“Abby.” I’m rocking my hips against his hand, letting the incredible feeling of him wreak havoc on me. “Show me how you like it.”
A week ago, I wouldn’t have known what to do here. But for the last week, as I’ve laid in my bed at night and touched myself, imagining that my hand was instead his, I’ve learned exactly what I like the best.
I grab ahold of his hand, directing him, and as I do, his eyes darken.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters as I push him further and harder inside of me. “You are so fucking sexy, Abby. So fucking…”
His words die as my moans drown him out. I’m left spinning, up in space, spiraling around outside of my body, as sensations that I’ve never felt before circle all around me. I’m slick with sweat, and my eyes are squeezed shut, as my hips thrust so hard against him that he has to lean his body against mine to keep us in place. The second that he adds another finger to the assault, I lose myself.
Before I can even come back down to earth, my body is pulled away from the door and lowered onto a small mattress. When my eyes finally open, he’s laying on top of me, completely naked and poised at my entrance. Without another word, I feel him, pushing inside of me, the delicious thickness of him causing both pressure and pain, mixed with an intense pleasure that I never want to end.
Just as quickly as it all started though, he stops, pulling himself back from me, regret filling his beautiful features.
“Fuck.” His head hangs. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
I blink in confusion. What part of taking all of my firsts did he not fully comprehend?
“You said that you were going to take all of my firsts, Liam. So, take it. Please, take it from me.”
His arms shake, and he inhales sharply, pulling his eyes away from mine and staring at the brick wall next to the bed.
“Abby. You don’t want to give this to a guy like me. I promise you, I’m only going to hurt you. I’m the kind of guy that you should be running away from, not running to.”
I see the tension on his face. I can almost read his mind. I know that he wants me. I know that he’s fighting an internal battle here, between being the good guy, and being the guy who slams inside of me, tearing me wide open as he fucks me into oblivion. The want in his eyes makes me powerful. I stare into his eyes, barely blinking, until finally I shrug.
“Fine. I guess if you don’t want to take it, I’ll just have to go and find someone who will.”
Liam’s eyes flash. A growl leaves his mouth, right before his arm wraps around my waist. As he lowers his hips again, and begins to fill me, a slow growl leaves his lips.
“The fuck you will.” His eyes are hot on mine as he pushes into me just a wee bit more. “I’ll be the one to take it, Abby, but just know that I warned you. I fucking warned you. I’m not a good guy, baby. And I’m going to end up wrecking you.”
“Then, wreck me.” I’m basically begging at this point. “Wreck me, Liam. Take it from me. Take it…”
I don’t need to ask twice. His thick length pauses at my entrance, and as he dips his hips and pushes inside of me, I nearly pass out. He stills, his eyes locking with mine, his entire demeanor turning softer. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.” His lips brush mine, and I nod.
“Just do it.”
He fills me completely. My hands fist into the bed beneath me as I try to ignore the pain that shoots through me. I cry out for him, and as I do, he pauses. The second that he stills, I’m able to adjust to the feeling of him filling me so fully. It’s only then that I finally relax, and then without any warning, an intense pleasure fills me. It’s so good. -so incredibly fucking amazing - that I know immediately that I will never be the same.
With each thrust, I leave my body. With each growl that leaves his lips, I feel more powerful than I ever have before. And as his sweat drips down onto my body, I feel like a completely different person.
Gone is the meek girl who takes orders and does what she’s told. In her place is this woman, who takes exactly what she wants, without any feelings of regret. And regardless of how this all ends up, I will never regret it. I will never regret him.
I’m silently begging him to wreck me, and he does exactly that. He ruins the lonely girl from the bench, replacing her with one who feels fucking everything.
As his movements become rapid, my hips crash harder against his. When his hand wraps into my hair and pulls it hard, I beg him for more. As his lips travel over my skin, sucking and biting, I lose every last ounce of control. And then, when my orgasm hits me hard enough to shake every ounce of my core, finally, he screams out my name. He finds his own release before falling onto me, our slick bodies covering each other, while we both pant to catch our breath.
But that powerful feeling is short lived.
As he slides out of me, his eyes stay squeezed shut. And as he rolls onto his back, still gasping loudly for air, he pulls the rug right out from under my feet.
“You need to get dressed.” His words are harsh and unexpected. I mean, what in the fuck? We just had sex. Aren’t we supposed to lay here and cuddle or something?
He abruptly jumps to his feet, pulling his shorts on quickly and then grabs my clothing still scattered around the room, and tossing it to me.
“Get your clothes on, Abby, and then you need to get the hell out of here.”
I sit in stunned silence, just staring at the man who only seconds ago was chanting my name and kissing my lips.
“Liam…” Shame fills me. Did I do something wrong? Did I not measure up?
He doesn’t even give me the chance to finish. As he heads towards the door, he barely glances back to me.
“When you leave today, you need to promise me that you will never come back. You need to stay away from me, Abby. You have to stay the hell away.”
5
Liam
Ancient History
“What’s your problem today, anyways?” My baby sister, Bianca, glares at me and pulls the braid that I just spent fifteen minutes on out of her hair. “You’re being extra crabby today. Do you have a case of the crabs?”
