19. Korine
19
KORINE
“Fuucckkk!” Blake grunts, tucking his face into the crook of my neck. His breath feathers my skin in heavy pants. His hips work their magic, rolling deeper into me, hitting all the right spots. Breaking me apart as he himself comes undone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… Kori… you’re fucking perfect. You know that right? Fuucckkk !”
I’d laugh at the loud storm of expletives if I weren’t panting and writhing along with him. It’s the only thing I can do as his hot, hard length lights me up from the inside. Filling me, sating me, bringing me unseen levels of pleasure.
I clench around him and slide my fingers through his golden hair.
He swears again. Even louder with more grunts that must alert anyone within a mile radius. Neither of us give a damn.
He lifts up to seek my mouth. The kiss is feral, as urgent and needy as his thrusts become. My whole body spasms reaching my climax. My back arches. My thighs quiver. I pant and moan, both of which are greedily silenced by Blake’s lips. His tongue that flicks to mine.
This man seeks to possess me.
As pleasure pulses through me, I realize I’m more than willing to let him.
I’ve never felt so beautiful. So desired. In a way Ken never made me feel. The way Blake touches me, even how he looks at me, is as if he feels privileged just to be in the same room as me. Let alone inside of me.
Blake grabs my thighs and slings them over his hips. He drives into me in harder, faster strokes. Sweat glistens on his skin, the muscles on his tattooed chest a delectable sight. He exudes raw masculine sexuality with every thrust, every grunt as he gropes me and fucks me and then comes in a powerful sweep of pleasure.
For a few seconds, he’s suspended in time. He breaks into pieces the way I have. His features tense and then relax. His ropey muscles do the same. I reach for him, yearning for another passionate kiss.
He’s still heaving for air as his lips meet mine. His rough palms glide over my naked skin, pausing at places like my hips and breasts. I shudder as he does.
Blake might not realize it, but he’s a huge boost to my confidence. His words encourage me. Embolden me. Make me daring enough to explore all the ways we can enjoy each other. Things I’ve never felt or done with Ken.
A grin slants across his mouth as he leans back for a look at me. “Damn, Kori.”
I laugh. “What?!”
“You’ve got it going on,” he teases, squeezing my hip.
It’s such an unexpected thing to say, I laugh a second time, even louder. “Blake Cash, were you always this corny?”
“Yes. And you fell for me anyway.” He swoops in and drops an affectionate kiss on the side of my neck.
“I was a teen girl. I didn’t know better.”
He cocks a brow. “What’s your excuse now?”
“I guess I still don’t know better.” He buries his face in my neck for more kisses. These biting. I squirm against him and his revenge games on the exact spot where I’m ticklish. He would remember something like that. “Blake! Blake! What are you—okay! Okay, I like it! I swear I do!”
He nips at my neck one final time. His grin goes nowhere when he peers into my eyes. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Yeah, uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
“You staying the night?” he asks. Hope deepens his tone.
Since Mama and I moved into our own apartment, Blake’s trailer has become the location for our private time. We set aside a few hours here and there to spend together. The arrangement works a lot smoother than when the three of us were in the trailer.
I shake my head. “Can’t. I don’t like leaving Mama alone overnight.”
Blake doesn’t like my answer though he kisses my brow and tells me he understands.
We see no less of each other as January passes. Between work, our dates and outings on weekends, and our nighttime visits, we find a groove. Though I told Blake I won’t call him my boyfriend ’til I’m officially divorced, it’s what we are.
It’s what those around us recognize us as. Mason and Sydney insist on double dates. Mama taunts me anytime she catches me smiling at something Blake’s said or done. The guys at the shop give Blake shit for being a softy as far as I’m concerned.
Life is better than it’s been in years. I’m happier, more carefree than I can remember feeling in a long time. I’d never felt this way married to Ken.
There’s still a mess to sort through. The divorce proceedings. Mama’s health remains a concern. My finances, despite the help we’ve had from Blake and the MC. I want to save up enough money to be comfortable. So we’ll never have to worry about where to lay our head at night no matter what happens.
But with Blake and Mama by my side none of it feels impossible.
What Blake provides for me I do my best to provide for him—moral support and solidarity through difficult times.
He’s been struggling with things he sometimes hides from me. He forgets I know him as well as he knows me, which means I’m able to figure out what’s on his mind even if he tries to hide these things.
Blake’s family has always been a source of trauma for him. His parents never gave him the love and care he deserved as a boy growing up. Into adulthood they’ve continued their bad parenting. They’re determined to guilt trip him and make him feel like he’s a horrible son.
I’m a listening ear when he finally does confess these things to me. I gently slide my fingers into his golden strands and brush my face to his as we lay in bed in the middle of lazy, sleepy talk.
“You’re not a bad son,” I say. “You’ve given them so many chances. It’s on them to fix things.”
