CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MASSACHUSETTS, PRESENT DAY
It had been a long time since I'd done this. Not as long ago as my relationship with Jersey. There'd been others in between then and now. The number of women I'd slept with couldn't begin to rival Luke's, and I had never developed a taste for casual sex the way he had. And now, I was here, miles away from where I'd started, heading to my bedroom with a woman I couldn't believe was still here.
God, I had tried and tried to scare her away. But she'd only seen my resistance as a challenge, and now, I was grateful for it. Because as she crossed the threshold of my bedroom, I realized with heart-stopping magnitude how badly I needed this. Not this —sex, I mean. If I was being honest, sex had been the furthest thing from my mind in the years since leaving Connecticut, when all I'd been trying to do was survive without being discovered. But it was her that I had needed—Stormy—and my soul exhaled with relief the moment I finally made my peace with that.
I had no intention of turning on the light as we entered the bedroom. Somehow, I always felt like light had a way of making a moment like this feel less sacred, like it was its own a separate entity, watching and prying and capable of revealing our secrets to others.
But Stormy spun around to loop her arms around my neck and said, “I want to see you.”
A lump formed in my throat as I held her around her waist. “I thought you already did.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did, and I considered saying no. The truth was revealed to me then that it wasn't that I was so much afraid of the light itself, but scared of her and what she might find. That she would leave, and right now, in this moment, all I wanted was for her to stay . But whether I turned on the light now or the sun did it for me in the morning, she would eventually, inevitably, see. She'd see it all, and I had to believe it was better to do it now and get it over with when I was drunk on lust and the excitement of allowing myself to want again than when the sobering daylight arrived.
So, I reached out for the floor lamp between the door and my dresser. With a yank of the chain, the room was blanketed in a warm glow. Stormy's arms remained around my neck as she turned her head, taking in my small but comfortable bedroom. To avoid watching her perusal of my choice in interior design, I dipped my head to bury my face in her neck, to breathe in the lavender she held in her hair and the cinnamon and black pepper she wore on her skin.
I inhaled so deeply that I almost believed I could get high on her scent. She was the embodiment of warmth, and in my haze, I pressed my lips to her neck, desperate to hear her moan in the quiet of my room.
When my lips didn't work, I tried with my tongue. Tasting her skin, working my hands over the small of her back. But she was too distracted, too entangled in what I'd originally thought was a mundane corner of my world, and I still didn't have her attention.
I pulled my lips from her neck as one hand lifted from her back to glide over the swell of her breast, concealed by her oversize sweatshirt. Moving upward over the long, smooth column of her slender throat to her defined jaw, where my grip firmed and guided her eyes back to mine, hooded and greedy. Jealous of her interest in my space and not in me.
I was met with a mirrored desire, her lust alive and thriving. There wasn't enough time to appreciate it before my mouth pressed hard against hers, my hand still gripping her jaw. Guiding the tilt of her head, thrusting my tongue against hers, deepening the kiss and fueling the fire I needed to move her backward toward my bed.
Stormy moaned into my mouth, tangling her fingers into the hair at the back of my head and loosening my ponytail as she pulled. I responded with a moan of my own, removing my hand from her jaw to grab her ass and lift her up against me. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and my pulsing, aching erection pressed firmly between her open thighs, pulling desperate groans from both of our open, slack mouths.
“Oh my God,” she gasped against my lips. “I hope you fuck as good as you kiss.”
I grunted a strangled chuckle as we tumbled together to the mattress in a knotted heap of limbs. “Not making any promises, but I'll try my best.”
She pressed another kiss to my mouth as her lips twitched into a smile, and then she scooted back, untangling her legs from my hips and her arms from my neck. I settled on my side, propping my cheek in my palm as she sat up, pulling the sweatshirt off in one fluid motion without a second of hesitation. She'd worn nothing underneath, and my lips parted, my mouth drying in an instant, at the sight of her topless form.
“What?” Stormy smirked, reaching out to nudge my chin, closing my mouth. “Never seen a pair of tits before?”
An amused grin spread across my face as I lifted my eyes lazily from her chest to her eyes. “Not these.”
She glanced down at the breasts in question—the nipples pierced and bejeweled with black barbells, the curved sides tattooed with black-and-gray florals and bats—and screwed her lips to the side. “I've never liked them,” she said almost to herself. “They're kinda lopsided, and the right one sags a little more than the left.” She looked back to me as I tried to unsuccessfully find the imperfections she was pointing out. “Right? I got, like, weird Frankenstein boobs.”
I guffawed and shook my head. “Can't say I agree with that at all, but okay.”
“Oh, whatever.” She rolled her eyes away from mine as she stretched her legs out to untie her Chucks. “I forget all men care about is seeing a chick naked. You're not really seeing my body for what it is. You're just thinking with your dick, and listen, that's cool. I get it. You're simpleminded. You can't help that.”
She prattled on as she undid the laces while my brow furrowed and my head shook softly.
“Uh, that's not true at all. Not always,” I replied, my voice low, nearly offended by the accusation.
