Night Tide

by Kory M. Shrum

  Don’t, don’t do it, his mind warned. But he was already leaning in. He was already finding her lips with his.

  She sighed into his open mouth and shivers ran down his spine. He slid his hand up her back and crushed her to him.

  “Here,” she whispered, and pushed against his arm until his hand was on her hip. Then she grabbed that hand and slid it down the front of her pants.

  His fingers traced over the rough stubble from where she’d shaved. She opened her legs wider and he found her wet.

  So wet.

  The last time he’d fingered a girl was Olivia Richards in the back of her Ford Mercury after rehearsal for Oklahoma! one night. He tried to remember what Olivia had liked best about his performance—what she’d responded best to—and started there.

  Grayson trailed a finger over the soft hood of her clit, back and forth. She gripped him harder, whimpering into his ear. His erection grew so hard he thought he would burst inside his sweatpants.

  When her squirms gave over to desperate mewling, he slid his fingers inside her. Her moan rose in her throat.

  He clasped the back of her neck and pressed her mouth against his throat, hoping to muffle her sounds.

  He froze, thinking he heard a creak on the stairs. For a long time, they lay perfectly still, his fingers inside her, listening to the dark.

  “You have to be quiet,” he whispered.

  She nodded, her soft cheeks rubbing against his throat. Her grip on him only tightened.

  He began to pull his fingers out, only to slide them in again. She whimpered in his ear, but the sounds were soft. When he bore down, letting the heel of his hand press against her clit while he kept working his fingers in and out, her moans grew loud again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, breath heavy. “But please don’t stop. Please.”

  He sympathized with her. The throb in his pants was unbearable.

  Then he felt her hand—in her own pants. At first he was confused.

  “No, don’t stop,” she whispered. “You should—yes.”

  He pumped his fingers in and out of her while she rubbed her clit. It took almost no time at all to send her over the edge, and before he’d even established a decent rhythm, loving the slick, soft feel of her, he felt her contract. He rode the wave, not stopping until she was fully spent.

  Then her hand was slipping past the waistband of his pants.

  He hadn’t been wearing boxers or briefs under his sweats, so her hand found his erection immediately.

  Her fingers were already wet with her own juices as she cupped him and began to slide her hand gently up and down his shaft.

  Now it was his turn to bite back a moan.

  She sucked at his throat and ear as she rubbed him, picking up speed. It was the moisture in her hand that made the sensation euphoric.

  As if reading his mind, her hand disappeared.

  He was close to begging, but he was rewarded for his patience. When her hand reappeared, it was even slicker than before. She’d clearly touched herself one last time for his benefit.

  “God,” he moaned. Whatever he meant to say next was swallowed up by her mouth closing over his.

  She probed his tongue with hers and wouldn’t let go. She devoured him as her hand continued its steady, relentless rhythm.

  Then he came and she held on as if she could milk every drop out of him.

  “Grayson?” his father called out. He was at the end of the hallway, where the landing split between the two bedrooms.

  His heart jolted. “Yeah?”

  His voice was tight in his throat.

  “Abby’s mom isn’t coming tonight. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Grayson said, hoping his voice sounded steady despite the rabbit pulse in his ears. “Thanks.”

  “Try to get some sleep, all right?”

  “Yep,” he said. And that’s when he knew his dad knew. After all, he had called out from the landing rather than from his door. And why would he tell him to get some sleep unless he suspected he hadn’t even been trying?

  “Good night, son.”

  “Night.”

  Neither Abby nor Grayson moved until they heard his parents’ bedroom door click closed.

  Abigail seemed unperturbed by this. “I want more of you,” she whispered.

  “My bed squeaks,” he said.

  “So let’s get on the floor.”

  Grayson had heard that male sirens emitted a potent pheromone that induced arousal in women. Was Abigail still reeling from its effects? If so, no amount of effort would placate her tonight. Only time would do that.

  She saw his hesitation. “Or not.”

  “I want to,” he said and he wasn’t lying. He was certain, with enough, encouragement he could rise to the occasion.

  “But you don’t want your parents to hear you?”

  “And...” But he wasn’t sure how to finish this sentence.

  “And?” She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. She leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed her towel. She used it to wipe her hands and then his. This gave him time to compose his thoughts.

  “I don’t have any protection,” he said. “And I suspect what we just did might not be the most...hygienic.”

  “I’m clean,” she said. “I just did my annual. You won’t get anything from me.”

  He smiled, pushing the hair back from her face. “I want to be sure you really want this. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

  “We’ve been through a lot,” she corrected him.

  Landon. Grayson kept replaying all his favorite memories of Landon. Landon over at his house, eating chips and drinking soda after school while they played Resident Evil on PS4. Landon with slicked hair and braces as they went to their first dance. Landon when he’d confessed that he wanted to ask Abby out and whether or not Grayson thought it was okay.

  Why would I care? Grayson had asked.

