Текст книги "Switch"
Автор книги: Jennifer Ryder
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ROCCO
Wednesday
“’Kay, I’ll see you tonight,” Suds says as she breezes out the door. Even sporting those bags under her eyes after staying up after the flight, she seems fresh. I guess the holiday did her the world of good, even though she ended up babysitting me.
I finish the rest of my orange juice and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. There’s fuckin’ underwear everywhere, with the addition of a stark white bikini.
Fuck me dead. Badarse Bridesmaid.
Now all I can think about is how she ground her pussy against me as I filled her mouth with my tongue that night. Now I want her in my bed. Yes, I’ve wanted her in there since she first threw daggers at me, but my motives aren’t purely sexual now. It’s probably about time I deal with the fact that I have feelings for her … because I do. Part of realising these feelings means I’m gonna have to talk to her. I don’t know what she wants, but I know I can’t let it slide and not open up to her about this shit. I can’t let the crackle of pure attraction that we had between us in Vegas fizzle out, and I don’t want her to move out. Maybe she could move into my room, and V could have his back? Soph is a part of this household now, and I know V will be cool with that.
Tonight, I’ll talk to her.
It’s time to man the fuck up.
****
After unpacking my bags, cleaning the place a bit and stocking the pantry and fridge with groceries, I do some weights in my room. I’m finding that keeping busy is the key. Distraction. At least it’s only another hour or so before she gets home.
With each bicep curl, I’m wondering what in the hell I’ll say to Suds.
‘I have a fuckin’ thing for you.’ Nah. Sounds lame.
‘I want in your pants, but I want you in my life more.’ She might slap me before she hears the last part.
I wander into the kitchen, and start making the pasta dough. I feel like a fucking kid, thinking about Suds and how to approach it. How do I make my feelings known to her when I don’t know myself what’s going on inside my head? I like her; I more than fucking like her, but do I love her? I did love Trinity—at least, I think I did. I was blinded by my feelings for her. It’s completely different this time. I’m older and I’m wiser, which could be debated, but this thing we have going on wasn’t like a punch in the face to start. It’s been a slow burn … it’s gotten hotter over time, but there’s other shit there too. An understanding. We’re kind of on a level ground. We’ve both had shitty pasts. We’re trying to better ourselves. It just feels right that we do this shit together.
As I debate all this, I knead the dough over and over. I try again to come up with some simple way of expressing to her what I want.
‘What do you think about us, you know, having a thing where we fuck and do stuff together?’
Jesus Christ. I have no clue how to do this.
You know who I should ask? V. He had the same girlfriend for years. Surely he knows a thing or two about relationships, even for a young fella. Guilt hits me head-on. Fuck. I’m a shit of a brother. Here I am thinking about myself when instead of fart-arsing around the house, I should’ve arranged to see him this morning. I’ll ring the office in the morning and book in another visit. I’ll have to get some photos printed off my phone, seeing’s the bastards won’t let me take it in there. He’ll be jealous as all hell when I tell him about the cars in the desert, among everything else, but like I said to him—I’ll take him there one day. When he gets out might be the perfect opportunity. We’ll take a break and get out of town before the MC think they can get their claws on him. I’ll have to arrange some time off with Mac.
I rest the dough and then tackle my washing. When enough time has passed, I unpack the pasta maker and dust the old flour off it.
I look up to the heavens, thinking of my beautiful Mamma. “I’ma making pasta,” I say, mocking her best English accent and waving my open hands in a ta-da gesture.
I hope I don’t fuck up this batch, because I feel as if I’m cooking for my harshest critic. If it’s shit, I know I can rely on Suds to tell it to me straight. I wouldn’t want it, or her for that matter, any other way. I need to show this girl how it’s done.
I clean and dry the bench and dust it with A-grade pasta flour. Have to have the primo shit. In no time, I’m in a good rhythm. Each wind through of the dough makes the pasta thinner each time until I have the perfect thickness for fettucine. There’s flour on the front of my black shirt, on my jeans, on the floor, but I haven’t had this much fun in the kitchen since … well, I guess since Suds and I started cooking together.
It’s right on the tip of my tongue what I want to say to her, but I’m thinking that actions will speak louder than words. I’m just gonna haul her into my arms and let my mouth do the talking. No more pussy footing around.
A series of knocks ring out from the front door.
If that Fuckface ex of Suds is out there, then I’m glad we get to be alone this time. I don’t need this fucker coming around and thinking that he’s welcome, because he’s not. This is my place.
