by Frankie Rose
“Hey.”
“You must be Avery.”
“I sure am.”
Sam walks toward the couch, Morgan still hugging his side. They look so damn cute together. I feel bad for being grumpy about their obvious happiness, but I can’t help myself. I’m dead inside these days.
“Heard a lot about you,” Sam says.
“Oh. Awesome.” I can imagine how that conversation played out. I smirk as he chuckles, leaning down to kiss Morgan.
“Okay, kitten. Little room to breathe, huh?” He smiles and Morgan laughs in a bright, lovely way that makes my insides hurt. I know other girls turn into giddy train wrecks when they fall for a guy, but Morgan? Yeah, I never thought I’d see the day.
I flop down on the couch, and Morgan sits down beside me. I expect Sam to join us, but he doesn't. He chooses the armchair instead, sprawling out, all long arms and long legs, kicking his boots up on the coffee table.
“You ladies of leisure been causing mischief?” he asks.
“I was being a good Samaritan, helping Avery here move apartments. No mischief involved whatsoever.”
Sam grins at her, flashing a set of really awesome, very white teeth. “Hmm. Sounds better than writing a four-thousand-word essay on the agricultural practices of extinct civilizations. My paper has to be in at the end of the week. No summer break for me.” He looks a little older than your average college student, but I refrain from mentioning this. Morgan pulls a face at the both of us.
“Yawn. Fuck school work.”
“No, not fuck school work,” I tell her, laughing. “We still have plenty of work to be doing over the summer. I’d like to pass my degree if that’s at all possible after everything that’s already happened, thank you very much.”
“Everything that’s already happened?” Sam looks confused.
I glance sideways at Morgan out of the corner of my eye, raising my eyebrows. Haven’t you told him?
She shrugs, pouting. “Ah, not much. Avery was shot and nearly died, and I overdosed on bad E. Tough semester last year, right?” She laughs, nudging me with her elbow. I can hear the tired note in her voice though—despite the bravado, she’s as exhausted by what happened as I am. I should have known she wouldn’t have mentioned any of that stuff to a new guy. Especially a hot new guy with no baggage, who apparently already has a key to her place.
“Intense,” Sam says, stabbing his index finger repeatedly into the arm of the chair he’s sitting in. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Nope.”
Both of us answer at the same time. It’s me who shoots him an apologetic look, though. “It’s water under the bridge. We’re moving past it. Trying to.”
Morgan huffs, spinning around so she can lay her legs across my lap. “Trying and succeeding like bosses. We should probably get jobs for what remains of the break, y’know? Become well-rounded contributors to the human race.”
“If you say Starbucks, I’m going to kill you.”
“Oh come on!”
“Not happening.”
Morgan pouts. “Imagine how many people would be murdered in New York City on a daily basis if the general populous didn’t get their morning dose of caffeine.”
“If I ever have any spare time again once these assignments are done. I’m not getting a job. I’m going to learn a new language or something. That would look great on my resume if I want to chase down this whole war correspondent thing.”
Morgan makes a disgruntled sound. “I have problems remembering English half the time. I don’t have room for another language.”
“Why the fuck would you want to become a war correspondent?” Sam drops his feet to the ground, leaning forward. “I figured people drew the short straw in the office to get landed with that shit.”
I smile, shaking my head. “The news is full of half truths and blatant lies. War related news especially. I guess I’ve just always wanted to be out there, making sure at least one person is telling the whole truth.” I brush my finger over my lips—a nervous tic I find myself doing more and more these days. My whole life has felt like a goddamn war zone of late. That should be enough for me, and yet here I am, working toward a future that promises even more panic and danger.
Sam’s mouth draws down at the corners while he apparently thinks on this. “True. And that’s important. But a conflict zone’s scary as hell and dangerous as fuck.”
I shrug. “It’s the highest I can aim. It’s the most competitive field there is in journalism. I may be scared and it may be dangerous, but I’m kind of used to that these days.”
Sam studies me with sharp eyes. “No guts, no glory?”