Luke snorts from where he sits in front of the only TV that we own. I give him a stern look, and then turn my attention back to Bianca.
“Number one, don’t ask people if they have a case of the crabs. That’s actually not nice. And two? I’m not crabby. I’m just really tired today, sweetheart. I was up pretty late last night.”
Up tossing and turning, that is, replaying every image of my encounter with Abby yesterday, over and over in my mind.
I’m filled with self-loathing, which is honestly nothing new.
I’m used to feeling this way, used to feeling like a complete ass who is always doing the wrong thing. That’s basically my MO. If there is a good choice to be made, you can guarantee, that I wasn’t the one making it.
I broke my own rule yesterday, with hardly a shred of hesitation. I fucked a virgin. I fucked a virgin hard.
And then after I took the most precious gift that she had to offer, I threw her out, and told her to never come back. I’m a real fucking gentleman like that.
I know that I brought this on myself. I’m the one who approached Abby in the first place. I should have just kept my distance and watched her from afar. I should have admired her beauty, admired her laugh, and then came back home, found a chick from around here to fuck around with, picturing Abby’s face the entire time. That’s what should have gone down.
Instead, I walked up to her. I spit more game than I ever should have at her and practically bared my soul to her. I told her I wanted her firsts, and then I kissed her, losing myself to her for a brief moment in time. I pictured what life could look like, and I let my mind run away with that. Never in a million years did I actually plan on making good on any of it. I also never imagined that she would show up at my gym, ready to force me to make good on my word.
Fucking around with Abby crossed every boundary that I’ve created for myself. And now,
I’ve crossed a line that I should have steered clear of.
“Why did you take my braid out, B? It looked fine. I watched a YouTube video on it.”
My baby sister rolls her eyes, which is a habit that I’ve been trying to get her to break. I level my gaze with hers and raise an eyebrow. She immediately frowns.
“I’m sorry. And your braid stunk, Liam. Where’s Letty? Is she coming over this morning? She knows how to fishtail braid. She can do it when she gets here.” My stomach turns at the sound of her name. Because why wouldn’t it? I just spent part of yesterday inside of a woman who isn’t my girlfriend. If I still even have a girlfriend, that is.
I can’t be certain of that, the same as I’m not sure about any damn thing these days. Letty and I are so on again, off again, that even I’m having a hard time keeping track.
Last week, she told me that she was done with me acting like the dad she never had and told me to get the fuck out of her life. The next day, she called to tell me that she loved me. A few days later, it was the other. Still, though, she’s showed up here already two mornings this week to help me with Bianca. Our lives are so twisted together, that even a breakup or a few mean words can’t tear us apart. Honestly, even me fucking someone else probably wouldn’t tear us apart. I
know Letty’s done the same thing on a few other occasions when we’ve been on the outs. My relationship with her, like every other area in my life, is a complete mess.
A mess that I had absolutely no business bringing someone like Abby into.
I finish Bianca’s braid for the second time and then move on to the rest of our morning routine. Bianca runs off to pack her backpack, Luke grumbles, but turns the TV off and gets his ass in gear to finish getting ready for school. I pack Bianca’s snack, which basically consists of the last scraps of food left in our house, and then hurry them both out of the door, in the direction of the school.
As we make our way down the sidewalk, I keep my eyes open on our surroundings, keeping both of my siblings close behind me, on high alert for any signs of danger. Which, around here, there are always signs, and I’ve gotten really good at picking up on them.
A loud argument? We turn the other direction, because nine times out of ten, one of the voices will pull out a gun, and stray bullets will start flying around the neighborhood, even though it’s not even nine a.m. yet.
A car driving by a little too slow? Potential drive by. We immediately dip into the alley and cut through town.
Then, there are the gang bangers that stand on the corner, daring you to make eye contact with them, just so that they can make an example out of you for stepping on their turf. There’s the pimps who look at my baby sister with a sick gleam in their eyes, waiting for the day that she can be talked into spreading her legs for money.
There is so much fucking bad out here, that it makes my head spin. But when I took over custody of my younger siblings, I also made a vow to do everything in my power to keep them safe. It’s been tough, much harder than I ever expected. I feel like I’m constantly being pulled in ten different directions, barely able to keep us fed, afloat, and most importantly, safe. It’s about to get even harder in a few weeks when school is out for the summer. Right now, I count on school lunches to feed these two at least one meal a day.
As of right now, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to manage to keep them both fed for the next three months or how I’m going to manage to keep them safe while spending every night in the bars fighting. It just seems so damn impossible.
As we prepare to cross the street towards the school, Luke releases his grip on Bianca’s hand and turns her over to me. Luke’s only sixteen, but he recognizes how dangerous our situation is and does a good job of protecting her, the same as I do. But Bianca is just a kid. At nine years old, she’s too young to really understand just how much evil there is surrounding us every day. She doesn’t notice how sometimes when Letty shows up, her jaw constantly ticks and her hands shake, a sure sign that she stayed up all night putting shit up her nose.