I grab a tea towel and do my best to tidy myself up. Suds should be here any minute. Maybe she can’t find her key in her bag or something. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.
When I open the door, I’m met with two shadows in the stairwell. Two uniformed officers are standing side by side, with their hands clasped in front of them.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Mr De Luca?” the short, female officer enquiries. She brushes her fingers over the loose stands of hair on the side of her head, and tucks them into her navy hat.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Detective Senior Constable Coubrough and this is Detective Constable Grant.”
“My flatmate, Sophie, isn’t here. I’m assuming you’re here because she finally reported her handbag stolen?” At least I hope so.
“Mr De Luca, would you mind if we came in?”
“Sure. I guess, but she’s not home from work yet.”
They take a few steps inside, but we end up awkwardly milling around the entranceway.
“Can we take a seat?” the female officer asks.
I motion towards the lounge room. They both take a seat on the three-seater lounge. I sit opposite, waiting for them to get on with it.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr De Luca. We’re not here to see your flatmate. We’re here to see you.”
I swallow down a lump in my throat. “Okay.”
If that fuckwit Brett is pressing charges over our little scuffle in Nowra I’m gonna lose it. Particularly after that shit he pulled with Suds in Vegas. The bastard is lucky I haven’t tried to drive him into the ground like a fence post.
“Hit me with it,” I say and brace myself. It won’t help me to lose it in front of these guys. I can do that after they leave. That dipshit Brett will be complaining about more than a possible broken nose next time I see his face.
“Your younger brother Vinnie has been found dead,” the female cop says.
“Ah, what?” For a second there I thought she said …
“Your brother is dead. I’m very sorry for your loss.” She reaches out her hand and places it on my fingers, which are curled over my kneecap.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Can my partner make you a coffee or a tea?” she asks.
As if on cue, the tall male officer stands and strides into the kitchen.
“Earlier today we were informed by Long Bail Jail that Vincent De Luca was found dead. Again, I’m sorry—”
“Um, what?”
“Is there anybody I can call for you?”
“No, but what you can do is tell me what the fuck happened,” I snarl.
“Long Bay informed us that he had been moved back from protection a few days ago. We’re treating the death as suspicious, and will be conducting a criminal investigation. As your brother died in custody, the coroner will be conducting an inquest.”
Holy fuck! Did my meddling do this?
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
“Yes, but for the purposes of formal identification we need you to accompany us to the morgue to identify the body.”
“When?” I blurt out.
“As soon as possible.”
I need to see this shit for myself. I won’t believe it until I see him.
It’s not him.
It’s not.
With the back of my hand, I wipe the wetness from my cheek. Harden the fuck up, De Luca. It’s not him. It’s some other fucker that’s been doin’ time. The jail has got him mixed up. Half the staff in that fucked-up place couldn’t find their own arse if you asked them to. They’d ask you to fill out a fucking form first.
I stand up and grab my wallet and keys, leaving the bench covered in the now dry and cracked pasta.
“Let’s go,” I say, as I hold the door open.
Both officers guide me down the stairs, one behind me and one in front. It’s as if they think I’m gonna do a runner or something.
The male cop opens the back door and ushers me into the back seat. Vinnie probably sat in a car just like this when they arrested him. He would have been shitting bricks.
This is some kind of warped dream. It has to be.
A life without my brother?
Nessuna famiglia. No family.
Where does that leave me?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
Second-last shift down, one to go. With each day that passes before I start my new job, the load is getting lighter. It’s fucking liberating.
Today I confirmed with the bank that Fuckface did in fact pay off a hundred grand, and later another instalment of fifty thousand after that, which pretty much covers it.
Part of me is relieved, but another part of me worries that he’ll return. He was adamant that he would get me back. One thing I know is that I’m holding my ground. He has to clear everything with the bank. I’ve done enough.
There are no free car spaces up close to the apartment this afternoon, so I park a way down the street. I pull up to the curb and jerk on the handbrake. Fuckface is a jerk. Thinking about him only stirs me up more. I have to be pro-active about this.
I dial Vicky’s number.
“Hey, Sophie. So good to hear from you,” she says in that effervescent tone I’ve come to take a liking to.
“You too, Vicky. Hey, I hope I’ve got you at a good time, but I was wondering if I could ask a favour? Feel free to say no.”
“Oooh, I’m intrigued. What can I do?”
“Do you know anything about bank loans?”
“I specialise in commercial contracts and finance, so absolutely.”
