Authors: Jade Allen
Bit by bit our clothes fell away; I shifted around and twisted underneath Mary until my cock sprung free of my boxers, until I felt her hand close around it. “Fuck…God, babe. If you don’t stop that I’m going to come in your hand.” She gave me one more lingering stroke and then her hand fell away, her weight shifting on top of me. I opened my eyes to get a full view of her heavy, firm tits; her pale pink nipples, now firm little nubs that begged me to suck and lick them. I cupped the heavy mounds in my hands, bringing each one to my mouth in turn and smiled against Mary’s skin as she gasped, trembling from the feeling of my lips and tongue worshipping her. She wriggled and writhed on top of me and I groaned out at the feeling of her hot, slick folds rubbing against my aching-hard cock, teasing me for what seemed like hours. I rocked my hips against hers, clutching her close, wanting more—but knowing I couldn’t hold out for long.
I pushed down on her hips while I thrust up, and for a second I thought I’d lose it—that I’d come immediately, as Mary’s tight, wet, hot pussy wrapped around me. She moaned out, kissing me hungrily as her legs pressed against mine, every muscle in her body tensing as our hips met. I held her still for a long moment, trying to regain my self-control, and then we started moving together, touching each other everywhere. It had been years since I’d wanted it so bad; and with all the drugs out of my system, every little tightening of her inner walls, every little moan that left her lips, threatened to send me over the edge—I was so sensitive everywhere, it was like the first time I’d ever done E. We fell into a rhythm together, and I tried to keep it slow; I wanted to remember this when I was tossing and turning in bed in a few hours, when Gerard had gone to sleep and I could pretend like I had a little privacy. Mary felt so good, so right; I kissed her lips, her throat, her chin, as she rode me steadily, her hips twisting and shifting as she rose and fell, her inner walls tightening and flexing around my throbbing, aching cock.
I lost all track of time and didn’t care; I wanted it to go on forever. I started thrusting harder and faster without being able to help myself, and Mary’s moans filled my ears, vibrating against my shoulder, my lips. I managed to hold back just long enough to feel her whole body tense, feel her shudder against me as the first wave of her climax rocked her. A moment later I tumbled over the edge and pushed my hips up against hers mindlessly as I came, moaning against her hot, soft lips while her body clenched around me tightly in little erratic spasms.
We both collapsed, panting and gasping, and with my eyes closed, fireworks lit up the inside of my head, aftershocks of pleasure crackling through my nerves. I felt Mary’s weight shift what seemed like only a heartbeat later; it had to have been longer. I opened my eyes to see her standing, quickly pulling her clothes on. The tattoos disappeared behind denim, cotton and lace; her gorgeous tits became nothing more than a silhouette. “Remember, Alex,” she said, smoothing her hair back off of her face. “One word of this and we’re both out on our asses.”
I nodded, too spent still to talk.
“Get dressed, and be out in the common area in fifteen minutes. The door locks automatically.” She turned on her heel and I heard the clack-clack-clack of her shoes on the floor as she walked quickly away from me.
****
I walked into the Administrator’s office and immediately I saw Mary, seated off to the side in front of the huge, polished desk. The middle-aged man who ran the rehab facility, Dr. Farber, looked up as I came in. “Thank you for joining us, Alex,” Dr. Farber said, smiling in a way that immediately set off my bullshit alarm.
“Not like I have a hell of a lot to do,” I said, taking the other seat in front of his desk.
“We all have choices, every day,” Dr. Farber said in his sanctimonious tone; I’d heard that little homily enough times to want to puke, but I kept my face straight. “In fact, today we need to talk about choices.”
Mary was carefully avoiding looking at me. It had been a day and a half since our little break in the art room; she had been like a ghost ever since. Flitting through the room, not even looking at me. But God did I look at her. Any time she appeared, I pictured her tattoos, the way she’d looked on top of me naked, and remembered the way she’d felt, the way she’d smelled.
“Alex?”
I looked at Dr. Farber again. “Okay, choices,” I said, keeping my voice level. “What about them?”
