Текст книги "Quarterback Bait "

Автор книги: Celia Loren

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ashleigh

September 26^th

 

Like an asshole, I watched Mr. Dempsey slump back to his car from Carson's porch. I was crouched down in the window seat in the upstairs turret, so only a slice of my hair could be visible from the street. My face was hot with shame, watching him turn and look up at the house. And yet, at the same time, I was a little peeved. Why couldn't he read the signals? It seemed so clear to me that there was nothing between us, and yet he was coming over to Carson's every other day, lingering on the porch like some sad sack while she puttered unawares by the pool.

“Hey,” my mother crowed, surprising me so I fell off the bench with a clatter. “None of that now. I know you get this 'urge to run-away' thing from me, but it's not cute. If you don't like a boy, you need to tell him.” I nodded dully, chastised. Then I paused to consider. This was one of our exceedingly rare mother/daughter moments, in which Anya was playing the mother. I smiled. I liked it.

Her face was healing nicely. It had been a relief to discover last week that the bruises on her skin were light—the Pastor's wounds had been more psychological than anything else. Yet Mom had been drifting around Carson's like a ghost for days now, appearing in doorways when you didn't expect her. She couldn't lie down. She couldn't watch TV. She was eager and antsy for some peace, some structure—for the walls of her own home.

“Come here, baby,” she called to me. I went, allowing myself be folded up in her cool, fragile touch. I had to resist the urge to nestle my fingers into her back, like she was a tree I could climb. My mom. Flawed, but lovely. Weird, but wise—in her way.

“We haven't gotten a chance to talk about boys in ages,” she said, leading us back towards Carson's communal kitchen. The infamous roommate, Gonzo, was propped against the kitchen island with a ukulele strapped across his chest. He didn't acknowledge us as mom drifted towards the kettle on the stove.

Luckily her back was turned, so she couldn't see me blush something fierce. Though the word 'boy' didn't seem suitable for Landon, he still managed to appear in my memory. This was happening all the time lately. In my worst moments, during the most tedious parts of my day, there he'd be—the memory of his morning face fluttering awake against the pillows, or the musculature of his chest, rising and falling as he slept. We'd been talking for hours and fucking for hours, and well...time was a blur. There were apparently Mondays and afternoons and events and classes to attend, but lately, for me, the world was divided into time spent with Landon and waiting to spend time with Landon.

“I know that face,” Anya smirked, over the rim of a chipped teacup. I tried to duck my head, but I knew it was too late—the typical big red blush was probably splattered all over my cheeks.

“Mo-om!” I trilled, enjoying the word. Anya sipped her tea and raised her eyebrows.

“Well! Tell your poor old nutty ma all about it!”

I wanted to, was the funny thing. I looked into her hopeful eyes and tried to imagine how the truth would sound. You know him, actually. He's tall, dark and handsome, even if his family is a little...freaky. I found the beginnings of the words on my tongue, but when I opened my mouth they seemed to evaporate. I couldn't do it. I couldn't possibly tell Anya that the man I was falling in love with was the son of the person who had hurt her the most.

“He's just a boy,” I said instead, brushing past her to the cabinet with its assorted mismatched crockery. “I dunno. It probably won't go anywhere. He's a senior, and he's really...well, he's nice.”

“Nice is good!”

“He's an athlete. Kind of a jock type, actually.”

“That doesn't sound like you,” mom said. She set her cup down on the counter, and the sound of clinking seemed to set off the listless ukulele man. He drifted away into the living room.

“It's not so bad.”

“Well, here's my spiel. You want to be with someone you know will be kind to you.”

“I know that, mom.”

“No, honey.” She took a deliberate step towards me. “I'm not talking about someone who can talk a good game and be sweet. I'm not talking about constant fireworks, either. Someone who is kind and good and knows how to treat women. You want to look at his history, too. Don't wanna be surprised a month in with someone's demons.” These words—the first direct mention my mother had made of the incident with the Pastor—hung between us in space like a bad smell. In one swoop, Anya's caution neatly destroyed my image of Landon, splayed sweetly against sweaty pillows. There were tears hovering on my mother's eyelids. And I knew, with a pang, that she was right.

“Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Don't mind me. It's just—you never know about people. Sometimes they seem great, and...” She clapped her hands together, violently. “I couldn't take it if you fell for a bad man. I would feel like I'd failed at the only job I've managed to hold on to.”