“If I email you some documents and the background, do you think you could help me out?”
“Has this got to do with the suit that took you for everything?”
She didn’t forget.
“Yeah, it does. He’s come out of the woodwork and now he’s paying off the debt because he wants me back, but I want rid of this debt before anything else. I need to know that the bank can’t come after me again.”
Vicky gasps. “You’re thinking about taking him back?”
“Not in a million, babe, but he doesn’t need to know that.”
“I’m at home today, so send the documents to my personal email. I’ll take a look at them and will get back in touch. If you agree, I can contact the bank on your behalf. Anything for a friend.”
My heart just melted a little. Another woman I’m lucky to have in my life. Seriously, who needs family with awesome mates like these?
“That’d be great. You’re the best, Vicky.”
“Anything I can do to help.”
I make the trek to my building, with my backpack strapped tight around me. I walk a little farther off the path from the road. Ain’t no madman on a bike gonna get me again. A light drizzle starts to leave a gentle imprint over the car bonnets and forms a shiny blanket over the perfectly groomed grass. The steady stream of peak-hour traffic zooms past.
A police car is parked in a no stopping zone near the main entrance. I wonder if someone else got robbed? Shit. I hope not. I pick up the pace, power-walking as I come within fifty metres of the vehicle.
A female cop exits the building first and gets into the driver’s side. A man dressed in black with tattoos up his arms walks out next.
Wait a sec. Is that Rocco?
A tall male cop escorts him into the back seat.
“Rocco?” I call out, as I jog towards them. When the brake lights come on, the car pulls away from the curb. My legs move of their own volition into a sprint. “Stop!”
The police vehicle zooms into the flow of traffic and travels north. What the hell is going on?
I unhook my bag and shakily dial his number as large raindrops fall on the screen. It rings and rings and then finally goes to voicemail.
‘This is De Luca. Leave me a message.’ His voice drawls in that bored tone.
Beep!
“Goddamn it, Rocco. Where are you? I just saw you leave the unit. Can you call me, please? Let me know what’s going on. Tell me what I can do.”
I disconnect the call and grip the phone tight in my hand. “Shit!” I curse to the sky, which is now teeming with rain. What is going on with him?
I ring Spencer.
“Yeah,” he says, almost breathless. I guarantee him and April have been making like bunnies again. In this moment, all it does is make me mad.
“Enough of the heavy breathing, already. Can you give me any logical reason as to why Rocco would be being placed in the back of a cop car and taken away?”
“Fuck. When did this happen?”
“He literally left a minute ago.”
“I’ll try and call him.”
“You can, but I’ve tried and he’s not answering. I’ll go up to the apartment and see if there’s any sign of what’s happened. Maybe he left me a note or something.”
“Good. I’ll keep trying him. I’ll get April to ring Mac and see if he knows anything.”
“Thanks. Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
There’s two cups of what look like coffee on the bench, which is scattered with flour and long strips of pasta. He was cooking when they came?
Clearly, he left in a hurry.
I search the rest of the apartment for some kind of sign. There’s nothing that gives me any clue. His phone is sitting on the coffee table, with messages lighting up the screen. Hence, no answer. Fuck.
****
ROCCO
The morgue is closed, but the cops have a key. They lead me down a series of corridors, and stand me in front of a glass viewing-window, with a beige curtain closed on the other side.
The male officer stands behind me to the left and the female officer walks into another room. My heart thumps in my chest like a frightened bird trying to escape.
Then the curtains open. A silver trolley with a white sheet laid over a human figure is wheeled closer to the window.
I rub at my eyes. Am I really doing this?
She slowly pulls the white sheet up, exposing bare feet. She folds the linen back, so it rests on the figure’s collarbone.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as the harsh reality hits me like spear through the heart. “Fuck!”
It’s him. My baby brother.
It’s not supposed to be him.
“Mr De Luca, is this your brother, Vincent De Luca?”
It’s him, but it’s more like a wax version. There’s no pinkish colour to his cheeks. The familiar tattoos weave over the pale skin of his shoulders and neck. The jagged scar on his left cheek is more pronounced. All essence of who my brother was has left him. Now, my only sibling is nothing but a shell.
It breaks my heart into a thousand worthless pieces.
I nod. “It’s him,” I choke out.
What a waste. He had such potential. I know we’d had our disagreements, but I loved him like no other. He was all I had left. We were the last of the De Lucas. Now, I’m it.
