Clarity

by Nicole Dykes

  She’s wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket. It should be a simple look, but on her, it’s anything but simple.

  “Rhys.” Her lips slide up into a sly smile. Cunning.

  “Blair. What can I do for you?”

  I feel Jay’s eyes on us, and I'm silently imploring him not to say anything.

  Her small shoulder kicks up. “Logan pussied out when I asked him to give me a tattoo, so I thought maybe you could.”

  I nod curtly. “Sure.”

  I move to lead her toward my chair, but she stops me. “Wait. Don’t you guys have private rooms?”

  I turn to look at her, wondering what kind of fucking game she’s playing. “Do you need a private room?”

  I can feel Jay smirking at my side. “Oh yeah, pretty girl. We have private rooms.”

  Fuck.

  I shoot him a dirty look, but he clearly doesn’t give a flying fuck. I lead Blair to the private room but leave the door open.

  She shrugs out of her jacket, leaving her in a tiny white t-shirt that should be fucking illegal. She’s wearing a white bra underneath, but it hides nothing.

  “Blair . . .” My voice is a warning.

  I don’t trust this chick.

  I don’t trust anyone.

  “So, you really are always this uptight.” She’s studying me, and I don’t like it.

  “Yes.” I ready my station and sit on the stool next to her. “What do you want?”

  She licks her lips, and I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what she wants.

  “Are you always this fucking over-the-top horny?”

  She just laughs, tossing her head back and showing off her pearly whites. “Yes.”

  “I’m not going to fuck you at work.”

  She turns to her side like the chair is a fucking bed, tucking her hand under her head to prop it up and look at me. “But you will fuck me?”

  “Jesus, are you in heat?”

  Again, she laughs. She shouldn’t. I’m not joking. I’m an asshole who’s already sick of her shit. But then she gets serious on me. “Honestly?”

  I give a nod. She says, “I’ve never had anyone treat me like you did.”

  “You mean made you come?”

  Her pretty eyes roll. “No. I’ve come many times by other hands. But only once with a tongue. That was hot.”

  “You talk way too much.”

  She doesn’t laugh this time, just eyes me. “I mean, you didn’t fuck me. You didn’t want to?”

  Christ. I drag a hand over my eyes and blow out a puff of breath before meeting her eyes again. “Is this about your ego? Is that it? Worried your pussy didn’t taste good? And that’s why I bailed?”

  She shifts in her seat, looking surprised but not full-on shocked. “That actually never crossed my mind.”

  “It did,” her eyes meet mine with a question, “taste good.”

  And it did. Fuck, I wanted to bury myself so far inside her after that. But I fucking couldn’t.

  She visibly swallows, and I can see her nipples poking through her white shirt now. She really is turned the fuck on.

  “So why didn’t you want to fuck me?”

  “If I tell you, will you tell me where and what you want tattooed and get the fuck out of here after I’m done?”

  Her eyes narrow, and she’s thinking it over. “Yes.”

  I’m not going to tell her everything. Fuck that shit. But I'll give her enough to shut her up. “I’m an addict. Heroine. Cocaine. Alcohol. You fucking name it. I’m an addict. But I've been sober for a couple of years.” I grab my tattoo gun. “And I've never fucked sober before.”

  “Oh.” That’s all she fucking says, which I find strange. The way she talks nonstop, I figured she’d have a million questions after that declaration. Everyone is always trying to make me talk. But she just settles back in her seat, holding out her wrist to me. “I want a storm cloud on my wrist.”

  I stare at her in astonishment but thinking that was way too easy.

  “Okay.”

  I get to work, tattooing a cloud with a lightning bolt striking out of it onto her delicate wrist. She doesn’t say another word until I'm finished, but she’s staring at it.

  “That’s perfect.”

  I want to ask her why she wanted a fucking cloud. But I don’t.

  “You can pay up front.”

  “What time do you get off work?”

  My eyes slide to hers. “I should have been off thirty minutes ago.”

  Why did I just tell her the truth?