“My mother sure loves telling me I ruined his life.”
“It sounds to me like William Cash ruined his own life.”
He strokes my naked skin, his eyes linked with mine. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” I admit softly, then I kiss him on the mouth. “But I can say from experience any man who puts his hands on his wife and son isn’t a good man.”
“The guilt weighs on me anyway. I could’ve stopped what happened.”
“He could’ve too.”
“They keep inviting me for family dinner. My mother swears it’ll be different.”
“You don’t have to go alone.” I reach for his hand so I can intertwine our fingers between where our bodies lay. “Maybe it can help you. It’ll give you some kind of closure.”
His eyes twinkle. “You’d do that? You’d come with me?”
“We’re best friends, Blake. I go where you go.”
He kisses me so deeply, I’m left spinning. My heart flutters in happiness, setting me at ease as we fall asleep.
* * *
“You can go ahead. I’ll close up shop,” I say, wiping my wrench free of oil. I toss my rag over my shoulder and walk around to the other side of Daryl Weaver’s Nightster. I’ve been hard at work all day making the upgrades requested. Initially, it seemed like a job that could be completed within the day, but I’ve fallen behind.
Blake leans against the cement wall of the garage. “I’m not leaving you alone to lock up.”
I understand his protectiveness. Though it’s been weeks of radio silence, Ken’s just not the type to let things go easily. He’s the type to strategize and plan, bide his time, wait for the perfect opportunity for revenge.
For punishment…
A lesson I learned repeatedly throughout our marriage.
In recent times, Blake and I have been happy to indulge in our passion and chemistry, but he’s never lost sight of the threat looming. He’s constantly alert as if trouble might pop off any second.
“Are you always this cautious?”
“Sometimes. About things that are special.”
I smirk. “But I’m a big girl, Blake. I carry pepper spray. I can handle it.”
“Didn’t say anything about you not being able to handle it.”
“Then why are you still here?” I pop a hand to my hip, forgetting about the bike for a second.
He pushes off the cement wall and starts toward me. “’Cuz I like seeing you work on these bikes. It’s sexy as hell.”
“Sexy?” I snort, looking down my front at my grease-streaked coveralls. “There’s nothing sexy about this.”
“I beg to differ.”
Blake does what Blake always does—with his bright smile and deep blue eyes, he rivets me to the spot. I’m incapable of doing anything but watching as he approaches and then overtakes me. His hand squeezes at my hip and his mouth hovers over mine.
The heat he gives off makes me dizzy. His clean, masculine, soapy smell makes me reel.
I don’t stand a chance by the time he kisses me. I’m swept up in a whirlwind of the pleasure his warm lips and large hands give me. His tongue massages mine and his palms travel along my curves in a way that’s appreciative.
Just like that, Blake Cash accomplishes the impossible—he’s not only made my pussy clench with desire, he’s made me feel like the sexiest woman in the world when all I’m wearing are greased up coveralls.
He brings me up against the garage walls. His fingers undo buttons. They push aside the fabric and then the cups of my bra for a knead of my breasts. His mouth kisses its way from mine to the column of my throat.
I gasp out as he lifts me off the ground and holds me to the wall as he tweaks my nipple.
Things move fast. One second I’m clothed in my coveralls. The next, I’ve been stripped bare and I’m being fucked against the cement wall. All as Blake devours my mouth and feels up whatever part of my body he can.
He groans as he fucks me hard and his thick dick leaves me tingling. Pleasure radiates from my pussy ’til I feel like I might pass out. I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his strapping shoulders, enjoying the ride he gives me. I’m bouncing on his dick and tangling fingers in his golden-brown hair.
I fall pieces with a shudder that has my vision spotty and my toes flexing from behind Blake’s back. He keeps fucking me ’til he’s good and satisfied. ’Til he’s pounded my swollen pussy to his heart’s content.
Only then does he come. He pushes me back up against the wall, my legs snug about his waist, and he plants himself deep. I kiss on him as he comes. I lick the shell of his ear and drag my lips along the hard line of his jaw. Eventually, I’m able to bring him back down to earth. His mouth meets mine before he finally sets me on my feet.
My legs shake. I might as well be made of rubber. “That was… well, you see me barely able to stand.”
He grins. So sexy with so much swag. “Told you I begged to differ. Made sure you felt it. How much I want you?—”
“Blake,” I laugh.
“Let’s go back to my place. I’m about to eat your pussy like it’s my last meal.”
The crass, dirty words unlock my inner freak. My pussy’s wet and throbbing all over again. I eye him with what must be an intrigued look, because his grin only widens and he grabs my hand. We race from the Chop Shop straight to his trailer.
He keeps his promise—by the end of the evening, my legs are slung over his shoulders and his face is buried between my thighs as he feasts.
