Authors: Nazarea Andrews
And
despite the tiny voice screaming at me to stop, I lick at his lips, at the
taste of me on his tongue.
He
slams into me while we’re kissing, and my body goes tight, arching off the
chaise against the delicious pressure, the exquisite fullness of him inside me.
He groans, and drops his head down against mine. I fucking love the feel of his
beard bristling against my breast as he struggles to catch his breath.
“You’re
fucking tight, baby,” he whispers.
I
shift, my hips moving in a tiny circle and he groans. “Don’t,” he begs. “Go
slow.”
“Fuck
slow,” I snap. “Fuck me.”
It
breaks whatever control he has left—his hand catches in my hair and he pulls my
head back, kissing me hard,
a
bruising kiss that has
my head spinning as his big body thrusts into me.
He
knows my body. Knows just how to fuck me. Each thrust ends on a tight twist of
his hips, hitting a spot deep inside that I didn’t realize I had, until I’m panting,
begging as he fucks me. “Rike,” I groan, and I reach for him, all the achy need
in me bubbling up.
I
bite him. Hard. And he grunts, a deep hungry noise. Shoves me down and fucks me
hard, until I’m tossed into orgasm, my body writhing against his mindlessly.
“Yeah,”
he groans, “just like that. Fuck me just like that, baby.”
I’m
clinging to him, my nails in his shoulders as I meet his thrusts, the orgasm
spinning on and out and then he groans, a long noise, goes still and tight
above me. His face drops, so I can see him through the shaggy hair and the
beard and—
He’s
fucking beautiful. Gentle, and so fucking vulnerable, as he comes inside me
with a low groan that I can feel in my toes. Staring at me while he comes.
When
it’s over, he falls to the bed next to me, and gathers me into him, sighing. A
content noise.
I
lay awake for a long time after he’s asleep, wondering just how badly I’ve
fucked things up now.
Chapter
15
:
Before
Here’s
what I learn, reading the journal she left with me:
Who
she was doesn’t matter.
Facing
the truth is fucking painful.
She
is the bravest girl I’ve ever met.
It
takes me three days to get through the journal because it’s hard as fuck to
read. There are a few times, reading it and looking at the
pictures,
that
I have to bolt for the toilet before I throw up.
How
did she go from
this
shell of a girl,
this walking corpse, to the girl who is so vibrant and alive, whose passion and
daring make my head spin? I am trying to wrap my head around something that
makes no fucking sense.
I
realize, with almost sickening quickness, that I loathe her family.
Seeing
her past on paper, seeing the demons she fought and how much she hated who she
was being molded into--I've never met them, and part of me hopes I never do. I
don't know how to be in the same room as someone who had the chance to care for
a girl like Peyton and who fucked it up so completely.
"I
want to sing tonight," I say, staring blankly at the photo clipped to the
inside of the journal.
Scott
glances at me, at the picture, before he nods. "Do what you think is best,
man."
I
offer him a sick smile and shove to my feet.
"She
trusted you," he says before I leave the room. "Are you going to
return the favor?"
I
look at him. I know what he's asking. "It's not only my story to
share," I say carefully.
"Don't
hide behind that," he says. "Do what you think needs to be
done.
I want you to be happy, Rike. Whatever that means. And
this girl—she makes you happy. In a way I haven't seen since we were
eight."
When
we were eight we had been living in a group home, and he'd been the shit head
who picked a fight. We beat each other senseless, but when it was time to take
the fall, neither of us was willing to throw the other under the bus. It was
the first time in my life someone had my back and I never forgot it.
We
were separated a year later, tossed into separate foster homes that got
progressively worse. But for that six months, we had each other. We weren't so
fucking alone.
We
were miserable little shits the world didn't want, but we were fucking happy.
I
let out the breath I’ve been holding and nod at him. "Thanks, Scott."
***
The
crowd is high on the music. Scott played through our first set, setting the
tone and getting them riled up with anthem after anthem, an ode to the summer
that is fading away. Lindsay is swaying in the corner booth, next to a pale
Peyton in a tiny dress that's driving me to distraction. She's got a drink in
front of her, but she hasn't touched it.
