13. Defending A Dick

Chapter thirteen

Defending A Dick

Albany

I cling to Sal, my face buried in his neck as he tenderly slides my panties up my legs, fixes my skirt, and pulls my shirt back on. My heart flutters like wings brushing against the bars of my ribcage, unaccustomed to such intimacy. Haze's words echo in my mind, sharp and cutting. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I never have before.

Sal sets me down gently, his hands lingering on my waist. "Albany, I'm so sorry. I had no idea he would show up like that." His voice is laced with concern for me.

I take a shaky breath, lifting my head to meet his gaze. "It's not your fault, Sal. But we need to talk about this. About him."

He nods, his jaw clenching. "I know. I should have told you about Haze sooner. I just... I didn't expect him to barge in like that. Haze Harmon doesn't chase people."

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling the chill of the kitchen. "What happened between you two? Why did he say those things about me?"

Sal sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Haze and I…we were together. For a long time. But we wanted different things. He couldn't give me what I needed." He pauses, his eyes searching mine. "As for what he said about you, he had no right. He doesn't know you, Albany. Not like I do."

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I believe you, Sal. But there's something about him…something familiar. No, something recently familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it." Tapping my lower lip, I rack my brain, then give up, shrugging the nagging feeling away. "Maybe I saw a picture of him in a magazine or newspaper."

Sal frowns, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. I haven't seen or thought about him in years. Sure, I think about Jake, and some of those memories are often full of Sydney, too. But his parents? I don't spend time reminiscing about them. When I heard Haze speak and then saw him..." I shiver, and Sal draws me close, maneuvering us in front of a window so that the heat of the late morning sun begins to soak into my UV-protected skin. I sigh, desperate to give into the lull of post-orgasm sunshine. "That isn't important right now. What matters is how you feel about what just happened."

Sal takes my hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "You're right. We need to hash it all out. Together."

I squeeze his hands, drawing strength from his presence. "We will, Sal. We'll get through this. But no more secrets, okay? I need you to be honest with me. Always."

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine as he leans in and kisses me deeply. He tastes like my pussy steeped in chocolate. I'm instantly and irrevocably addicted. He kisses me so thoroughly I forget that we were talking until he pulls away, a puzzled frown on his face. "I just don't get it."

"Get what?" I ask dreamily, wondering if he might be interested in round two. That kiss was mind-blowing, and my kitty liked it as much as my face did.

He taps my nose. "Little dove…mind out of the gutter. This is important."

Shame begins a slow burn up my neck. It's not a feeling I'm very familiar with. I slide a finger under the ruched fabric across my chest, pulling it out and down an inch to readjust the way it lays on my now-burning flesh. "Sorry," I blurt.

"How did Haze know you’re a cam girl?" Sal looks a bit regretful as he steps away and begins to clean up the counter. The sharp sting of a bleach-based germicide burns my nose.

"I don't know. Maybe he has a Behind the Lens membership. I'm listed on their website." I pick up the plates we'd shoved aside and empty them in a trash receptacle.

"Does that happen often? You getting recognized on the street for your work?"

I turn and stare at him, unable to hide my smile. I burst out laughing when he realizes what he's said, and his face turns a deep tomato red. "I didn't mean it like that."

He walks back to the sink and turns on the water. "I know." I grin and bump his hip with mine. "But it sure was fun making you sweat a little. To answer your question, no, it doesn't. I wear wigs and extreme make up. I can't hide my skin, though, and it isn't like there are a lot of folks like me walking around. Maybe he's got one of those FBI computer brains that does face and body recognition organically."

"I want to apologize for him. I'm disgusted at the way he spoke about you. It was vile. Derogatory." He considers for a moment, then adds, "He's not usually like that."

Gnawing on my lower lip, I revisit the scene, closing my eyes at the feelings that flooded my body when Haze Harmon burst in on Sal and me. Like a Fae king, his darkness preceded him, sucking in the light like anti-matter. "I don't think he meant to sound like that," I offer.

"Don't defend his ugliness!" Sal snaps, his jaw clenching.

"Hey, hey, now," I say soothingly, laying my hand on his arm. "I'm not defending him. I have no stake in Haze Harmon's feelings. I'm just telling you that degradation was not the intent I sensed. He wasn't lashing out to hurt me."

"What point could he have been trying to make by talking shit like that?" Sal shakes his head, already disagreeing with what I haven't yet said.

"I think his only frame of reference is how he feels about his job." I wipe my wet hands on my skirt and then wind them around Sal's neck. He drops what he's doing and wraps his arms around me, exhaling as he sinks into the hug. His pliancy is addicting.

Dadgum it, this man is dangerous. Focus, Albany! I clear my throat . "What I'm trying to say is I think he meant that doing a job that requires so much of me isn't going to leave me much to give to you."

Sal shakes his head, his chin brushing the top of my head as he disagrees. "Haze works like a dog. Eighty, hundred-hour weeks are his norm. You can imagine how much he had left to give to me after that." He chuckles, a dry, bitter sound that hurts my heart. "I'll add hypocrite right under judgmental asshole on my list of Haze attributes."

"He was trying, albeit not succinctly, to protect you. He just wasn't very courteous to me in the process," I say quietly, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I don't know him, Sal. He can't hurt me. And what I know of him…. He has my sympathies. He lost everything…twice."

Sal's next breath is sharp as that sinks in. His body stiffens, and I know, at that moment, he's still in love with his ex.

Pain blooms, stinging like nettles, so heavy my next breath hitches. My skin is on fire. I untangle myself from Sal’s embrace, murmuring about getting out of the sun.

He drags me to the door, tucks me in the car, and then locks up. All the while, my tongue is a dead weight in my mouth, tethered to my swollen throat, and the weight in my chest like chains around cemented feet. My body sways, still numb, as Sal gets in the car, shuts the door, and starts the engine.

This is why I don't get involved. Fun and food and sex with a nice person inevitably morphs into feelings. And those inevitably hurt. No more sexual encounters with Sal. He's too fragile, and he needs the friendship I offered when we first met more than I need or deserve the dick he promised. I'll live. I'll throw myself into my work and regain control of my libido, my body, my orgasms, and my emotions. I slip my sunglasses on and turn to watch the landscape of the town slip by as Sal navigates back home.

Lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't see the hot tear slide down my face. He doesn't hear my heart shatter repeatedly or notice the weight of my silence.

But I still take his hand. Because he needs me.

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