by Naima Simone
He moves forward, and the space I’d placed between us no longer exists. He doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t need to. Not when he leans down and murmurs, “I haven’t known you a long time, but it’s enough to see that you don’t have a spiteful, vindictive bone in your body. If you called the cops on your mother, then she must’ve had it coming. And, Woody?” He lowers his head more, his lips grazing mine. “I’m not most people.”
I slowly shake my head. “No, you’re not.”
“Tell me,” he gently orders. He moves behind me and wraps those muscled, strong arms around me. One under my breast and the other across my stomach. I’m surrounded by him, his earthy scent, his strength. “Get rid of it.”
I close my eyes, lean back into him. And do as he ordered.
“Since my brother and I were kids, my mother ran game, conned people. Sometimes it was men she dated. Other times, it was family, co-workers, people she just met. Didn’t matter. She used them for whatever she could get out of them. Needless to say, we moved a lot, and we couldn’t stay with relatives because they all knew she’d steal from them. And I wasn’t exempt from her, either. By the time I needed to get loans for college, I couldn’t. Because I had unpaid power, cable and water bills in my name. She’d used my identity, so my credit was shot before I was eighteen. So I had to earn scholarships and grants and work to pay for college because no bank would touch me.
“I eventually cleared up my credit, but that didn’t stop my mother from stealing from me. Especially after I graduated with a ‘good job’ as she called it. I could afford to ‘help her’ then. She stole checks out of my purse, took money out of my wallet, snuck out my laptop once and sold it. She even had a fake driver’s license made up with my name but her picture. And she would somehow always find out where I had my bank accounts, request another ATM card and clean me out. It didn’t matter how many times I switched banks or added alerts, she found a way around it. I’d talk to her about it, yell, scream, hell, cry. It didn’t affect her. Getting away from her was my reason for applying for a job at a college I’d never visited. If not for this last time…”
I bow my head and press my palm to my heart. Pain throbs there—pain that I was nothing but a mark to the woman who birthed me, was supposed to love me. Pain that I betrayed her.
“Finish it, Woody,” Dean murmurs, brushing a kiss over the top of my head. “I got you.”
“I’d been saving for a down payment on a house. It would’ve been my first. I’ve always wanted to own one. Growing up, moving from shitty apartment to shitty apartment, owning my own home had been a dream. Even though I’d been very careful about hiding the account and any documentation for it, she discovered it. Out of seven thousand dollars, she left me twenty-two dollars and sixteen cents. Twenty-two dollars and sixteen fucking cents, Dean. Like it was a joke. Or a goddamn tip.” I laugh, and the bitterness in it, razes my throat. “That was the last straw for me. I filed a police report. The bank had cameras, so when they pulled the video, it was her. Smiling as she emptied my account. They swore out a felony warrant on her, and she was arrested. And I left. You know the rest.”
“Your brother?”
“He won’t talk to me,” I breathe. “His rejection almost broke me. My whole life it’d been he and I against the world, and he turned his back on me because I’d betrayed family.”
“Fuck that. She betrayed you first,” Dean snaps. “And if your brother can’t stand by you, protect his sister, then fuck him, too.”
“Dean, it’s not that simple—”
“The hell it isn’t.” He releases me and, cupping my shoulders, turns me around. “Listen, you got dealt a shitty hand in the mother department. My mother may not have understood me, but she loved me unconditionally, would’ve never have done anything to intentionally harm me. You can’t say the same. But that’s all on her, not you. She has one job as a mother and that’s to love you. And everything that comes under love—providing for you, protecting you, preparing you for this mean ass world. Instead, she was the mean ass world. No one knows the pain and disappointment you suffered more than your brother; he was there. Went through it with you. Which is why he should’ve been the first person to have your back when you decided to protect yourself from the one hurting you. That he didn’t, but turned on you, too, says more about who he is than it does about what you did. So, I’ll repeat what I said. Fuck. Him. You stopped putting up with her shit, Woody. There’s pride in that, not shame.”
Relief, gratefulness, sadness and something softer but unidentifiable—they all crowd into my chest, press against my sternum. I blink, batting away the sting in my eyes that his blunt but powerful words stir.