I come three times by the time he’s through with me.
* * *
Blake blows out a rough breath. “Kori, this is probably a mistake.”
I reach for his hand. “It doesn’t have to be. You won’t know ’til you give it a chance.”
“I have given it chances. It always ends one way. We don’t speak for a reason.”
He spends another moment peering at the weathered house across the street. The Cash family hasn’t taken care of their property—the home’s long overdue for a fresh coat of paint and the grass is brown and patchy. The only tree in the yard died some time ago, standing barren and leafless.
Once upon a time, it’d grown lemons. The same tree Blake had sat in as he watched my family move in.
An unwashed station wagon sits in the drive, streaked with dirt and debris.
If the lights weren’t on, I’d assume no one lived here. Compared to the home next door— my childhood home —it’s night and day.
I give Blake’s hand a squeeze. “Ready?”
His deep sigh serves as his answer. His energy’s different tonight. It’s as worn as the house he used to live in. He’s pulled his golden hair into a ponytail, presumably to avoid any comments from his parents, and put on a button-down shirt. An attempt at a good impression he clearly doesn’t think is even worth the effort.
We cross the street in step and hand in hand.
Determination beats through me. I’m ready to help in any way I can.
After everything Blake’s done for me in recent weeks, being the support he’s been, it’s the least I can do.
When we reach the doorstep, I lean over and press my finger to the doorbell. Only a weak buzz sounds. It must need to be replaced like many other things on the property. I knock instead.
“Who’s pounding on my door?” screeches Mrs. Cash from inside the home.
A slender silhouette bobs behind the sheer curtain until the door’s wrenched open and we find ourselves staring at the sixty-something woman.
“Oh,” she bleats as if disappointed. “Right. Forgot you were coming. Well, get in here. Don’t want the heat to get out.”
We step into the tight space littered with old magazines and boxes of things collected over time. Cigarette smoke assaults my sense of smell. I hold in a cough that winds up croaking out of me anyway the next time I go to talk.
It’s a question asking if Mrs. Cash needs any help preparing dinner.
She swats a hand at me like you would a bothersome gnat. “It’s all good. Just head to the dining room. Bill’s waiting.”
I feel Blake tense at my side. His solid muscles strain and tauten. His grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain. I slip it out of his grasp to an apologetic look from him.
We do as Mrs. Cash says and wander into the dining room. Like the other rooms in the home, it’s crowded with stacks of years-old magazines and newspapers. The furniture from the tops of the chairs to the cushions and the edges of the table are coated in a layer of dust.
But the man seated in the wheelchair eyeing us like mortal enemies takes up most of our attention. If Blake’s father ever possessed even one-tenth the handsomeness of his son, he’s long ago lost it. His hair’s disheveled and uncombed, a color mix of gold, gray, and white. Deep wrinkles punctuate his skin and jowls sag his face. He’s missing teeth and has some of the unfriendliest eyes I’ve ever seen.
Puzzling since Blake’s blue eyes are always sparkling with humor and warmth.
For a long time, he glares and says nothing.
We slide into seats on the far end from where he’s situated. The silence speaks a thousand words, telling the history of a family that’s been torn and ripped apart and never truly recovered. I place my hand on Blake’s thigh under the table to remind him I’m here. I’ll see him through this.
“So,” Bill rasps at last. “You finally decided to turn up. It’s a miracle.”
Blake grinds down on his jaw. “I didn’t come for trouble.”
Bill scoffs. “Didn’t come for trouble—you ever lived a day of your life and didn’t cause trouble? You might have her fooled but you ain’t fooled me.”
I meet Bill’s loathsome stare. He’s never liked me… or my family. One of the many reasons Dad hated that I became friends with Blake. He forbade me from ever going over his house or even interacting with Bill Cash at all.
The man gave off scary and violent vibes even as a child. I more than happily listened.
“Thank you for having us over,” I say in my most pleasant tone.
He hacks out a cough. “Yeah, whatever. You think I don’t know you dragged him here? He ain’t wanna be here. He ain’t been here for years.”
“You shouldn’t wonder why,” Blake snaps, his teeth gritted.
“Mouthing off ’cuz you think you’re some big shot. ’Cuz them tables have turned, eh? You’re a man now and your father’s in a chair—you think that makes you better?”
“Bill.”
Mrs. Cash returns clutching a casserole dish. Her tone’s stern but still deferential. Almost a tone I’d take with Ken if I were ever bold enough to scold him. She sets the casserole dish down in the middle of the table and mentions she worked on it all afternoon.
“John Wayne casserole,” she announces with a rare proud smile. “You remember, Blake.”
“Yeah, how shitty it was,” Blake mutters under his breath, so quietly, only I hear him.
