by Callie Hart
“Thirsty, Argento? Need something to quench your appetite?”
I shiver against the mere memory of such a suggestion. I always need him. I always want him, his hands on my waist, roughly kneading my breasts, his sharp-edged, filthy tongue between my legs…
Moments like this, when Alex is asleep and dead to the world, are the only times I get to feast on the sight of him without having to fend off hot embarrassment, so I seize them with both hands.
His eyelashes are so long, ink-black and perfectly curled. They look like they’ve been drawn on individually by hand. The deep dimple in his cheek is missing. His mouth, the tool he uses most to convey his amusement courtesy of that damned smirk of his, is relaxed, his full lips slightly open. The cupid’s bow cut from his top lip is so pronounced that scores of women have likely envied it since he was old enough for them to notice him.
And boy-oh-boy do they notice him. He doesn’t play on it, or really acknowledge it, but the truth of the matter is that Alex turns women’s heads wherever he goes. In the grocery store; at the gas station; in line for popcorn at the movie theater. Even at school, I sometimes catch the eyes of the female faculty members inadvertently following after him as he walks down the hall or across the cafeteria.
Basically, he’s sexy as fuck. Good looking, in a rough-cut, edgy, overtly dangerous way that turns people on and scares them at the same time. And, somehow, I am the one he’s decided to claim as his own. The math doesn’t quite add up.
His pulse throbs evenly in the hollow of his throat, making his tattooed, vine-covered skin tick there. His nose, arrow straight and in perfect proportion to the rest of his face, wrinkles slightly as he swallows, turning his face toward me in his sleep. It’s as if he can tell I’m assessing the individual parts of him that make him whole and he’s trying to give me a better view.
God. How have I ended up so entangled in this person? I try to play it cool as often as possible, but I’m sure he sees right through me. I’m addicted to him. Obsessed. I never wanted to be that girl, the girl who loses herself in her high school crush, but I find myself unravelling day by day. If someone asked me to find the thread where I end and Alex begins, then I honestly wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it. It’s too interwoven with him now. I’m lost to his dark eyes, and the gravel of his voice, and the callouses on his hands that match my own.
I go very, very still when his breathing hitches. It’s weird that you can tell when a person wakes and their consciousness comes flooding back in, even if their outward appearance doesn’t change. Alex looks like he’s still asleep, his eyelids closed, facial features relaxed and loose, but he’s awake. I can feel him there, like the answer to a question that I’ve been asking for a really long time, reaching out for me.
Bracing, I wait for the caustic comment that’s about to come out of his mouth. He’ll tease me any chance he gets, especially if he’s caught me swooning over him. Seconds pass, and then a minute. But Alex remains silent. I begin to think that maybe I’m mistaken and he isn’t awake after all, but then his eyelids flutter and he slowly, languidly opens them. The dark pools of his eyes meet mine, and my breath catches in my throat. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say a word. He stares back at me with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, his gaze searching and curious, his expression fierce, and for the millionth time since I met him, I have to steel myself, forcing myself not to look away. He’s so damn serious. I’m eaten alive by his thorough examination, stripped bare and left stupefied.
The crisp cotton sheets whisper as Alex turns onto his side to face me properly, sliding himself across the pillow so that his forehead is little more than an inch away from mine. Still, he doesn’t say anything. We face one another, chests rising and falling, hearts beating in time, locked in this weird staring contest that’s both intimidating and incredibly satiating. I’m dying of thirst, and Alex is an ice-cold glass of water. I’m burning alive, and he is the flood that douses the flames. I’m falling so fast, so hard, so dangerously out of all control, and Alex is the one who reaches out and catches me. This man, who has been nothing to so many, is absolutely everything to me.
Suddenly, I can’t bear the silence anymore. Dad can make it through breakfast without us. I have to have Alex. I have to absorb him into me somehow. In the very least, I have to press myself against him and feel his heart quicken. We move at the same time, sharing the same thought, needing the same thing. His mouth meets mine, and it’s as though my soul’s just been cut loose and is flying free. His lips press against mine, not rough but firm and insistent, and he blows out a long, hot breath down his nose, sighing softly. Our bodies gravitate toward each other, closing the small space between us, and Alex slides his free arm around me, pulling me up against him.
