Get Bent (24 page)

“Were you born an asshole?” Naomi asks me. Sounds like a legit question, so I think about it for a second. Instead of getting pissed like might've done before, I just answer her.

“No, I was made one,” I say, kicking off my boots, peeling off the socks underneath. I sit up just enough to rip my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. The air in the cabin prickles my skin like needles, shoots me up with electricity and brings goose bumps up across my skin. When I'm in the same room as Naomi, I just stop thinking clearly. Shit. What am I saying? I don't even have to be in the same room as her to go nuts. I am now inexorably tied up in this chick's guitar strings. “My momma made sure that there wasn't much worse in the world beyond her free hands. My step-dads liked to join in, just to pound home the point. So maybe I am an asshole, but I've been waiting my whole life for respect, and I'm not letting anybody take that away from me.” I pause and try to listen to Naomi's breathing, see if she's still awake. Can't hear a fucking thing above the clattering hail. “And I don't like to be hit. By anybody. I won't take that shit ever again.”

“I'm sorry,” Naomi says which blows my friggin' mind. Sorry? For what? I shift onto my side and try to snag a glimpse of her under the table. It's too dark to see my hand in front of my face. “Remember what I said about crumbling foundations? I have one, too. It's hard to build a solid life when the one you were born into fucked you.”

“I think you're doing pretty alright for yourself,” I say, wishing I could see her desert eyes, find out if they're still holding a drop of that glistening wetness. One day, it'd be nice to see them moist all the time, open, swimming like the ocean under the sun. Bright, free, ready for everything. “You play guitar like a goddess, and you're the hottest lay I've ever had.” Naomi laughs at me and it's only tinged with bitter. For the most part, it's just fun.

“I doubt that. We haven't exactly had the most opportune moments to show off our skills. Please tell me that's not true because I can do better.” She pauses, and I can almost see her licking her lips, wetting them for me, spreading them over my cock … I shake my head and put the palms of my hands against my forehead. I want Naomi to be more than sex to me. I just don't have any other point of reference to deal with my feelings.

“It's not about the actual act with you, babe,” I tell her, praying to God that nobody's on the other side of that door listening. If I'm going to open my rib cage and let Naomi see my bloody heart, I have to make sure we're in private. Turner Campbell is not vulnerable or soft or tender. Not for anyone else. Never for fucking anyone else. And this is all new to me. I'm going to have to learn as I go.

“And why's that?” Naomi asks. Her voice sounds a little too harsh to me, like she's trying too hard to be tough. I told you when I first looked at her that she was vulnerable. But in the same way as me. Not weak but ready to show somebody her hidden side. I get it.

“You've been on my mind constantly since you thrust my jacket at my chest, even when I thought you were just another conquest.” I swallow hard and hope this doesn't just piss her off more. “Even when I thought I disliked you, I was drawn to you. And I like you because you
don't
like me. It shows you have a good judge of character.” I try to smile, but I don't know how it's supposed to come across in that dark ass room. I dig a cigarette out of the pocket of my jeans and light up, using the crackling cherry as a point of reference to stare at. “I love you, Naomi, and I'll say it a million times if you need me to. Every day until the day I die. Even if you don't believe me, even if you don't accept it, I'll say it forever. I'm twenty-eight years old. I know what I want at this point on my life.” I roll back on my side and pass the cigarette under the table to her. Surprisingly, she takes it. I grab her wrist in time with a crack of lightning outside the window, and I swear to fuck that I can
feel
it. It travels into the ground, up the tires, into my spine and through my arm straight to Naomi's heart. She shivers violently, but she doesn't pull her arm away. “And what I want is you.”

“Fuck you,” she whispers, but her voice isn't as powerful as it was before. I'm getting in there, climbing into that crack I left before.

“Any time you want. I am on call for that shit.”

“Your manager, Milo, coming to get you,” Naomi begins and I freeze, fucking still as a Greek statue, chiseled abs and all. “That doesn't make you blameless. It doesn't free you of the responsibility.”

“I know,” I start to say, but she isn't done. She lets me keep holding onto her wrist though.

