Nix
I look at my watch for what seems like the tenth time in an hour and take another sip of the beer I've been nursing for precisely that long. Emily should have been here already and I’m starting to get worried.
Which, as with everything involving Emily, I just don't understand. Since when did I start worrying about a girl? I am hoping some clarity will shine through at some point.
I had texted Emily earlier that I needed a ride. I had delivered a finished custom motorcycle to a customer and I am sitting in a biker bar outside of Newark. On the barstool next to me is said customer...John "Wolf" Camarino. He's a bear of a man, standing just as tall as me but twice as wide. He has long salt and pepper hair tied at the nape of his neck and then tightly braided into a long tail down his back. His face is covered with a wiry, salt and pepper beard that reaches halfway down his chest.
I'm not sure what Wolf does for a living but he had no problem coming up with the $31,000 I charged for this bike, although he did pay it in two installments. And now that it was finished, he asked me to deliver out here to him. I didn't mind as it was a nice day for a ride and I figured Emily could pick me up as part of her workday.
But she should have been here by now. I think about calling her, just to make sure she's okay but then quickly quash the thought. I need to control my thoughts about her a bit more.
Reflecting about last night with Emily has pretty much ruled my thoughts today and it's irritating the crap out of me. I had been hoping that I would have her once and then she would be out of my system.
Stupid thought.
I had her three times and she still isn't out of my system. And this thought is actually a burden to me because I don't like being beholden to my feelings.
Last night was beyond amazing. Emily was amazing.
When I told her to take her clothes off, she looked at me with those amber eyes and I could tell she was intimidated. But just as quickly, determination washed over her face, quickly to be replaced with desire.
Yes...Emily was inexperienced. No doubt. But I so enjoyed teaching her things last night. And I have more to show her.
After our first time, as I was lying there, trying to get my heart rate to slow down, Emily rolled on her side, propping her head on her hand. She reached out and lightly laid her hand on my chest. Her words were reverent when she said, "Thank you, Nix."
I had jerked my head in surprise at her.
Thank you? For what? An orgasm?
I was kind of offended so I asked her what she was talking about.
She just leaned over, kissed my chest, and said, "For going outside of your comfort zone. For taking a chance on me. I know it wasn't easy."
I know I just stared at her dumbfounded. It twisted something deep inside of me as I realized that she is...had always been...perceptive of my feelings. She knew all of this had been a struggle for me and she was grateful for the dice I decided to roll.
Her words alone provoked me to hardness and I rolled back over on top of her. The second time between us was almost frantic. As if the world would end if we couldn't be together. There was nipping, hard sucking and fingers digging into soft skin.
As we lay gasping beside each other after that round, she had looked at me and said, "You don't have to stay the night. I know it's not your thing."
And she was right. That wasn't my thing. Except...I didn't want to seem to leave. And I told her so. She just smiled and said I was welcome to spend the night if I wanted.
We ended up falling asleep, on our sides, just looking at each other.
This morning, I woke up with Emily sprawled across my chest, her legs twined with mine. Her arm was wrapped around my waist and her hair was tickling my nose. Her body was soft and warm against mine...oddly comforting.
And arousing.
I had her for the third time before I left. That time was slow and soft. I left her with a smile on her face—and mine—when I left to head back across the river.
And now...I'm officially worried. She had texted me when she left Manhattan and she should have been here almost thirty minutes ago. I get up from the barstool and head out the door of the bar so I can have some quiet when I call Emily to check on her.
When I'm about ten feet from the door it opens and Emily strolls in. She looks like she is wrapped in sunshine. Her hair is in a high ponytail and it's swinging jauntily with her steps. She's wearing no makeup, but then again, she doesn't need to. Her casual Abercrombie outfit sticks out like a sore thumb in this place...sinfully short khaki skirt, a blue tank top and a dark denim jacket. Her feet are encased in a pair of shimmery, silver sandals that scream, "I'm Out Of Place In A Biker Bar."
"Hey. Sorry I'm late. There's a bad wreck on the turnpike and traffic is spilling out onto all the side roads."
She's standing there, so casual, with her hands tucked into her front pockets as she looks at me. I'm so used to a woman making some sort of play on me that I'm kind of at a loss as to what to do with her serendipitous approach.