“You and Mary have both made some…bad choices recently,” Dr. Farber said. Although I could tell he was going for ‘regretful disappointment’ by the tone of his voice and the way he twisted his plastic surgery-carved face, his bottle-green eyes gleamed.
“Have we now?” I stared him down.
You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. I know what you’re playing at.
“It’s come to my attention that the relationship between the two of you is no longer…strictly…patient-counselor.” Dr. Farber smiled slowly. “I heard reports about noises in the art room.” I clenched my teeth together. “Of course, I’m sure you know, there are cameras at the ends of all the hallways. It wasn’t difficult to figure it out.”
“We were just talking about my recovery,” I said, shrugging. “You got some perverts in here. Isn’t Mackenzie in for sex addiction?”
“It wasn’t Mackenzie who came to me, or I would probably have dismissed it,” Dr. Farber said. He took a breath and exhaled a gusty sigh. “Unfortunately, I can’t have the two of you here if you’re going to disrupt the good work we’re doing, helping people get clean and sober. You understand, right Alex?”
I swallowed. “You’re being paid really fucking well to keep me,” I pointed out. “You kick me out and that money goes away.”
“There are a dozen people who’d take your bunk before midnight,” he said. “And I can’t have either of you jeopardizing my reputation.” Dr. Farber looked from Mary to me. “You have an hour to gather your possessions and be discharged. Mary, you will leave with him, under Tom’s supervision. My decision is final.”
Dr. Farber pressed a button on his desk. “John, please come escort Alex to collect his things. He’s being discharged.”
I stared at Farber; there was no arguing with him.
I was fucked.
About an hour later, I stood outside of Recovery Now, my suitcase at my feet.
At least I’ve got my fucking phone back.
Of all the things I’d had to hand over when I checked in, turning off my phone and handing it to the front desk woman had hurt the most. I had about half a battery charge left on it—or at least I had when I’d turned it off and handed it over. I sat on a bench, waiting for Mary to show up; she had her own discharge to take care of.
The woman who stepped through the front doors of the rehab building
looked
like Mary K, the woman I’d come up against so many times and who I’d banged the fuck out of, but her normal expression of confidence, that knowing gleam in her dark eyes, was totally gone. She was pale, her eyes a little wild, her mouth in a blank frown. As soon as she saw me, I watched her reassemble the façade she kept up; her eyes sharpened, her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and her lips twisted in a not quite smile.
“Do you have anywhere to go?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “I could go to my apartment but J’s probably got someone waiting for me there,” I said sheepishly. “I could call my band mates, my label.” Mary looked me up and down, and I watched her take another breath. Her hand moved and I heard the metallic clinking of her keys.
“Come on,” she said, picking up a box and hefting it up to her hip. “I’m going to assume that your dealer doesn’t know where I live, and I’m going to hope he hasn’t smuggled anyone into the facility yet to find anything out.”
I smiled wryly. “You’re seriously going to let me stay at your place?”
Mary shrugged and gestured for me to follow her. “I got into this business to help addicts,” Mary said simply. I followed her into the parking lot, a few paces behind her, carrying my suitcase. “You’re an addict, and you need help.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not really an addict,” I said. Mary turned quickly and met my gaze with the familiar level, knowing expression on her face.
“Seriously? You’re going to pull that on me now?”
I smiled. “I have a problem,” I said quietly. “But…I wouldn’t say that I can’t quit the drugs. I’ve done it before.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, you’re not using in my house. I don’t care what the reasoning is. I don’t care how much you want to. I catch you using in my house and you’re out, dealer after you or not.” She stared into my eyes; it was obvious that she was waiting for me to say something.
“I’m not a shitty houseguest,” I said, feeling almost offended. “I don’t use in other people’s houses unless they’re using or have told me I can. Besides, I’m on a break from the drugs right now.” I had put it to myself that way—that I was just taking a break, being sober for a while. I hadn’t exactly committed to quitting altogether; I figured once I got out of the situation with Big J, I would figure out whether it was worth it to quit, or whether I had just let things get out of control for a while. After all, it wasn’t like I was doing heroin; at least not on the regular. I’d tried it a couple of times, but the high just wasn’t worth it to me.