“How old are you?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Twenty-three.”
Seven years younger than me. God. And still my student. I shake my head. “I look at you and see the age difference, but then you speak, and you’re more mature than most men I know.”
“My step-father was ten years older than my mother, and he still didn’t know how to be a man for her when it counted. Age doesn’t determine a man’s worth. Experience does. Character does.”
Truth rings loud and pure in his voice, and I can’t deny it. This man possesses more character, more honor and loyalty than any man I’ve met. Older and younger.
I settle a palm on his chest, directly over his heart. The strong beat of it vibrates through me, and in this instant, I believe I can count on this heart. On the man it beats for.
Sliding my hand higher, I circle the side of his throat, my thumb dipping into the crevice above his collar bone where his pulse thumps. His fingers slide into my hair, tipping my head back so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. God, it’s hot. The possessive hold and his eyes. Both brand me. And it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I release him and lower my arms between us. Without breaking our visual duel, I pry at his belt, jerking it loose and unbuttoning his jeans. Awareness and lust flare like flames in his unwavering scrutiny, and it emboldens me. Only once I jerk his zipper down do I lower my gaze, needing to watch that moment when his cock makes an appearance.
My breath soughs out of me, and anticipation and hunger are fuel in my veins. I dip my hand beneath the gray band of his black boxer briefs and tremble as I close my fingers around his fat dick. We both groan, and I can’t help but squeeze the hot, throbbing flesh with the swollen, damp head. Without his instruction, I pump him, stroking up so the tip disappears inside my fist. I twist my wrist as I glide back down, down, down to the broad base, not stopping until coarse hair grazes my skin.
“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps, his grip on my curls tightening until tiny bites of pain whisper across my scalp. I whimper at that small sting, savoring it. “Do that again. Tighter. Harder. Fuck it like it’s yours to do whatever you want with it.”
I take him at his word.
I slowly sink to the floor and tug his underwear and jeans down until they bunch low on his hips. His dick springs free, slapping his lower abdomen. Damn, he’s just as beautiful as I remember. Thick, virile, strong. With a low hum, I trace the road map of veins crossing his stalk with my tongue, loving the pulse and throb of blood beneath. I’ve made this gorgeous, intelligent, talented man so hard that he growls low in his throat. So that his hands clench and release in my curls. So that a fine shiver ripples through his large frame. I’d be lying if I claimed not to be proud of myself.
Fisting his flesh, I arrow it down and feed myself his cock. Inch by inch. Until the head nudges the entrance to my throat and my lips bump my fingers. I slide off him and see I’d only managed to take half of his length.
Taking him back in, I suck him off, my head bobbing up and down, leaving him glistening and wet. He remains still, all that raw power restrained, his muscles locked as he lets me play with him. I lick the big, rounded head, flicking the skin directly under the ridge. He curses, and his hips jerk, powering more of his length into my waiting, starved mouth.
“You’re t
easing me, baby. And that gets you one thing.” He grunts, gripping my head between those huge hands and pulling free of me with a soft, wet pop. “Your face fucked.”
It’s the only warning he gives me before he strokes back inside, parting my lips and surging over my tongue toward the tight channel no man has ever breached. With a muted cry, I dig my nails into his denim-covered thighs…and hang on.
He takes my mouth, tunneling through, using me to get off. I love every second of it. If I could speak, I would beg him to give me everything, not to hold back. And when his cockhead prods my throat, I force myself to relax, to breathe through my nose and let him have it.
“Fuck,” he snarls. Withdrawing, he doubles over and crushes his mouth to mine. His tongue tangles with mine, devouring me. I tip my head back, opening wider for him, granting easier access to me. He dives deeper, taking, claiming. Then he straightens, abruptly ending the kiss. Grasping my hair again with one hand, he wraps the other around the base of his dick and nudges my lips. “Again.”
Once more, I open for him, and he thrusts inside, not stopping until the tip invades the entrance to my throat. He presses forward, and I quickly suppress my gag reflex, permitting him to have what no man has had. Tears sting my eyes from the pressure, and I swallow, eliciting an animalistic growl from him. He draws his hips back, and I gasp in air.
