by Ember Leigh
“Yes. That’s the plan, isn’t it?” She tilted her head to the side to meet his gaze. Tenderness shone down on her. He ran his thumb over the edge of her bottom lip. “But not today.”
“No.” His jaw flexed, and he looked like he was about to say something else. Restraint licked at the edges of his voice. “Not today.”
Because even though he wanted it, wanted her, he would wait. And that was the sexiest part of all.
Chapter 21
Gen awoke bleary eyed. Cold. On top of her comforter, the bed still made neatly beneath her. She blinked a few times, rubbing at her eyes, a yawn popping out.
1:14 a.m.
She stretched her arms out, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. Clarity returned to her memory—the last wisps of consciousness before she’d fallen asleep on the couch in Cobra’s arms, sometime in the late evening after they’d made quesadillas with mushrooms and the spiciest salsa they could muster.
And now? She groped for her phone. Not on the nightstand. She grunted, her mind immediately moving to Cobra. Wishing he were here. That he’d stayed. That he’d wanted to put his arms around her and spend the night half as bad as she wanted him to.
The apartment was eerily quiet, almost like she’d caught the living room in the middle of acting naughty, so it had seized up and clamped its mouth shut. She flicked the lights on long enough to spot her phone on the couch. She snatched it up.
No new messages. She frowned.
She’d had a more than fulfilling evening with Cobra. So why did she want more of him, as though she hadn’t taken her fill and then some? The man had brought her to climax twice. That might be more than any of her friends back home achieved in a lifetime.
This was greed. The natural progression from lust. She’d turned to the dark side, and now nothing would sate her. It would never be enough.
She sighed and collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the bright screen of her phone. Dark side? Bring it on. Maybe she wanted to see how dark it got down there. She just hoped Bethany wasn’t watching from Heaven all the time. She opened the message thread with Cobra.
GEN: I just woke up. Where are you?
He didn’t respond immediately, like her pounding heart desired. He didn’t even respond within a few minutes. As she tugged off her shorts and reached for her pajamas, his response came.
COBRA: Home. You passed out hard.
GEN: It’s fine to spend the night. Why not stay?
Another long pause emerged, one that allowed her to change into a hand-me-down Ramones T-shirt from Amara, brush her teeth, and pull back the covers. All set for bed. His response came as she slipped between the cool sheets.
COBRA: That’s not what I do.
She stared at his response until the words stopped making sense.
GEN: I don’t get it.
COBRA: I don’t spend the night. It’s not what I do.
She frowned, rolling to her side. She could imagine him here, lying beside her as she got lost in the flecks of caramel in his eyes. Finding the soft lines hidden beneath his hard shell. She was starting to love finding those soft lines.
GEN: Maybe you should sometime. It seems like it would be fun.
She sent it knowing full well it was needling. But this was the dark side, right? Why not jump all the way in? If she was going to hell, why not go twice?
COBRA: Thought we had rules.
GEN: We do. Sorry. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.
She set the phone down, resolving to let it lie. But after a few moments of tossing and turning, she realized she was far from done. She snatched up her phone again.
GEN: Did I wake you up?
COBRA: Nah. I never sleep.
GEN: You might if you spent the night with me.
COBRA: You’re real funny now that I made you come twice in one night.
GEN: You’re the funny one. That made me laugh so hard I woke up the whole floor.
COBRA: Lies. But I like that you try to make me feel good.
She smiled at the screen for a while, every inch of her wanting Cobra. Wanting to cause that crack in his façade. The one that made that certain brand of smile show up. The one that told her she’d earned a space in his heart.
GEN: Try to sleep a little. I’ll see you…hopefully soon?
COBRA: Night, Red.
Cobra couldn’t stop replaying the girly gasps from when Gen had unraveled in his arms. It kept him up all night, along with a thousand other things. Once three a.m. rolled around, all his anxieties spiked. And he couldn’t even say what the hell worried him. It was everything. It was nothing. It was every stressful moment that had ever come before. Every stressful moment that had yet to come.
Jacking off helped marginally. It was the first thing he’d done once he got home, damn near midnight. He’d had to tear himself away from her, the definition of peaceful perfection. He hung around longer than necessary though, longer than he usually let himself. He’d bided his time sketching shit that popped into his head, then took a stab at sketching her sleeping figure.
And they weren’t even fucking yet.
Which meant that staying over could never happen. Not in a million years. Gen stirred something inside him that needed to stay dormant. If she woke up that part of him, then he might as well bail now. There was no way he could get close to her. To anyone. But least of all her.
As if on cue, his chest tightened, inviting an onslaught of memory fragments from the night he discovered his stepdad. His mutilated legs; cigarette burns all over his thighs. The police had called it a crime of passion.
Whatever it was, Cobra had it inside him.
Saturday morning, he stayed in bed until almost one p.m. By the time he roused, bass music thumped in the living room. He groaned, burying his face in his pillow. His skin itched with the urge to escape. Already. Before Gen—before Holt Body, really—he could at least tolerate his home space. Now, he dreaded being here.
So it looked like laundry day. He tossed himself onto his back, studying the grungy ceiling. A little weed, a little coffee, a little laundry. What a fucking Saturday.