  Because she’s your friend, too.

  Abby searched his face. “I know I want this. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rehearsed this moment in my head. I’ve imagined us in just about every place I could think of—my bedroom, yours, the back of my car, in the pool at school after one of your meets. I help you change out of your swimsuit in those tiny shower stalls and—”

  “That’s weirdly specific.”

  “I’ve also pictured us in one of those long boats out on the water.”

  “You can’t paddle one with less than four people. Well, you can, but it would be hell.”

  “On the beach...” Here she stopped talking.

  She’d gotten that wish tonight at least. Or a comparable experience, if the male siren had been convincing enough.

  Abby’s lip quivered. “It’s too soon, isn’t it? Oh god, you must think I’m an awful, heartless—”

  “No,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her as she began to cry.

  “Hey, no. I don’t think that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m terrible.”

  “You’re not terrible,” he said again, because he wanted to be sure she’d actually heard him. She only cried harder.

  “I probably just ruined the one friendship that means anything to me. God, Grayson, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to—what’s wrong with me?”

  He held her tighter.

  “You probably don’t even feel that way about me.”

  “I do,” he admitted. “I swear I do. I just didn’t figure it out as quickly as you did.”

  She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “How long?”

  He was sure that his crush on Abby had developed in tenth grade. There was evidence at least, in the way he’d begun to notice her more. Or rather, what he began to notice changed. The way her face lit up when she smiled. The way her gym shorts sat on her hips and curved under her buttocks when she did laps around the gym. The way his heart would skip a beat when she would slide her arms around his neck and hug him bye at the end of the day.

  But h
e didn’t really know for sure until he’d started applying to schools in September. When he considered the distance of each school, or tried to imagine himself with a new life in that new place, it was Abby who kept crossing his mind—not his family or his friends or his love of Castle Cove.

  It was her he didn’t want to leave.

  “I figured it out nine months ago, but I’d been crushing for a while before that.”

  “Nine months ago. At the beginning of senior year?” she asked.

  A shadow fell across her face as something cut across the sky, momentarily breaking the moonlight.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “So...you liked me all year but didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re—were—with Landon.”

  A cascade of emotion seized her face. She began tugging on his pants again, almost feverishly.

  “No,” he said. “Abby, no.”

  She stopped, her expression caught somewhere between desperation and anger.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  The tears broke, spilling down her face. “Once you start to think about it, once you start to realize what this means, you’ll break it off.”

  “No, I won’t,” he said again, and pulled her into his arms. “I swear.”

  How could he explain it to her? If he was being honest with himself, he knew only loyalty to Landon had held him back and also loyalty to Abby. He’d respected their decision to be together. In fact, he respected her desires even more than Landon’s and perhaps that’s one of the reasons he finally realized what his true feelings were.

  “You’ll think it’s wrong. You’ll get it in your head that it’s betraying Landon somehow,” she said, sniffling into the hollow of his neck. “You won’t believe that I’d been trying to find the right time to break up with him for a year,” she insisted. “It’s not because he’s dead, okay. It’s not because—”

  “I know,” he said, squeezing her against his side. “I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me. But there’s no hurry.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

  He smoothed the hair off her face. “There’s no hurry.”

  Because the truth was, he wanted to be the only guy on her mind when they made love for real.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He combed her hair with his fingers. She softened against him then, giving over to the exhaustion of the night.

  He held her while she cried herself to sleep.

  Only when she was asleep did he finally allow his own tears to flow.

  He woke to a soft knock on his bedroom door. He opened his eyes and found his mother standing in the frame, one hand on the handle, another on the jamb.

  If his mother had any thoughts about the way Abigail was wrapped around his shoulder, sleeping soundly on his chest, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look directly at Abby.

  And Grayson was too exhausted to care. He felt like his eyes were on fire. He couldn’t have slept more than two or three hours.

  “Abigail’s mom is going to be here in twenty minutes. I thought she might want a bagel or coffee before she goes.”

  “Abby.” He shook her gently. “Abby, wake up.”

  At first, her hold tightened on him.

  “Abby, your mom is on her way.”

  She raised her head, auburn hair covering her face. She pushed it back with her hand.

  “Morning,” his mother said from the doorway. She came to the side of the bed and put Abby’s clean clothes on a pile. “I washed your clothes. Or you can just wear those.” She seemed to read Abby’s hesitation. “I can get them back some other time.”

  “Thank you,” Abby said, sitting up. “I appreciate that.”

  “Would you like a bagel and coffee?

  “Yes and yes.” She smoothed her abundant hair out of her face.

  “Blueberry or Everything?”

  “Everything. Do you have any of that garlic spread?”

  His mother smiled, but Grayson saw how it didn’t reach her eyes. “I do.”

  “I’ll take that, please. Thank you.”

  His mother gave him a look.

  “I’ll make mine,” Grayson told her before she shut the door with a nod.

  “I love your mother,” Abby said, stretching her arms overhead.