Outside, the crickets had begun their evening concert. Carson would be home soon from the guitar store, where she'd taken up a few extra shifts to help pay for Mom's expenses as she lobbied for paid medical leave. My phone blurted out a text in my pocket. I knew who it was from before I checked it. Hey, baby, he'd written. Meet me at our place later? Wanna talk. XO—L.

For the first time in days, the thought of Landon's boyish grin suddenly made my heart sink. What could we do? What could we be? And at what cost, all of this?

Derby's seemed even less crowded than I remembered (what was it? Two weeks ago? Time was doing its funky thing again....)—but a dark, lonesome bar suited me just fine. It was uncharacteristically chilly in the parking lot, as I shifted foot to foot, waiting for lover boy.

I hadn't decided what I would say when Landon finally showed his shaggy head, but I knew what wasn't going to fly: sad karaoke. Make-outs. Sweet nothings. Oh, no, no. We needed to have a serious, conscious conversation about what our little thing was going to look like. Even if I'd been fighting off images of his perfect mouth all day long, we needed to talk shop. Because the thing was, I didn't know if I could go on lying to my mom about our relationship. But I also didn't know if Landon would be willing to wait for however much time it would take until we became an appropriate, palatable union in the eyes of everyone we loved.

To avoid temptation, I'd decided to dress the part of the serious student inquisitor. I wore black jeans and a long-sleeved paisley button-up, borrowed from one of Carson's mystery house-guests. My hair was tamed in a floral scarf. I tugged nervously at the ends of my shirt cuffs, hoping I didn't look so Mom-like he wouldn't recognize me. I hadn't smoked in weeks (sex was apparently a pretty good replacement for an oral fixation), but the urge to light up was strong. He made me nervous.

And at last, there he was—scooting around the bend in the Saab where it all began. I fought the urge to cry out a desperate hello when I saw him emerge from the driver's side. This turned out to be a good thing, because as Landon approached I saw that his face was as serious as I hoped mine was. I watched him slam the door. I watched him begin his athlete's lope toward me, muscles propelling him forward through space with the grace of a cheetah. I rehearsed my first words, in my head: Landon. We need to have a serious talk about this. I'm not sure we're being properly careful, considering how many people we could hurt.

When he caught my face under the buzzing fluorescent parking lot light, his eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. I couldn't help it—I started grinning like an idiot, too. He flicked a stray strand of brown hair out of his face, where it had fallen over an eyebrow—his hair was getting longer. His muscles bulged out of a t-shirt, a bright blue number, painted with the Superman logo. Hell, if the shirt fits...

“Hey you,” he said, biting his lip. He took another step towards me, and I felt my plan start to collapse. I tilted my hips against his, so when we embraced I felt the whole of his lower body through his jeans. It was still shocking to me, how ripped he was.

“Hey yourself,” I murmured into his ear. Landon reached around and slapped me lightly, on the ass. I squeaked; he laughed. It was like our first meeting. I thought of the slick ice cube, chilling me down my spine. His impish face.

Fireflies began to glow around us in the lot, and the humidity had lifted with the setting sun. Landon flicked his head in the direction of Derby's entrance and raised his eyebrows. I fell into timid step behind him, and reached for his hand. I'm not sure this is a good idea, I was going to say. I think we need to take a step back and really...

Oh boy.

As I'd predicted from the lot, Derby's was pretty much empty. Blaine was bent low over the far end of the bar, playing quarters with an older dude in a flannel t-shirt. He looked like one of Carson's hippie friends. I let Landon grab us two Coors and lead me to a small cocktail table at the lip of the karaoke stage. The machines weren't turned on tonight. A thin riff of a honky-tonk song came in over the PA, but it wasn't loud enough to cover the few other conversations rattling around us.

For a second, we both eavesdropped on the motley, weekday UT crowd. In one far corner, two women bent their heads low in serious conversation. I saw that their fingers were entwined, and they kept gazing sweetly at one another. Love, I thought, suddenly. That's what it looks like. That's what he and I must look like. I yanked my gaze away before the couple caught me throwing them a doofy smile. I had the insane urge to stand up and wave at them, let them know I was in their little club, too.

Meanwhile, Landon was gazing at me. If anyone had been watching us in the darkness, I figured we would have looked like a perfectly normal couple having a perfectly normal evening. If only.

“Listen,” he began—then started chewing his lip. I realized then that he was as agitated as I was. “Baby. I've been thinking, these past few days. Seriously thinking.”

“About what? Is everything okay?”

