how much I loved messy. But it was such a good look for him. “That might just be the best fucking blowjob you’ve ever given me.”

  “I aim to please.” I sucked on his bottom lip, whispering, “Now tell me your surprise.”

  Drew moaned and I thought I had him. I should’ve known better. “Not happening, Sam.” He grinned against my lips. “But you’re more than welcome to keep trying.”

  GOD, I WAS nervous. So fucking nervous.

  Sweat seeped through the linen fabric of my white shirt and built up behind my collar. Sam gave me a questioning look when he saw what I was wearing. “Since when do you wear linen?”

  Thinking fast, I replied, “It was on sale at Saks, and I thought, why the fuck not? Change is good, right?”

  Okay, that was lame.

  “Don’t get me wrong, you look great. I’ve just never seen you wear it before.” He stood beside me, thumbing through his shirts in the closet. I chuckled when I noticed he’d hung up my t-shirts on hangers, black first, then white. “What?” He turned his head to see what I was staring at before his eyes darted away. “I’m sorry… I just… well… you can throw them in the drawers.”

  I grasped his shoulder and waited until he faced me. “It’s fine. Really. I appreciate it, I do.”

  “You don’t have to say that. I know… I have issues about certain things. I can’t help it.”

  My sigh was long and deep. “Sam, have I ever bullshitted you?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Good. Now leave the damn shirts on the hangers and get dressed.”

  He gave me a second glance as if he questioned whether or not I was telling the truth. I’m not sure if he found what he was looking for, but he did manage a smile. “Okay.”

  It was another fifteen minutes before he was dressed, and then he decided to shave. At that point, I was so sweaty I needed another shower. Standing in the doorway, I watched him drag the razor slowly down his jaw. It was pretty fucking hot.

  Sam paused, looking up at me in the mirror. “Stop staring at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  He tilted his head. “Like you want to rip my clothes off and fuck me.”

  I grinned, folding my arms over my chest. “True story.”

  Those big eyes thinned. “Go wait in the other room. You’re too distracting.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I laughed. “I’m going.”

  While I waited, I grabbed the remote and idly flipped stations on the television, not really seeing anything. My mind raced along with my heart. This was ridiculous. I clicked the off button and threw the remote on the bed before wearing a thousand holes in the carpet. The longer Sam took in the bathroom, the more my nerves ratcheted. By the time he appeared, I was a complete disaster.

  “All set,” he informed me and I nodded. “Hey, you’re really sweating. You all right?”

  “It’s hot in here.”

  He held out his hands like he was feeling the air. “No, it’s not.”

  I snatched my wallet from the table, ignoring his comment. “Ready?”

  Outside, the sun was beginning to dip into the horizon. In the scheme of things, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night. Although you wouldn’t have known it by the heavy weight unsettling my stomach. I dragged the back of my hand over my damp upper lip as we wandered toward the restaurant. Most of the tables in plain sight were filled and I told Sam to wait while I spoke with the hostess. When I returned, he cast me a skeptical glance.

  “Do we need to go somewhere else? It looks pretty busy.”

  “No, we’re fine.”

  The hostess gestured for us to follow her, and as always, Sam latched onto my hand and twined our fingers together. As we neared the table, my body felt like a spring wound too tight. Part of me wondered if I could actually go through with this.

  “Here we are.” She set two menus on the table before leaving us.

  Sam stared at the white tablecloth, candles, and exotic flowers, and turned to me. They did exactly what I’d requested, and still, it took me aback. It almost seemed like fucking overkill. Shit. Planning it in my head was different than seeing it up close and personal.

  His forehead creased and he let go of my hand. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re having dinner.”

  “No.” He shook his head from side to side. “What is this?”

  I did my best to appear unaffected, but the damn sweat continued to roll down my skin. “A table.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Just sit, Sam.” But I could see the wheels spinning. I knew he was trying to figure it out. Needed to figure it out. It was just his nature. I didn’t enjoy torturing him, but he was going to have to wait—because I wasn’t fucking ready yet.

  For a minute, he didn’t sit down. His fingers found his wrist and he tugged on the leather. I hated that his first response was to be nervous or worried.

  “Sam.” I softened my voice. “Everything’s okay. Please. Just sit.”

  It’s funny. I was never good at planning anything. Spontaneity was my gig. Maybe I should’ve stuck with that. Because judging by the uncertainty on Sam’s face, my whole plan had gone to shit. I guess it was time to take my own advice and fuck the plan.

  When he was finally settled, I dragged my chair closer and sat facing him. “What about this worries you? Help me understand.”

  “Well, for starters, you’ve been acting strange all afternoon, nervous almost. And then, I come down here,” he waved his hand, “to all this. You don’t usually do things like this, so… I’m feeling some apprehension.”

