5. Psycho
Chapter five
Psycho
Our mouths collided in a hungry kiss as we stumbled up the staircase to the loft.
Bobbie stripped off my cut and my shirt, draping them over the railing.
She smoothed her hands over my chest and traced every inch of tattoo ink she could reach.
When her fingers found the old knife scar on my ribs, I shivered at the ticklish sensation.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you in the hospital,” Bobbie whispered.
"How did you know I was in the hospital?" I replied.
"I'm nosy, remember? Lurking and snooping around in the shadows. I wanted to know what you've been up to. I wanted to know…if you were happy."
Taking Bobbie's hand away from my scar, I placed her palm against my heart instead.
"And what did you find? Am I happy here?"
She nodded.
"I think so."
"Well, secondhand gossip can't always be trusted. So, let me give you a piece of information straight from the source. Yes, I'm happy here. But I'm always happier when I'm with you."
Bobbie's eyes softened and her cheeks went a little pink.
"And for the record, I'm glad you weren't there for the knife incident," I added. "I was in rough shape for a while. You didn't need to see me like that. Besides, it's in the past and I'm fine now."
Still, she looked doubtful.
I peeled her oversized denim jacket off, kissing her neck as I did so. Bobbie murmured a pleased sound, swaying closer. Eager to distract her, I slipped my fingers under the hem of her shirt.
Instead of touching her smooth skin, I found an additional shirt. And another. I grunted with frustration as I sorted through three more layers.
“How many clothes are you wearing?”
"I get cold easily." She paused then added with an edge of sarcasm, "And some of us don't have a cozy remodeled barn to live in."
It wasn’t that cold though—not yet anyway. There were a few hard frosts in the season so far, but nothing close to how frigid it would get in the dead of winter. Bobbie would be a block of ice by then.
I cradled her hips as she tugged off her myriad of clothing—two T-shirts, and a long-sleeved thermal. At last, she was left in just a snug white tank top. No bra. And her nipples were already pebbled. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting them.
But…dear God, she was rail thin.
I could count all of her ribs. She used to be so plump, with curves like heaven that filled my hands. Sure, the last time we saw each other, we were in our early twenties. That was a long time ago and bodies changed.
It worried me though.
“Jesus Christ, Bobbie,” I exhaled, horrified.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she crossed her arms protectively over herself.
“That’s not exactly the reaction a woman wants to hear when she gets naked.”
I sighed and combed my fingers into her hair—that glorious, vibrant red.
She used to be dishwater blonde, until she turned fourteen and got her hands on a box of cheap dye from the bargain bin at the corner store.
It turned her hair a brassy orange, but Bobbie was thrilled at the wild rebellion of it.
Her hair color changed many times after that—lavender, hot pink, acid green. She never went with a natural shade, like brunette or black.
Deep down, I suspected she used her eye-catching hair color choices as a warning sign that was impossible to miss. Like a beacon in the night. Or the brightly colored camouflage of a poisonous caterpillar.
Red was her favorite. Not a dusky auburn or a carrot top. This was chili pepper red, or the blaze of a cop car’s red flashing lights in the dark. This was a red that undeniably sent a message: danger, do not approach.
Pulling Bobbie close, I kissed her, sweeping my tongue between her lips until she melted against me.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I replied, apologetically. “I was just…shocked. You weren't this thin before."
She shrugged, rubbing her arms.
“Maybe this is the way I am now. Maybe I’m not the person you used to know.”
A challenge—pushing me away.
Well, it wouldn’t work.
I took Bobbie’s arms, guiding them around my neck. Then I hooked my hands behind her knees and picked her up. She squeaked with surprise, locking her legs around my waist.
“In that case," I said. "I’ll get reacquainted with the body of my bride-to-be.”
Bobbie’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face.
As I carried her into the loft, the light from downstairs provided a muted glow to illuminate my way.
Since I didn’t spend much time in my bedroom thanks to my insomnia, it was sparsely furnished with the bare essentials and it didn’t have many homey touches.
On nights when I inevitably crashed from exhaustion, I would often sleep in one of the spare rooms at the clubhouse.
I set Bobbie on the edge of the mattress, cupping her ankle to pull her boot off, then the other. She unbuckled her belt and raised her hips, shimmying out of her jeans until she was down to simple white cotton underwear.