“Well, not really. That's the thing. I'm just thinking about my Dad. And your Mom. And the football team, stupidly enough.” His brow was scrunched, in that half-endearing, half-scary way I recalled from the time he'd caught me snooping around in his room. I reached under the table and began to rub his knee.

“I think I know what you're going to say.”

“Really?!”

“I mean, I've been thinking about all that crap, too. Of course I have.” Oh, God. It was happening so fast. It was so easy, so obvious. We couldn't be together—there was too much shit in the way. And he agreed. Of course he agreed. We'd just been living on borrowed time. The silence that fell between us felt limp, hopeless. I felt my throat begin to close up. Don't cry, Ashleigh. Don't cry. Fuck. It was too late.

“But—I mean, it's just not fair!” I blurted. “I really like you, Landon. I mean, don't you like me? This is so good.”

He lifted his big hand off the table and gently cradled my face. His thumb brushed a tear aside.

“It is so good.” He held me there. I waited for the inevitable “but...”—but Landon's lips stayed closed. Across the room, the girls had started making out. Landon's eyes were taking on the intense character they assumed when we made love. I watched his chest begin to rise and fall in rapid motion. I felt my own pulse speed up, blood in my body seeming to spread and agitate under the scope of his hand, where his skin touched mine.

“Fuck,” he growled, bending low. “I want you. Oh, Ashleigh, I want you so fucking much.”

Without quite intending to, I let my hand wander farther up his thigh. I squeezed him, and the muscles flexed back with twice the force. I let out an involuntary coo, and then I made an executive decision.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” I murmured, tilting my face so I spoke directly into his ear. “There's a single stall at the end of the hallway. Join me in two.” Landon raised his eyebrows, and then his face cracked open. He started laughing softly. At first, I figured I'd read the situation entirely wrong—but it was then that I felt his grip on my face tighten, ever-so-slightly.

“I don't know if I can wait that long,” he grunted, before tilting back in his chair. He raised his glass of Coors and took a hearty swig. I rose slowly and turned toward the bathroom, half-hoping no one would notice me, half-hoping everyone would.

The stall at the far end of the hall was cramped and poorly-lit, but I didn't care. I peeled off my shirt first, then draped the horrible floral over the doorknob. My bare skin tingled in the grimy air. I waited, heart in my throat. I waited some more.

Landon took his sweet time in the corridor—I could tell by the weight of the footsteps that it was him marching towards me. Suddenly it was like the whole bar went quiet. I watched the door knob, breath coming out in raspy bursts. It creaked slowly.

The bathroom was lit by a single bare bulb in a cage, swinging from a frayed extension cord—this cast a blue, eerie light over the proceedings. He smiled at me, drank in my bare torso with his eyes. I leaned myself against the sink, an invitation.

Then he was on me. Hungry. His firm, probing fingers found my ribcage, and hoisted me onto the lip of the sink in one swift move. His mouth attached itself to my neck, clasping and sucking on my throat for dear life. “Sweet...fuck,” I murmured, into the thatch of his already-sweaty hair. Then I remembered. We should probably be quiet.

But if Landon cared at all about any Derby patrons overhearing us, he didn't indicate this to me. Instead, his movements became more rapid. He peeled one hand off my waist and reached up to squeeze my tit, so hard I was sure he'd leave marks. I arched my back against his chest, and he swept his hand across me like a towel, landing his fingers in the crest of my jeans. He pushed up sharply against my mound, sending a spasm of premature pleasure through my lower back. Once again, joy arrived in my throat. “Yes,” I gasped, digging my fingers into the back of his head, where his hair joined the nape of his neck. “Oh, fuck yes. Touch me. Please, baby.”

Landon didn't waste any time. His fingers were shaking as they struggled against the buttons of my jeans, but once he'd eased the zipper down, his confidence multiplied. He shimmied a hand down past the elastic line of my panties, pausing to rummage around in the thatch of my pubis for a second before sliding a finger across my wetness. His fingers shook again. He groaned. “You're so fucking wet,” he cried, voice almost angry. I felt my pussy clench at his words. Then, Landon looked up, with a new glimmer in his eye. “I have to taste you.”

I barely nodded assent before he was dragging my pants off from the ankles, falling to kneel on the bathroom floor. I no longer thought about where we were, or the world outside (with its commands, its many nuisances...) there was only the perfect now. My ass was cold against the sink, but Landon's paws scooted me forward again so I kept one foot on the ground. Ever the gentleman, he'd managed to take my pants off while I kept my wedges on.