He isn’t like other guys our age. They’re all still transitioning into manhood. Their bodies might have filled out and made it through the other side of puberty, but they’re still swamped in confusion and uncertainty as people, trying to figure out what part they are going to play in the theaters of their own lives.
Alex isn’t confused. He knows himself. He’s confident in his beautifully decorated skin. When he holds me the way he’s holding me now, kisses me the way he’s kissing me now, he’s so sure of himself that he leaves no room for doubt. I belong to him. He’s staked his claim, and he isn’t planning on relinquishing. Ever.
He forces my mouth open, slipping his tongue past my lips, not caring that neither of us have brushed our teeth yet, and the bed feels like it’s tilting, tipping sideways, my head spiraling out of control. Only he can unbalance me like this when I’m fucking horizontal.
Winding his fingers into my hair, he cradles my face in his hands, pressing his hips against mine, and any kind of chill I might have been cultivating up until this point flies out of the window. His morning glory really is fucking glorious. I can’t wait for him to thrust it deep inside me. If that’s not where this is going, then there’s gonna be fireworks…
Pulling the duvet down, I slide my hand up Alex’s side, relishing the delicious shift of the muscle beneath his skin as I stroke up his back, between the flat blades of his shoulders. From there, I don’t have far to reach for the back of his neck. I dig my fingernails into his skin, savoring the prickle of the freshly shaved, close cropped hair at the back of his head, and Alex groans breathlessly into my mouth.
“Fuck, Argento. You’re sure you wanna be pulling that shit this early in the morning? You’re gonna get yourself into trouble.”
I love the sound of that. I’ve learned from past experience that trouble with Alex always ends in an orgasm or three—the kind of brain-melting orgasm that leaves you boneless and sated. I laugh, pulling my bottom lip through my teeth. “What if I like trouble?”
Alex grins, arching his back like a cat as I scratch the back of his head again. He reacts the same way without fail whenever I do this. He can’t help himself. His eyes, dark as midnight pools, roll back in his head as he angles his chin up, exposing the column of his throat, and I have to refrain from sinking my teeth into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. Like me, my Alessandro isn’t averse to a little pain every now and then. He’d enjoy the press of my incisors against his jugular, I’m sure, but we’re going to be seeing Dad soon and my old man has G.I. Joe grade eagle eyes. He’d spot a hickey a mile away.
Alex’s hand snaps up out of nowhere, grabbing hold of me by the wrist and wrenching my hand up high over my head. His eyes open lazily, traveling up and down my face, his gaze finally settling on my mouth.
“You woke up feisty, dolcezza. Careful. I could get used to this.” In a split second, he shoves me onto my back, pulling me away from the cold wall so that my body is in the center of the bed and he holds himself directly above me. The arm I was lying on gets repositioned, my other hand joining my one already above my head, and Alex bears down, burying his face into my neck. Apparently, he has no aversion to using his teeth on areas of my body that my father will likely see.
“Alex! Alex!” I pant, wheezing the words out, squirming underneath the satisfyingly heavy press of his body, but I’m only making things worse. The more I writhe, the more fired up he’s going to get. No way will he leave me unmarked with me responding like this. Once upon a time, that thought would have scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Pinned to a mattress, hands locked over my head, restrained, with nowhere to go and no way of getting out? My body would have forced me to bolt and run, as memories of Jacob Weaving’s leering face assaulted me from all angles.
But Alex isn’t Jake. He’s nothing like any of the sick, twisted, evil fucks who trapped me in that bathroom. One word from me—stop—and he’ll stop. He’ll be on the other side of the room before I can even register that he’s let me go. I participate in this kind of roughhousing with Alex, because I know without question that he’d never do anything to hurt me.
“I wanna fucking eat you,” he huffs into my hair. “I want to devour every last piece of you. You taste like fucking sugar. I can’t get enough...”
Gasping for air, I bow away from the bed, crushing my tits against his chest, willing for him to take more of me. The thin material of the shirt he let me sleep in last night rubs against my nipples, causing them to stiffen painfully, and my imagination runs away with me. I’m picturing him licking and sucking at the tight, pink buds of flesh. I can already see the white flash of his teeth as he takes them into his mouth one at a time and bites down until I cry out his name.
