Authors: Cheryl McIntyre
Link
“I believe I was promised orgasms,” Rocky says as I’m clearing our breakfast dishes. Her hands wrap around my waist from behind, fingers slinking around to the front. She strokes me through my pajama pants, up and down. My dick jerks against her fingers, ready and willing for her touch as her lips glide down my back, wet and slow.
She pulls away for a moment, the rustle of fabric the only sound, and when she presses into me again, her bare skin meets mine. I love the way her naked flesh feels. Lush curves mold to me. Soft, smooth, warm, and fully feminine.
My head falls forward, watching her tug the strings on my pants. As she works her hand inside, I’m struck by how different we are. She’s small and delicate next to my large, hard frame.
So different.
Yet so alike.
When I met her, I never anticipated this. We weren’t supposed to work. I didn’t think anyone could be special to me after Livie. I had no idea I could care this much for another woman. I didn’t realize I was even capable of such a thing.
It shouldn’t feel right, but it does. She does.
A moan erupts in my throat when her fingers curl around my rigid length. I turn quickly, grabbing her hips, and hold her flush to me. I trail my eyes over her face, memorizing every feature, before my mouth finds hers.
She is my second chance at living, at
loving
. The realization washes over me, settling in my chest like an anchor, holding me in place. Everything I never had with Livie, I could have now with Rocky. All I need is to let it happen.
***
My fingers brush through Rocky’s hair, draped like satin across my chest. She’s been in and out of sleep, our legs woven, her body on top of mine. Her head rests on my shoulder and I can feel each one of her breaths caress my neck.
We’re not talking. We’re not fucking. We’re not working or training or fighting. We’re being still, enjoying this piece of calm in an otherwise chaotic life. I am wholly in this moment. Breathing her in, owning this feeling of serenity.
This is me giving into possibility and taking my second chance. Because in the end, wasted chances are the strongest regrets. I know that well.
I was supposed to be at the gym ten minutes ago, but I have no desire to move from this couch. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this comfortable in my life. She feels good, and…
I let myself appreciate her
.
I slide my cell off the coffee table and shoot Augie a text, letting him know I won’t be in for a couple more hours. If I could, I’d take the rest of the day off too, but I can’t keep ignoring my clients. I’ve already done that enough these past couple of months.
Rocky stirs as I put my phone back. Taking advantage of our proximity, she traces my throat with her teeth. She slips to the side, nipping my jugular. The nap must have done its job because she’s feisty and playful—which happen to be a couple of my favorites of her attributes.
“You did say orgasms earlier, right?” she murmurs, making her way up to my ear. She sucks the lobe into her mouth, biting gently. “As in multiple? Because I only recall having the one.”
“I clearly remember two,” I say, my voice gruff.
She shakes her head, wisps of dark hair caressing my skin. “No, it was just the one.”
“I think you’re lying.”
Her mouth curves into a grin against my neck. “Prove it.”
“When you get close, you get really quiet and your muscles tighten all through your body. It feels so fucking good it’s challenging to hold back. When you come, you tremble. All over. And then after, you make this breathy sound, like a satisfied sigh. It’s sexy as hell and every time I hear you do that—knowing
I
was the one who satisfied you—I damn near lose my mind.”
She lifts her head, large dark eyes drifting over my face. Her teeth drag over her lip. “You can’t say something like that to me and not give me another orgasm. It’s not fair.”
I chuckle, ducking my head to capture her mouth. Multiple. I plan to give her multiple more orgasms.
Rocky
Saturday is the one day of the week I have several hours to myself. I work Monday through Friday at the gym—acting as secretary, Link and I train at least two evenings, and I attend one self-defense class with my brother per week. Sunday, I get my lazy on, spending ninety percent of the time in bed.
These few hours when Link goes in on Saturday are my only alone-time. Sometimes I love it. Other times I have no clue what to do with myself.
I used to pass the daylight hours sleeping, spending my evenings in a total drunken haze. Slowly but surely, my routine has changed.
Today, I spend the first couple hours after Link leaves scrubbing my bathroom and kitchen. Then, I immerse myself in the tub, soaking my consistently sore muscles.
As I’m drying off, there’s a knock at my door, and by the lengthiness of the tapping, I know it’s Joe. Of course he would take it upon himself to crash my downtime. I pluck Link’s button-up off the hook on the door, fastening it as I go, the towel over one shoulder. My hair is dripping, soaking the back of the shirt and causing it to stick uncomfortably. I should have just ignored him or let him use his key and finished drying off.
Though I know it’s him without having to look, I verify it anyway, peering out the window before I flip the lock and tug the door open.
“You look better today,” he says in way of greeting. His tone is low, voice careful, similar to the inflection he takes when he’s getting ready to give me one of his famous I’m-worried-about-you-Rock speeches.
I step back, giving him space to enter, though I have a feeling I’m probably going to end up regretting it. I love my brother, but as a lot of big brothers tend to be, he’s a bit of a serial mood killer.