  She nods, slipping her jacket on her small shoulders. “So you wanna try again?”

  “Are you for real?”

  She smiles, feigning innocence. But I know there’s none left, and I prefer it that way. “I won’t laugh if you can’t get it up.” She stands up. “And if you end up only going down on me again, well, good for me.”

  She winks. I shake my head, but I almost feel a tug at the corners of my lips.

  She’s something else, this one.

  Unlike anyone I've met.

  “Okay. I live upstairs. Come up when you’re done. There’s an entrance around back.” The last thing I need is the guys knowing I’m upstairs with Blair.

  I go upstairs through the shop, and before I know it, she’s knocking on the other door.

  Fuck! I don’t know if I can do this.

  I open the door, my heart thundering in my chest as she walks past me, not letting her small body touch mine as I close the door behind her.

  I turn to face her, and she takes off her jacket, throwing it and her purse to my couch. “So how can we do this with you sober?”

  I swallow, feeling absolute fear. Fear I can’t stand.

  “I don’t know.”

  It’s the truth. I’ve always had to be high or at the very least drunk to fuck someone. You know whiskey dick? Yeah, I have the opposite problem.

  She stalks closer to me, and I feel a coat of sweat fall over my body. My nerves are out of control, and I want to bail. I want to run down the stairs and find a quick fix.

  “Relax.” Her voice is soothing. “I won’t touch you.”

  I give a curt nod as she lifts her shirt over her head, leaving her in a lacy white bra that doesn’t do much to contain her full tits. I should be hard.

  Painfully so.

  She’s fucking gorgeous.

  “Take off your shirt. Let me see you,” she commands, and I growl with a shake of my head.

  “Rhys . . .” Her hands reach back to the clasps of her bra. “Bare chest for bare chest.”

  Somehow the challenge is one I can accept, and my hands go to the hem of my shirt, lifting it up and off. She removes her bra, and we’re left staring at each other. Unmoving.

  My throat feels dry as my eyes slide over each perfect breast, round and full with already puckered dark rose nipples.

  “Now pants?” she asks. She actually seems nervous as her hands move to the button on her jeans.

  “I’m not wearing underwear.”

  She smiles at that and shrugs her shoulders. She kicks off her boots before unbuttoning her pants and pushing them to the ground, leaving her in a black lacey thong. “Now? Cock for pussy, even though I've already showed you mine.”

  And I've tasted hers.

  The thought actually stirs my dick to life. I almost can’t believe it when I look down. I can feel her eying me with curiosity. I mean, clearly I'm fucked-up, but she’s not running. She just stands in front of me, not touching, only looking. Her gaze does something crazy to me.

  “I don’t care. I really don’t.”

  “Care about what?”

  Her eyes slide over my abs to my crotch then slowly back up. “If it’s small. Or looks weird. All dicks kind of look weird.”

  She thinks I'm shy? Or self-conscious?

  I almost fucking laugh. Almost. I run my hand through my hair and look at her pretty face.

  If only.

  “I’m not worried about how my dick looks.�
�� I’m worried about it not fucking working. I’m worried about flipping out when I press into her. I’m worried about fucking feeling what I don’t want to. Of remembering things I don’t want to. Of so many things.

  “Rhys.” Her voice is sultry as fuck, and it actually goes straight to my dick which twitches in my jeans, dying to get free.

  “Now.” Before I chicken out. I kick my shoes off and grab my socks, removing them and staring at her as my shaky fingers move to the button on my jeans.

  Her fingers find the strings of her thong, and I take a deep breath as we both remove the last bit of clothes shielding us.

  I stand still, my eyes on her face as hers dip lower, looking slightly surprised. But then she meets my eyes. “You have a nice dick.”

  Again, this chick almost makes me smile. “Are you really that surprised?”

  “Yes. You were acting like you had a tiny little thing when it’s actually kinda monstrous.”

  “Thing?” I take a step closer to her.

  “Cock. Dick. One-eyed—” I hold my hand up to stop her, and she laughs. “I can keep going.”

