Chapter 29 #2
She's dripping for me now, slick and sweet, coating my chin as I devour her like a man possessed.
The first full taste rips a guttural growl from my chest, vibrating straight through her core.
Her fingers yank harder at my hair, nails scraping my scalp, urging me deeper as her thighs clamp around my ears.
"DJ — fuck," she gasps, head thrown back against the couch cushions, spine bowing off the fabric like she's breaking apart already.
The oversized shirt's rucked up to her waist, exposing every trembling inch of her — flushed skin, heaving chest, those sage green eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure.
I don't let up. I need to hear Goldilocks scream my name.
One hand slides up her body, shoving the shirt higher to pinch her nipple between rough fingers, rolling it until she squeals.
The other presses two thick fingers inside her, curling deep to hit that spot that makes her walls flutter and clench like a vise.
I fuck her with my mouth and hand in ruthless rhythm — tongue lashing her clit, fingers thrusting and curling, stretching her while I hum low and filthy against her heat.
Her moans turn frantic, hips grinding against my face now, chasing the edge. "Please — oh God, please — DJ!"
I pull back just enough to rasp against her folds, "Come for me, doll.
Let me feel you soak my tongue." Then I'm back on her, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster, until her whole body seizes — thighs quaking, back arching violently, a shattered cry tearing from her throat as she gushes over my hand, pulsing around my fingers in hot, endless waves.
I lap her through it, slower now, drawing out every aftershock until she's limp and whimpering, chest heaving. Only then do I rise, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes locked on hers as I crowd her against the couch again. "Good girl," I murmur, voice wrecked.
We end up curled on the couch, her body fitting perfectly against mine like she was made for it.
Legs tangled in a messy knot, my arm slung heavy across her waist, holding her close enough to feel every breath she takes.
Her head tucked under my chin, blonde hair spilling loose across my chest, tickling my skin.
The storage unit's stale air, the concrete chill, the distant drip — all of it faded into the background, replaced by the soft rhythm of her breathing syncing with mine, warm and steady.
Hours blurred in that quiet, suspended haze, my fingers idly tracing lazy circles on her hip until exhaustion finally dragged us under.
A faint drip-drip-drip yanks me awake. Fuck. I must've passed out hard. My eyes crack open slow, gritty and unfocused, head pounding with that post-adrenaline crash. The bare bulb overhead casts long shadows, turning the room into something almost dreamlike.
Harvee's still curled into my side, face fully relaxed and peaceful in sleep.
Her full lips are slightly parted like she's whispering secrets to herself.
She's so goddamn gorgeous, effortlessly beautiful, even here in this shithole.
The oversized shirt is twisted around her waist from our earlier tangle, riding up to expose the smooth curve of her hip and the faint red marks my fingers left behind.
One arm's flung across my stomach, fingers loosely curled into my shirt like she reached for me even unconscious.
Her cheeks are still faintly flushed, lashes fanned dark against her skin, and for a long moment I just stare, chest tightening with something raw and unfamiliar. Possessive. Protective. Real.
My phone buzzes insistently on the floor beside the couch, screen lighting up the scuffed concrete like a flare. I fish it out carefully, not wanting to jostle her, and squint at the barrage of texts from Raul.
Where are you at, cuz?
You at the unit?
Bro. Answer me. Where the fuck are you? Call me NOW.
Yeah. We're here.
His reply pings back in seconds.
I'm on my way. 10 min out.
I thumbs-up the text and check the time.
It's only 1:30 AM. My vision's still blurry as hell, eyes burning from rubbing the sleep out with the heel of my hand.
My head is thick and foggy from the emotional whiplash of the night.
Harvee stirs slightly in her sleep, murmuring something soft and incoherent, her fingers twitching against my shirt like she senses the shift.
I brush a soft kiss to her temple, lips lingering on her warm skin, breathing her in one more time before shit gets real again. Raul's coming, and whatever plan he's cooked up better be airtight. For her sake. For Ma's. For whatever the fuck this is turning into between us.
A few minutes tick by in the heavy quiet, the drip in the corner counting them out like a shitty, relentless metronome. Gravel crunches outside. Raul's Cadillac pulling up slowly. My phone buzzes sharp against my thigh.
Come outside.
I ease off the couch without waking her and slip out into the dark. The humid air hits like a wet slap, stars smudged behind low clouds.