“Are you saying I looked like shit yesterday?”
He shrugs, raking his fingers through his hair. Yep. He’s definitely hear to piss on my good mood parade.
“Not like shit, but you know, not too good either.”
I arch a sardonic brow. “So, how did it go with Blonde and Blonder after we left?” I drag my hair to the side, ringing the ends onto the towel. ‘“
Second Spring
’ acted like a pompous bitch, but Sunshine seemed pretty nice. When does she start high school?”
“You’re in a foul state today.” He scratches his temple with his middle finger, the way we did when we were kids and didn’t want to get caught flipping each other the bird by Mom and Dad. “You sure you’re feeling better?”
“Positive.”
“Her name’s Summer, by the way,” he says as he falls onto the couch. I kind of want to tell him about the dirty things Link did to me a few hours ago in that very spot, but I reign it in. Even I have boundaries.
“And she’s almost twenty, he adds.”
“
Almost twenty
is just another way of saying nineteen. She’s
nineteen
. You’re dating a
teenager
.”
His eyes meet mine, his expression sobering. “You’re dating your boss.”
“And?”
“And, what’s going on between you two? You haven’t shown interest in anyone for years, then I take you to the gym one day to meet my boss, and the next thing I know, you guys are living together.”
So damn meddlesome.
“We’re not living together.”
His head tips to the side, disbelieving. “You come into work together every day and leave together every night. And whose shirt is that?” He dips his head toward me, indicating Link’s blue dress shirt that still smells of his cologne. “Whose boots are those?” He nods to the Doc Martins in the corner. “I know that’s not your protein powder I saw on your kitchen table.”
I don’t reply. I don’t need to.
“It looks a lot like you guys are living together.”
“I honestly don’t know what we’re doing,” I admit after a beat. “He still has his own place, but if he isn’t at the gym, he’s usually here. We’re not dating each other, but there’s no possible way he’s dating anyone else.” I toss the towel onto the coffee table and plop heavily into the chair. “He hasn’t brought it up, so I don’t bring it up. But I’m okay with it. It works for us.”
He nods slowly, examining my features. “It’s good, though, right? You’re good?”
“I am.”
“If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He pushes to his feet, stretching long, muscled limbs above his head and making an obnoxiously loud sound to go with it.
“You’re off already?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m actually on my way to see Summer. I think if you give her a real chance, you’ll like her.”
I don’t comment on that. Time will tell.
Joe drags his palm across the top of my head, mussing my hair. It’s already tangled from washing, but I duck out of his reach anyway, pushing him toward the door. He always has to find a way to drive me crazy.
“Hey,” he says as he’s halfway over the threshold, “you’re not knocked up, are you?”
I pause with my hand on the door. My stomach does a little flip. “Why would you ask that?”
“Autumn wondered if that’s why you were blowing chunks last night. And you know, I thought I should ask.”
“Did she say that in front of Link?”
“
Oh yeah
. He looked like someone punched him in the nuts. So…not pregnant, right?”
“I’m on the pill.”
“You know, I was hoping you were going to tell me you weren’t having sex.”
I smirk at him, pushing him out with the pressure of the door as I begin closing it. “But that would be a lie. We do it
all the time
.”
That will hopefully teach him to be a little less prying into my personal life. His roar of disgust echoes in the hallway as I flip the lock into place.
I turn, pressing my back into the cool wooden frame, trying to remember if there had been anything unusual about my last period.
Link
After saying goodbye to my last client of the day, I cut Augie loose and close up. I collect the dirty towels, toss them in the washer, and spray down the machines. Stacking the mats is supposed to be a two-person job, but there are certain days when I need the repetitive and strenuous activity all to myself.
Some people meditate, some people drink, some people make themselves sweat. I fall into the latter category.
This is how I try to control the urge to pay Garrett’s place of employment another visit.
When I’m finished, I hit the shower, knowing it wasn’t enough to keep me away. As I soap up, I justify this by telling myself I’m only keeping tabs on him. Checking in to make sure he’s where we think he is and that he’s not hurting anyone. I’m doing it for Rocky.
It’s a load of shit.
I do it to feed my sick obsession. Revenge was my only purpose for such a long, long time. Without it, I don’t know who I am. I watch Garrett because I need to. Because I have to. And because if he ever did it again, I’d feel responsible.
I couldn’t stop what happened to Livie—I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t understand how cold and cruel some could be. I know better now. I know evil lives inside monsters disguised as people. It’s my responsibility to do something with that knowledge.
I’m also aware roles can easily reverse. I’ve become the monster before. It wasn’t difficult to do. The only thing separating me from the others was my disdain for it. I don’t
like
to hurt anyone—even when I should. Regardless of how well warranted it is, I still have a conscience. I just don’t know how far that inner voice can be pushed before it disappears all together.
Still, I test it.
It’s getting late. I should be at Rocky’s, preparing us a late dinner. I didn’t feed her lunch, and she probably didn’t make herself anything.
Shit
.