“At least you don’t have on three pairs of pants,” I said.
Bobbie laughed, even though she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at losing the heat of her layers.
“You’re lucky. I’m usually wearing long johns, and they’re definitely not sexy. That would kill the mood in a heartbeat.”
Concern tugged at the back of my mind as I catalogued everything I’d noticed about Bobbie so far.
Multiple layers of baggy clothes. Long johns. Skinny as a skeleton, like she was starving. Seeing her drive up to my house in that dump of a Range Rover, packed with stuff, so she was obviously living out of her car.
Bobbie shivered again, and it dawned on me that I was still standing here, lost in thought, with her other boot held in my grip. Trying to figure out what she wasn’t telling me. If I pushed her too hard for answers, she might make a run for it.
I needed to choose what was more important right now.
Digging for information?
Or having the woman I loved safe in my bed for the first time in years?
I tossed Bobbie’s boot on the floor and lifted her up, getting her situated more fully in the center of my mattress like a queen, reclining against my pillows. I pulled the sheets over us, creating a cocoon of warmth.
Bobbie was merely a silhouette now, rendered in shadow from the dim light filtering through the sheets.
But I could feel her—soft skin and ribs as bumpy as a washboard, her fingers idly combing through my hair.
I could smell her, too. The faint scent of bleach, accompanied by a generically clean scent, nondescript, like hotel bar soap.
And I could taste her.
Pushing Bobbie’s tank top up, I trailed kisses along her torso until I reached those tempting nipples and sucked one into my mouth. Bobbie gasped, wiggling beneath me.
I pinched her nipple between my teeth with just enough of a burn to draw a needy whine out of her. Kissing my way down her body, I tongued at the hollow of her hip, and left bruising love bites like violets on her inner thighs.
Sliding Bobbie’s panties off, I pushed her knees apart. The salty-sweet musk of her arousal filled my lungs, blurring the edges of my thoughts. I slicked my fingers with saliva and took my time circling and stroking her clit.
“Fuck, Arrow,” she pleaded in a strangled voice. “Don’t tease me.”
“That’s part of the fun, sweetheart.”
Bobbie growled. But she broke off with a gasp as I slid two fingers inside her. When I pressed upward, she bowed off the bed, and her walls clenched. I anchored my forearm across her hips, pinning her to the mattress.
Then I locked my mouth around her clit and sucked hard.
Every muscle in Bobbie’s body seized tight. I flicked my tongue back and forth over her clit, swirling and sucking in alternating turns, until her cream dripped down my fingers, pooling in my palm.
Her thighs trembled, bracketing my head. I rutted against the mattress, desperate to ease the painful ache in my rigid cock.
“Holy shit,” Bobbie rasped. “That feels so good—”
Scooping my hands under her ass, I angled her higher, so I could properly feast on the ripeness of her pussy. Bobbie’s shallow panting and breathless moans mingled with my obscene slurping noises.
She wavered so close to release without reaching the tipping point. I held back to keep her there, dripping and blushing and begging. Her body arched, riding my tongue.
“Oh, goddamn it, Arrow, just—just make me come already, for Christ’s sake,” Bobbie said through her teeth.
I grinned and gave a teasing lick to the tip of her torturously stiff clit.
“It’s my job to ensure that my future wife gets as many orgasms as possible. A serious task like that can’t be rushed, honey.”
Bobbie started to protest, but I ducked down between her thighs again. And I locked in, eating her out like I was trying to suck the very soul from her body.
The ecstasy that played across her face was mesmerizing—her eyes screwed shut, the tendons in her neck stretched taut, and her head thrown back with that neon red hair fanning across my pillow in a halo of fire.
Her orgasm flooded through her, twisting, contorting. She shouted my name loud enough to make it echo against the rafters. I smiled with satisfaction at that beautiful sound.
As Bobbie came down, shivering and twitching with fading aftershocks, I smoothed my tongue gently against her clit. She struggled to catch her breath, her skin flushed, bruised, and covered with a sheen of sweat.
“You never really talked much,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But you know how to use your tongue really, really well.”
I breathed a faint laugh, kissing the inside of her knee. All at once, my limbs felt like they were filled with molten lead. The fatigue I’d been holding off for the past few days seemed to be catching up to me.
