Текст книги "Storms Over Secrets"
Автор книги: J. A. DeRouen
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“Below My Feet” by Mumford & Sons
Present Day
I EYE THE trash build up on the side of the road and the shady characters with less-than-honorable intentions milling around as Celia drives us to her patient’s house. With every mile she drives, we are moving farther into the wrong side of town. At least her old Buick doesn’t garner us any unwanted attention.
“Um, Celia?”
“Hmmmm?” she answers, seemingly oblivious to the change in our surroundings.
“I don’t give a shit who you’re visiting, you shouldn’t be on this side of town by yourself. Ever.”
She gives me a lighthearted laugh and rolls her eyes. “My patient’s mental illness keeps him from holding down a job for any length of time. He has to make do with government disability. That doesn’t exactly buy a downtown penthouse apartment. He does the best he can … they all do.”
“Hey, I’m not knocking the dude. I’m saying, when you need to come here, you call me first, yeah?”
I keep my eyes trained on her until I see a little nod, telling me she gets where I’m coming from. She turns into Sanders Trailer Park and slows down to maneuver around the monstrous potholes. Old Man Sanders, the guy who runs this place, gives the term slumlord its name. The conditions of his trailers are deplorable, and I’ve heard he treats his tenants like dirt.
Celia comes to a stop in front of a dilapidated camper and turns off the ignition. I’d bet my ass it’s a FEMA cast-off with toxic formaldehyde levels. That’s how Old Man Sanders rolls … sorry sack of shit.
She shifts her body to face me and places a hand on my arm. “Now, I haven’t spoken with Mr. Craig directly. He doesn’t have a phone for me to reach him. I’ve only spoken with his mother, who called me because she’s worried about him. I think it’s best if you stay outside while I speak with him. I don’t want him to be frightened.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say, ready and willing to argue.
She huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Of course it won’t. God forbid we do things my way. I’m only the counselor.”
I reach out to her and run my thumb along her jaw. “Sweetheart, I’ll play this any way you like, as long as it starts off with me being within arms’ reach of you. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting outside with no idea what’s happening. I’m here to keep you safe.”
If the melty smile I get from Celia is any indication, I’ll guess she hasn’t felt protected in a very long time. That knowledge pisses me right the fuck off, but I beat that back to deal with the matter at hand.
“All right, Cain,” she whispers. She opens the door and steps out of the car, and I follow suit.
She gingerly steps over empty cans and wads of trash to reach the front door. After knocking, she peers into the tiny diamond window.
“Mr. Craig, it’s Celia from New Horizons. I’d like to come inside and visit with you, if that’s okay.”
I hear a faint shuffling coming from inside the camper. “Now’s not a good time Miss Celia. Go away!” says the frightened, muffled voice from behind the door.
“Your mother called me. She’s very worried about you, and so am I,” Celia pleads.
The door cracks only an inch, and a bewildered eye peeks through the opening.
“Who’s that?” Mr. Craig asks, and I’m sure he’s referring to me.
“I’m Cain, Mr. Craig, and I work at New Horizons with Celia,” I say, racking my brain for the words that will get us through the door. Fuck it, I’ll just be honest. “I don’t like Celia driving in this part of town alone, so I’m keeping her company today.”
Before I can finish my sentence, he opens the door and steps out onto the tiny porch. “I tell Miss Celia the same thing, but she never listens. It’s not safe here for a young woman all alone.”
I grin at Celia, victory written plainly across my face. “Ha!”
Celia shakes her head and walks up the steps and into the trailer. Mr. Craig waves me forward also, and I smile in return. I have to duck my head to fit through the door, and once I’m inside, it’s not much better. These campers weren’t made to accommodate tall people. As far as I’m concerned, they weren’t made to accommodate anyone.
Before I cross the threshold, the putrid smell of rotting food and stagnant body odor knocks the wind out of me. Now, I’m a fisherman. I’m a hunter. I’ve smelled some pretty awful shit in my day, but this is a whole new level of atrocious. It takes every ounce of effort in my body to keep a straight face, but I will myself to pretend there’s nothing wrong.
Celia smiles at Mr. Craig, and the girl deserves an Oscar, because I’m fighting back tears, and she looks like she’s smelling a bouquet of roses.
“Is it all right with you if we talk about my concerns in front of Cain, Mr. Craig? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or break your trust in any way,” Celia asks politely, hands clasped in front of her.