I turn off the water and towel myself dry in a hurry. Once I’m dressed, I stop in the office to shut everything down and clear my Styrofoam coffee cups from the desk. My sexy secretary doesn’t like a messy workspace.
Before I power down the computer, I pull up Garrett Marshall’s profile picture from the dating website he belongs to. I wonder how thorough these sites’ background checks are. They can’t be that great. He may not have been convicted of Rocky’s rape, but it made newspaper headlines.
I clench my fist, feeling the anger seep through my veins. He shouldn’t be allowed on a dating site perusing women. Possibly looking for another victim. He shouldn’t be allowed to walk around free. The injustice of it sits like a ball of fire in my stomach, burning and burning.
There he is. I click on the picture and send it to the printer.
Next time I go to Gillian’s Restaurant, I’ll be able to tell exactly which one he is.
***
The apartment appears dark when I pull up, but Rocky’s car is parked out front. I assume she must be sleeping, so I use the key she gave me for this kind of situation. I’m surprised to find the refrigerator door open, dimly illuminating the kitchen.
She’s seated at the table, hands folded, gaze trained on the unopened bottle of vodka in front of her. She doesn’t look away when I flip on the light and close the fridge.
“Hey,” I say, running the back of my finger down her arm.
Her head shifts, watching the slow movement of my hand. I wait for her to reply or acknowledge me in some way, but that one small gesture is all I get. I slip my hand under her chin, lifting it so I can see her face. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I can’t tell if it’s from drinking or crying.
I glance at the bottle again, confirming it is in fact unopened. Though she could have finished off another one before this. Other than a drink or two here and there, she hasn’t drank much in a while.
A long while
. I lean in to kiss her, knowing if she has been drinking, I’ll taste it on her, but she turns her head away.
I freeze, bent halfway toward her, unsure how to proceed. She’s never once turned away from my kiss. I’m confused and surprised. My stomach rolls. Adrenaline spiking, causing my heart to pound.
“You okay?”
There’s a beat, and then she laughs, the sound a bitter burst of air through pinched lips. The skin between her brows crinkles as her laughter fades. She shakes her head.
“No. I’m not okay.” Her eyes flick to the vodka. “I’m not okay at all.”
I sink into the chair beside her. My first inclination is to comfort her, touch her in some way, but after the way she denied my kiss, I don’t act on it. I’ve never touched her without permission. Never will.
“Why aren’t you okay? What’s going on?”
Her teeth scrape her bottom lip, worrying it absent-mindedly. Her body is rigid. Whatever’s wrong is big. I glance around the room for a clue. Has someone been here? Did someone fucking
hurt
her?
“Rocky,” I croak. “
What happened?
”
I watch the muscles in her throat force the effort of swallowing. My fingers curl into fists, nails cutting my palms. “Tell me.”
She looks at me then, I think taken aback from the desperation in my voice. I know it shocks me. But I am. I am desperate to know what’s wrong with her.
“Please.”
A noise, something close to a whimper, leaves her lips. She unfolds her hands, lifting them one at a time, revealing a slim white stick. It takes me half of a heartbeat to comprehend what it is.
Everything clicks into place as she slides it across the table, stopping when it’s in front of me. There’s a window on the pregnancy test filled with a plus sign. Even if it weren’t ridiculously easy to understand what it means, Rocky’s reaction tells me all I need to know.
I stare at it for several seconds, a myriad of emotions bombarding me all at once. You’d think after going through the onslaught last night, I’d be in control of my emotions, but I’m not. I harness them quickly.
This has already been in my head. I’m not surprised. Not really. But it feels surreal.
I glance at the bottle and Rocky notices where my attention goes.
“I didn’t drink it. I wanted to, but…” She tips her head toward the test.
She didn’t drink because of the baby. That means she’s either keeping it or hasn’t decided what to do yet.
I want her to keep it.
My heart thunders in my chest with the realization. I want this baby. Our baby.
I drop my head into my hands, my next breath much harder to find.
I’m sorry, Olivia.
Fuck, I’m so
sorry
.
I want the baby.
I want Rocky.
It was never supposed to be this way, but it is.
It just is.
I need them. Both of them.
I’m so, so sorry.
Please forgive me.
The harsh grinding of the chair legs sliding over the linoleum floor jolts me from my thoughts and I raise my head. Rocky stands and puts her hand on my cheek. Her thumb brushes over the stubble. It’s a reassuring caress.
She’s soothing me
. She just found out she’s pregnant, and she’s making sure
I’m
okay. Something lurches painfully in my chest. I grab her hand, my grip nowhere near as gentle as hers. I tug her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.
My forehead is flush with hers. Our eyes are closed. We breathe. In and out in unison. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. Not until she tells me she’s ready. Instead, I keep holding her, clinging to her.
I’m scared—I’m fucking terrified. I’m happy. And I’m saddened.
I am torn.
But I want this.
My hand slides from her back to her front and I do what I ached to do last night. I lay my palm against her stomach.
They are mine, and I will do
whatever
it takes to protect them.