But my cock was still raging hard, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to finally be inside Bobbie after all this time apart.
I climbed up the bed, freeing myself from the sheets for fresh air, feeling like I was moving through molasses.
Flopping down beside Bobbie, I wearily unbuckled my belt, but I barely managed to get my jeans down to my knees.
Pulling her back against me, I closed my eyes, breathing her in, pressing my lips to the nape of her neck.
I was utterly exhausted beyond words.
Bobbie hummed as she wiggled deeper into my arms, pressing her ass against my groin.
“You can’t fall asleep yet,” she said. “Not with that boner poking me.”
I huffed a laugh and grasped the base of my cock, rubbing the tip along her soaked pussy.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m just…”
“Tired,” Bobbie replied softly. “I know. I can tell.”
I mumbled incoherently, lulled closer to the precipice of unconsciousness now that she was safely in my arms. Bobbie took my cock herself, lining me up at her entrance.
“Wait…condom…” I mumbled.
“It’s fine, I'm on birth control."
She pushed her hips back and the silky heat of her pussy enveloped my cock with delirious pleasure.
“Fuuuuuck,” I sighed.
Bobbie gave a satisfied hum, slowly working her hips in circles until we could both feel every inch.
“What’s keeping you awake this time?” she asked.
I gritted my teeth with controlled thrusts, driving deeper and deeper each time.
“Dad. It’s usually him. Sometimes Mom, too. Mostly Dad though.”
Bobbie made a noise of understanding. She took my arm and brought my hand up to her mouth, kissing it sweetly. She rocked back to meet my thrusts, squeezing her pussy extra tight.
“The worst nightmare that keeps me awake is the fire," I said.
I’d told Bobbie every sordid detail about that hellish memory many times before.
After Mom left and married another man, my father went ballistic. He punched holes in the walls. He smashed every dish in the kitchen, leaving broken pieces scattered on the floor.
Then he started drinking.
And he didn’t stop until he was passed out stone cold on the floor of the living room. He forgot that the stove was on, forgot the abandoned pot of pasta he’d been cooking.
It started to smoke, the acrid stench filling the air. Eventually, the fire alarm went off, and the high-pitched beeping was so shrill, so relentless, that I clamped my hands over my ears.
I was too young to understand what was going on—barely three years old. The stove burst into flame, blackening the walls, the ceiling.
But when I tried to wake my dad, he wouldn’t respond. A cold clutch of terror seized around my heart like a giant fist. The fire was getting bigger with every passing second, charring the kitchen, flames slithering into the living room.
My home was burning. My father was lying there like a dead man. And I felt sick to my stomach with the certainty that I would be burned alive, with no one to save me.
“You’re here, Arrow. You’re safe.”
Bobbie’s voice sent the shadows of that memory scattering to the recesses of my mind. I held her tighter, burying my face in her neck, and pumping my cock a little harder into the velvety grip of her pussy.
I cupped Bobbie’s cheek and turned her head, tangling our tongues together to match every stroke that I buried inside her. She kept gliding up and down on my length, so slick and hot and good.
“You’re here and you’re safe,” she repeated, over and over.
The low warmth of my orgasm curled around my spine, spreading, blooming. My senses were full of Bobbie—her taste lingering on my tongue, her scent in my lungs with every breath, and her body beneath my hands, her chilled skin pressed to mine.
“Come inside me,” Bobbie murmured. “I missed the way you filled me up like no one else could.”
Gripping her hip, I grunted as I pushed deep, grinding hard. Bobbie moaned and her walls fluttered around my cock.
“Fuck, yes, just like that.”
My orgasm slammed into me and burst like fireworks. I kept pumping with sloppy thrusts, driven by the pure instinct to stay inside her pussy as long as possible after being apart too long.
Eventually, my body sagged, and the lack of sleep dragged me under. I didn’t pull out—didn’t want to, didn’t have the energy. Not even for that.
I hooked an arm around Bobbie’s hips, holding her in place.
“Stay,” I croaked against her hair. “Please. Don’t leave. Don’t…don’t disappear on me again.”
A heartbeat of silence filled the room. I waited, expecting Bobbie to promise that she wasn’t going anywhere.
But she said nothing.
And the bliss of sleep closed over me at last.