by Callie Hart
It's like watching a tide break against a shore. His indecision and uncertainty vanish, and a deep, hungry need takes its place in an instant. Shifting between my legs, he positions himself, leaning over me on his elbows, keeping his weight from my chest. His hands are sure as he cradles my face between his palms…and he pushes himself slowly inside me.
I freeze, going absolutely still.
Alex’s eyes search my face frantically, looking for some sign that I’m not okay. It doesn’t hurt, though. I just feel full, in a strange way—a pressure inside me that takes a moment to adjust to.
‘Silver—”
I wind my arms around him, forcing him down onto me. Deeper inside me. I was serious just now. I want all of him. I want his weight on me. I want his arms around me. I want to be swallowed up by him, into his strength, because right now I feel so fucking safe.
He sighs, the sound rough and uncontrolled, and I can’t take it anymore. I roll my hips against him, angling myself upward, and Alex bares his teeth, gritting them together.
“Fuck, Silver. That’s…” His eyes are unfocused. “You feel so fucking good,” he grinds out.
Carefully, he begins to rock against me, and the strange pressure inside me starts to lessen as my body learns how to move with him. Alex presses his lips against my forehead, my temple, my jaw. When he eventually uses his teeth against the sensitive skin of my neck, the feel of him inside me begins to change into something else entirely: the pressure evaporates altogether, and it begins to feel good.
“Ahh, fuck! Alex!”
He bites down harder, and I tangle my arms around him, wrapping my legs around his waist tighter, clinging onto him as fiercely as I can.
“You ready for more?” he growls into my hair.
“Yes! Yes. God, yes…” I don’t sound like myself. I sound like someone else as I writhe underneath him. Alex gives me what I want, pulling back just enough so that he can angle his hips back and thrust them forward, driving himself into me.
Oh god…
What the hell…?
I let my eyes roll closed for a second, but they snap open again when the feeling intensifies, and I realize Alex is touching my clit. Looking down the length of my body, I see his hand is between my legs, and he's using his thumb to rub at me. I shudder, not knowing how the hell to process the sheer volume of sensation.
“Good?” Alex asks raggedly.
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” He quickens his pace, sliding all the way out of me this time and pushing forward a little harder. His eyes are all over me—my face, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. His gaze pauses on the point where our bodies meet, between my legs, and the muscles in his jaw pop as he clenches his teeth. “Fuck. Watching you take me, Silver… You rocking against me… Your pussy…”
Lust, raw and demanding, digs its claws into me. I see a mirror of that emotion in Alex, and the look on his face sends me spiraling toward madness. I need him. I have to fucking have him. I grab hold of his other hand, sucking his thumb into my mouth, and Alex hisses. “Shit. Careful, Dolcezza.”
I know why he's warning me. His movements are quickening, he's thrusting harder and faster, and I know what'll happen soon if we don't stop. There are plenty of days ahead to tease ourselves, though. Plenty of opportunity to stretch this out and make it last. Right now, the fire burning in my belly is raging out of control, and I don't want to put it out. The intense feeling that shook me so violently when Alex went down on me has returned, and I'm about to tumble over the edge all over again.
I want him to tumble with me.
I want to know what that feels like.
I lock my legs around his hips, biting down on his thumb, and I witness the moment Alex gives himself over to it. His eyes flash, and then he’s falling on top of me, crushing me to him, driving himself deeper and deeper, faster and faster…
“Shit. I’m going to…I’m gonna fucking…”
“Come. Fucking come, Silver,” he snarls into my ear. “Do it right now. I wanna feel you throbbing around my dick.”
All it takes is his command. I hurtle headfirst into my climax, unable to breathe, unable to make a sound as an explosion of pleasure hits me with the force of a ten-ton truck. My back bows, and Alex holds onto me as I ride out the wave. Then he's roaring, the muscles in his arms straining, and he's coming too, crushing the life out of me as we move against one another.