Alex pulls back, chuckling darkly as he hovers over me. “You wanna get fucked, don’t you, Silver Parisi.” Not really a question. He knows it’s the truth just as much as I do. His grey sweats are riding low, exposing his hip bones and the beginnings of the maddening vee that dips down lower, between his legs. The sight of the tensed muscles in his chest and stomach is the final straw; a girl can only take so much provocation before she outright loses her mind. I place my feet flat against the mattress, bending my knees, and I grip him between my thighs, squeezing tight, silently begging him to tear my shorts off and plunge himself inside me already.
A jolt of pain lances through my side, my still-broken ribs complaining bitterly about all of the movement, but the discomfort doesn’t compare to the promise of the pleasure that’s just around the corner.
The bruises still blooming all over my body like morbid flowers are a grim, ugly reminder of recent trauma, but it’s as though Alex doesn’t even see them. He stares down at me, wide-eyed and wonderous, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Sitting back on his heels, he straddles me, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of my shorts, almost giving me what I so badly need. His erection tents the material of his sweats, perfectly outlining the head of his dick, and I reach down, about to close my hand around him, and—
DUM! DUM! DUM!
Three loud bangs echo through the apartment, bouncing off the walls. Alex’s head whips around, looking back over his shoulder, frowning deeply at the interruption. “Seven am, Christmas morning? You sure your dad was cool with you crashing here?”
I nod, need still pulsing around my nervous system, waiting for his hands to return to the waistband of my shorts. “You were there when I asked him.”
Alex grunts. “Then whoever that is can fuck right off.”
Normally, I’d be the voice of reason. It’s early, so maybe it’s important. Could be Henry from downstairs, needing access to a breaker board or something. Perhaps my mom found out where I was and lost her fucking mind. Today, I’m throwing caution to the wind, though. I don’t care who’s at the door or what they want. Alex was about to strip me naked and fuck me, and that’s honestly all I care about...
He grabs my shorts, yanking them down over my hips, and I whimper in anticipation. Jesus, when did I become this needy? It’s all because of him. I’d still be at the hand-holding stage with anyone else, but it’s impossible to cultivate that kind of control with Alex. My body craves him like a junkie craves their next fix. I’ve forgotten what restraint even looks like these days.
“You wet for me, dolcezza? You think you deserve my tongue on your clit?”
Heat explodes across my face and down my torso, shooting in between my thighs. Holy fuck. A handful of words and a piercing stare and I’m ready to implode.
DUM DUM DUM!
“Alex! Open the door. It’s Maeve!”
Maeve? What the hell? The name sets alarm bells ringing in my head. Fuck, it sets alarm klaxons ringing in my head. Social workers don’t clock in on the biggest holiday of the year. I’m assuming they don’t, anyway. Dad’s always complaining about civil servants and how they’re hardly ever available during normal working hours. Today’s Christmas Day. Maeve should be spending time with her family. I don’t like the panicked note I heard in her voice through three walls and across an entire apartment. Makes me think worrying thoughts.
A cold, unpleasant sensation creeps its way up my spine. “Don’t answer.” I grip Alex tighter between my legs, holding him in place. “She can’t just show up here whenever she feels like it. You’re allowed some privacy, right? Don’t I deserve some undisturbed time alone with you?”
I sound like a petty little bitch, whining at her boyfriend to pay attention to her, but that isn’t what’s going on here. Maeve’s advocated for Alex on numerous occasions. She was standing up for him the very first time I saw him in the hallway outside Darhower’s office. She squared away the fact that he was a minor living on his own, even though he was still supposed to be under Monty’s care. Without her, Alex would never have scored this apartment. And she promised she’d help Alex with his custody case for Ben. Not to mention, if she hadn’t been standing by his side when he went into court after shooting Jake, then chances are he’d probably still be in jail right now. Alex verbally swipes at her all the time, but I know he appreciates her. I do, too. I think the woman’s a badass.