“Just remember,” Mary said, turning back towards the line of cars. She stopped at one; it was an old, run-down looking hunter green Volvo, a boxy-looking tank of a car.
“Nice ride,” I commented. Mary glanced at me, unlocking the trunk with her key.
“It gets me places,” she said with a kind of quiet contentment. “What do you drive?”
I smiled down at my suitcase as I dropped it into the cavern of a trunk. “Currently? Nothing.” I shrugged. “I fucked up my last car somehow, I don’t remember how. One of my band mates said he’d take it into the shop for me.”
Mary unlocked the car at the driver’s side and gestured for me to get in. The inside of the car smelled of her perfume and of cigarettes, an undercurrent of sickeningly-sweet coffee from an ancient spill. I settled myself into the passenger’s seat. “You smoke?” I asked her.
Mary smiled wryly. “Off and on. Mostly when I’m stressed.” She lifted up the center console armrest and withdrew a pack of Parliaments. “Like right now.” I chuckled and took my own cigarettes out as Mary cranked up the car. Immediately I sighed in relief at the flood of cool air from the vents, even as I rolled my window down. Mary shook a cigarette free of her pack and put it between her lips, reaching down in automatic movements to put the car in reverse as her other hand pressed the window button.
In a matter of seconds, we had both lit up our smokes, and she had pulled out of the parking spot, shifted the car into drive, and started to make her way up the lane, towards the exit. “Another rule: if I’m driving, I’m in charge of the music, and no bitching from you; got it?”
I laughed. “That’s the rule for the van, too,” I said. “Unless you want to play some fucking ear-bleed Miley Cyrus shit, I won’t complain.” Mary snorted and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. She reached blindly into her purse and I watched as she found her phone, shoved the purse back down under her legs in front of her seat, and managed to somehow juggle the cigarette between her fingers, the aux cord, and her phone. She came to a stop at the light and looked down at her screen. After a moment, she selected something and set the phone down in a convenient cubby, taking another drag of her cigarette as the song started: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Soft Shock.” I sat back in the seat I’d taken. There didn’t seem to be anything for me to do except watch the scenery pass by, at least for now.
****
The house that Mary pulled up to was both exactly what I would have expected and completely foreign to me. It was one of those old, old Florida houses; big jalousie windows, clamshell shutters pulled back. The exterior was a warm, cheery yellow; the door was painted a deep, sharp red. “Do you own this place or rent it?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else.
“I own it,” Mary said, shifting the car into park and turning off the ignition on the car. “It’s always just a little too warm in the summer and a little to chilly whenever there’s a cold front, but it’s my place outright.”
I nodded and followed her up the walkway, glancing around the sleepy-looking neighborhood her house was in; the south Florida sun beat down like a hammer, the humidity like a sauna. It was impossible to forget, even in winter, that you lived in a coastal swamp. Mary unlocked the door and opened it, and her security system shrieked as she took the few steps to the console. “Come on in,” she said over her shoulder, punching in her code.
I stepped through the door, feeling—weirdly—more apprehensive even than I had when I’d walked through the doors of Recovery Now. The floors had almost certainly been redone at some point in the house’s many decades of existence; they were hardwood, instead of standard-issue tile or carpet. There was a beat-up, worn-down rug on the living room floor. Mary had an old, scarred leather sofa with an old lady Afghan thrown over the back, a much newer armchair, and a flat-screen TV on an entertainment center that I guessed probably came from IKEA. The thing that shocked me, though, was the sight of an acoustic guitar, settled on a stand, its strings gleaming. “You play?” I asked her, frowning as I pointed.
Mary shrugged, and I saw the color rise in her cheeks. “Not very well,” she said. I grinned. “I had pretensions of playing folk-rock when I was a teenager, but I’ve never really been either good enough that my looks didn’t matter or pretty enough that my talent didn’t matter.”
I laughed. “Which category do
I
fall under?” I asked, throwing myself down onto the couch. It was even more comfortable than it looked, the cushions almost suspiciously plush under the scarred and scratched exterior. Mary looked at me for a long moment.