You should invite Gen.
He frowned at the ceiling. Domestic tasks were the last thing he should do with her. He needed space, not a personal invitation to look at his crusty underwear. He rubbed at his face, taking stock of his body. Pecs were a little sore from the extra push-ups he’d done at the end of his shift. Biceps still ached—he’d recently gone up ten pounds in the bench press.
And his cock. He grunted, pushing his palm down over the hard ridge beneath his boxers. The tip of his cock peeked out under the waist band, asking, What about me? What about Gen?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Enough of that girl.
Enough of all this shit.
He pushed out of bed, stumbling to standing. Felt like he had a hangover, but it was impossible. They hadn’t even drunk last night. He blinked at his reflection in the round mirror above his dresser. The jagged crack down the center cut through the middle of his face. One night of roughhousing with his roommates had turned into an all-out brawl a couple years ago. There might have been a lot of coke involved too.
He tugged on black workout shorts that hung down to his knees, followed by the least-offensively sweat-stained white tee. He gathered up his laundry and cinched it inside a bag. As soon as he pushed open the bedroom door even an inch, Klay’s sarcastic warble reached him.
“Coooooby,” Klay said, his face puffy and red. The years of straight drug abuse were catching up to him. “Wake and bake, brutha!”
Cobra wordlessly headed toward the bong being offered to him, took a huge hit, and while he held it, popped a baseball cap on his head backwards. Once the rush of smoke gusted out of his lungs, he clapped Klay on the shoulder.
“Thanks, brother.”
The lighter flicked repeatedly as Klay’s gaze danced up and down Cobra’s body. “Where you going?”
“Laundry.”
“Damn.” So
mething dour shivered over Klay, and he leaned back into the couch, propping his feet up on the busted ottoman. “Always go, go, go these days.”
“Yeah, well, got shit to do.” He slung the laundry bag over his shoulder. Tension spiked in the air, but he didn’t know why. He paused, like maybe Klay had reached out to grab him by the arm. But Klay was already flipping through the apps on the smart TV.
Cobra scratched at the back of his neck. It never used to be awkward with the three of them. Now, he couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say. “Where’s Ty?”
“Paying the rent.”
“Jesus, Klay. It was due three weeks ago.”
He shrugged, reaching for the bong again. “And your point?”
“I paid you the day before it was due. You trying to tell me you sat on that eight hundred for the past three weeks?”
Klay sent him a dark look. “What the fuck’s it matter?”
“At least be honest if you jacked it for something else.”
Klay sighed testily, burrowing back into the cushion. “I was short for a pick-up. I made it all back though, so it’s not like it matters.”
“You’re a fucking drug dealer,” Cobra said, picking up his discarded laundry bag. “I thought you were supposed to make money, not smoke it all away.”
“Psssh.” He laughed cockily. “I’ll smoke it away if I wanna. K ain’t cheap, brutha.”
Ketamine. Cobra gritted his teeth; it had started as a recreational thing, but knowing Klay, he was probably doing it every day now. Wasn’t his cup of tea, personally, but he didn’t begrudge a guy his vices. Until they got to be ugly beasts. “Whatever, man. I’m out.”
“Maybe if you took a line you’d be able to get that stick out your ass,” Klay shot back as Cobra reached for the door. “You want one? Come on. I’ll give it to you now, if you’ll get off your motherfucking high horse for a goddamn second.”
Adrenaline licked through him. He thought back to the mirror in his bedroom. Maybe they could put another crack in it lengthwise this time. “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you.” Klay stood, bong discarded on the coffee table. Off the couch—this was serious. He came at Cobra with a crazed look in his eye, something between determination and gluttony. “How about I give you a fucking black eye to take to your precious gym?”
Cobra couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped the laundry bag, lifting his arms out to his sides. “Give it a try, asshole.”
Klay lunged forward, fist flying faster than Cobra expected. He knocked him on the jaw, but Cobra’s instincts took over. He didn’t even think, just launched his own fist into Klay’s face and locked his arm around his neck. They stumbled against the wall; Cobra slammed him against the drywall head first. A dent appeared.
“Fuck you,” Klay wailed, thrashing against Cobra’s hold. If only Travis could see him now. He saw this move in the MMA training camp last week. It was rock solid, too. Klay had no hope.
“Don’t come at me again,” Cobra said, tightening his grip around Klay’s neck, which caused his spine to bend back at a threatening angle. “If I snap you back, you’re paralyzed.”
It was an empty threat, but fuck it. Klay gurgled. Cobra let go of him. His roommate collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Cobra reached for his sack of laundry and slung it over his shoulder for the last time. Then he sauntered out of the apartment, oddly sated. Maybe they should fight more often. Maybe that’s all he needed—punching Klay in the face on a schedule. Once every two weeks should do the trick.
Inside his car, sweat prickled at his temples almost immediately. He swore as he checked himself in the mirror; the fucker had gotten in a better punch than he expected. The left side of his mouth was swollen already.
He drove to the laundromat with his knuckles still prickling to fight. The three punches and a hold hadn’t been enough; there was still energy to get out of him.