  “Do you need a washcloth or anything?” he asked. He knew Abby liked to wash her face in the morning.

  “I still have one from yesterday.”

  For a long time they both sat there, not moving, not speaking.

  “It really happened, didn’t it? He’s really dead.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “There was a moment when I was just coming awake and I thought—”

  “I know,” he said. The last twelve hours of his life seemed like a crazy blur.

  She took her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom without saying anything else.

  Grayson went downstairs and found the bagels by the toaster. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen. It was some sort of mocha blend. He could smell the chocolate.

  He cut a blueberry bagel in half with a knife and forced it into the slots of the toaster. He stood there while the elements glowed red.

  Landon.

  God, Landon. Was he really dead? Could he really be gone?

  His mind kept bucking against the idea with disbelief.

  Before he considered what he was doing, he had his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed Landon’s cell—he was the last one to call Grayson—and listened to the empty static on the line.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  “If you’re looking for Landon, you found him! What’s up?”

  It beeped and Grayson considered leaving a message. His mouth was half open. The breath was there between his lips.

  “Who are you calling?” his mom asked. She came through the swinging doors and crossed to the fridge. She pulled out a pitcher of OJ and stood there looking at him.

  “No one,” Grayson said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I was checking my messages.”

  It was a meaningless lie, but easier than opening himself up to have a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

  The toaster spit out his bagel and he took it into the dining room. He sat down at the table beside his father. That left a space between him and his mother for Abby, which already had a steaming cup of coffee and hot bagel waiting.

  “What are you going to do today?” his father asked.

  “I think you should stay home and rest,” his mother interjected. Her fierce blue eyes seemed to challenge his father to argue against her. “You clearly didn’t get enough sleep.”

  His father seemed oblivious to any such challenge as he shoved the last bite of a bagel into his mouth and continued to scroll through his phone, catching up on the morning news.

  “I’m supposed to be at work at two,” Grayson said. “But I could call in.”

  “You should,” his mother said. “What will Tabitha do? Fire you?”

  It was true that Grayson didn’t need his job at Curiosity Books. But he liked working there. There was something about the cramped rows and precariously perched stacks that comforted him. And it wasn’t like spending his afternoons in a used bookstore was a hard job. Usually he spent it reading behind the register and saying hello to the customers who meandered in.

  Every hour or so, there might be a purchase or two, but overall it was quiet.

  The most exciting part of the gig was the ghost upstairs who liked to move around Ms. Monroe’s dining room furniture when she was away. And sometimes, if the ghost was particularly restless, she would pull a book from the shelves just to hear it hit the dusty carpet.

  “Are you guys going to be here?” Grayson asked, forcing down a bite of his bagel. Thinking of Landon was making his throat tight again, but if he didn’t eat his mother would only come down harder on him. She was militant about self-care.

  “No, I have to go into the lab for a few ho
urs, but I’ll be home in the afternoon,” his father said.

  “And I have office hours and two meetings,” his mother said. “But I’d be happy to cancel those if you want me to stay with you.”

  “No,” he said and hoped he didn’t sound too eager. “I want to be alone.”

  “Okay,” his mother said, but her face was contradicting her. It was clear she didn’t really think it was okay. “There’s still Chinese in the fridge and I also made a salad.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ll let us know where you’re going to be though,” his mother said. It wasn’t a question, even if it did tilt up at the end. “Work or here?”

  Grayson Choice 9

  Go to work

  Stay home

  Reese: Go Home

  Reese climbed the dune, her legs noodles from the long swim. Falling adrenaline and the need for sleep pressed in on her. She wanted a hot shower and her own bed. Pronto.

  She drove back into town in a daze. Exhaustion pressed itself against her mind, numbing all thoughts except one. The storm had been strange. It had rolled in too quickly and disappeared just as fast.

  It was more than that.

  It was also the way the magic had felt along her skin. Something had happened tonight and Reese couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

  Reese parked her red pickup outside her Georgian three-story home in Cliffside. It wasn’t really her home in the financial sense. It was her aunt who’d bought and paid for the house, which was good. On a bartender salary, Reese would’ve been looking for an apartment in Old Town or near Red Light at best.

  Across the street, she saw the light on at Cole’s place and knew the demon and his vampire husband were no doubt awake despite the late hour. Normally she would go say hi, if the light was on like that. But after the night she had, she just wanted a hot shower and her bed.

  Reese unlocked the front door and stepped into the gorgeous foyer. A high ceiling and bright crystalline chandelier greeted her. The space was sparsely furnished in impeccable whites and ocean blues.

  Aunt Constance was an oceanographer, currently on a research expedition. The scientist was studying the degradation of coral in the Indian Ocean. The fact that Constance was a shark shifter no doubt helped that search and the fact that her crew were all supernaturals or supernatural fans at the least meant she didn’t have to hide what she was or her purpose in trying to salvage what was left of the ocean.