His eyes dart to mine, then shoot to the floor. He nods his agreement, but it’s obvious he’s ashamed. His salt and pepper hair is greasy in a way that indicates he hasn’t showered in days, maybe weeks. The underarms of his soiled shirt have sweat stains that have since dried at least a few times over.
“Are you sleeping?” she asks.
“It’s too loud in here … and I’m not very tired,” he whispers.
“I see … your mother says you won’t answer the door when she comes by to clean,” Celia looks around the trailer, giving the first indication that she notices the state of his home.
“It’s not safe for her here.” Mr. Craig won’t meet Celia’s gaze, keeping his eyes trained to the matted carpet.
“Are you taking your medications?” Although the question should sound accusatory, there’s not even a hint of judgment in her tone. After minutes pass with no response from Mr. Craig, Celia continues, “I’m not fussing, I just need to know what’s going on, so I can help you. If something happened to your medications, or if you weren’t able to take them for some reason, it’s all right. I just need you to be honest with me.”
“They’re trying to trick me,” he whispers. “My pills are blue, but the pharmacy sent white pills. I don’t take white pills.”
“Would you mind showing me the bottle?” Celia asks.
He reaches over to open the kitchen cabinet and hands her a medication bottle. She reads the label and places them on the counter.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Mr. Craig. This is the correct medication.” She holds up her hand when he starts to shake his head. “I know it looks different, but it’s the same medication and dosage. The pharmacy must have switched manufacturers, and they didn’t remember to tell you.”
“How do you know? Someone switched the pills, and they’re poisonous. I know it. I’m not taking them,” he says, fear laced throughout every word.
“You don’t have to take them. I’m not here to force you to do anything. But if something like this happens again, I hope you’ll come to me. We can look up the pills on the Internet—even call the drug company, to be sure. I don’t ever want you to take anything that would harm you, because I care about you very much. But I’m concerned because I think the voices are loud again. Am I right?” she asks, and his eyes fill with water.
“I hate this disease,” he whispers, a sob breaking through. “I hate what it’s done to me … to my family.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m so sorry.” Celia places a gentle hand on his back as his tears fall.
Dusk settles in as we drive out of the hospital parking lot. I’m exhausted, and I imagine Celia is worse off than me. She didn’t even hesitate when I took the car keys out of her hand to drive.
“I can’t believe we had to drive three hours to find a bed for him. That’s ridiculous,” I say as I turn onto the highway, shaking my head in disbelief.
“There are never enough rooms available for psychiatric patients. It’s not uncommon for a patient to sit in the ER for days waiting for a bed. It’s discouraging, to say the least, but it comes with the territory.” Celia sighs and rests her head on the window.
“I hate to say it, but we may need to stop by the fire department to get a good hose down. A scrub brush to the nose may be in order, too.”
The stench has permeated the entire car, our clothes, and dare I say, even our skin. Although Mr. Craig is safely admitted to the hospital, his aroma lingers.
“I know being in this car with him was a whole new level of unpleasant. I’m really sorry, but thank you for being so understanding—for treating him like a human being.” She turns her head and smiles faintly.
“He is a human being.”
“Exactly, but so many people see the symptoms of the disease, and not the kind and gentle man underneath. When I see my patients at their worst, I try to remember them at their best. They shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed of their struggle. They’re still in the fight, after all. The only shame is in giving up.”
I watch Celia as she peers out the window. I’m in complete wonder of this woman—all the oddities and intricacies that make her who she is. She sees people for all they could be, instead of the broken bits they show everyone else. She possesses unimaginable strength under the façade of sass and spunk. There’s nothing weak about my Tink—not one fucking thing.
“You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, Celia,” I say, hoping she feels the naked honesty of my words. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, peppering her knuckles with kisses.
She shifts away from the window and places her head on my shoulder, clasping her arms around my bicep. “That means more to me than you will ever know.”
I tip my head to hers, resting in her comfort. “I’m having dinner with my family. It would mean a lot to me if you would join me.”
She looks up with a smile at my invitation. I can’t believe I ever hesitated to let her into my life. I want her seeping into every nook and cranny of me.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Cannery River” by Green River Ordinance
Present Day
“DO YOU THINK I look all right? Am I dressed okay for dinner with your family?” Celia asks as she turns for me on her front porch. Her yellow skirt billows around her knees as she twirls. She clasps the top button of her white sweater and looks up at me for approval. I eye her from head to toe, taking my time before answering. I can’t help it; she’s so damn cute when she squirms.