I nod. “No guts, no glory.” I’ve never thought of myself a thrill seeker before. It’s never occurred to me that perhaps I’m the sort of person who goes searching for trouble. But I think, in that brief statement, there is some truth for me. I won’t feel like I’m accomplishing anything unless my final goal comes at great personal cost or risk, in a way. I have to earn it.
“Well, then, you're one tough cookie,” Sam says, sighing. “Personally, I think you should reconsider, but then again we just met. What the fuck do I know?” He smiles, and it’s a melancholy smile. He seems like a perceptive guy. I can’t escape the feeling that perhaps he’s right and I should be looking for a safer career. I find myself wondering what Luke would say if he knew what I was planning. Would he cheer me on and think it was a great move for my career, or would he try and dissuade me? Would he think I was being reckless with my life? I guess his opinion is academic, at the end of the day, since he obviously doesn’t give a shit about me.
Morgan wiggles her toes to get my attention. “Screw learning a new language, dude. You’ve been working way too hard as it is. Do something easy instead.”
“Easy like what?”
“You play any instruments?” Sam asks.
“Mmm, that would be a big fat no. I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”
“That’s not true,” Morgan says, clicking her tongue. “Wasn’t your dad a guitar player? He taught Luke, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Music’s handed down through your blood, Ave. It’s been scientifically proven.” Morgan says this with such gravitas that I almost find myself buying it, even though the statement is patently untrue.
“She’s kind of right,” Sam says. “Kind of. People who grow up in musical environments when they’re kids generally tend to have a better grasp of musical languages. I wouldn’t mind teaching you, y’know. I do some tuition on the side to fund my German porn addiction.”
Morgan throws a sofa cushion at him. He ducks out of the way, and the cushion harmlessly hits the wall. “Joking. Joking. Seriously, though. If you like, I can take you through the basics for free and then loan you some books so you can self teach if money’s a problem?”
“No, no. Money’s not a problem. I could pay for lessons, I guess. I just…” Until two seconds ago, I’ve never even thought about learning to play an instrument. I don’t know how I feel about the concept yet. “We’re talking about guitar, right?” I ask.
“Yes ma’am.”
Morgan throws her feet down off my lap, sitting herself upright. “I think it's a great idea. Playing would be fun. Maybe it would be a release for you too. Something you could carry on long after the semester’s over.” She slaps my arm, eyes wide. “And, dude! You just stole a guitar from Luke’s place. It’s kismet.”
“I’m probably too old to learn now.”
“Bullshit. No such thing.” Sam says.
I try to picture what it would be like to play guitar, and all I can think of is a sad, broken boy in an Irish bar in Hell’s Kitchen playing Blackbird by The Beatles. “I don’t know. It’s kind of Luke’s thing, isn’t it?” I say softly to Morgan.
“Pfffttttt. Please. It was your dad’s thing first. It might be a good way for you to get closer to him.”
“Mmm.” I’m still unsure.
Sam rolls the sleeves of his t-shirt up, exposing even more ink and some rather delectable biceps. Morgan pretends to faint back onto the couch. Sam ignores her, though he can’t hide the wry smile on his face. “If you can play an instrument in front of a crowd, you can do anything, Avery. Anything in the world.” Tilting his head to one side, he waggles his eyebrows. “So, what do you say? You in or you out?”
ELEVEN
AVERY
TEN WEEKS AGO
“I just want to breathe you in. I want to fucking eat you all up, Miss Patterson. You’re too damn delicious. I can’t leave you alone.” Luke’s hands find their way underneath my t-shirt, slightly cold from playing guitar outside. When I came home after class, he was sitting on the stoop of the building, the collar of his gray wool jacket popped up against the chilly wind, his cheeks colored red, and he had a small picnic basket on the ground between his feet. His gig bag was leaning up against the railings next to him, his guitar obviously inside. When he saw me, he grinned, got to his feet and told me he was taking me for lunch at Bushwick Inlet Park.