No, I don’t want him to go and answer the door because something bad is waiting for us on the other side of it. And once we’ve let it in, we won’t be able to shut it out again. I rarely have gut feelings about anything, but this…this is different. A sense of dread crushes me in its jaws. This is the kind of foreboding that perches on your shoulder moments before something comes along and destroys everything you hold dear, and you right along with it.
“Needy little Parisi. Don’t worry. I’ve been a good boy. I haven’t broken any laws. That I know of, anyway.” He smirks, amusement sparking like the embers of a fire in his dark eyes. “The weirdest things turn out to be illegal sometimes. I’ll see what she wants and get rid of her. The woman’s persistent as fuck. If she thinks I’m home, she won’t lea—”
“Alex! I’m not messing around! You need to answer this door right now!”
Dark hair tumbling into his eyes, Alex cants his head to one side, his expression rueful. “See.” He climbs off me, and that icy dread sinks it’s claws deeper. I want to grab hold of him and make him stay. Locked away here in our little bubble, whatever madness exists outside can’t affect us. Can’t hurt us.
Glancing down, Alex notices the fact that his hard-on is still tenting his sweatpants. He laughs breathlessly as he reaches down the front of his pants and tucks his dick into his waistband in an attempt to hide it. “Don’t look so sad, dolcezza. No chance this thing’s going anywhere any time soon. I’m harder than fucking reinforced steel. Give me two seconds. Here.” He takes hold of me by the wrist, guiding my hand down in between my own legs. “I want you shaking and trembling by the time I get back. No coming, though. I’ll punish the shit out of you if you rob me of that.”
I watch him put on a t-shirt, frozen in place and in time. Later, this moment will replay itself on a loop in my head. I’ll recall the way the muscles in Alex’s broad back shifted so beautifully as he worked his arms into his shirt and pulled it lazily over his head. I won’t be able to forget the slow, confident smile he throws over his shoulder at me as he steps over his guitar case and leaves the bedroom, drawing the door
half-closed behind him. I’ll still be smelling the rich, doughy, enticing aroma of fresh bread emanating from the bakery across the road, and it will still be turning my stomach…
Mechanically, I inch myself toward the edge of the bed. My arms and legs are wooden and uncooperative as I tug on a sweater and a pair of jeans. Basic manners dictate that it’d rude to follow after him, I should give him space to have a private conversation with his social worker, but manners and etiquette don’t seem important right now. I need to be with Alex. I can feel it. I know it.
The air in the hallway is a solid ten degrees colder than in the bedroom. A gust of biting wind snakes its way past the two figures standing in the doorway up ahead; it knifes straight through the black hoody I just pulled on, making my skin break out in goosebumps.
A high-pitched ringing sound mutes my hearing as I take each step forward.
You’re wrong. You’re being fucking paranoid. Stop overreacting. Offer to make a pot of coffee or something. Seriously, chill the fuck out, girl…
My little pep talk falls on deaf ears.
Three feet away, Alex reaches out and takes a hold of the door, his knuckles turning white as he grasps at the wood. “What?”
“I know. I know, Alex, look…let me in, okay. There’s a lot of information to unpack here. You should be sitting—”
“You’re lying.” Alex’s shoulder blades knit together beneath his t-shirt. The tension he’s radiating is even more shocking than the cold. “This is her, I know it is. Jackie’s concocted this bullshit story to cut ties with me for good. She wants to make sure I never see him again, and you…you’re going along with it for some reason. Why…why the fuck would you do that?” His voice is soft, but he’s tripping all over his words.
Right behind him now, I peer around his arm, making eye contact with Maeve. I’ve only seen her the once, that time at Raleigh. She was wearing an elegant grey pantsuit, the collar of her shirt pressed into a sharp fold. Her dark hair was swept back into a practical bun. This woman looks nothing like the person who argued Alex’s case with Darhower. She’s dressed in track pants and a massive sweater with the words, ‘SPIRITUAL GANGSTER’ emblazoned across the front. The messy top knot on the crown of her head looks like rats have been nesting in it, and the tell-tale black smudge of yesterday’s mascara beneath each of her eyes implies that she didn’t wash her face this morning before she rushed out of the house.