"I was worried something had happened to you," I grouch. "Next time try calling."
She tilts her head at me. "Seriously? Since when did we enter into the realm of calling each other about things?"
Indeed. When did we do that? Or rather, when did I do that?
She walks up to me and stands on her tiptoes. My body eagerly bends so she can place her lips near my ear. She continues in a whisper, "Last I heard, we were just fucking each other."
Her words are like a slap in my face and a punch of lust to my dick all at once. Emily is right...she owed me no phone call, and I have no right to be pissed at her for that. But hearing her say the words that we were "fucking each other" was hot as hell. I didn't know Emily had it in her to drop the "F" bomb like that.
I straighten back up and merely say, "Touché."
Emily gives me a winning smile and looks around the bar. I see her eyebrows rise up as she takes in the scenery. It's mid-afternoon so it's not that crowded, but there are still enough rough looking characters in here that a girl of her social element would feel uncomfortable.
Every guy is decked out in denim and leather, and every woman is wearing tight clothing with no bras. Most everyone is covered with tattoos and piercings. Emily is probably ready to bolt.
I start to walk toward the door to get her out of here when she steps past me and says, "I'd like to stay for a beer. It's the least you can do for dragging me out to Newark."
I turn around slowly and just watch stunned as she heads to the bar and plops down on a stool to sit next to Wolf. He looks down at her, raking his gaze from head to toe. She looks like she walked out of a fashion runway magazine and she sticks out like a sore thumb.
She gives him a cheerful hello and he grunts an acknowledgment at her. He's not the biggest conversation maker and I'm sure he's shocked as shit to see someone like her in this bar.
I walk back to my beer and pick it up, taking a seat next to Emily.
***
Three beers later and Emily is having the time of her life. She's playing pool with Wolf and he's actually treating her like the daughter he never had. I'm on my stool —watching her —with my legs stretched out in front of me.
She is pure, walking sin and for the past half hour, I've been trying to think how to get back home with her in the same car without mauling her.
When Emily had asked for a third beer, I stopped drinking as it looked like I would be driving us back. I now sipped on a bottled water while she hung out with her new friends...The Hell's Angels.
Well, that's exaggerating but Wolf is a pretty rough dude and I've seen him pound a few people into the ground before. Emily has him completely charmed though.
It isn't long before more people start coming in. Emily's sweet exterior and obviously different background make her the center of attention. Most dudes are pleasant but I see a few ogling her in a not so nice way.
One dickwad, clearly drunk as hell, comes up behind her while she is bent over the pool table to take a shot and grabs on to her hips. Red clouds haze my vision and I shoot off my stool, intent on fucking this guy up ten different ways. Halfway to my target and my rage doesn't diminish even though my mind is telling me to calm down. My body isn't responding and I feel a clenching in my gut. I'm actually fearful of what I am getting ready to do, but I am not stopping until this asshole is taught a lesson.
No one touches Emily but me.
Luckily, just steps before I reach the guy, Wolf lashes out and grabs the guy around the throat. He slams him viciously into the wall and two other men quickly move in to throw the drunk out.
I turn to Emily, ready to offer some comfort, but she is just standing there with an amused expression on her face. She doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, when Wolf comes back to the pool table, she high-fives the bastard for saving her.
Shaking my head, I walk up to Wolf to tell him we have to head out. He shakes my hand and then Emily gives him a hug. He tells her to come back and party with him anytime.
Un-fucking-believable.
I ask Emily to give me her keys and soon we are headed back toward Hoboken.
"That was so much fun," Emily gushes. "Thanks boss for letting me hang out there for a bit."
I glance over at her. She has a grin a mile wide on her face.
"I don't get you," I say.
"What do you mean?"
"That bar is the last place in the world that Congressman Burnham's daughter would be hanging out."
She's silent for a minute while she digests what I said. "Maybe the old Emily Burnham wouldn't. But the new Emily Burnham is finding a fond appreciation of people like Wolf."
"Well," I snort. "You were certainly on the 'new experience train' back there."
"I sure was. But I'll admit I was a little afraid walking in there."
My eyebrows shoot up surprised. "Really? I never would have guessed. You have a great poker face."