It was beautiful, the food was amazing, and Luke’s private little show had me desperate to relieve him of his clothes. He has that affect on me; I want him so badly all the time—as soon as he opens his mouth and starts to sing, it’s basically game over. He wasn’t complaining when I suggested we pack up the rest of the amazing spread he put together and take it back to the apartment so we could finish it in bed.
His hands find their way underneath my bra, now, making me squeal as my nipples tighten, reacting to the cold. Luke smiles slowly, mouth open a fraction, like he really is contemplating taking a chunk out of me. His eyes are filled with desire, mirroring the emotion that sings through me, lighting me up from the inside out. “Take your panties off,” he commands, slowly shaping his mouth around each word, his breath hot against my cheek, down my neck, making me tremble in the most embarrassing way. He presses his lips against my neck, grazing his teeth and his tongue over my skin, and my eyes roll back into my head.
“Oh my god, that…that feels amazing.”
“Good. Do as you’re told, Avery. Take off those panties for me.”
I love this possessive, demanding side of Luke. As we spend more and more time together, figuring out each other’s bodies, learning the secrets of each other, he’s becoming increasingly outspoken. It’s such a turn on for me. Knowing what he likes is amazing. Knowing what he wants from me is even better. A shiver of pleasure rolls through me, starting at the backs of my legs, working its way up and over my stomach and my buttocks, traveling up to my breasts, where he’s cupping and squeezing me with both hands.
“I—I can’t,” I sigh. “I need to take my jeans off first.”
Sliding his hands all the way up my body, Luke pushes one hand out of the neck of my shirt, and then the other, laughing like an idiot as he does it. He places his palms against my cheeks, lightly holding my face as he leans down and kisses me. “Then you’d better get moving, girl. I have to go to work soon and I’m getting impatient. I need to fuck you.”
It drives me crazy when he says the word fuck, too. There’s just something so sexy and raw in the way he says it, the way his teeth press into his bottom lip on the F. The way his mouth remains open upon completion of the K. He makes it sound carnal and deviant. Like he’s already imagining that he’s inside me and he can feel me tightening around his cock.
“Say it again,” I tell him, focusing on that beautiful mouth of his as I wrestle out of my pants.
He gathers my hair from my face and wraps it around his hand twice, closing his fist around the knot of curls, and then he slowly pulls my head back. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I need to fuck you, Avery. I need you on my cock.”
I can sort of understand how guys can get off listening to some woman talk dirty to them on the phone now. My body responds to the way he speaks to me so violently sometimes. And he knows it, too. He knows how he can make me fall apart with a simple sentence—albeit one that would make a sailor blush—and he loves to use that against me. It’s a weakness. Superman’s weakness was kryptonite. Mine is when Lucas Reid leans over me, his body tangled up with mine, and he whispers that he wants to finger my ass, into my ear. It was embarrassing at first. Mainly because I wanted it so badly and not because I was mortified over what he would tell me he wanted to do to me, or what he wanted me to do to him.
I kick out of my jeans and then take a moment to slide a little more seductively out of my underwear. Luke doesn’t let go of my hair as I bend at the knee, my ass sticking out as my hands reach the floor. I keep my eyes trained on him the whole time. He loves me to look at him like this. He especially loves it when I’m on my knees and his hard cock is in my mouth. I can see the urgency in his eyes when he’s close to coming; it sends the most catastrophic waves of pleasure through me.
“You’re a bad girl,” he tells me. “You’re asking for trouble, aren’t you?”
I nod, biting my lip—something I always thought was ridiculous whenever I saw other girls out on the street or in bars with their guys doing the same thing. Luke seems to like it, though. And pleasing him is my favorite pastime. The feminist in me doesn’t particularly feel good about thinking things like that, but hell…when it comes down to it, I feel amazing when he feels amazing. It seems like a fair trade.