The laundromat was mostly empty once he got there—thankfully. He hated milling around with strangers who wouldn’t look at him, much less talk to him. Sometimes he could feel people sizing him up, searching for gang signs in the neck tats, most likely. It was better to be alone.
Or with Gen.
He grabbed his laundry bag and pushed in through the glass front door. Security cameras aimed down from every corner of the wide, bright room. A fan whirred quietly in the corner. He picked the washer in the farthest corner, stuffing clothes inside the barrel and dumping in detergent on auto-pilot. Once the clothes sloshed soapy and wet behind the clear door of the washer, his hand went to his back pocket.
No texting Gen.
Fine. What would the boys at the gym do with this extra time? He spied a bar above the manager’s door. Those assholes would work out.
And so would he.
Chapter 22
COBRA: Wyd
GEN: What does that mean? It’s not a word.
COBRA: □ □ □
GEN: Are you laughing? It’s just boxes again.
COBRA: Damn girl. I told you to upgrade!
COBRA: It means what you doin? What’re you doing Gen? That sweet ass got any time for me?
Gen stared at her phone, every inch of her body reacting to his text message. Butterflies swarmed where there was previously not an ounce of wildlife. Cobra could do that—make random creatures invade her body.
She set down the book she was reading, one of many recommended by an online book club she’d joined recently. Western romances were the flavor of the week. So many horses and spurs…and sex. This felt educational, preparing for what her first time with Cobra might be like. Though she doubted he’d have the manure-encrusted cowboy boots the hero in this book had.
It was four p.m. on Sunday. Admittedly sooner than she expected him to reach out. She grinned as she typed back a message.
GEN: My ass is currently accepting appointments.
COBRA: That sounds dirty.
GEN: Yes it does.
COBRA: Need an immediate appointment with yr ass. Can I come over?
She paused, an idea cycling through her. Curiosity about Cobra’s personal life outside of work and outside of their time together plagued her. She couldn’t stop her fingers from writing back.
GEN: What about your place?
COBRA: Nope.
She frowned. So much about him didn’t make sense.
“What’s up, girl?” Sophie breezed into the room, her black eyeliner freshly winged. She had dark lipstick on, something that danced the line between mauve and black. She was hardly the girl that had left the community ten years prior at age sixteen. Now, she possessed something unearthly, almost witchy. Gen blinked up at her.
“You look great,” she said.
Sophie smiled, white teeth flashing. “Thanks, babe. You look comfy. What’s on deck for you this evening?”
“Um, Cobra, I think.” She gnawed at the inside of her lip, looking at the text again. “He’ll probably come over here. I asked if we could go to his place, but he said no.”
“Does he have roommates? Or live with his parents?” Sophie breezed into the kitchen, going through her standard work prep: fill up a water bottle, grab a frozen meal she’d made earlier that week, grab some vitamin C packets for her water. Gen watched the routine over the back of the couch.
“Not his parents, I don’t think. I don’t know.” She sighed, picking at a thread on the back of the couch. “He doesn’t share a lot. I know something bad happened with his mom, but I don’t know what.”
“Hm.” Sophie rinsed her hands off, pinning Gen with a look. “Those are red flags, you know.”
“What do you mean, red?”
“Like, warning signs. Things you should pay attention to.” Sophie wiped her hands on the sides of her black shorts, then reached for a lunch box next to the sink. “I mean, I know you guys have this arrangement or whatever. But you should know; if a guy never wants you to come to his house, it’s a bad sign.”
“Oh.”
“It means he’s
not taking you seriously. Or he might be bringing around other women.”
“We already agreed on not being with other people,” Gen reminded her.
“Sure. It’s just…not ideal, let’s say.” Sophie zipped up her lunch in the bag, glancing around the kitchen. “But you’re not trying to be with this guy anyway. So, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Sophie’s words left Gen feeling hollow. She must have been frowning because Sophie came up to her a moment later, concern etched across her face.
“Are you falling for this guy?”
“Falling where?”
Sophie cracked a smile. “Down the long tunnel of love?”
“No,” Gen whispered, but it didn’t feel true. She couldn’t even look Sophie in the eye. “We have this connection.”
“Yeah? So what do you like about Cobra?”
Sophie’s question made thoughts pop up like firecrackers in Gen’s head. There were so many things. His smile. His secret talent. His strength. His impeccable form. Some things that she didn’t want to admit to, even. Like the way his kisses made her panties wet. Every single time. “Everything. But especially the way that he treats me when we’re together.”
“And how’s that?”
Gen nibbled on her lip as she thought. “Like I’m something precious. Something he doesn’t want to let go of.” When Sophie didn’t look convinced, Gen added, “I told you. We have this connection. It’s powerful.”
Sophie pursed her lips, slipping onto the couch beside Gen. “Are you sure it’s not because he’s the first?”
Gen shook her head. “He said it’s never felt like that with anyone else before.”
Sophie sighed. “It’s good that you believe him. But it’s also very easy for him to lie about this. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I do. But I also know what I feel.” Gen swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She wanted Cobra more than she could articulate. More than she could even understand. “Look at what I found.”