He shot me a look of pure marvel from the ground as his big, strong hands began to rove around my naked lower half. He drew back and gazed at me. I felt like a statue. He smiled, then arched a mischievous eyebrow. I leaned my head back with anticipation. Sweat was pooling in my collarbone already.

Landon's lips were soft and sweet on my thigh, yet even the slightest contact sent a jolt of electricity across the map of my body. He made a path of kisses, moving from the inside of my knee up across the milky white expanse of my leg. When he reached the crevice where my folds began, he kissed deeper. I might have exploded from sensation—I'd lost track of what was holding me together. He worked his open mouth across my pelvis and then lightly flicked his tongue across my damp clit.

“Godddddd,” I moaned. I no longer cared who heard us.

His tongue began to move in rapid swirls, pressing up against my spongey surface like I was the ocean floor. I began to rock my hips in rhythm against his face. He drew me closer, burying his palms in my ass. He opened his mouth wider, the better to drink me—then, as I hovered on the edge of ecstasy, he jerked one hand away from my back side and slid three fingers into my tight, soaking-wet pussy.

“Fuck me,” I groaned again, driving my hand further into his hair, drawing him forward. “Oh, baby, you're so good. Fuck me.” Landon's fingers moved in and out of me, tilting expertly against my G-spot. I exhaled, and found myself in a locked state—he was working faster and faster, sucking and pressing, pulling and driving—I no longer knew where I was. I just knew that I was going to come. And harder than I ever had.

“You taste so fucking good,” Landon gasped, drawing his mouth away from me for one torturous second. He returned with one long, exquisite lap of my pussy, dexterous tongue pausing on my clit. He pressed his fingers in and up to the hilt. I widened my stance on the bathroom floor, pushed my palm against the back of his head, and felt myself release. My whole body spasmed. For a second, I saw only color and light—no shapes. And just when I thought it had passed, Landon nudged against my insides again, stuffing me full. I came again, almost on top of the previous orgasm. I clutched at my swinging breasts for something to hold on to. I felt my thighs run slick with expelled juice. I suddenly longed for pillows, for collapse.

I was still panting and weak when Landon began to rotate my hips, so I was facing the mirror. I tried not to look at my face, which was red and runny with make-up—so I fixed my gaze on him. In the mirror, I watched him yank down his pants, producing that beautiful, thick cock. Yet again, he was rock hard. I tilted my head, so I could watch him slide inside of me. I was still throbbing with the aftershock of my orgasm, and tingled on contact—but he placed a soothing palm on my back, guiding my hips. I was so soaking wet he slipped inside easily, groaning. A peaceful smile settled across his face.

“Jesus, Ashleigh,” he said to the ceiling. “You have the most beautiful pussy. Oh, fuck me.” To egg him on, I leaned forward and rammed back against him, dragging my body along his shaft. He bared his teeth with pleasure.

“Oh, yeah? You want some of this hard cock?”

I smiled, and decided to play along. What was a little dirty talk, if two people felt it in the moment?

“Oh, yes, baby. Give me that big hard cock. Give it to me like I've been bad.” Landon's eyes took on that mischievous glow again, and he leaned forward so as to grab one of my tits. His back arched, he began to rock against me, filling me up with each elegant thrust. We found a gentle rhythm off the bat, but I knew it wouldn't last. I was filling up with want all over again. Every time he left me, I felt hungrier for his member.

I rammed harder against him. Landon arched an eyebrow, caught my eye in the mirror, then reached back and slapped my ass. The shock of fresh pain coincided with a perfect thrust.

“Yeah? You like that? Bad girl?” Without thinking about it, I found myself nodding. I did like it. I wanted to be spanked and fucked. Steeling myself against the lip of the sink, I met his eyes in the mirror and nodded.

He rammed me harder. He pushed in and out, in and out, beginning to fuck me senseless. My head bobbed forward like a rag doll, my tits swung back and forth in the low light. Landon slapped my ass with each hard thrust, humping me like there was no tomorrow. I watched his face become a rictus, an almost frightening mask of unmitigated desire. I knew he was about to explode when he dragged his hand back across my body and began to nuzzle this thumb against the exposed bean of my ass.

“Oh, Ashleigh,” he cried, bending over my damp body. I felt like a plucked string—I was vibrating with joy, all over my body. “I love you. I love you so much.”

With a final, perfect, whimper, I felt Landon clench and tighten inside me—then release. The steam of our love had fogged up the space. It was humid. Sounds of the bar began to trickle back in, as if they'd been paused during our fucking.

His words hung in the air, too. Ashleigh, I love you.