Raul's leaning against his car, a joint dangling unlit from his lips, arms crossed tight over his chest. A thick manila envelope's clutched in one fist, edges worn like it's been worried all night. He shoves it at me the second I'm within reach, no preamble.
"Here."
"What the fuck is this for?" I take it, feeling the dense stack of bills shift inside — hundreds, maybe thousands.
"It's for your ma." His jaw clenches hard, stubble rasping under his palm as he rubs it. "I know dialysis is gonna bleed you dry, even with whatever shit insurance covers. Can't help but feel like it's my fault for hooking her up with more Plex. Thought I was helping…"
"Nah, man." I clap his shoulder firm, meeting his eyes. "You're fine. I get it — you saw her hurting and wanted to fix it. We all did. I'm sorry for earlier."
"Well, now I'm helping even more." He shrugs, but it's forced, shoulders hunched like he's carrying the weight of Ma's pain himself. "This isn't much, but it's half my cut from the hit. Cover what you can. I'm so sorry again, cuz."
His voice roughens at the end, eyes glistening under the porch light.
Before I can say anything, he yanks me into a hug.
Tight, back-thumping, the kind that rattles your ribs.
We don't do this — grown men with reputations and regrets.
We nod, we fist-bump, we don't hug — so it lands heavy, cuts deep.
Reminds me of scraped knees and shared secrets, of the kid who'd lie for me without blinking.
"You have no idea how much this will help, man," I mutter thickly into his shoulder, clapping his back once. "Seriously. Thank you."
"Of course." He pulls back, swiping quick at his eyes, forcing a grin. "I love you so much, man."
"I love you too." The words feel rusty coming out, scraped raw from some dusty corner of my chest I haven't cracked open in years, but they land true between us. "I'm scared, bro."
"Me too." Raul's voice drops low, all cocky edges stripped away, leaving just the kid I grew up with.
"Aunt Val was practically a mother to me too.
When Ma died, Dad lost it — booze by noon, bad bets by night.
We showed up on your doorstep more times than I can count, two starving mouth-breathers with nowhere else to crash.
Val never turned us away. Fed us from her last pot, pretended the electric was fine when it flickered, tucked us in on that lumpy couch like we were her own.
Clothed us, scolded us, loved us when we were unlovable.
We're both so fucking grateful for everything she's done.
" He swallows hard. "We'll be here every step of this process, okay?
Hospital runs, bills, whatever. You're not carrying this alone. "
"Promise?" My voice comes out smaller than I mean, throat burning.
"I promise, bro." His grip on my shoulder turns vise-tight, eyes fierce and unwavering in the buggy porch light. "Family first. Always."
"But holy fuck," I huff a rough laugh to shake off the sap choking my throat, rolling my shoulders like I can physically shrug away the vulnerability, "I'm going back to bed. I'm fucking exhausted."
He winks, smirk sliding back into place like well-worn armor. "Don't keep that gorgeous lady in there waiting."
"Yes, sir." I snap a mock salute, crisp and military, the old rhythm between us snapping back easy.
We hug once more — quicker this time, man-to-man, a solid back-clap that echoes louder than words ever could — before parting ways.
His Cadillac's taillights bleed red into the humid dark as he crunches down the gravel drive, engine rumble fading into the chorus of crickets and distant traffic.
I stand there a beat longer, envelope heavy in my pocket like an anchor, staring at the empty road swallowing his lights. Raul's got my back. He's bled for me, lied for me, split his blood money without blinking. Ma's fading, though. Harvee's a target. This life's a noose tightening slow.
Time to get my girls safe. Whatever it fucking takes.
Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. I slip back inside, locking the door with a soft click.
Harvee hasn't stirred, still curled soft on the couch, one arm outstretched like she was reaching for me in her sleep.
I tuck the envelope deep under the cushion for safekeeping.
It's out of sight, but the weight is still heavy in my mind.
I crawl onto the couch behind her. My body molds to hers, arm draping possessive over her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. Her warmth seeps into me, chasing out the night's chill, her hair tickling my nose as I bury my face there and breathe her in.
For the first time in days — hell, weeks — sleep drags me under peacefully.
Deep. Like the world outside this shithole unit can wait till morning.
Like maybe, just maybe, we've bought ourselves a little more time.