"Yup. Seeing all of those motorcycles when I pulled into the parking lot, it was a little intimidating. But I knew you were in there and wouldn't let anything happen to me."
Her words are said innocently, I know that. But my stomach tenses up and I have to do some silent calming breaths. That sounds a little too much like dependency to me. No way did she need to be looking at me for care or protection.
"That Wolf is a nice guy," she continues. Her comment breaks into my thoughts. "I think I might go back and hang with him sometime."
I’m not prepared for this new wave of emotion. Something feral rises up in me and I can't even place it. "Like hell you will. That is not a place that you should to go to by yourself."
"Really? They seemed so nice."
"Don't do it, Emily," I warn. "It's not a safe place when people start getting drunk."
She doesn't say anything in response.
I continue to drive, fuming at myself that I just freaked out that Emily would look to me for protection, only to have the basic instinct to protect her rise up viscerally within me when she talked about putting herself into danger.
What. The. Fuck?
I decide a change in subject is in order.
"Stay the night with me?" I ask. Linc is at an away game so we can run naked around the apartment if we want.
And I definitely want.
She looks over at me, lightly nibbling on her bottom lip. I want her to do that to me and if I'm lucky tonight, she will.
"Sure, but you owe me dinner," she says with a smile that causes my heart to thump madly. "But then I could go for some down and dirty with you."
I hold back a silent groan over her words because they make me think about hot and sweaty sex with Emily and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I'll never think about that cliché the same way again.
Emily
I wake up sprawled across Nix’s chest again. Both times we've slept all night together, it's how our bodies seem to naturally come to rest in our sleep. I love the feel of his body against mine.
Both my cheek and palm are resting on his skull tattoo, and they both feel the slow thump-thump of his heart rate while he slumbers. Thinking of the night before, I start drawing lazy patterns with my fingers over his skull.
Nix was a little intense last night...not that I minded. In fact, I liked it...a lot!
But something happened in the car on the way home from Newark that put Nix in a mood. I obviously have no clue what was said to cause this shift but he was more distant than usual after our discussion about me returning to that bar.
It's almost as if Nix wanted to prove a point. I just can't figure out what the point was. As soon as we walked into Linc's apartment, Nix took Harley for a quick walk. I waited in the living room, surfing Facebook on my iPhone until he came back.
When he walked in and unclipped Harley, he practically lunged at me. Stripping off my clothes, he pulled me into his arms. Using his mouth and hands, he had me begging him within minutes. And here's where I think he was trying to prove something.
Rather than carry me off into the intimate haven of his bedroom, Nix did nothing more than push me up against the living room wall. Turning me so that my chest was pressed flat against it, he merely undid his pants, rolled on a condom and then he was driving into me within a matter of seconds.
It was a huge turn-on, the intensity of the passion he was unloading onto my body. We may not have been in a bedroom with soft sheets and plenty of comfortable space to roll around. He had my naked body plastered to a cold wall while he remained clothed. But there wasn't an inch of my body he wasn't touching with his body, mouth and fingers as he slammed in and out of me. I felt the burn of his chest through the material of his shirt as he pressed against me. He whispered urgent words in my ear while he drove me higher and higher.
It was primal, edgy and volatile, and while I think Nix was trying to prove it was just "sex", he ended up showing me that fast, hard, down and dirty can have a wealth of intimacy involved. In fact, there was more emotion pouring off of Nix than I had ever seen before.
The mere fact that Nix felt he had to prove something to me, although he failed dismally, tells me that he must be doubting his own expectations and needs.
My fingers are moving in lazy circles over his smooth skin and I notice that Nix’s heart rate has picked up a bit under my cheek. My hand moves down to his stomach, making soft glides across the hard ridges of his muscles. I'm pretty sure he's awake and my touching him has brought that about. I glance down and see he's impressively tenting the sheet.
Yup, I’m pretty sure he's awake.
I shift my head so I can look up at him and he's staring down at me with that sizzling look that makes my breathing erratic and floods me with warmth and wetness. I think he's getting ready to pounce again, but instead he leans down slightly and runs his lips over my forehead.
"Good morning," he says. His voice is heavy with sleep still.