  “I believe you.”

  “So, what are your rules, Rhys? Can I suck your cock?”

  Her eyes move down where the tip of my dick is glistening with need at that idea, but honestly, I think it’s a bad idea. Too fucking intimate somehow.

  Don’t ask me how my twisted up brain works. “No.”

  “You’re seriously turning down a blowjob?”

  “Yes.”

  She bites her bottom lip with curiosity again. She’s trying to figure me out, find out what I like. She probably thinks I'm kinky as fuck when in reality, I’m not playing a game. I really can’t stand to be touched when I'm sober.

  “Okay.” Her voice is low, almost a little shaky, and it’s oddly exciting to me. I know this isn’t a girl who gets rattled often. “Do what you want to me.”

  That should not be a turn-on.

  I walk toward her, my body stalking to hers, and she takes a step back. “Second guessing?”

  She shakes her head, but takes yet another step back, meeting the wall near the exit. “No. Do you have a condom?”

  I walk to the dresser by my bed and grab one, walking back to her.

  “I mean, you’re probably clean anyway. Not having sex for a couple of years. And I always make guys wrap it up.”

  I lean in close to her, careful to keep my lips away from hers. “You’re talking again.”

  She swallows her nerves. And that’s exactly what this is. She’s nervous.

  I didn’t think that was possible.

  “I’m clean.” I open the condom wrapper and slide it onto my cock that, remarkably, has stayed hard. “But I'm not looking to be a dad. And I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t trust you either, fucker.” Now she’s defensive. “And I'm not fucking stupid. I don’t want to be a mom. I have an IUD.”

  “Good.”

  I’m still leaving the condom on. She could be a twisted bitch for all I know.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  She nods her head and lifts her arms above her head, plastering herself to the wall. The movement pulls her tits up even higher, and she looks hot as hell waiting for me to fuck her, to do whatever I want to her.

  Her eyes are on me though, sending my heart racing as my dick touches her thigh, and she shivers with need.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t fucking do this.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Rhys. Don’t make me beg.”

  “I can’t do this.” God I'm such a pussy.

  She thinks for a moment, and then without dropping her hands she swivels her entire body, facing the wall. Somehow knowing the eye contact was a problem.

  “You’re better than this. You aren’t a fucking sex doll.” I mean, I’m assuming she is better than this. Fuck, anyone deserves better than this.

  Her small shoulder lifts, “Make it feel good, and I won’t care.”

  What happened to this chick to put up with this shit from me? It’s all I can think as I use my foot to nudge hers to the side, spreading her legs wider for me, and I enter her. I’m not gentle. I’m not fucking sweet.

  I’m brutal.

  It’s the only way I know how to fuck. Just get to the finish line.

  She cries out at the intrusion, but she moves her hips back toward me, accepting each punishing thrust. Her body doesn’t retreat from me, it moves with mine.

  “Fuck, you’re big.”

  I stop moving. “Don’t say that.”

  She doesn’t look at me. Thank God. I can’t handle it while I'm buried inside her. Her pussy clenches tightly around me, and she moves her hips back, urging me to move. She doesn’t say another word as I continue fucking her, my hands braced on the wall next to her head.

  It’s ridiculous being inside her and still afraid for my body to touch hers, but that’s how she made this possible.

  That’s how, minutes later, I’m coming. And then, she’s coming around my cock, screaming my name when she does.

  She wasn’t kidding about being a screamer, but I don’t think she was faking with the way she was clenched around me.

  I pull out of her and stumble back, walking to the bathroom and disposing of the condom. Hoping like hell she’s gone before I come back out. But of course, she’s not.

  She’s getting dressed and tosses me my jeans. I catch them.

  “That was oddly hot.”

  I stare at her as she pulls her jeans on and then her shirt, followed by the jacket. She grabs a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse, quickly scribbling something on it and leaving it on my couch.

  “I guess I lied.”

  I look at the paper and see a phone number.

  She winks as she opens the door. “Call me sometime. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

  Is this girl for real?