“That’s it, Woody,” he praises. “Goddamn, you’re so beautiful letting me fuck your throat. Let me back in, baby.”
I do. Over and over. And when his body starts to shake, and he shoots his cum into my mouth, filling it, I take that, too.
His harsh blasts of breath violently punctuate the air, his chest rising and falling. Lust stamps his face, glittering in his eyes, tautening the skin over the blades of his cheekbones, flattening the lushness of his mouth. But when he falls to his knees beside me and cradles my face between his palms, his touch belies that ferocity. With a tenderness that clogs my throat with emotion, he massages my jaw, soothing the ache from taking him. He brushes a light, almost reverent kiss over my lips, and once again, I’m struggling to breathe past the blockage strangling me.
Silent, he tugs at the bow holding my dress together. In minutes, he has me stripped and lying bare on my carpet. Above me, he reaches behind him and removes his shirt, revealing the work of art that is his body. Ink in black, red, blue and brown flows over skin and muscle, flexing with his movements. I could look at him forever and never get tired. I want to touch him, study him, but right now, I ache so badly. I desperately need him inside me.
“Dean,” I whisper. “Please.”
He removes a wallet from his jeans, then plucks a condom free. Seconds later, jeans and shoes tossed to the side, he sheaths himself and crouches over me. Heart pounding, I can’t lie still beneath him. Not with desire incinerating me from the inside out. I reach for him, but he eludes me, ducking his head and shifting down my body.
“You asked me for something,” he murmurs, rubbing his lips over my nipple.
Lightning arcs through my body, and I arch up into his mouth. Did I? I can’t remember anything when he’s doing that.
“Yeah, Woody.” He draws the beaded tip in and sucks hard.
“Oh God,” I groan. “Don’t stop.”
“Tell me what you need from me,” he rumbles, switching breasts and treating it to the same sensual torture with his lips, tongue and teeth. Oh fuck, his teeth.
“I need—” I break off as he brings his fingers into play, pinching and twisting. My thoughts scatter, but then a hard, deep spasm in my sex reminds me what I was about to request. “Inside me. Please, Dean. I need you inside me.”
“Where do you need me?” he asks against my damp flesh. “Say it. Where do you want my cock?”
I know what he wants me to say, and despite lying naked under him, I blush. But I still utter, “My pussy. I need you in my pussy.”
His eyes gleam with dirty pleasure and lust. “You want me to fuck this pussy, Woody?” He reaches down, cups me. Presses a long finger inside me. Just that sends my nerve endings screaming. When he finally puts his cock in me, I’ll probably short-circuit. “Want me to claim it, break it in so it only fits my dick?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” I chant.
He doesn’t make me wait. Surging forward, he takes me in one hard, long thrust. I can’t contain my scream, and my back arches hard off the floor, smacking his chest. God. I’m so…full. Too full. I can’t breathe without feeling him throbbing inside me, branding me.
“Shh,” Dean soothes, brushing my curls back from my sweat-dampened face. “Relax for me, Woody. I got you.” He kisses me with gentle nips of my mouth, lazy licks against my tongue. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
I nod, and he continues to kiss me, distracting me from that over-full sensation, and soon, the arousal that had been pushed back by the invasion of his cock returns in slow, building waves of heat. Dean is inside me, and the acknowledgement of that ratchets the heat higher.
Rolling my hips, I gasp at the pleasure racing from my…my pussy, up my spine and back. Groaning, I repeat the motion, grinding and twisting. He hasn’t even moved yet, and he’s already enslaved me to his dick.
“Hang on to me,” he orders, and cupping the backs of my thighs, urges me to wrap my legs around him. As soon as I do, he drags his cock free, and I moan, trembling at the pleasure that lights me up. When he drives back into me, my moan transforms into a cry, and nothing—not past sexual experiences, not even having him go down on me—could’ve prepared me for the ecstasy that crackles and burns within me.
His arms lock around me, clutching me to him as he rides me, plunging into me, claiming me and breaking me to mold only to him like he promised. Our hips slap together, as if in war but in total harmony. His grunts and my groans meld, mating as he buries his cock inside me over and over.