One shoe was pulled off as that intense green gaze shot toward me sidelong. “Oh?”
I sat up and moved to face her, pulling her other sneakered foot onto my lap. One corner of her mouth barely lifted into a smile as I began to untie the knot.
“My brother, Luke …” I cleared my throat after uttering his name aloud for the first time in years, keeping my eyes on my hands, slowly undoing the black laces. “He was the kind of guy you're describing. Single-minded, only cared about sex … you know. But I never was. And don't get me wrong; I like sex as much as the next guy. But I was never like him, sleeping with whoever would look at me. Honestly, I always had a hard time with stomaching the idea of sleeping with someone I didn’t at least have some connection with, but he didn't seem to have that problem, and I couldn't understand if there was something wrong with him or me or … I don't know … both of us.
“So, anyway,” I continued, loosening the laces, “one day, after this woman left our house, I asked him about that. I said, 'How the hell do you do that so easily?' And he looked at me like a second head had just sprouted from my neck and said, 'The hell are you talking about?' So, I told him, and he stared at me like his heart was breaking all over again right in front of me. Then, he said, 'It's only like that for me because I know and you know that it'll never be more than just fucking for me. You still have a chance to find more than that; you still have hope. But there's no hope left for me, Charlie, and I don't want it. I'm just fucking until I can't anymore, but you …’” I pulled in a deep breath as I tugged her shoe off and dropped it to the floor. “'You keep looking.'
“So, that's what I'm doing,” I said, finally looking up to her eyes, never once stopping to take in the sight of her bare breasts or the tattoos etched into the skin of her chest or sternum. “I like sex, and believe me when I say that seeing you naked is a fucking honor. But I'd never be so arrogant to assume I was privy to either without your invitation. Because at the end of the day, all I'm looking for is something more than just this.”
She stared at me for several loud, booming beats of my heart, and to my horror, a tear worked its way from the corner of her eye to slide over her cheek. Then, she blinked, laughed, and swatted that crystal drop away as she rolled her gaze to the ceiling.
“Jesus Christ, Charlie. You’d better stop doing that shit,” she said with a groan, holding her palms to her eyes and shaking her head. “I don't fucking cry. I don't like crying. But, God, you're just …” She groaned again in lieu of words.
“Cheesy?” I offered, quirking one side of my mouth in a self-deprecating grin. “Lame? Stupid? Stop me when I hit on something accurate.”
“No!” She dropped her hands to her lap and bit her bottom lip before saying, “You're sweet, and you're nice, and you're not at all what I expected, and you deserve more—”
“Stop.” I pressed my hands to her knees. “I'm not going to pretend there isn't a lot I don't know about you or where you've been, but don't take who I am right now, in this room, as any indication of who you think I was before. Don't assume you know what I deserve.”
I hadn't removed a single article of clothing yet, but I felt more naked than if I'd been stripped bare. Stormy's eyes narrowed for only a second with questions ablaze. I knew there was an invitation in the things I'd said, and if she asked now, I would answer as best as I could. I’d told you I was done running, and I had meant it.
But where I expected questions, she only nodded and replied, “Okay,” as if, right now, none of it mattered. Maybe it would in the morning or in the middle of the night, when the euphoria eventually slipped away, but in this moment, we settled for acceptance.
She stood on her knees before me, hooking her fingers in the waistband of her black leggings. I pressed my palms to the microdermal piercings adorning her hip bones, twinkling in the glow of the lamp, and leaned closer to pepper kisses over the detailed serpent, coiling up from beneath her leggings to slither toward her rib cage.
I lowered my hands, laying them over hers. My head tipped back, meeting her gaze. Asking silently for permission to assist, and with a deep swallow, she nodded.
She wasn’t wearing anything underneath the soft, stretchy fabric—a fact that no longer surprised me but instead just turned me on to the point of discomfort. As every inch of her smooth, inked, bejeweled skin was revealed to my hungry eyes and salivating mouth, she watched me, power crackling in her stare and beneath her flesh.
“You're overdressed,” she stated, casually lying back to kick her leggings off the rest of the way and dropping them beside the bed.
“I think maybe I'll just look at you for a while,” I countered, struggling to maintain my composure as she leaned against my pillows, stretching her arms out wide and bending her knees, crossing one thigh over the other.
No woman had ever lain in my bed, but if there was to be a first, I was grateful it was her, with every one of her piercings glimmering in the light and every one of her tattoos stark against the pallor of her porcelain skin. I had never felt luckier in my fucking life.
“Is this the something more you were looking for?” She cocked her head, addressing me with a cool, teasing smile.
I only sniffed a quiet laugh, hanging my head to conceal the warmth in my cheeks. Knowing that the something more wasn't in her nudity or the sacred place between her legs, but I couldn't say that. I couldn't tell her that I felt so certain that something was very likely concealed within her heart, and I suddenly found myself afraid that I'd be undone if I ever had to be without it.