“You look beautiful. Well, except for one thing.”
“What?” She looks down at her body and smooths her dress nervously, searching for what’s out of place.
“I think you have a little something right here.” I bend down and bury my face in the crook of her neck. My hands wrap around her tiny waist, and I pull her into me. She giggles as I lightly run my lips over her delicate neck, up to her ear. “You steal my breath.”
“Oh,” she whispers, and I feel her body relax as she falls into me.
Yes, Tink, fall into me.
I swat her ass playfully, and her body jolts at the contact. When her surprised eyes meet mine, I can’t help but grin. “I especially like your glitter dust, although I think you’d sparkle without it.”
“Why thank you,” she says, with a tiny curtsy and a flip of her skirt.
“And the little girl shoes are hot.”
“They’re called Mary Janes.” She rolls her eyes as she swings her purse over her shoulder.
“Whatever they’re called, they make you look innocent and naughty at the same time. I see lots of spankings in your future, Tink.”
The fire in her eyes says, “Bring it on.”
We drive to my grandparents’ house with the constant chatter of the world according to Celia Lemaire. She talks about how she wishes Adam would introduce Sara to his children. She tells me how worried she is about Alex. She just knows something is bothering her, but can’t put her finger on it. She tells me all about her phone calls from Audrey and how much she’s enjoying being in Chicago for training. I’m starting to notice the only thing Celia won’t talk about is herself. I know very little about her past. When I prompt her, she only gives vague answers and then changes the subject. She’s become quite the mystery to me.
When we arrive, Mom and Granny are sipping sweet tea on the front porch rocking chairs. If I know them at all, it’s of the Long Island variety. Granny calls sunset “tea time,” which is another way of saying, “Pour your old grandmother a stiff drink.” And it’s deserved; she’s endured Sarge for the last fifty years.
Celia’s halfway up the front porch steps before I round the truck to open her door. Mom jumps up, arms outstretched, and they both let out a squeal. She envelops Celia in a bear hug, tipping side to side while she squeezes.
“Come here, girl. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How are you? How’s Eddie?” Mom peppers Celia with questions, and she answers them as quickly as she can, equally excited to see my mom again.
I catch up to them about the time they reach Granny’s rocking chair. I slide my arm around Celia’s waist and tuck her into my side. My possessive gesture earns a scowl from Mom.
“Good to see you, too, Mom. Yes, I’ve been quite well,” I say, feeling a bit dejected. Where’s my hug? Where’s my squeal?
My comments earn me a swat on the back of the head, followed by a hard tug of my arm. Once I reach lip level, Mom gives me a loud smacking kiss on my cheek, then she wipes away the remnants in classic Mom-style.
Granny stands and crooks her finger at me. I bend down so she can cradle my face in her delicate, wrinkled hands. Her eyes shine with such love and pride. Under her gaze, I feel tiny pricks of heat and moisture in my nose and behind my eyes. I sniff to beat it back, because I’m a man, damn it. I scoff in the face of teary-eyed bitches. Do you think Clint Eastwood cries when his grandma hugs him? Exactly.
“Granny, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” I say as I clear my throat and shake off the girly feelings.
“I see that,” Granny says with a smile as she turns her attention to Celia and grabs her hand. “My daughter speaks very highly of you, Miss Celia. I feel as if I already know you.”
Celia unwraps her arm from my waist and encloses Granny’s outstretched hand between both of hers. “Maybe you do,” she whispers back with a tiny smile.
Granny pulls Celia toward her and wraps her in a hug. I hear the familiar screech of a hearing aid, and Granny’s hand flies to her ear.
“I’m so sorry, dear. This hearing aid could wake the dead.”
“Don’t apologize. The sound doesn’t bother me at all,” Celia says. Now I know she’s just trying to be polite, because that noise is shrill enough to make you piss your pants.
“Where’s the old man?” I ask, almost hoping he’s out somewhere and won’t be able to make it. I know it’s wishful thinking, though, because he doesn’t get out much anymore. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but it’s hard to know what kind of mood he’ll be in lately.
“He’s resting,” Mom says, a frown tugging at her lips. “We had a rough day.”