“But it does help,” she starts. “You were still too trashed to remember me later, but you didn't choose to leave. That doesn't mean everything, but it's a start.” She pauses and my throat gets tight. I want to kiss her so bad it hurts. “Now let go of my fucking wrist. I want to know what Spencer said to you again. Someone from Ice and Glass got the doll head package delivered to their bus by accident?”

“Naomi,” I begin, keeping my hold tight, my fingers tense.

“Let go of me, Turner.”

“No.”

I roll to the floor and drop to my knees, pulling her down with me and snagging the cig from her other hand. I smash it into the floor and drag her against me, wrapping my fingers in her blonde hair and kissing her mouth so hard it hurts. At first, she resists, but only until my tongue ring clicks against her teeth. It's like a bell, calling her to arms.

Naomi flips her arm around and looses my grip, grabbing onto my wrists instead. She takes both and slams them against the seat of the bench behind my head. My body gets hot with adrenaline and it takes everything in me not to fight her back.

“I don't like to be controlled,” I tell her, but she shushes me with an angry nibble on my lower lip. Thunder rumbles and rattles the windows above us. The storm is picking up energy, feeding it into the two of us, igniting the toxic cloud of lust and longing we're carrying around. And this time, I really hope there's an explosion.

“Turner, if you want to stand a chance with me, and I mean a
chance,
not a guarantee, you will shut your fucking mouth and do as I say.” I start to protest and then stop. Lightning flashes outside and I catch a glimpse of Naomi's pretty face, rimmed in shadows, wet with tears. My walls come crashing down fast, and I relax into her, lean back and let the softness of her body brush against the hardness of mine.

I don't know why she's crying. All I know is that I want her to stop. Not because it bothers me or because I'm overwhelmed, nothing like that. I want her to stop because I can't stand to see her sad.

“You better not be fucking with me again or things will end bad for you, you know that?” she says, and I wonder what she's getting at. Is she going to give us a chance? Is that what this is about? “When I said I'd cut off your prized bits, I wasn't joking.”

“I believe it,” I tell her. Which I do. But I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything but losing this girl. I've found what I want in my life and I'm going to have it, the rest of the world be damned. I'm going to find Eric and smash his face, drag the rest of the information from his bloody body and finish this. I
will
be that knight in shining armor for her. No matter what it fucking takes. I have a lot of baggage to make up for. Here's to hoping it'll be enough.

“I don't want to be a passing fancy or a one week girlfriend. I'm not a toy to be played with Turner, and I know you like to party hard. Do you understand that what you did to me before hurt? Do you know hard I ached after that? How much I wished things could've been different?”

“I do,” I say as she straddles my lap and rubs her heat against my jeans. I can practically
feel
her pussy wrapping my cock. I stay still, sweat pouring down my face, skin burning at her touch. This is fucking torture, man. I want to grab her and touch her, kiss her face and remind myself that she's alright, that she's still alive. I want to feel her and breathe her in, absorb her scent and make her mine. Or give myself to her. Maybe that's the part I'm missing? Maybe that's what I'm getting wrong here? I can't
make
Knox do anything, but I have full control over myself.

“And you do know I have blood on my hands?”

“Watched the video myself,” I say as she releases my wrists and reaches her fingers under the hem of her baggy shirt, tentatively.

“And?”

“And I don't hold it against you. You did what you thought you had to do. It took some serious balls, and I respect the hell out of you for it.”

The shirt comes off; Naomi's mouth smashes into mine, destroying words, tasting the truth in my mouth, the conviction. I bet there'll be a lot of people out there who will think I'm full of shit, that a playboy can't change, but that's only because they're still searching for something to live for. I found my purpose and I'm going to grab life by the balls and hold on tight. I saw dark, so I recognize light. I ate a whole heaping truckload of
shit,
so when I first tasted something good, I knew it right away. I actually imagine that if I'd been surrounded by love my whole life, kindness, joy, that it would've made this harder. How would I have known the difference? But I've got contrast which is a lot easier to distinguish than subtle shades.