She doesn’t notice the way that the pimps eyeball her, and if she notices that we sometimes go hungry, she doesn’t mention it. I don’t have much to be proud of in my life, but the fact that my baby sister has lived through our shitty life and come out basically unscathed is one of my few accomplishments. And I plan on keeping it exactly that way.
But crossing the street to her school is always a bit risky. The yellow line down the center of the road is actually the marker for the changing of turfs. Our side of the street is Sinners, whereas the other is the Saints. Two equally powerful, equally deadly gangs. Every day that we cross, we risk getting ourselves killed in the crossfires. That’s why my siblings will never make this walk alone.
My senses are on high alert. I keep Bianca as close to me as I can get her. She looks down at the pavement, one of the many things that I have drilled into her head for safety. She thinks that it’s because the sun’s glare is so bright that it could hurt her eyes.
In fact, it’s because I don’t want her to accidently catch eyes with either a Sinner or a Saint. Luke walks closely on my heels, our steps matching in a finely tuned execution that we have set into motion over the last two years. I breathe a sigh of relief once we step foot on the school’s property, and once Luke and Bianca are safely behind the school’s doors, I yet again begin my dangerous trek back home, praying to God the entire time that nothing happens to me.
Nothing can happen to me. If I were to die, Luke and Bianca would end up back in foster care. Bianca would become the prey for every twisted motherfucker that convinces the state that they aren’t really the pedophile that they actually are. Another sick piece of shit who would try to sneak into her room at night, to do unthinkable things to her.
Nah. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.
My life may be nothing more than a daily fucking struggle, but if it has absolutely any purpose, it’s to stick it out for my sibling’s sake.
It’s only once I’m safely back in our shithole apartment, with the door shut behind me, that my mind shifts from that of survival, right back to the one thing that kept me awake all night long. Abby.
If nothing else, I’ve got the visions in my head of her, of the way that she felt, and the way that she sounded as I stretched her wide and loved her the way that she deserved. It was brief, and now it’s over, but the memories will last a lifetime. I’ll think of her when I need to remember that there is good in the world. That beautiful, smart women do exist, even if they aren’t meant for me. If nothing else, I can use the mirror image of Abby in my mind to help Bianca become a woman destined for more than these streets.
It will give me something to hold on to. In a world where only shitty cards are dealt, I’ll always have Abby. At least, I’ll have her memory.
6
Abby
The letter is crumbling in my hands. It was falling apart two weeks ago when I found it, but I’ve held it in my hands so many times since then, reading and rereading every single line, that some of the words have started to blur together and holes are forming in the center.
It’s the only thing that I have left of my past. The past that actually belongs to me, that is. Not the one that my dad has been trying to convince me is the one that fits.
I found it buried in the back of my childhood closet, in a small box tucked underneath the one floorboard that didn’t seem to sit right with the rest of them. I probably never would have even found it, if I hadn’t been on night number two of no sleep.
I had been pacing in my bedroom, and when I finally grew tired of that, I opened up my closet, ready to pace more in there, when I stubbed my toe on the board.
At first, I was pissed, especially since I was certain I’d broke my damn toe. But when I leaned down and stared at it, the shiny silver box caught the moonlight. It glimmered just enough to make me wonder if I was seeing things due to lack of sleep, or if there was really something buried down there.
I devoured the contents of that box, studying everything inside of it, desperate to pick up on every single clue as to who I used to be. The letter was all the way at the bottom, sitting underneath a culinary school pamphlet, a few various ticket stubs, a small ring with an even smaller diamond, and a locket with a picture of my grandmother inside of it.
There were no pictures of the mystery man, just this old letter, filled with his words. And, dear God, his words.
They were the missing link that I had been searching for, of that, I was certain. Every single line on that page was written by a man who at one time, adored me. He loved me so much, that even though I have no memory of us, those words scrawled on that paper wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold, snowy day. I felt safe for the first time since waking up in that hospital and felt like I finally had a link to my past.
If only I could remember it.
But that’s the problem here. I can’t remember anything. Six months ago, I woke up in a hospital bed with a terrible headache. I had lines and tubes coming out of all of my orifices, a cast on my arm, and a stranger at my bedside holding my one good hand. I knew my name, but that was about it.
The giant rock that was sitting on my finger felt foreign, and wrong. I’ve never been more scared or felt more alone.
My parents rushed in a few minutes later, once the nurses notified them that I was awake. But even with them surrounding me, nothing in the world felt right.
I’ve gone through an intense rehabilitation program and have regained full function of every part of my injured body. I’ve sat through brain camps, seen the best psychologists that money can buy, and even still, I’ve got nothing. Not a damn memory of my life before my accident. No memory of my favorite foods, my favorite music, or any part of the life that I used to lead.
I don’t remember how to do things that used to bring me such joy. Even when I was brought back home, to my loft apartment above the bakery that I owned in downtown Chicago, I literally felt nothing. I remember staring at all of the kitchen appliances that I used on a daily basis, trying to figure out what they were. I had spent a few nights in my loft, surrounded by all of my things, and still, came up with nothing.
Worth Repeating (Worth It All Book 1) Page 4