“Oh, did we?” I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Why don’t we all have a seat and enjoy this sunset. It’s tea time, Cain,” Granny says with a slightly raised voice, effectively stopping the current conversation. “Grab glasses for you and Celia inside, will you? Dear, you must taste my sweet tea. I add just a smidge of peach and a slightly bigger smidge of vodka.”
“That sounds tasty.” Celia’s giggle filters through the foyer as I walk inside to get the glasses.
Granny’s table is covered with dishes, and I swear I’ve entered my personal nirvana. Crawfish fettuccine, homemade garlic bread, salad, and a chocolate cake the size of a small country stare back at me, and I rub my hands together in anticipation.
“Granny, from the bottom of my growling stomach, I thank you,” I say as I reach for the garlic bread to pass it around the table.
She leans over and swats my hand, and I pull it back with a scowl. “Boy, you know better than that. Lila, sweetheart, will you please say grace?”
“Of course, Momma,” she says, and we all join hands. I lace my fingers through Celia’s, and she gives me a quick squeeze. “Lord, we are humbled by your blessings. Thank you for my loving family, beautiful new friends, and—”
I hear the footsteps approaching before I see him. Sarge saunters into the dining room and lays his hand on the base of Mom’s neck.
“Lila, sweetheart, that’s a fine story you’re telling, but we’re all starving to death. Wrap it up, sweets,” he bellows with a laugh, not caring much if everyone else joins in.
Mom plasters a smile on her face, acting unfazed by the interruption. “And we thank you for this delicious food to nourish us. Please watch over us and those we love. In God’s name we pray.”
“Amen,” we all say in unison.
Sarge stands still behind Mom, his hands squeezing the back of her chair and eyes each of us, one by one. He stays on Celia for a moment before darting his eyes to me with a smirk.
“I see our boy brought company. Anyone going to introduce me?”
“Sarge, this is my friend, Celia,” I say evenly, unable to get a read on his mood.
Celia stands and reaches across the table to shake Sarge’s hand, but he bends down and taps his lips to her knuckles instead, winking as his lips leave her. I have to admit, the old man’s still a charmer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Celia smiles and tilts her head. “Tell me, why do they call you Sarge? Were you in the military?”
“No, I’ve never had the honor.” His gravelly voice fills the room as he leans forward and places both hands on the table. “They call me Sarge ‘cause I’m a mean sonuva-bitch. Always have been.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I have a feeling, deep down, you’re a big old softie.” Celia matches Sarge’s wink with a sweet-as-sugar smile.
“Ha! Deep down, girlie, I’m pretty sure I’m nothing but piss and vinegar. I don’t think I could find it in my black heart to be mean to you, though. You’re a pint-sized sweetie. You’d fit right in my pocket,” he says with a wheezy laugh before pointing at me. “I like this one, Tucker, she’s a keeper.”
“Yes, sir. Who wants fettuccine?” I ask with a big smile, ignoring his slip up. Celia places her hand on my thigh and squeezes. I bow my head and meet her understanding eyes with a slight smile.
As dinner moves along, I try to guide the conversation to safe topics:
“Summer is heating up fast this year.”
“This chocolate cake is amazing.”
“How do you make garlic bread again?”
Titillating conversation? Not at all, but I’m making a concerted effort not to date the conversation—I can’t be expected to be fascinating, too.
“Sarge, how did you and your wife meet?”
He waggles his eyebrows and chuckles at Celia’s question. He gazes lovingly across the table at Granny and smirks. “She couldn’t resist my masculine charm.”
“Is that so, Malcolm? I remember things a little differently,” Granny says as she turns her attention to Celia. “I was engaged to a friend of his. Mark Comeaux.”
“Really? Engaged?” Celia laughs.
“Oh yes,” Granny admits with a solemn nod. “I met Malcolm at a church bazaar. We hardly spoke a word to one another, but we knew with just one look. Malcolm turned to Mark and said, ‘I need you to get that ring off my future wife’s finger or I’ll have to ask you to step outside.’ The rest is history.”
“I’ll never tire of hearing that story,” Mom says with misty eyes.
“She was a vision … still is. Now, that’s true love, girlie,” Sarge says with a wink in Celia’s direction. “I’ve been married to this beautiful woman for … for…”
Sarge’s gaze shifts around the table, gathering clues, trying to make sense of it all. Confusion is etched on is face, and agitation follows close behind.
“Tucker?” His puzzled eyes leave me and swing to my mother. “Lila Jane, where’s my boy?”