Scott
flicks a look at me when the song ends and his eyebrow lifts in question. I
nod, and hit the cymbals. The girls on the dance floor sway and scream, and he
laughs, a low, husky noise that will have them squirming in their skirts.
Fucking
player. If he's not careful, Lindsay will rip his balls off and feed them to
him.
I
laugh at that thought.
“We’ve
got a treat for you tonight. My boy Rike has been working on a new song. Most
of the time, he lets me do the singing, but I think it’s time to remind you all
that the boy has mad skills that don’t involve the sticks. So. Give it up,
ladies. Rike it’s all you, brother.”
I
come out from behind the drum set and Scott wraps me in a quick, rough hug.
“Kick ass, bro,” he mutters before dropping off the stage.
I
let out a breath, and sink onto the stool. Adjust the mic. I can feel the
entire room, all of them waiting for me to say something. Anything. But I can’t
see past the glare of the house lights.
It
doesn’t matter. I don’t need to see to know where she is and that she’s
watching me with big, sky blue eyes. I close my eyes, picturing her.
And
I sing.
I’ve
always been good at creating and shit at saying what I feel. Maybe because of
how I was raised. But tonight, I’m trying my best to let go of that.
Perfect girl,
She sits and listens,
And I can’t help but see everything
that she’s hiding.
She’s beautiful and broken,
Tears she tries to hide,
And I can’t help but wonder what’s on
the inside
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
Everyone said she was wrong,
When she danced to a song only she
heard,
And I just want to sing along to the
music of her soul,
Because she’s beautiful and broken,
with the tears she tries to hide.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
And all of us are broken, all of us
are flawed,
All of us have battles, and times
when we fall.
And I will love you always, with
scars and broken heart,
You’re beautiful and broken, my
perfect girl.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
I
strum the final notes of the song and as the music dies, I’m aware, painfully
aware, of the quiet that surrounds me, a heavy blanket over the bar. I blink,
opening my eyes and staring out into the room, to where I know she is.
The
room comes alive like a fucking wave, a roar of noise that crests over me and
drowns out Scott as he bounds onto the stage and shoves my hand up, yelling my
name for the half-drunk fans who already know it.
I
give a mocking half-bow because it’s expected, and he shoves be back to my drum
kit, his eyes alive with excitement. I sit, dizzy suddenly. Exhausted.
I
poured fucking everything into that song.
When
I glance at the booth, my heart drops, the high of the song, and the crowd, and
even Scotty, fading away. It’s like a punch to the gut.
She’s
not there.
Chapter 16
:
After
It's
long nights next to you
And hearing your sighs
The sweetest music,
My favorite song the sound of your
Name whispered from the darkness.
The taste of wine and you,
and
quiet noise of my pleading.
It is wild and reckless and soft
And sweet and
Always,
You.
(
Rike’s
poems to
Peyton)
The
journals are a revelation. I spend the next several days poring over them,
hiding in my hotel room. Trying to forget everything that happened in the loft.
Rike gives me time and space, which I appreciate. Reading the journals is like
getting to know myself.
I
can watch myself falling in love, living through fights. Forming a bond with a
girl I would never have chosen as my best friend.
And
that’s the thing. Rike isn’t who I would have chosen. Neither is Lindsay. I
don’t understand where Scott fits in our weird little world but I know that he
is important to Rike and therefore to me.
I
always thought that I would have a quiet, traditional life, one like my parents
had, even if they were miserable. I expected that, maybe because it’s what was
expected of me. But this—this isn’t quiet. This isn’t traditional.
I’m
a fucking artist, a girl who spends her days painting and sculpting and taking
photos. Writing. And maybe I didn’t need to because my boyfriend was doing such
a good job of taking care of us, but I was good at it.
And
I loved it. All of it.
If
there’s anything I learn from the journals, it’s that I loved the weird little
life we built.
The
phone next to me buzzes to life,
Rike’s
face
brightening the screen. I stare at it for a minute, contemplating answering,
before it goes silent and takes the option away. I can’t think of him without
remembering everything he made me feel. The way his hands played across my
body, pulling pleasure from it so fucking effortlessly.