It seems as though it takes a long time to come down from the high. Eventually, though, when we can breathe again, Alex rolls onto his side and then onto his back, pulling me with him. I lie on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow, and the feeling of his hand as he lazily strokes my hair is almost hypnotic.
“Is this the part where you pretend you’re late for something, make your excuses and you leave?” I whisper.
Alex huffs out a shallow, soft burst of laughter. “No, Dolcezza. This is the part when I realize you’ve stolen my fucking soul and I have no chance of ever getting it back.”
I laugh, too. “So, not leaving then.”
“Nope.”
I trace my fingers over his chest, following the lines of his tattoos, enjoying the warmth of the fire on my own skin. His torso is covered in ink, a large shield-like design spanning across his pecs, following the line of his collar bone. Sweeping down over his side, the top of his shoulder and down his left arm, a long, scaled body of a creature winds, convincing and lifelike. Sharp thorny vines wind intricately from his right arm, around his neck, down across his stomach, weaving in between what looks like a woman on her knees, praying.
“I promised you the nickel tour, didn't I?” he asks softly. “I suppose now's as good a time as any. Come on.” I don't want to get up. This moment is far too perfect, but Alex seems intent as he gets up, holding out his hand to help me to my feet. By the window, he displays his hands palm-down, showing me the wolf and the rose inked there. “This is me,” he says, indicating to the wolf. “And this is my mom. All of the roses are for her.” He's given her his right hand, as well as his entire right arm. “She was soft, like flowers. Beautiful.” He runs his own fingers over the vines, his eyes distant. “She had her sharp edges, too, though. Her own demons that plagued her.”
It looks like the vines that represent those demons are wrapped around Alex’s throat, as if they could press in and strangle the life out of him at any moment. “Is that why…?” I can’t bring myself to ask if that’s why she killed herself. Alex seems to understand my half question, though.
He nods. “She had these manic episodes. They'd last for days. She'd have so much energy, running around the house, cooking, singing, cleaning. She'd take us on these crazy adventures, walking miles and miles with us through the rain and the snow. She'd take us into Walmart and ask me to look after Ben while she got something, then she'd forget she'd even brought us there and leave. The grocery store. An auto shop once. She was always forgetting us places. She'd feel so bad afterward that she'd sink into these black moods, smashing shit, tearing the apartment up, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once that part was over, she'd get into bed, and she wouldn't get out for days. She was never diagnosed as far as I can tell, but I'm pretty sure she was bi-polar. I read when I was a kid that it's genetic. That sixty to eighty percent of cases are hereditary. I used to scare myself shitless, wondering if I was going to turn out like her, but…” He arches one eyebrow. “I can't even be sure that's what she had. And I've never displayed any of the same behaviors she did, and I've been keeping an eye out for them, believe me.”
He shrugs, moving on, pointing out the tattoo of a spartan, shield and drawn swords on his other arm. “This is pretty self-explanatory. My Roman roots.” He plants a hand against his chest. “This, too. It's the Moretti family crest. My own interpretation, I guess. I added the skulls and the engine parts.”
I see the mechanical-looking elements now, as I look closer. The skulls, too, laughing and macabre. Different flowers bloom from the gaps in between, and red
, and blue, and green—the only splashes of color in the otherwise black designs.
“Cobweb on my elbow,” he says, lifting his arm, frowning a little ruefully. “Got that in juvie. Kinda wish I hadn’t. And this,” he says, stroking a finger across the scaled tail of the creature that’s wrapped around his body, “is the Lord of the North Wind, Bahamut.”
“Unusual name.”
“From Arabic mythology. Misappropriated, but who gives a fuck. He’s a bannerman for the weak and downtrodden. A safe refuge. Also, takes no shit,” he says, grinning. “He’s pretty badass, but he metes out justice if you fuck up.”
“Where’s the rest of him?”
Alex's quirked eyebrow rises even higher as he turns around. There, the front half of a beautiful, somber-looking dragon has been tattooed between his shoulder blades—elaborate, with swirls and curlicues, yet incredibly masculine. Above the dragon, in darker, older ink, is the word ‘Fearless.’