So, I said nothing as I pulled my T-shirt off, refreshing her memory of what she'd already seen when she caught me chopping wood. Then, I stood at the side of the bed, keeping my eyes locked on hers as I undid my jeans and let them hang around my waist.
Her eyes took the opportunity to roam then, frisking over my arms and chest before dropping to my softly defined abs and waist.
“How did you get that?” she asked in a hush, and I dropped my eyes to follow her gaze to the neat scar along my lower belly, just above my groin.
It was five years old now, whitened with the passing of time, but any attention brought to that puckered line of skin always brought with it the memory of feeling cold metal slice through my skin in the upstairs hallway, just outside my bedroom.
“I, um …” I dared my fingertips to touch the two-inch line of silvery white. “I was … I-I was stabbed.”
“Shit, seriously?” Her eyes widened with horror and concern. “How bad was it?”
“Not as bad as it could've been,” I admitted, my voice suddenly gravelly.
“What about the person who stabbed you?”
I pressed my lips into a tight line and raised my eyes to the ceiling. I swallowed at the pain and guilt and every other vile, disgusting feeling I didn't want to feel right now and cleared my throat before replying, “Not as good.”
She closed her mouth and nodded once, as if the questions hanging in the air weren't worth asking right now, and I was grateful for that. She outstretched her arms, welcoming me into the bed, and I joined her. Half covering her body with mine, pressing my face to her neck, and finding my calm once again in her garden of lavender and spice.
Then, she took my hand and placed it between her legs. Evidence of her desire had pooled there, her paper-like skin wet and slippery against my fingertips as I groaned into her shoulder.
“You've done that to me since the first time I saw you,” she admitted, her tone husky and wanton.
I choked out a laugh, lifting my head to smile into her eyes. “Why do I feel like I should apologize for that?”
“God, don't,” she replied before releasing a gasp as two fingers slid inside easily. “You have no idea how hot you are, and for some fucking reason, that only makes you hotter …”
Her words faded, and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she closed her eyes. But I continued to watch, gliding my fingers in, gliding them out, my timing slow and lazy and deliberate. Keeping her wanting, but never pushing her over the edge. Rolling my thumb over the barbell through her hood and wondering if she had any more piercings I didn’t know about.
Her hand reached out for the elastic waistband of my briefs and tugged downward, failing to pull them off, and she whined out a desperate, “Fucking hell, Charlie.”
“You could just ask,” I teased.
“But that would mean making you stop, and I dunno if anyone has ever told you this before, but you're pretty good with your hands. A very pleasant surprise, I might add.”
She opened her eyes then to waggle her brows at me, and I laughed while thinking, This is nice .
It was nice to joke and laugh while simultaneously maintaining the rhythm of my fingers and thumb, keeping her on the edge of desire. It was nice to talk , to build on a sexual connection with both bodies and voices and communication.
It was all so fucking nice , and I knew without a doubt that this was what I had always been missing before, without ever knowing I was missing anything at all. It was this that I had needed all along, and was it too soon to be thinking that? Yeah, maybe, but I knew . I knew everything I needed to know.
I knew, when I did reluctantly stop, pulling my hand from between her legs to tug my briefs and jeans off and onto the floor. I knew, when she pushed me onto my back, straddled my hips, and wasted no time in replacing my fingers with my desperate, throbbing erection. I knew, when she gasped on a sob and laughed away her embarrassment, commenting on how I'd put a curse on her … and I knew she knew it too.
Is this what Luke knew about Melanie?
Did he know right away like this, or was he too young?
Is this why it took so long for her to leave?
I shuddered when Stormy's lips clashed with mine, her hair coming undone and spilling around us in a waterfall of shimmering black. She held my wrists in her grasp, pinning them down to either side of my head. Taking back her power, regaining her control. Reminding me that she still held the reins, even after she melted like softened clay in my hands, and I didn't mind, not for a second. Not when she commanded the speed of our movements, not when her hands left my wrists to pierce my shoulders with her fingernails, and not when she moved one hand between our bodies to drive her own orgasm while the other palm held to my throat.
I had become hers the moment I'd stopped that asshole from taking her against her will. It had taken me this long to accept it, but now, I was a willing participant in any way she wanted me, for as long as she wanted me, and I didn't mind. Not one fucking bit.
“I'm close,” she announced, panting and breathless. “I want you to come with me.”
My nod was erratic, even as I asked, “A-are you sure about that?”
“I wouldn't have said it if I wasn’t,” she replied before adding, “I'm on the pill. It's fine.”
I nodded again. “Okay.”
Then, as if on command, we came undone, spilling over together in coordinated chaos. Our moans and screams rang through the walls and the cemetery beyond, unheard by anyone but us and the dead. And when she collapsed against my contracting chest, her nails scraping lazily against my ink-webbed skin and leaving their mark, the sky opened to baptize what I knew was something different, something special, something more . Rain pelted the roof, lightning stretched the sky, and thunder joined the sound of our booming hearts.
And I didn't mind.
Because, maybe for the first time in my life, I was safe.