Creed-
With my head resting against the shower wall, I let the hot water run down my hair in an attempt to wash away the remnants of last night's debauchery.
Each drop of water, pelting against my skin, eased the dull throb of my hangover headache, but my stomach wouldn’t stop constricting like it wanted to rid itself of everything I'd ever drunk.
My momma would whoop my ass if she knew how fucked up I got.
She had already been nagging me.
I could still hear her words from earlier in the week: “What do you want to be, Creed?”
It sounded like an innocent question, but asked by my momma, it wasn’t.
She didn’t think I was dedicated enough to any one thing.
“At eighteen, I was heading to Paris to study opera,”
she would brag, as if she hadn’t already told us that it was Granny's idea for her to do that.
I remembered how my throat had constricted, words refusing to form when I realized she wanted me to really answer.
The only answer my lips could manage was a forced smile.
How the hell was I supposed to know? The fact that I didn’t have an answer annoyed me though.
I was about to be twenty and had very little knowledge of self, outside of knowing what I wanted to do at the very moment I was about to do it.
I had never thought of the future.
My major was still undeclared.
I sighed, reaching down to turn off the water.
I grabbed my towel, dried my face, and headed to my temporary room to get dressed.
Maine wanted me to cook, and I couldn’t say no after I drunkenly made out with two random middle-aged men and dry-humped Noah in front of her friends.
She was pissed—more so about the middle-aged men than Noah.
She thought he needed to have a little fun. He was always so uptight.
Putting on a white T-shirt and cut-off jeans, I made my way barefoot through the Airbnb, heading to the kitchen.
It was only nine, but I needed to prepare if I was going to make enough of my momma's famous shrimp and grits for a noon brunch for six of my sister's friends who were driving from all over the state to visit.
She was really doing too much for graduation.
Did she really need a whole month to celebrate? I didn’t think so, but Momma and Daddy had financed it because Maine was their good girl.
In the kitchen, the smell of grilled meats had me heading outside instead of the fridge.
When I reached the door, I could hear someone singing—soft, low, almost like a confession.
Coldplay.
"Fix You." I paused, barely cracked the door, and listened. Without even seeing the person, I somehow knew it was Noah. I didn’t know he could sing. His voice was sad but really damn good.
I quietly stepped out into the backyard. For some reason, I needed to see him actually singing the words.
He was standing with his back towards me, in front of the big built-in grill, in jeans and a white T-shirt, like me. The smell of sausage and bacon scented the air. I guessed Maine was making him work too.
I took a step toward him, but my toe hit a rock, and I hissed out a curse, "Fuck." His voice cut off immediately.
The last notes of the song floated away.
I looked up to find Noah's gaze on me.
The look of surprise in his eyes made me feel a small stab of guilt for intruding. I had intruded on his private moment and didn’t have enough sense to walk away.
"Your singing voice is as sad as your eyes," I blurted out.
I saw him stiffen at my words.
It felt like I had hit a nerve, but I continued, my curiosity was getting the better of me.
"Who are you singing about fixing?" I asked.
His gaze met mine, his eyes full of emotions I couldn’t quite read.
Silence stretched between us, thick and tense, and I thought he might just leave it there.
But finally, he broke it, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No one in particular," he said, glancing up at the sky like he was searching for answers somewhere beyond.
Then he let out a chuckle, hollow and unconvincing.
I knew I was about to put my nose where it didn’t belong, but I couldn’t help myself.
"Maybe it’s you you’re singing about fixing?"
He looked back at me, his voice steady but his eyes not quite sure.
"Why would I need fixing, Creed?"
I hesitated, knowing I was treading on thin ice.
Everyone talked about Noah’s issues in whispers, but no one ever brought them up to his face.
Tiffany was a wound everyone tiptoed around.
But I kept going. "Because when you're abandoned by someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally, I imagine you spend a lot of time questioning what you did wrong. Was it something you said? Something you did? Or are you just… intrinsically flawed?"
He raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on his lips.
“Intrinsically flawed… You might be on to something.
Scarlett said you have no idea what you want to be.
I’m thinking a psychiatrist might be a good fit. You read people.”
"Wait, what?" I blinked, thrown off.
"My mother talks to you about me?"
He chuckled and nodded.
“Every Sunday, she calls me to check in on how my week went and to vent about how her other kids are driving her crazy.
You, in particular, with your indecisiveness and stubbornness.”