  “Sam.” I raked a hand through my hair and sighed. “This is me, attempting to get better at the whole feelings thing. It’s kind of a work in progress, but I’m trying. It wasn’t easy for me for a long time because my father, the person who was supposed to help me express them, told me I was a fucking pussy who wasn’t allowed to have them. But that’s over now. Done. No more excuses.” I allowed myself one more deep pull of air into my lungs. If there was anyone I was willing to lay my heart out there for, it was Sam. “I want you to move in with me.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “I want you to move in with me. I… I know you’ve said several times how much you love my place and the energy in the village. And I know you can write from anywhere.” Sam’s expression didn’t help me figure out what was going on in his head. So I kept talking. “You’re always reaching out to me. This is me… reaching for you.”

  His brows took a dive and he looked away. Not exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. After several beats, he came back to me. “Drew, I… it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need things a certain way, and I’m afraid… I’d suffocate you.”

  “Sam…” I scooted closer until our knees were touching. Until I was staring into those apprehensive brown eyes. “I want you with me. You. That’s all of you. You think I give a fuck about any of that stuff? I don’t. Only in the sense that it’s part of what makes you who you are. I don’t just love pieces of you. I love the whole of you.” My fingers scraped through the ends of my hair. “Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m saying this right. It sounded so much better in my head.”

  I scrubbed a finger over my mouth. Sam still wasn’t giving me anything, and I didn’t know what to do. Desperation clawed up my throat and pushed the words out for me. “Listen, you want to organize my closet by colo
r, do it. You want to fold my fucking underwear, go right ahead. You want to remake the bed because the corner of the sheet sticks out, fucking fine by me. As long as your face is the last one I see at night and the first one I see in the morning. That’s all I care about.”

  A hint of a smile flickered over his lips and relief sailed through my chest. “Can I use that Yogibo?”

  I grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  One word and my fucking pulse rocketed. “Okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll move in with you.”

  As I leaned in to kiss him, he pulled back and I groaned. “What now?”

  His lips curved. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.” I smirked. “And hurry the hell up because you’re ruining my fucking moment here.”

  “I want to get a dog.”

  “Done.” I dug my fingers into his hips and tugged him closer. My breath teased his lips. “We’re moving in together.”

  “We are.”

  Our mouths fused together in a kiss that was way too brief, but enough to let me know this was real. All of Sam’s earlier apprehension drained from his body. I felt the precise moment when it happened—because he fell into me.

  “I’m so in love with you,” he whispered against the corner of my lips and I shivered. Because his words were so fucking powerful. Because my heart absorbed each one, soaking them up until they squeezed inside my chest. My breathing accelerated as he inched back, but not enough that I couldn’t say the words—the ones that made my heart take flight.

  “I love you, Sam.”

  His lips parted on a blinding smile. “I know.”

  Continue reading for an excerpt from

  REX by Beth Michele.

  HUNTER DRAGGED ME through the dark wooden doors—doors no seventeen-year-old should ever have to walk through—seeing things a seventeen-year-old should never have to see.

  Yet there we were.

  And it was all my fault.

  Actually, I take that back. The woman that sat there, with the perfect hair, black pants and black jacket, as fake tears fell from her eyes? The one who didn’t deserve to be called Mother?

  Yeah, it was her fucking fault, too.

  The smell of something awful distracted me. I never realized death had a smell. But it did, and I’d never forget it as long as I lived. I wasn’t even sure how to explain it. Thick, stale air mixed with nothingness? That didn’t begin to describe the scent that filled my lungs, constricting my airways and making me want to hold my breath and vomit at the same time. My knees were like lead, yet still I felt like I might collapse. Hunter grabbed onto my elbow tighter as we entered together.

  “I don’t fucking want to be here.”

  He peered down at me with a scowl and in a hushed whisper, said, “Watch your mouth, Rex.”

  His lips looked weird, like two straight lines. His eyes were glossy and sad, and even though anger burned a hole through my outsides, my insides felt the same.

  We traipsed by rows of people, and I watched them, pity falling from their eyes onto our faces, but that was the last thing I deserved. No. I deserved to take the poison that would lead to a slow death. Because that’s what it would be like from there on out. Living with it—the guilt that would tear apart my insides, shredding me until there was nothing left.

  And still, that wouldn’t be enough.

  We walked by her, that woman who called herself my mother, and she reached out for me. A seething hatred that had been building for quite some time nearly exploded. But it wasn’t the time or the place. As I felt her vile hand on my arm, I yanked out of her grasp, holding myself back from spitting on her, because that wouldn’t be appropriate.

  Thankfully, Hunter pulled me toward the front of the room, but I froze when I saw the small casket. I couldn’t do it.

  “Don’t make me go up there, Hunter. Fuck. I can’t.”

  When my feet came to a halt, Hunter turned and crouched down on the rug in front of me like I was a small child, looking up into my eyes. “He’d want to know you’re here, want to see you one last time.”

  I nodded because that was all I had left, the tough kid I knew myself to be was crumbling. So I let Hunter go first, and my hands began to shake when I heard his quiet sobs as he softly spoke to Tyler. I wanted to tell him it was too late. But I didn’t want to spoil his moment.