“Malcolm, why don’t you come upstairs with me? I need you to see about changing the hallway light,” Granny says, standing and reaching out her hand to Sarge.
“He’s gone, isn’t he? And who the hell are you?”
Shit, that stings. I know it shouldn’t. My head tells me it’s normal, expected, for him to be confused. But my heart feels different. He glares at me with bewildered eyes.
I turn to Celia and lean into her, needing comfort, reassurance maybe … I’m not really sure what I need, but whatever it is I want it from her. She meets me halfway and laces her fingers with mine.
“I think it’s time to go,” I whisper.
Her hand traces the line of my jaw, and she smiles. Her expression isn’t filled with sympathy or pity, like I would expect. Only understanding.
We drive in silence. This is why I resisted when Mom initially invited Celia to our family dinner. With the bad days far outweighing the good ones lately, I should have known better.
The truck approaches the pond, and I make a split second decision and slam the brakes to turn in.
“Whoa,” Celia squeaks, clutching the “oh shit” handle.
“Sorry, I’m not trying to kill us, but I thought we’d make a pit stop. You game?”
She looks out the window at the pond and turns back with a huge smile. “Sure.”
After helping her out of the truck, I grab a blanket I have stashed in the back seat. I smell the honeysuckle bush before I see it, and it reminds me of her. I walk over and snap a flower, then slide it behind her ear.
“Perfect,” I say as her shiny blue eyes melt just a bit more. I tug her hand, pulling her with me. “Come on.”
She peers off the wharf into the tiny boat and looks back at me with wide eyes. “You never said anything about a boat.”
I roll my eyes and step into the boat, tossing the blanket at my feet. I outstretch my hand and give her my most charming smile. “Live a little, my beautiful fairy. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Oh really? You’re the reason I’m afraid. No way a guy your size should be in a boat this tiny. We’ll sink for sure!” She crosses her arms with a huff and gives me a skeptical look.
“Celia, I fish in this boat every Saturday. Trust me,” I say as I reach for her again. This time, she reluctantly takes my hand and carefully steps into the boat.
Once I have her settled on one of the tiny benches, I start the motor and putter out to the center of the pond. The only sounds are the chirping crickets, the croaking frogs, and the water lapping the sides of the boat. After spreading the blanket out on the bottom of the boat, I settle in and tug Celia to join me. I sit her between my legs, her back to my front, and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my chest. A long, relaxed sigh releases from her lips as her head falls back onto my chest.
“You have the best ideas, Cain,” she whispers.
“That’s a fact.” She chuckles lightly at my response, and we both settle into the silence while we stargaze. Everything is amplified out here, away from the city. The sky is blacker, the stars are brighter, the words we whisper seem to hold more meaning.
“He thinks I’m his son, my mom’s brother,” I say, breaking the silence.
“What?” Celia shifts to see my face.
“Tucker. He was my mom’s brother. He died in a car accident before I was born. It was a tough time for everyone, from what I’ve been told. Sarge took it especially hard.”
“That’s terrible, Cain. I’m sorry your family had to go through that,” she says.
“Yeah, me too. Anyway, I hold a small resemblance to Tucker, so he gets confused.”
“When was he diagnosed?”
“Gosh,” I say, blowing out a breath, thinking back to the beginning, when I wasn’t even aware of what was going on. I was just a kid. “It’s been over ten years now. We moved home because Granny started seeing signs. Missed payments, lapsed permits, things she could no longer attribute to simple forgetfulness. Mo got him in to see the best neurologist in Shreveport, and he confirmed what they already knew. Sarge was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.
“Mom took over the books for his rental properties, and, as I got older, I’ve taken on more and more responsibility. I pretty much run everything now, with the help of my cousin, Will. He’s still in college, but we’ll run the business together.”
I still remember the first time I saw Sarge lash out at Mom. The more she tried to explain things to him, the more agitated he got. After getting right in her face and yelling, he threw the papers in the air and stormed out of the house. I’d never in my life seen him act that way. Unfortunately, it’s become all too common as time goes on.
“That has to be hard for your family,” Celia says as her fingers run absentmindedly through my hair.