"Morning." I resume tracing my patterns on his stomach, inching a little further down with each pass.
He makes a moan of appreciation. "That feels good."
"I'm glad," I tell him.
I lift up off his chest and scoot my body down a bit, otherwise, my hand will not reach down to my intended destination. When I do, my eyes catch the wicked skull tattoo and I get sidetracked. Moving my fingers up, I gently run my fingers over it, looking at the design for the first time close up.
Nix is very quiet but doesn't stop me from my perusal. I run my fingers over the words, "See No Evil", and then slowly trace the outline of the tattoo. As my fingers run over the skull's temple where the shading is slightly dark, I feel a patch of rough skin. I bend down even closer to look at it and realize it's scar tissue.
"I've never let a woman touch me there," he says and my eyes snap to his.
"Do you want me to stop?" I ask quietly.
He hesitates only a moment before he says, "No. It’s okay.”
I'm nosy, I know it. I can't help but ask, "Why can I touch you there when you've never let another woman do it?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem...solicitous to me."
For all of Nix’s brave words, he's watching me warily. My fingers are still lying over the scar when I ask, "What happened?"
"I was shot during my last tour in Afghanistan."
I gasp but really, why am I surprised? I see it all the time on the news, the heavy casualties that our soldiers take.
"Can I ask what happened?"
"You can," he says simply, without malice or effect. "But I won't tell you."
"Fair enough," I assure him. "Can I at least see the rest of your tattoo?"
He nods at me and sits up in the bed, while I get up on my knees. The sheet falls to my waist and Nix pulls it back up to tuck under my armpits, covering me from the chest down. He smiles at me. "I won't be able to concentrate with you examining my body while you're naked and flaunting yourself."
I roll my eyes at him. "I don't flaunt."
He snorts at my response but moves himself to sit in the middle of the bed so I can see the whole tattoo.
I only got a brief glimpse of the scroll that contained the many lines of small writing. I start at the edge of the skull where the writing starts and read the first few lines out loud.
"Do not dwell of the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment." The word Buddha is written after the line.
I look up at Nix and he's gazing at me impassively. "What can I say? Buddha's the man."
I run my fingers over the next lines as I read them, again out loud. "The sun will shine in my back door one day..."
"Jerry Garcia," Nix supplies for me even as I read that name at the end of the quote.
I read a few more to myself and then look up at him. "I don't know what concerns me more...that you have song lines on here from The Butthole Surfers or Josh Groban."
Nix laughs out loud. "I certainly have some eclectic mix of words on my tatt."
Concentrating on reading every single word, I follow the curve of the tattoo as it slides down his ribs and curls around his back. I crawl behind him to continue reading, skimming my fingers over each line as I absorb.
He has bible verses, philosophical quotes, song lyrics...even just people's names. Some I recognize and some I don't.
"Who is Nick Vujicic?"
"Just a guy. An Australian, born without arms and legs. He can pretty much do anything you or I can."
Names I recognize pop out at me. John Lennon, Helen Keller, Tupak Shakur. Others I have no clue who they are. Ray Lamontagne, Nando Parrado, Ben Underwood.
The tattoo wraps all the way around his back to the edge of his left ribs and then stops. The end of the scroll is open, clearly meant to add more lines in the future.
"What does all of this mean?" I ask him.
I'm betting he won't tell me, and as usual, I won't push. But I will ask.
He surprises me when he scoots back up to lean against the headboard. He pulls me into his arms and I settle back against his chest.
"I won't tell you exactly what happened when I was in Afghanistan, but when I was shot, I had a few other injuries."
I'm silent. I don't want to interrupt and cease the flow of his confession to me. This is, without a doubt, the most that Nix has ever willingly given up to me and I've only had the first few words out of his mouth.
"After I was shot, a grenade exploded near me. It threw me several feet and I suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury."
I can't help myself. "What does that mean?" I'm fearful and my heart is starting to stammer around in my chest.
"It's not as bad as it sounds. At least mine wasn't...although sometimes it can be very bad. Basically, my brain was sloshed around on the inside of my skull pretty good when I made impact with the ground. It caused some physical problems for a while."
"Like what?"