I rolled my eyes.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Momma treated him like one of her own, calling him weekly to check in.
She reveled in parenthood—probably the only thing she’d ever trade music for.
Thank goodness four kids were enough for her, though.
"Why did you always bite me?" he asked, catching me off guard before I could reply.
I laughed.
"Because you always looked sad, and I liked making you laugh.
I like your laugh.
Plus, you never stopped me, so I liked that too. You let me do whatever I wanted. Now I figure maybe you were the one getting a kick out of it. Got a lil’ odaxelagnia fetish?" I teased, bucking my hips in his direction. "You into biting? Want to bite me back as payback. What's your safe word?"
He shook his head, trying not to smile.
"I thought we’d make it through one conversation without you sexually harassing me.
You better get inside and start cooking.
Maine woke up in a mood." He turned back to the grill, effectively dismissing me.
Honestly, I was just surprised we’d made it through a conversation at all.
I decided to let him be, for now.
As I turned to head back inside, I paused at the door and glanced back at him.
“You know, Maine and Momma aren’t going to let you pull away just because Maine’s not living at home anymore.
You’ve been part of this family too long to get away that easily. Stop running," I said, and then slipped inside, leaving him to his thoughts.
Noah-
I knew Lil Compton was Creed's godfather.
Troy hated that fact, so he brought it up often.
But I never realized how close they were until now.
Creed had called him, saying she was bored and sad. Sad because Ebony—aka Jason—had decided to join his mother on a short tour in the Caribbean to "learn the business" instead of spending his summer messing around with Creed and Maine. And bored, claiming she couldn’t spend another day at the lagoon or in the Airbnb. He’d left L.A. on his private jet, within hours of her call to come entertain his "evil diva," as he called her.
No wonder she was spoiled.
Now, Creed, Maine, me, and a few of Maine's friends are in a strip club in Miami.
"Back That Ass Up" was blaring through the club speakers.
I was tucked into the plush VIP section with a fresh gin in my glass, tipsy—almost drunk.
I don’t usually do strip clubs. They were like dangling meat in front of a hungry man, and I didn’t like being teased. This place was next level though. The dancers here were acrobats in string bikinis, climbing and spinning down from the ceiling, shaking perfectly round asses. But my eyes were on Creed.
Dressed all in black, she wore a mini skirt, a crop top, fishnet stockings, and combat boots.
Her hair was a wild halo of curls.
From where I sat, I could see the "Love Me" tattoo on her inner thigh, and I found myself staring at it, dick already half-hard, thinking about what she’d said to me about being "intrinsically flawed." Maybe she was right.
My mother was a selfish narcissist, and my father killed himself because he couldn’t handle fame. I’d been diagnosed with a few things. I was a part of them, so of course there’d be something wrong with me. I’d tried to put words to it for years, but it took Creed to put a label on it. I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed with her, out loud. I wished I could take it back. She was snooping now, trying to learn more about me, which could only lead to trouble. I'd overheard her asking Maine about why I never brought anyone around. I didn’t stick around to hear the answer—or to find out if she asked anything else.
I watched her get up and walk to the bar, then suddenly she was having a heated conversation with a man who looked twice her age.
A rapper or a bodyguard, maybe, since he’d come in with Lil Compton.
He was dark-skinned, with locs braided down his back, heavy-set, dressed in skinny tailored chinos and a button-up.
I knew something shady was going on because he’d waited until Lil Compton said he was turning in for the night before approaching Creed. Whatever it was, I was sure Ivory was aware of it. But I couldn’t ask her. She was down on the dance floor, dancing with her friends and minding her own business, leaving me to play guardian and wonder who this guy was. With Creed, it could be anyone.
I took my eyes off her for a second to check on Maine down on the dance floor.
When I turned back, I saw Creed’s hand connect with the guy’s cheek.
What the hell? Anger twisted his face.
His hand was balled into a fist. He yelled something at her. Before I knew what I was doing, I was up and shoving the guy. The impact sent us both sprawling to the floor. We grappled for a few seconds before we were pulled apart. We both scrambled to our feet. He swung first and missed. I landed a solid punch on his jaw. Troy had me in the boxing gym with him since I was ten, until a couple of years ago. I knew how to crack a jaw when needed. He crumpled, out cold.
Grabbing Creed by the wrist, I pulled her toward the exit, out of the club, just in case the guy came looking for us.