“That rarest of breeds: talented enough and pretty enough,” she said with a wry smile. “Want something to drink? Coffee? Water?”
“It’s too fucking hot for coffee, but after what just happened, I really want the buzz,” I said, thinking out loud.
“I’ve got cold brew,” Mary suggested.
“That, then,” I said, lifting a hand in approval. “So you’re really willing to let me stay here for a while?” Mary shrugged, kicking her shoes off and padding into the kitchen. I managed to get my shoes off as well, kicking my feet up onto the arm of the couch and sprawling over the length.
“Until you can find somewhere equally safe, I don’t really see much choice,” Mary said from the other room. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? Let you put yourself in danger?” I heard movement from the kitchen: the fridge door opening, the clink of glasses, and the clatter of ice, liquid pouring. “Do you take milk? Sweetener?”
“I’ll take it sweet, but no milk,” I called back. I looked up at the ceiling; after the shock of being kicked out of rehab, the prospect of my imminent demise was starting to filter through my mind. “You know, it’s weird,” I said, turning my head as I heard Mary coming back into the living room. “Without the stuff in my system, I think…” I paused, trying to figure out what it was I wanted to say. “I think clearer but also muddier. It doesn’t…” I shook my head and sat up.
“A lot of people notice that,” Mary said, handing me a glass with pitch-black coffee and islands of ice. Her own coffee was a deep caramel tan, and for a moment I almost regretted my choice of no milk. But I didn’t like milk in my iced coffee; there was just something about the texture of it that made it so nasty. Mary sat in her armchair and took a long sip. “Your brain is used to working through the drugs; it has to re-learn how to operate without them.”
“It’s like I don’t have any fucking filter anymore,” I said, looking around the room. I hadn’t noticed the line of bookshelves that hugged the wall, leading to the hallway that I assumed went to her room and the bathroom. “Is there more than one bedroom here?” I asked, looking at Mary once more. “Not—I mean—the couch is more than I deserve, but I’m just curious.” Mary laughed, and I wasn’t sure if she was laughing at the question or at my self-correction.
“There’s another bedroom, but I mostly use it as a home office,” she said. “There is a futon in there, though. You can sleep in there if you want.”
“This couch is pretty fucking comfy,” I pointed out. “I may not even get off of it for the next hour.”
“Well you’re going to have to get up eventually. You need to get in touch with your band mates, your label, and whoever else needs to know you’re out of rehab,” Mary said, setting her glass down and looking at me with that level, matter-of-fact expression on her face that I both loved and hated.
“Why do you always look like that?” I licked the lingering sweetness of the coffee off of my lips.
“Like what?” Mary raised an eyebrow.
“Like you know what I look like underneath my skin.”
Mary’s dark eyes flashed with amusement. “I think you’re interpreting more in my face than I’m putting out,” she told me.
“You just look like you know the fucking thoughts in my head.”
“I watch people,” she said, looking into her glass for a moment, watching the ice shift as it melted. “I don’t know. It’s not…” I watched the color rising into her cheeks again. “I’m not purposely trying to make you feel uncomfortable.” Mary sighed, “I should probably get my laptop and start filing for unemployment.” Her lips twisted into a grimace of distaste.
“Don’t let me get in your way,” I said, taking another big gulp of coffee and fumbling in my pocket for my phone. Mary was right; I needed to get in touch with people, let them know what was going on, where I was. It occurred to me that probably Dr. Farber had already notified my manager or the label—whoever he was reporting to—about the fact that I’d been kicked out of rehab. “I’m never going to hear the fucking end of this.” I sighed as I turned my phone on. “Go do your thing.” Mary gave me another one of those looks—as if she was peering into my brain—and then stood, taking her coffee with her into the hall. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath; whoever I talked to was almost certain to be completely and totally pissed at me for getting myself kicked out.
Nick first. He’s the most likely to think that if I got kicked out for fucking my counselor, it’s not a complete waste.
I opened my eyes and unlocked my phone to get to my contacts list.