“Condom?” Naomi asks, and I pull one out of my pocket, flashing the Indecency logo at her with two fingers. I want to be inside her bare, feel her wetness, her slick ridges, fill her with my seed. I want to make babies with this chick, be a dad to a kid I already love even though it doesn't exist. But she's not ready for that, and I don't press the point.

She sits back on my knees and unzips my pants slowly, teasing me with the rush of warmth that swirls around the room, escapes from her lips and fogs the windows. Her feet are forward, close to my hands. I reach out and brush my fingers across the scabbed surface of her tattoo. It's hard to distinguish which of the rough surfaces is the knife wound she gave herself and which came from the rope and handcuffs, but I'm sorry just the same. For all of it. Every last wound.

I brush my fingertips on the colored words, wondering if we laughed at each other in the tattoo parlor, shared stories, smiled at one another. Out of the whole night, that's the part I remember the least. I'll get it eventually, I know I will. For now, I just touch her skin with soft whispers and suck in a rush of air between my teeth when her hand frees me from my pants.

“
Struggling to understand why this pain feels different from what I've felt before,
” Naomi sings, low and off-key, eyes tracing the lines of my pecs, my belly, traveling down my cock. She leans forward and presses her lips against my nipple, kissing the hardened point and trailing her mouth down. This song she's singing, I know it's about me. I feel like it wouldn't be right if I didn't feed it back to her, nourish her with her own words.

“
Waking up to the sound of your voice, playing in my head, always running in my head.
” I sound so much smaller here, under this table, no heaving crowd, no microphone. It feels … it feels fucking great. I'm smaller, but I mean so much more. Does that make sense? Sure as shit does to me.

Naomi licks my belly, running her tongue down the space between my abs, where the muscles cave before giving rise to others. She licks the sweat and the electricity from my body, drops my head back with a single kiss of her warm lips. I stare up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

When a knock sounds at the door, we both ignore it.

“Tornado watch has been issued, asshole,” Trey says, sounding tired. “Milo's talking to the rest of the crew and the other managers, trying to decide what we should do.” He pauses and listens, but Naomi and I make no noises he can hear, protected from outsiders by the rush of rain that's just started up, replacing the hail. “And I know you don't give a shit and will continue to do whatever you want, Mother Nature be damned. Fuck me.” Trey pauses again and then presses his face against the door, rattling the folded wood design. “Man, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the shit I gave you before. I know you're not easily fooled or fucked with. If you say you love, Naomi, I get it. Don't throw her away for whoever that is in there. It's not worth it, okay? Shit. I sound like a fag.” Trey stops talking, and a small chuckle escapes my throat, warming my belly and my chest as Naomi pauses her breath against the inked up perfection that is my cock. Yeah, alright, I'm a little full of myself, but I call that confidence. It's a good thing, right? “Just, forget it. Never mind. Just don't blame me when you die mid-fuck in the middle of a tornado.”

“Your friend is annoying as shit,” Naomi says, but she doesn't sound irritated, more … contemplative. I've never had a thoughtful blow job before. This should be fun. “Have you ever made love before, Turner?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

Naomi wraps her fingers around me and tastes me with hot lips. I groan and grab onto the red leather cushions, feeling that electricity snake through my crotch and straight up to my brain. This is better than any dope, better than a wild acid trip. Naomi Knox is just … fucking hardcore. I let go of the sofa and bring my hands down, cup them under her chin and pull her face to mine. When we kiss, I taste my own sweat on her tongue and it drives me friggin' nuts.

“You're turning down a BJ?” she asks as I bring my arms down and wrap one around her bare waist, feeling the beauty of her perfect skin, the gentle curve of her spine. My other hand finds the slit in her borrowed boxer shorts and strokes down the hair there, diving deep and finding that molten spot between her thighs.

“Postponing it,” I whisper as I dip inside, watching her face in another flash of lightning as she tightens around my hand, washing me in juices and bringing a growl into my throat. I can't help it. I feel like a fucking animal around her. Naomi has got me stripped primal, baby.

“You disgust me, Turner,” she says as she rides my hand, grinding herself against my knuckles, getting me in there nice and deep. “But you turn me on, too. I don't get it.” I try not to smirk. I don't think smirking would be appropriate here. One slips out anyway.