Something this hot, this cataclysmic can’t last, and as he drives me closer and closer to the dark edge of orgasm, I fight it. I want to stay here, am afraid of how letting go will crack me into so many pieces I’ll resemble a jigsaw puzzle. But Dean slides his hand between us and rubs his thumb over my clit, circling it and pressing hard.
I’m gone.
Lost.
Above me, he stiffens, thrusting into me with hard, abrupt strokes that shove my orgasm higher. Together, we soar and fall. And in the end, it’s his arms that catch me.
Chapter Four
Nikki
I park my car a couple of stores down from the tattoo shop. It’s about four o’clock, and I came here directly after my last class. Dean’s text, a brief “Come by the shop when you’re finished for the day,” has had anxiety tripping through me since I received it a couple of hours earlier. Especially since he wasn’t in class today.
It’s been a week since the night he showed up at my house and we made love. And I haven’t slept alone since. He comes over late at night after the shop closes and when most of my neighbors’ houses are dark. The need to keep this between us is still there, but it grates on me. I don’t like treating Dean like a dirty secret. He’s better than that. And I deserve more than that.
My cell phone rings, and I pull it free of my purse. One glance at the screen reveals the caller’s identity. My finger hovers over the decline button, but at the last second, I hit answer.
“Hello, Mom.”
“It’s about time you answered your damn phone, Nikki,” my mother screeches in my ear in lieu of a greeting. “I know you’ve seen me calling and have heard the messages I left.”
The “I’m sorry” dances on my tongue. The apology is instinctive. I’ve said it so many times just to keep the peace, even when I’m not in the wrong. But I swallow those habitual words down, refusing to utter them again. “I have,” I agree. “Well, actually I stopped listening after the tenth voice mail where you called me an ungrateful, little bitch.”
“That’s what you are,” she snaps. “Everything I’ve done for you. I could’ve put you and your brother in foster c
are at any time, but I didn’t. You owe me.”
“That’s what mother’s do,” I snap back. “They take care of their kids. They love their kids. They don’t rob them blind. Did you even know what that money was for, Mom? A down payment on a house. My dream. You stole my dream.”
She scoffs, and I can easily imagine her flicking her hand, disregarding my words. “What do you need a house for? Besides, I had an emergency that was more important than some house you might or might not have one day. If you would’ve helped me out when I asked, I wouldn’t have had to go to the bank and withdraw it.”
“You didn’t withdraw it. You. Stole. It.” I laugh, and it’s humorless. Pained. “It was mine, Mom. I worked hard and saved it for two years. It wasn’t yours to take.”
“And you didn’t have to call the cops on me. Your own mother,” she shouts, and something clatters in the background. “You’re going to come home, go down to that goddamn police station and tell them you’re dropping the charges. That you gave me permission to borrow it, and this is all a misunderstanding. You—”
“No.”
Silence echoes down the line. A stunned silence. And in it, I hear Dean’s words from a week ago.
You stopped putting up with her shit, Woody. There’s pride in that, not shame.
Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom, I love you, but you’ve hurt me too many times to count. I refuse to be your mark, your scapegoat or your excuse anymore. And I’m not dropping the charges. Maybe at some point, you’ll realize that I’m not doing this to be spiteful. Maybe you won’t. But I need to protect myself from you. Right now you’re too toxic, and I can’t have you in my life knowing you’ll just take advantage of me again. So I’m choosing to love you from afar. Good-bye.”
She’s yelling as I remove the phone from my ear, but I hit the end call button anyway. There’s nothing left to say.
And for the first time in, well forever, I feel…free.
***
Dean
I watch Nikki through the front window of the shop. From her stiff shoulders, bent head and an arm stretched across her chest, I can guess who she’s talking to. Nikki’s mother has blown up her phone every night I’ve spent with her. I hate the look that flashed in her eyes and across her face when it happened. Like she’s hunted. Anger sparks inside me, and I force myself to remain in the lobby and not march out there, snatch the phone from her and tell her “mother” to leave her the fuck alone.