The
problem isn’t that I don’t want Rike, and everything that comes with him. Wild,
beautiful chaos.
The
problem is it’s all I want. I lie awake at night, crying because I know that we
were happy. And I can’t remember it. I feel like I’ve been robbed, and like every
moment I spend in that life is a lie—me pretending something that I want but
don’t feel. Not really.
He
would probably tell me I’m thinking too hard. To let go of my worry and just
live. But I don’t know how. And it’s terrifying.
The
phone rings again, and I frown. The number isn’t one I know.
“Hello?”
“Holy
shit, I finally found you. Jesus, baby girl, you shouldn’t make it so fucking
hard to get a hold of you. Where are you?”
I
blink once. Twice. Finally, “Um. Who is this?”
There’s
a loud laugh and then, “Oh shit. That’s right. Ok. It’s Brody, Peyton. I’m in
town. Where are you?”
Chapter
17
:
Before
It
takes a long time for us to break away—longer than normal. Everyone is high on
the fucking song.
Scott
doesn’t say anything about it until we’re finally free. His gaze rakes over me.
“You surprised me back there,
RIke
.”
“You’ve heard me work,” I say, and he laughs.
“Not
on that. That was shit you haven’t bothered to share with me.”
I
shrug. “It came to me this morning.”
“They
loved it.”
“Doesn’t
matter, does it? The girl it’s for didn’t even hear it.”
He
eyes me briefly and then shakes his head. Falls to silence as we walk through
the dark streets back to the apartment. Something is going on with him, but I
don’t know what and I’m too fucking
tired
to puzzle
it out.
I
poured my soul into that song. And to realize she wasn’t even there to hear
it…I lash out suddenly, hurling the glass beer bottle I’m holding. It swings in
a shining arc before it shatters against the side of a barber shop, glass and
beer spraying out. Scott side-eyes me but doesn’t comment, and with the
explosion of glass, some of my temper settles.
“Come
on, dude,” he says, pulling me along.
“Why
didn’t she listen?” I ask, and it occurs to me that I’m too drunk for maudlin shit.
Or maybe that’s why I’m descending into maudlin shit. Either way. It’s a bad
recipe give the way the night is shaking out.
“I
dunno
, man. But don’t jump to shitty conclusions. You
both keep doing that and you’re going to fall apart because of them. Talk to
her tomorrow. Find out why.”
“You’re
such a fucking girl,” I laugh and he shrugs. Accepting it.
We’re
emotionally stunted shits, but Scott isn’t stupid. He’s been through the
court-ordered psych shit. He knows that communicating is the only way for
either of us to build something healthy and longer than a few nights.
He
just hasn’t ever cared.
I
watch him while he unlocks the door to our walkup.
My
badass best friend who doesn’t care about anything but strumming his guitar and
picking up pussy is growing up. What the actual fuck.
He
grins at me, a quick glimpse of the dude who always had my back, and the
thought slips away as he pushes open the door.
Lindsay
is sitting on the couch, her legs crossed under her. She isn’t wearing a bra, which
is vaguely distracting.
I’ve
seen the girl naked, and I can see her nipple through the tank top she’s
wearing.
Then
Peyton steps out of the kitchen, carrying a red plastic cup and wearing a
nervous expression and bare feet.
Her
eyes find mine as my mouth falls open, and I hear
Linds
giggle, a triumphant noise that is vaguely grating as I cross the tiny living
room in two steps and yank Peyton into my arms.
Her
hands are in my hair before my lips hit hers, pulling me into the kiss, and the
world falls away.
She’s
pressed against me, all soft curves and rumpled skirt and sharp nails digging
into my scalp. She tastes so fucking sweet—sugar and sunshine as her tongue
tangles with mine, fighting to control the kiss. Her nails sink down, yanking
on my hair and I bite her lower lip, just enough to make her moan and sag
against me.
I
drink down that noise like fucking water. I want to hear every sound she makes,
and what causes them, want to know how demanding she will be when I’ve got her
riding the edge of orgasm, when my tongue is driving her fucking crazy.
She
sways against me, her hips grinding against my erection as she all but purrs
into the kiss. I pull back, just enough to stare at her, at the hot hunger in
her eyes. “You heard it.”