“The worst part of it is, I don’t recognize him anymore. He’s not the man who helped raise me. Sarge has always been a hard ass, but he was a fair man. He took on the role of father figure in my life; he taught me what it means to be a man.” I shake my head and think of all that’s happened in the last decade. “His personality has changed so much. He’s become rigid and unwavering—cruel even. Do you know Mo can’t even be around him anymore? He tells her she’s going to hell for her ‘deviant lifestyle.’ The Sarge I know would never say things like that. He’s always loved Mo.”
“I wonder where that’s coming from; I mean, why he all of a sudden has a problem with their relationship,” Celia mumbles, wondering aloud.
“Mom says he had a hard time accepting the relationship in the beginning, but he loves her, and he grew to love Mo. I guess he’s pulling from old beliefs, I don’t know. He’s said some hateful things to Mom, too, but it’s been a lot less common now that Mo doesn’t come around. I guess it’s out of sight, out of mind.”
“I know it’s hard for you to accept the man he is today. But I want you to know I saw a lot of the man who raised you tonight. I can see why you love and respect him. He’s still there, he’s just harder to see.”
I close my eyes and let her words settle within me. I’m not sure why, but it brings me comfort. Maybe it’s nice to know parts of him, the great parts of him, are still discernable.
“With every day that passes, he slips further away. I want to spend as much time with him as I can, and at the same time, watching his mind deteriorate is killing me. Watching someone I love slowly disappear before my eyes is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Yes,” she whispers softly. “Yes, it is.”
Celia faces me, sitting on her knees, her hands on my cheeks. Her thumb rubs back and forth across my stubble, as her eyes stay trained on my lips.
“I’m sorry for all of this heavy shit. I wanted tonight to be fun, but that’s not how it turned out, did it?” I squeeze her waist gently and rest my forehead to hers.
“There were parts of tonight that were fun. But even better, tonight was real. I love being real with you, Cain.”
Before I can answer, her fingers tighten, pressing into my skin, pulling me closer. When her lips touch mine, it feels like victory. She sucks in a ragged breath as she bites down on my bottom lip. Her teeth ignite me. Her lips taunt me. Her tongue slides against mine and awakens my ever-present hunger. Her body inches closer, and I pull her to me, pressing her into my cock. I want her to know what she does to me—how fucking hard she makes me.
Her whimper turns into a faint giggle. “Well, that feels real. So very real,” she whispers as she pushes her hot, little body into mine.
“See what you do to me?” I drop my head into the crook of her neck, the hint of honeysuckle surrounding me.
The sky rumbles and drops of water splash on the back of my neck. I look up to the sky moments before it opens up, showering us with sheets of rain.
Celia screeches and covers her head, as if her tiny hands will shield her from the torrential downpour. “Hurry, Cain, we’re getting soaked!”
I throw my head back and laugh. “No worries. Cheap sugar doesn’t melt, darlin’.”
Celia drops her hands and stares at me in disbelief. “Did you just call me cheap?” She hears a rumble of thunder and throws her hands back over her drenched head. “Shit, whatever, just hurry!”
I start the boat, chuckling to myself the entire time, and drive us back to the wharf. I slowly and carefully help her out of the boat before tying it up and meeting her at the truck, where she’s squealing and doing the pee-pee dance.
“You’re killing me, Cain Bennett! Hurry up,” she squeaks, hopping from one foot to the other.
Once we’re both safely inside the truck, I grab her by the waist and slide her across the slippery seat until we’re face to face. I gently swipe my tongue across her mouth, licking the rain from her lips. “I don’t know what you’re fussing over. I like you wet.”
My words shift the mood back where I want it, and we’re a tangle of tongues, teeth, and lips once again. It’s taking all of my willpower not to peel off each layer, unwrap the present that is Celia, and bury myself deep inside of her. But I don’t think Celia’s a pickup truck lay type of girl … well, at least not for the first go-round.
Her lips leave mine, and I grunt at the loss.
“Cain … Cain?” she whispers as she dodges my advance, much to my irritation.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Let’s go home,” she says. “I want you to take me home.”
She gives me a knowing look. At least I think I know that look. Fuck, she means what I think she means, right? My heart beating out of my chest and my dick hard enough to sculpt concrete have my mind fuzzy.
“Wait, do you mean ‘take you home’ like take … you … home?” I waggle my eyebrows and widen my eyes for emphasis, hoping she gets what I mean.
“Cain?”
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling her hand lightly graze my thigh as she moves, up, up, up and wraps her fingers around my jean-covered cock.
“Start the truck.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