But as we each take a plate and pile some of the casserole on, I discover Blake’s right. The casserole tastes like dog food—mushy veggies with grainy ground beef and gooey cheddar cheese that somehow makes it taste even worse.
I’m barely able to get a few polite forkfuls down before I have to stop altogether and focus on drinking the iced tea that’s been provided.
To her credit, Mrs. Cash attempts keeping things civil. She talks about the recipe she’s used for her casserole and then rambles on about how there’s yard work that needs to get done. The hint being that she’d like Blake to do it.
When that falls on deaf ears, she goes into asking me questions.
“Didn’t realize you were back in town,” she says. “Well, not ’til I found out your husband is a police officer for Pulsboro PD.”
A beat of uncertain silence follows, where I’m lost about how to even reply. The sour expression on Mrs. Cash’s face tells me her comment was a slight. I am—I was—a married woman, who’s currently attending this dinner with her son.
I set down my glass of iced tea and answer with calm indifference. “He is a police officer. However, we’re no longer together.”
“I bet.” She flashes plaque-riddled, stained teeth in what’s supposed to be a smile.
“It’s none of your business. Don’t speak on it,” Blake grits out.
“None of my business? You’re in my home.”
“That can easily be fixed. I didn’t want to be here.”
“See,” Bill grunts. “Still the same disrespectful shithead he’s always been. Told you, Martha. Shouldn’t have even bothered inviting him. He doesn’t give a fuck about anybody but himself.” The bitter man turns to me, one of his eyes bulging larger than the other. “You know what he did? Do you really know? Or did he tell you the clean version?”
Martha’s brows knit and she warbles out, “Bill?—”
“Shut up,” he snaps. He’s focused on me. His attention the kind that’s unnerving. “Did my dear ol’ son tell you all about how he ruined my life? I’m in this chair ’cuz of him!”
“ENOUGH!” Blake roars, rising to his feet. Strands of hair have begun to slip from his ponytail and his face reddens with anger. His neck thickens, each swallow a hard bob of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t need this shit. I never wanted to come here. I’d be fine if I never spoke to you people another day in my life!”
“Then get the fuck out!” Bill yells, spittle flying. “Just like I told you when you were sixteen. Good for nothing piece of shit you are!”
My heart’s pounding fast as the scene explodes before me. The animosity between the father and son chokes the air, making it impossible to breathe. I stand at Blake’s side. My hand goes for his, but he denies me. He’s rounding on his heel and striding for the door.
I don’t bother addressing Mr. and Mrs. Cash as I hurry after him.
The screen door flaps shut in my face. Blake’s strode so far ahead of me, the door shut before I could reach him. I sprint across the lawn and then the empty street to catch up.
The pulse of rage has followed Blake from inside the house to outside. He flings open the door to his truck and jumps in almost as if he’s forgotten I’m with him.
“Blake!” I pant. I scramble to climb into the passenger side. “Wait.”
He sits for a moment, scarily silent, processing what just happened. Then he slams his palm into his steering wheel. Once isn’t enough and he goes back for seconds and thirds ’til he’s grunting and the horn gives a bleat.
“Blake!” I gasp again. I reach for his arm to try to stop him. “It doesn’t matter what they?—”
“Don’t touch me!” he growls. “Don’t say a fucking word, Kori! I don’t want to hear it.”
Shocked by the roughness in his voice, I fall silent. My heart’s still hammering inside my chest. My adrenaline’s as kicked up as his. The only difference being I’m worried, whereas he’s twitching, seething with anger.
Blake starts up the truck and pulls away from the curb so fast the tires screech.
“Where are we going?”
“Home. Your apartment. I’m dropping you off.”
“Then where are you—Blake, will you just calm down?”
“Not now, Kori. I don’t want to talk. Not even to you.”
Fear pricks me in a cold chill that spreads goosebumps on my skin. A Blake I’d hope I’d never see again is emerging—reckless and short-tempered and unpredictable. The Blake he’d been when I’d shook my head in disappointment and gone away to college.
I’d hoped he’d grown out of it…
Blake slams on the brakes outside my apartment building. His silence communicates he’s waiting for me to get out.
I unclick my seatbelt slowly. I’m stalling. “You should come up. I’ll… I’ll make you something. A real dinner since we didn’t?—”
“Kori, you better go.”
“I don’t think you should be alone right now. Please come up with me. Mama would love to see you.”
“ Go .” He won’t look at me. Instead he glares straight ahead at the road that’s to come. The muscles in his throat work with every swallow, his jaw’s tighter than I’ve ever seen it.
I frown, on the brink of tears. “I’m so sorry. If I knew it would be like this?—”
“Kori. Get out.”
Hopping out of the truck, I barely have enough time to stand back before he’s gunning it. His truck jets off and spins sharply around the next street corner.
Instantly out of view. So far out of my reach.