  My hands are planted firmly against the stall in the bathroom at the country club as I close my eyes and focus on Rhys’s cock thrusting deep inside me.

  Nothing has changed.

  Everything has changed.

  I don’t touch him. We don’t talk. I don’t look at him.

  HIs hands grip my hips as he continues to impale me with his giant dick. And I love every single second of it. I let my head fall back and wait for the orgasm to come. Because it always does with him.

  I’m frustrated from the weak lay the other day. Somehow, even if I’ve never been able to feel his body or look him in the eye while he fucks me, Rhys still knows my body well. His cock presses against that perfect spot inside me over and over again, and I feel it. The tingle runs through my entire body, my fingers want something to grab, but instead I just ball them up into fists against the stall door.

  Don’t ask me how we got here. It wasn’t difficult. All it took was a look from both of us after our friends left and it was on. Because Rhys doesn’t use words, and I’ve gotten used to that. Even if I hate him. Even when I’m so fucking angry at him I could scream. It doesn’t matter.

  I’m leaving. I needed to say goodbye the only way we can.

  Pathetic? Maybe.

  But I don’t care. I learned a while ago that when it comes to this hulk of a man, I’m pretty damn pathetic.

  When we finish, he removes the condom, tossing it in the trash and zips up. I know there won’t be any words. There rarely are with him.

  I tug my skirt back down and exit the stall before even looking at him. I make my way to the sink and wash my hands, making sure to spend a little extra time after touching the stall door.

  He washes his hands next to me at the sink, and it almost feels intimate. Us standing at a double sink.

  “I’m moving.”

  “I heard.” Of course, he did. And of course, he isn’t going to say anything else because why would he?

  I don’t mean shit to him. He’s made that pretty fucking clear.

  Maybe I don’t even have a right to be mad at him.
I knew exactly who he was the first time we hooked up. He hasn’t changed.

  I have, and I have no idea when I turned into this chick. Desperate to hear a man tell her he’ll miss her. Hell, that he’ll miss fucking me. Anything. Jesus.

  But no. Nothing.

  I dry my hands and then turn to face him. “Well, thanks for another great fuck.”

  I start to leave, but he catches my arm. I look at the spot where his hand is on my elbow, and like an idiot, I actually take pleasure in the touch.

  Jesus, what the fuck did I let him turn me into?

  I yank out of his hold, and he just stands there, looking at me with the dark expression I’m so used to. “What?”

  “Be careful.”

  I snort. “I’m not scared of anything, Rhys.”

  “I know.”

  Two-word sentences. His forte.

  “Have a nice life, Rhys.”

  “You too.”

  Fuck! I grab the door handle, so pissed-off I want to take it out on someone. I want to slap the shit out of him and shake him. Beg him to wake the hell up from his daze. I want to scream at him. Make him listen. But I can’t touch Rhys.

  Not physically and not in any other fucking way.

  I thought I was hard to love, but Rhys is stone.

  I live in St. Louis now. This is fucking weird. Quinn and Logan are in Tennessee, living their own lives with new friends. Logan has a few guys who work for him at his shop. Sean is in New York with Melody, a spoiled little rich girl. I can’t fucking believe he landed one of those. I think that was always his dream, although I've never understood it. And I’m here. I thought I’d stay in Kansas City forever. Hell, I thought we all would. But the shop Chris bought isn’t bad. Not bad at all, really.

  It’s located downtown and is a little hole-in-the-wall, nearly mirroring the shop in Kansas City. It will just be me for now. I’m not looking to hire anytime soon. Or maybe ever.

  I like the quiet.

  I’ve only been here for a day, but I’ve started to clean up the place. It needs work. A lot of work. The place is fucking rough. Even the front glass doors were broken, shards of glass spread out all over the place when I got here. I know Chris could have afforded a place that was already finished, all sparkly and shit, but he knows me better than that.

  I appreciate this more. Actually having to work for it. At least when it’s all said and done, I might feel like I earned it and a little less like this was charity. I can’t stand anyone’s pity.