She
nods, and tears well in her eyes. I make a low noise in the back of my throat,
and kiss her again. Softer. Gentle.
“Meant
every fucking word, perfect girl,” I whisper. I can feel her tears on my
cheeks, rolling down between us, can taste them as I kiss her.
I
shift my grip and lift her by the ass and her legs wrap around me, clinging to
me as I kiss her.
Vaguely,
I’m aware of Lindsay, her voice rising in question and Scotty pulling her away.
But it’s all very distant, overshadowed by the girl in my arms and her lips
moving over mine in a hungry, desperate way that makes my blood heat.
I
walk without looking, until the darkness surrounds us and my knees hit the edge
of my bed. Without breaking the kiss, I kick the door shut behind me and then
lower her to the bed.
I
pull back, just enough to stare at her. I’ve waited too long for her to not
savor the sight.
Peyton
in my bed, her hair spread over the pillow, her eyes foggy as she reaches for
me, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“Rike,”
she whispers, and I groan, dropping down on her and kissing her. My lips eat
her up, my tongue pushing past her lips, tangling with hers as I rock against
her. She’s all soft curves and sweet smooth skin against my dick, and I want to
pull back until she says my name again in that pleading tone that I can’t get
enough of, but I can’t pull myself away from her.
She’s
fucking addictive and I want to lick every inch of her. My hand comes up,
yanking on the neckline of her tank, pulling it and her bra down until her
breast spills out, filling my hand, and I growl as she arches against me,
rubbing
like a kitten. Her nipple is a tight little peak
against my palm and I leave her lips as I trail wet kisses down her.
She
gasps when I draw her nipple into my mouth, scraping my teeth over the
sensitive skin before I suckle her. I slid a hand between us, and her hips tilt
up into my touch as I slip my hand under her shorts and into her panties.
“Fuck,
you’re wet, babe.”
“I
want you,” she whimpers, and I laugh, a low noise as I shove my fingers into
her and she shrieks, choking it off with a hand over her lips.
I
pull it free. “Baby girl, I want to hear every fucking noise you make when I
fuck you.”
I
slip my fingers through her, teasing, almost out, and she gasps, “But,
Sc
—“
I
smirk, and whisper against her ear, “Will fucking hear everything. And like
it.”
She
shudders, her pussy clenching around my fingers, and I lick the shell of her
ear as I rub her clit and fuck her with two fingers. “You fucking love that,
don’t you, sweetheart? Knowing he’s listening to me fuck you. She is, too.”
“Rike,”
she whimpers, and I bite her earlobe, and she shrieks, her body arching off the
bed as she scrambles against me, thrusting against my hand, and I laugh,
watching her come apart.
I
pull my hand free before while she’s catching her breath, my hand sticky and
wet. I almost lick my fingers clean. Instead I yank her shorts down, and sink
to my knees by the bed, pulling her to my lips.
She
screams when I cover her with my lips, and I laugh as she surges against me.
Very
far away, I can hear my friend cursing, and then everything fades away until
there is only her, and me, and this bed. Her hands in my hair and her voice,
cursing and panting and begging as she moves against me. Her ankles on my shoulders,
digging in as I lick her. Nip at her and suck on her clit, until she’s
screaming again, her body moving in waves across the bed, and all I can smell
is sugar and sunshine.
She
comes like no one else, an orgasm so fucking gorgeous I could spend all day and
night getting her off just to watch her fall apart. She’s panting, a sexy sheen
of sweat covering her. I smile, place a kiss against her thigh and crawl up her
body.
“You’re
so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper and she smiles, a drowsy, sweet thing as she
pulls me to her lips. She licks across my lips, kissing me deeply, her tongue
twisting into my mouth as her hips roll in tight little waves against me. The
little purr of satisfaction she gives makes me groan, my dick twitching against
her, and she laughs, reaching down to tug at my jeans. “Off,” she demands, and
I scramble to obey.
She
props herself up as I strip and I hesitate as her eyes go wide and hungry when
I’m naked. She licks her lips and sits up, reaching for me. “I want you in my
mouth,” she whispers.