“You really are, aren’t you? Fearless,” I say.
Alex turns, bowing his head forward, letting his chin drop to his chest. He sighs, wrapping his arms around me. Leaning my forehead against him, we stand like that for a long time before Alex whispers gently into the dark. “Not nearly as fearless as you. Take me to bed, Argento. I wanna hold you.”
22
ALEX
“He’s fucked in the head, just like his mother was. Little prick. If I don't curb that shit now, he's going to end up hurting someone one of these days, just you wait and see. Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. If the belt doesn’t work, then my fist sure as fuck will.”
I jolt awake, disoriented. A second ago I was crying in a closet, listening to Gary tell his brother what a worthless, vile little cretin I am. Now, I'm cocooned in a blissfully soft bed, staring into the face of the most beautiful fucking girl I've ever seen.
Silver’s still sleeping. Her hair is loose, fanned out around her face, golden and warm in the early morning light. Her lips are slightly parted. Her eyelashes are so long that they’re resting on the top of her cheekbones. From the serene look on her face, the dreams fluttering through her subconscious are nothing like mine were, and for that I am glad.
I never told her, but I vowed to myself about three seconds after I met Silver that I was going to make Jake and anyone else who had a hand in hurting her pay. I’ve already plotted a few unique and interesting ways to make that happen, even with the promises I made to Silver tying my hands. But none of that matters if I can’t protect her from the monsters if they visit her when she closes her eyes to sleep. I can’t keep her safe in there, and that makes me sick to my fucking stomach.
She stirs, nestling down into the covers. Her eyes stay closed, but I know that she’s woken up. “You know how to work a Keurig, Alessandro Moretti? Or are you more for decoration?” she mumbles.
I smile. Really smile. Maybe it’s easier because she can’t see me with her eyes closed, but it feels natural—a normal thing to do, and not like some breach in my defenses. “Yes,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. “I know how to operate a Keurig. I’ll be right back.”
She moans, reaching after me, grabbing for my hand as I climb out of bed. I laugh under my breath all way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Without the fire burning in the living room, it's fucking freezing in the cabin. Should have put some clothes on before I came down but fuck it. As soon as I have some caffeine for Silver, I'm fully planning on getting back into bed and staying there with her for the rest of the morning. I already got my shifts covered at the Rock, so I don't have anywhere else to be.
The pods for the coffee maker take some tracking down. After rummaging through every cupboard and drawer I can think of, I eventually locate them in the freezer of all places. I fill up the water reserve on the machine and stand, hands braced against the kitchen counter as the thin stream of black gold begins to pour into the mug. It’s only halfway done when I hear the rumble of an engine approaching the cabin. Instantly alert, instantly aware that I’m half fucking naked, I peer out of the kitchen window, straining to see who’d be coming up here at this hour in the morning.
I don’t need to wait long. A silver van breaks through the tree line, careening toward the cabin, and a sinking feeling hits me square in the gut. Shiiit. I recognize the van. I last saw it parked in the Parisi’s driveway as I pulled away from their house. It’s the vehicle Silver was driving when she took her brother to soccer practice.
“SILVER!” I yell.
A woman scrambles out of the van. Her hair's the same color as Silver's, and her features bear a marked resemblance, too. She's young. Younger than I expected, but she's obviously Silver's mom. I'm about to bolt out of the kitchen and up the stairs in search of my clothes, already trying to figure out how I'm going to explain why the fuck I'm here, alone with her daughter, and why the hell I thought I'd get away with defiling her, when I watch the woman go down. She collapses into the mud, sinking to her knees, then landing on her ass, and she's…she's fucking crying.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
I’m out of the door and running towards her before I can assess the situation or decide if it’s even a smart thing to do. The woman looks up, but I can tell she doesn’t really see me. A loud, harrowing sob echoes through the trees. Her face is a rictus of pain. “Mrs. Parisi? Shit, Mrs. Parisi, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I pat down her shoulders and arms, trying to see if she's injured or something, but she jerks away from me, tucking herself into a ball. Uhhhh…shit. I'm at a loss. I do the only thing I can think of and scoop her into my arms, picking her up out of the mud. She doesn't even question the fact that a strange, half-naked guy is carrying her inside her own cabin. She wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me as I take her up the steps, kicking open the door that almost closed behind me when I rushed outside.