“Stay there,” he tells me. I freeze where I am, bent over, my ass sticking out, and Luke steps around me, still holding onto my hair, until he’s standing behind me. He traces his fingertips over me, making my skin prickle absolutely everywhere. His fingers travel down from between my shoulder blades again, down my spine, down until he reaches my buttocks. From there he cups my right ass cheek, squeezing hard, digging his fingers into my flesh. “God, your ass is amazing, girl. I just wanna bite it.” He slaps my butt, just hard enough to send a little spark of pain racing around my nerve endings. I probably have his handprint on my ass now, but it won’t be there for long. He never spanks me hard enough to cause long-lasting damage.
He makes a pleased hmming sound, and then he’s letting go of my hair and dropping to his knees behind me. A sharp snap of pain fires through me, and I squeal with surprise, which has him laughing out loud. “Sorry. As soon as I said it, I had the image of me biting you in my head. I had to do it.”
“Maybe when I’m going down on you I’ll return the favor,” I say, grinning.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Luke growls playfully. He grabs me by the hips and jerks me back so that I sit heavily on his lap, my back to his chest. He makes short work of my bra strap, unfastening it and sliding the straps over my shoulders, then reaching through my arms to cup my breasts again. He groans, biting my shoulder lightly from behind, and I can feel his cock digging into my buttocks, hard as steel. “God, Avery. You’re so damn sexy. I’m gonna make you scream so loud. Do you want me to fuck you hard?” Slowly, he runs his hand down my front, over my stomach, until his fingers are between my legs. He knows exactly where my clit is, knows exactly where to touch me to steal my breath.
“Yes. God, yes, I want you to. Please.”
“I’m going to make you come like this first, beautiful girl,” he whispers roughly into my ear. “Wait.” He hooks one arm around my waist, and then he shunts us around in two quick movements, so that we’re facing the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I see myself sitting on his thighs, him resting on his heels, and my legs are spread open, on either side of his, exposing my pussy. My back is arched against him, my head tipped back, a look of sheer ecstasy on my face. I barely recognize myself. Over my shoulder, Luke watches me with an intensely fascinated burn in his eyes.
As he rubs slow circles over my clit, he stares at me in the mirror, his other hand squeezing and palming my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple, making me suck in a sharp breath. “See how beautiful you are,” he whispers into my ear, voice thick with lust. “See how fucking amazing you are. Look at yourself, baby. You’re incredible.”
I do as
he tells me and I see how turned on I am in the reflection. I would have shrunk away from that image a while back. It would have made me feel ashamed, especially to witness myself grinding my pussy into his hand the way I am right now, loving how his fingers feel as they work me, making me wetter and wetter.
“Fuck, Luke…”
“You want them inside you?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes. God, yes. Please.”
Luke watches me out of the corner of his eye, mouth open, looking seriously turned on as he slowly, slowly, slowly pushes his index and his middle finger inside me. There’s something incredibly sexy about us both watching him do this to me in the mirror. I’m normally not in a position to see what’s going on when he’s doing this, but it’s not just that. It’s the look on his face. He’s driving me out of my mind.
Luke grinds his teeth together, baring them a little as he pumps his fingers in and out of me a little faster. “Jesus, girl,” he growls. “My dick feels like it’s about to explode or something. I’m so fucking hard.”
Just hearing that makes my pussy tighten, and Luke feels it happen. He swears under his breath, grabbing hold of me by one hip with his free hand and pressing up with his hips so I can feel exactly just how hard he is. I press back against him, panting, losing myself in how amazing it feels every time he draws his fingers out of me and then slides them back in, inclining them upward a little so that they’re hitting my g-spot. I’ll come soon if he continues like this, and he knows it.
“Are you ready for me, baby? Are you ready, or do you want me to make you a little wetter?”
I’m already so slick from what he’s being doing to me, but I’m enjoying this so much, it’s hard to turn down the offer. I nod, feeling boneless and limp as Luke takes hold of me in his arms, stands and then leans me against the bottom of the bed, so that my back is propped against the mattress. He spreads my legs, and climbs between them, his hand working slowly, casually up and down his erect cock, as he looks at me, devouring me with his eyes. “Watch me,” he says. “Watch me make you come, baby. Watch me lick your come off your pussy.”