"Headaches, dizziness, memory loss, mood swings. Stuff like that. But that stuff has mostly resolved." Nix picks up one of my hands and laces his fingers through it. He rubs his thumb over mine as he continues. "I was also diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when I returned to the States. It's why I have Harley. He's a psychiatric service dog."
“What does that mean?”
“They can be used for lots of things. Right after my injury, I was pretty messed up. I’d have uncontrollable anger. I’d panic if people walked up behind me. Loud noises freaked me out. Harley was trained to basically orient me to the ‘here and now’ when I feel rage or panic. His touch calms me as a simple explanation. He was actually trained to walk behind me a bit to make me comfortable that no one would approach me from behind. But honestly, most of those problems are under control now and he’s more pet than anything. I’ve learned to control most of that stuff with some intensive therapy after I returned.”
Nix doesn't say anything more for a few seconds and I'm silent. I don't know what to say to this news, because frankly, I don't understand it. I only know that my heart is hurting immensely for this man who has apparently suffered so much.
"I can understand if that freaks you out and you want to break things off," Nix says hesitantly.
I’m shocked. I didn't think this man had a vulnerable cell in his body but he just exposed it to me, clear as day.
I spin around in Nix’s arms, bringing my hands to his face. "Never," I say vehemently. "I'm just not sure what to say to you. You don't answer a lot of questions so I'm not sure what is open territory for me."
Nix kisses me softly and says, "The only other people that know what I've told you are my dad and my brother."
I go ahead and sit back, now facing Nix so I can look at him. I pick up his hand and hold it between the two of mine.
"And the writing on your tattoo?" I ask, bringing us back around to my original question.
"Let's just say I had a hard time coping when I first got back from Afghanistan. I was...rageful...couldn't control my anger. The slightest thing provoked me to near violence. Harley and a lot of therapy got me through the worst of it. Like I said, I learned to use him to calm my negative emotions."
As if on cue, Harley jumps into the bed with us and snuggles up to Nix’s side. He's probably not even aware but his hand immediately goes to Harley's fur, gently stroking the dog.
"Does this conversation upset you?" I ask, noticing how Harley pins himself to Nix.
"A little. I'm telling you more than anyone other than my family knows."
"So the tattoo..."
"That's my own sort of therapy. I got the skull after my first tour in Afghanistan. It was appropriate given what I'd seen over there. Part of my therapy after the PTSD is focusing on the positive. Which, by the way, I think is bullshit half the time."
I cock my eyebrow at him and he laughs.
"What can I say...the glass is half empty where I'm standing most of the time. Anyway...anytime I read or see something positive or inspirational, I memorialize it. So I can keep it with me always."
This is interesting.
"How do you choose what goes on your tattoo?"
He gives me a slight grin, filled with mischief. "That's easy. If I read something and immediately scoff at it, then I know it's probably an important message. I have too many negative emotions running through me. I figure the more antithetical a message is to my sensibility, the more I probably need that message."
I shake my head back and forth with a bemused tilt to my lips.
"Are you laughing at me, Burnham?"
Normally, he calls me by my last name to distance himself from me, but this time he says it with a light teasing that makes my insides quiver.
"Not laughing. Just amazed. You have more layers than all the onions in the world combined, Caldwell."
Nix lunges across the bed at me, sending Harley scurrying from the bed. He drags me onto his lap, pulling the sheet down at the same time. "Here's one layer I'd like to discover what's underneath..."
I giggle but that is soon turned into a gasp of pleasure as he palms my breast and brings his lips to my neck.
"Nix?" I murmur, on the verge of a full out moan.
"Hmmmmm?" he responds, blazing a trail of fire up to my jaw.
"You know this conversation knocks us out of the realm of having just a sex-only relationship, don't you?"
His mouth stills against my skin and I feel him tense up. Then he sighs against me before resuming his gentle kisses.
"Yeah," he murmurs against my neck. "I know."
He sounds resigned yet anticipatory, sad yet happy, angry yet calm. How can he be all of those things? And then I realize that Nix probably always has a million emotions swirling around inside of him. It's probably why he takes great pains to avoid interacting with people.
And yet, he's let me inside just a little bit more. I find that to be terribly brave. And for the first time, I realize it's not only my body that he commands. My heart is now involved as well.