“SILVER!”
In the living room, I gently lay the woman down on the sofa, and she curls up into a ball again, sobbing in a gut-wrenching, horrible way that makes me want to rip my own ears off.
Momma, why are you crying? It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay. Momma. Momma!
Footsteps thunder down the stairs. Silver arrives in a whirlwind panic, her hair all over the place, wearing nothing but a vest and a tiny pair of shorts. We pose a pretty fucking damning picture, but it doesn’t look like her mom’s paying any attention. Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, her mouth drawn down in a mask of misery. Silver shoots me a bewildered, scared look, and I just stand there, numb, not knowing what the fuck to say.
She rushes to her mom, dropping to her knees with a loud thud, eyes still on me. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. She was doing seventy when she pulled up. When she got out, she was like this.”
“Fuck, Mom. Mom, what’s going on?” Silver tries to take the woman’s hands in hers, but she’s too hysterical to allow it.
“She’s…gone…” she pants. “She’s fucking…gone. She’s dead, Silver. She’s fucking dead.”
A brief flash of confusion pulls at Silver’s features, then her mom’s statement must make sense all of a sudden, because I watch as realization dawns on her. “Gail? Gail died?”
“Yes!” Her mom sounds like she’s dying when she pushes the word out. “It’s…it’s my fault.”
“No.” Silver shakes her head, running her hands over her mom’s hair, trying to soothe her. “No. Mom, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault?”
“She was angry with me,” she keens. “I was chasing after her. I needed to explain. I just needed to make her stop, but…” She chokes. Barely even gives herself time to recover before she continues. “She drove straight out. Straight into the intersection. She didn’t even look.”
“Mom. Mom, it’s okay. You’re not making any sense. Tell me what happened.”
“She saw me, Silver. She saw me with Dan, in his office. She wouldn’t wait for me to get dressed. She…just left, and I went after her. It is my fault. I
killed her.”
23
SILVER
Mom has been acting weird.
Mom has been crying in the shower.
Mom’s been having an affair with her boss.
This is the reason why she's bailed every time Dr. Coombes came to drop the boys off for their lesson. This is the reason why she hasn't been to visit her best fucking friend in the hospital. She's been riddled with guilt, it's been eating her alive, and now Gail is dead.
Alex wanted to take us back into town, but I told him I would drive the van back. He mentioned something about coming back up here later with a friend to get my car. I vaguely remember giving him the keys to the Nova. More vividly, I remember him holding me, hugging me, whispering into my hair, but after that everything’s kind of a blur.
I’m numb down to my bones as I make the journey home, Mom still crying in the passenger seat. I don’t even know how I made it most of the way; I’m on autopilot, shifting, stopping at lights, taking turns without really paying attention to what I’m doing. When I pull into the driveway and kill the engine, we both just sit there, neither of us moving, staring dumbly out of the window at the garage door.
“Why?” I ask. “Why did you come up to the cabin?”
She has calmed down a bit now. Enough so she can talk, at least. “I don’t know. I knew you were there, and I just wanted to get away, and it just…happened.”
“Does Dad know?”
She blinks, shifting in the seat. Her pajama pants are destroyed, and there’s mud all over the passenger door. “About Dan? No,” she says quietly. “I haven’t told him yet.”
Great. A fucking bomb’s about to go off in our house, and there will be nothing left of our happiness but a smoking crater and the remnants of my father’s happiness. I can’t stitch my thoughts together. Nothing’s making sense inside my head. I just sit there, hands still on the steering wheel, staring into space.