  He stepped to the side, and I inhaled a deep breath before I took the three paces up to Tyler. In that moment, I was very thankful the casket was closed. I couldn’t have looked at someone who no longer resembled my brother.

  I placed my trembling palm flat on the shiny wood, closing my eyes and dragging in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Tyler. “I’ll never forgive myself. You know how special you were to me.” A tear dripped from my eye. “I love you, buddy. I hope wherever you’re going they have lots of that mint chocolate chip ice cream that you like, and baseball games so you can show them how you play a mean first base. I know there will be lots of music so you’ll be able to play your guitar.” My voice cracked. “I’ll look for you when I chase the moon.”

  There was nothing more to say. I couldn’t form any more words anyway. Hands were wrapping around my throat and the sensation of being choked forced me to let out a pained howl. It wasn’t pretty. It was repulsive and loud, attracting glances from everyone in the room.

  I turned around and bolted for the door. Hunter followed, catching up to me and clutching my wrist, making me stumble back.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, that wrinkle he always got when he was confused came out on his forehead.

  “I want to go chase the moon,” I said, huffing out heavy breaths.

  “It’s daytime, Rex.”

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter. I’d never catch it anyway.

  THE DOOR TO the shop jingles as I’m cleaning up my station in the back, organizing the inks and disposing of needles. I’m getting ready to get the hell out of here. I’ve been here since the crack of dawn, and I’m bone tired.

  Zeek pokes his head in, nodding toward the door. “It looks like we’ve got a walk-in and I’ve gotta zip. Going to see my babe.”

  “Come the fuck on, Zeek.” I grit my teeth, exhaustion bringing out the monster in me. “I’m fucking tired.”

  “Listen,” he grins, “you’ve seen Tabitha’s wrath. You’re more than welcome to bear the brunt when I tell her you forced me to stay,” he eyes the front desk area, “and tattoo some ridiculously hot chick with a great rack.”

  My ears, among other things, perk up at his words. He knows my resistance is next to nothing when it comes to women. Plus, tits are my weakness. “All right. Get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Zack Reeker, better known as Zeek, manages this shop. He’s the one who hired me six months ago when I moved from Boston back to New York City, in desperate need of a gig. I’d been staying with my brother, Hunter, at first. That lasted all of about a month. While he wasn’t pushing me out, we were starting to grate on each others’ nerves. The irony is that I actually moved back to the city to be closer to him. He’s pretty much all I have. My father died of a heart attack when I was twelve and my mother is still alive. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s dead to me.

  For at least a month, I pounded the pavement, portfolio in hand, showing examples of my work to anyone who was willing. I was like a fucking puppy dog with my tail wagging, waiting for someone to throw me a bone, give me a chance. Zeek took an instant liking to my work, and I took an instant liking to him. He doesn’t mess around. He’s honest, no-nonsense, and talented as hell.

  “Thanks, man. Enjoy.” He winks, his cackling an echo in my ears as he heads out.

  “I’ll be right with you,” I yell, and huff out a breath, the only thought on my brain is collapsing onto my bed and zoning for a good eight hours.

  I scrape a hand through my hair, bypassing a couple of stations before making it to the front. The first thing I see is a curtain o
f blonde streaks hanging down over her face as she checks out one of the tattoo books.

  “Hey. What can I do for you?”

  Her head lifts slowly, hair falling away to reveal a face comprised of porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, and eyes framed by thick, lush lashes. I’m trying to catch wind of the color from here—pale blue, maybe grey.

  “Hi.” She stands up, her lips pencil straight like she’s nervous or scared, maybe even uptight. That’s when I get a good look at the rest of her. My eyes roam lower from the full, round tits amplified by her tank top, to her skirt, baring legs that seem to go on for miles.

  What I could do with those legs.

  “I want to get a tattoo.” Her voice is bland, shoulders completely rigid.

  “Okay. Do you already have something in mind?” I turn my head, nodding in the direction of my station. “I can bring you back and you can look through some of my designs, get some ideas.”

  “I already know what I want,” she retorts, and there’s a sudden chill in the air. I can’t say that tattooing her is going to be all that much fun. She seems like a fucking iceberg, and I’m internally cursing Zeek for handing this one off.

  “Sure. Let’s sit down, you can fill me in and then I can sketch it out for you.”

  I take a seat next to her and lean back in the chair, angling my body in her direction. She turns to me, and that’s when I get a good look at her eyes. They’re a blue-gray, really pretty. But they’re cold and sad. For a second, I wonder what that’s about.

  “I’m looking for something simple.” She points her index finger to her upper arm. “I just want it to say, love sucks.”

  I repeat it as if I didn’t hear her correctly. “You want it to say, ‘love sucks’?”

  “Yeah.”

  As a tattoo artist, it’s not my job to argue what art someone wants on their body, but for some reason this doesn’t sit right with me. “You do realize this is permanent, right?”