My
dick jerks, and I shove her back on the bed, rolling a condom on before I
settle over her as she shifts restlessly. “Next time,” I say and push into her.
She
screams and I laugh, a noise that sounds erotic and choked even to my ears. She’s
tight and hot, so fucking wet it’s easy as hell to slip into her silky heat,
and my dick has never felt so fucking good.
Sex
has never felt so good.
“Fuck,
you’re perfect,” I pant, and she whimpers. “How do you want it, sweetheart? You
want slow and easy?” I slide out and she groans, whining as I slip back, so
deep and slow it’s almost torture.
“Fuck
me, Rike,” she hisses, her nails scrambling along my back.
She’s
marking me and it’s hot as fuck. I shove into her, and she screams.
God,
she puts on a good fucking show for them to listen to. It’s hot as fuck,
knowing Scott is listening as I fuck this girl. I grin and let go, flying on
the feel of her wrapped around me, the sting of her nails and teeth in my
shoulder, the scent of her as she rolls her hips against me. It’s not going to
last long—I’ve waited too long for this and I’m so fucking ready for her. I
shift her, so I’m on my knees, her legs wrapped around me as I thrust into her,
and slip a hand between us, rubbing her clit as I pinch her nipple.
She
screams again, her pussy clamping down on my dick, and I growl, thrusting into
her hard as my orgasm tackles me. All I can hear is her and the sound we make
together, the scent of sex all around us, and it’s so fucking good I never want
anyone else.
I
fall onto her, and she puffs out a sigh, giggling as I crush her into the bed.
I kiss her and roll to the side, pulling her with me so I don’t slip out of
her. She makes a tiny noise of pleasure and arches against me a little.
For
a long minute, all we do is stare at each other, and breathe.
She’s
here. She heard my song.
She’s
fucking
here
, in my arms.
“You
think so loudly,” she murmurs, reaching up and running her thumb over my jaw. I
turn my head just a little, nuzzling into her palm, and her eyes go soft and
distant.
“What
am I thinking?” She hesitates, and shakes her head. Retreating without ever
moving. I run my fingers through her hair, and whisper, “I’m thinking that it’s
amazing. That having you here is fucking amazing. Everything I’ve wanted and
refused to allow myself to believe would happen.”
“I’ve
offered,” she says, her tone dry.
I
catch her face in my hand, studying it. The tiny nose, slightly upturned and
dusted with freckles, the big eyes that are just now a little bit afraid.
“I’m
not good for you, Fish,” I say.
She
blinks, startled. “Did you just call me a fish?”
I
nod and roll us. “It’s a quote I heard once. ‘People say there are other fish
in the sea. I say, fuck you, she was my sea.’” I shrug. “It stuck with me.”
She
propped herself up on my chest and gives me a frown. “Wouldn’t that make me the
sea? Not a fish.”
I
slap her ass lightly and she yelps, her eyes flying wide. “Shut up. Fish sounds
better.”
She
wiggles and, deep inside her, my cock twitches. I’m half-hard again, hungry for
more of her, and as her gaze goes lazy,
I
know she’s
with me.
She
rocks slowly, and I grip her hips lightly, letting her set the pace as she
works me. “What does all this mean?” she whispers.
“What
do you want it to mean?”
Doubt
flickers in her eyes for a heartbeat, and I pinch her nipple, jerking her gaze
back to me and the moment. “What do you want?” I demand.
“I
want you to fuck me. I want us to have fun and hang out and see what happens.”
She hesitates. “I want to be that girl you sang about, Rike. But I don’t know
if I can be.”
I
shrug and pull her down to my lips, “You already are, Fish. But we can do easy
right now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Gratitude
flares in her eyes before I kiss her, a deep kiss that says everything she
isn’t ready for—all the things I said in a song. That she’s everything. I would
fucking hang the moon for this girl.
When
I finally break the kiss, she’s panting, and her hips are moving in small,
restless circles. I smirk at her. “
Wanna
give them
another show?”
“You’re a kinky bastard, aren’t you?”
She
grins and I nod. Groan when she rises on my dick, until only the head is inside
her, and she’s panting, these broken little noises as she just lingers there.
My hands are on her again, cupping her breasts, and I lick over a nipple.