We ended up on a staircase that led down to the beach.
I pulled her off to the side where some bushes provided cover.
In the dark, I could barely make out her face.
“What was that about?”
I started out yelling but dropped my voice to a whisper.
“He’s a fucking asshole.
He ate me out once, last summer, and now he claims I owe him some pussy,”
she said calmly.
My nostrils flared at her words.
Before I could respond, her phone chimed.
She checked the message, the light from her phone illuminating her sweaty, frowning face.
I watched as she texted.
“I just told Maine we’re outside,”
she said.
“She’ll be out as soon as she finds her missing friend.”
I heard her, but my mind was still stuck on her confession.
“Why would you engage in any type of sexual act with someone old enough to be your father?”
I nearly growled.
The light from her phone disappeared, plunging us back into darkness.
She let out a humorless laugh and shoved me, her body colliding with mine, then retreating.
“You’re one to talk.
Maine was just telling me about how your first and last girlfriend was your mom's forty-something-year-old friend. Fell in love with her, too, didn’t you?”
Her voice was mocking.
“Are you like me and just like them older and more mature, or were you looking for a mommy figure?”
Maine had a big fucking mouth.
And the answer was somewhere between the two choices.
I had abandonment issues, which caused me to fixate on people.
That was why I didn’t do girlfriends. A quick hookup with someone from Tinder or the club was all I needed to scratch the itch.
“Maine talks too much.
Mind your fucking bus—”
Her teeth sank into my chest, stopping me mid-sentence.
“Stop yelling at me,”
she muttered.
Something in me snapped.
I felt it break, physically.
I leaned down to where I knew her breast would be and sank my teeth into it through her shirt.
She hissed.
I pulled back
“See, I can bite too.” I taunted
“Why the hell did you do that?”
she demanded, shoving me.
“You bit me first.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to bite me on my tit,”
she yelled, shoving me again.
“What gives you the right to use me like a human dildo?”
I shot back.
She laughed, unfazed.
“Mad it wasn’t your mothers old lady friend?”
That was it.
I reached out and shoved her against the stairs, pinning her with my body.
Her teeth sank into my tricep, hard enough to leave marks.
I pried her mouth away and wrapped my hand around her neck, pushing her head back against the stairs again.
The liquor burned through my veins, fueling my every reckless impulse as I used my knee to spread her legs.
With my free hand, I unbuckled my belt, then pulled down my zipper, freeing myself. When I reached under her skirt, there was nothing but heat and wetness.
I lifted her off her feet, using my body weight to press her against the wall.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around my waist.
It happened so fast I don’t think she had time to process it—or maybe she didn’t want to.
I pressed against her, my hard length finding her slick opening, and she let out a scream as I pushed in.
I clamped my hand over her mouth, letting go of her neck.
“Too big,”
came her muffled voice.
“No.
It’s not.
Take it all,”
I whispered, tugging on her earlobe with my teeth.
“You started this.
You wanted this.
Now I’m giving you what you’ve been begging for. And you’re going to be quiet unless you want Maine to find us down here, you impaled on my dick.”
She felt so good I wanted to finish right then, but I had a point to prove.
I was going to fuck her until she was sore, until maybe she’d think twice about torturing me.
I moved with no finesse, just raw intensity, pumping into her with reckless abandon.
She was tight, her body squeezing me in a way that felt damn near possessive.
Her muffled screams softened into moans, and I dropped my hand from her neck, gripping her ass for better leverage.
Spreading her. I pushed deeper, wishing I could see her face.
She started moving against me, her body rising and falling on my length.
“Good girl,”
I murmured.
“Fuck me back.”
She was close, her body tightening, contracting around me.
“Oh God… I’m cumming,”
she hissed.
“That’s it, give it to me.”
I felt her release, her warmth coating my fingers and my pants.
I gritted my teeth, holding back just long enough for her to finish before pulling out, releasing myself all over her thighs.
As the last pulse of satisfaction faded, reality hit.
I heard Maine calling my name, and I dropped Creed’s legs, pulling my polo over my head to clean the mess I’d made between her thighs,
then dropped it.
Then, without a word I left her, I walked down the beach, my mind reeling.
What the hell had I done?
You gave her exactly what she’d been begging for, that little voice in the back of my mind whispered, twisted and dark.
And that was a fact.
Suddenly, I felt disturbingly justified to do whatever I did next.