It’s a cruel kick in the guts seeing him lying there. I wasn’t with him in those final moments. He died in jail. Alone.
I did this to him. He told me not to say anything. I did this.
I wanna hurl him into my arms, squeeze him until I’m too weak to stand. I want to cry until I’m dry, and I never fucking cry. I hate it. Crying is for the weak. Standing here before his lifeless body, I’m as useless as I’ve ever been. I wanna fight with him, ask him what the fuck he was thinking. Why did he get involved in the MC in the first place? Why did he have to be so fucking proud and choose to ignore me, and side with our prick of a father instead? I wanna yell and wrestle him to the ground as I did when we were kids, but I won’t get the chance to do that ever again.
The cops are watching me. As if they give a damn about V. They probably see shit like this every day. He’s just another death to them, but to me he was everything. He was all I had.
Whether they’ve tried to cover them up or not, there are puncture wounds down the side of his neck. One. Two. Three. Counting each one churns the acid in my gut, compelling it up my throat. I swallow down, and cough as the sting subsides.
Whoever did this, they meant business. Was it revenge, or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Where did he die? The yard? In his cell? Who was with him? Who could commit such a vile act and get away with it?
“Can I touch him?”
“I’m afraid you can’t … not until the coroner has released the body.”
I look down at his pale feet. “Why the fuck does he have a paper tag on his toe?”
“It’s for identification.”
“He’s just lying there like a piece of meat. Isn’t he cold?” I bash my fist up against the window frame and suck in a deep breath. “It can’t fuckin’ be him. He’s the only family I have left.”
A small hand is placed between my shoulder blades. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do for you, please call.”
“Can you bring him back?” I shout. “’Cause that’s all I fuckin’ want. Bring him back.”
The male officer guides me away from the window with his large hands on my shoulders. Hot tears pour down my face.
“I just want my brother,” I choke out.
“I know, mate. I know.”
They make me sign some piece of paper identifying him for the coroner. I want to rip it to shreds. It’s another cruel validation that he’s gone.
“Now what?” I sigh.
“The Coroner will release the body in a day or so, and then you can make the necessary arrangements with a funeral director,” he says.
I swallow down and nod.
I can’t see him in a box. He’s fuckin’ twenty-five, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t belong in a box. He doesn’t belong six feet under the ground in the cold, dark earth.
“Unfortunately, I’m unable to provide you with any recommendations for a funeral director. Is there someone I can call for you who can help you with the details?”
This is all on me. My responsibility. No one else’s.
“Nope. I’ll do it.” I wipe my runny rose with the back of my hand. “When do I find out what happened? I need answers. Someone has to pay for this.”
“We’re interviewing witnesses. As he died in custody, there’ll be an inquest into the circumstances of his death. We’ll conduct our own criminal investigation, but I need to tell you though, it can take a few weeks to gather evidence and take statements. The coroner can take a lot longer to deliver their findings.”
The female officer emerges from behind me and hands me a business card and a large brown paper bag.
“If you have any questions at all, please call me. We collected these things earlier from the jail. We thought it would be easier than you having to go down there.”
She’s right. If I were to step foot in that place, my fists would be swinging until I got answers.
“Thanks.”
When the cops drop me back home, I go straight to my room. I collapse on the bed and pour the contents of the bag out in front of me.
The black dress shirt and jeans he wore to court are neatly folded. I hold them over my heart and breathe in deep, disappointed at the absence of his scent. I pick up the chunky gold cross on a tangled chain. Mamma bought each of us one when we had our confirmation in primary school. I haven’t worn mine in years. I scoop up his chunky silver rings and about a hundred bucks in notes and a few coins.
Fuck, that’s it?
I check the bag again. Stuck to the bottom is a faded photo that I printed out for him and gave to him on my first visit. It’s the same picture of us that I have on the fridge. The edges are worn, the photo cracked in places.
He clutched this photo, just as I’m holding it now.
The contents of this bag are all I have left of him. How can this be all that’s left of a life?
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SOPHIE
I ring Spencer and report my findings as I drive to the closest police station. When they don’t give me answers, and threaten to lock me up for being a public nuisance, I drive to the next. After three police stations, I’m running out of options. I’m dead on my feet. What else can I do?
I ring Spencer. “No one can tell me where he is.”
“I’ve got nothing either, and Mac hasn’t heard from him.”
“I guess all I can do is go home and wait.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Spencer says, and lets out a loud sigh.
“Thanks.”
“He’ll be okay, Soph. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just something stupid like unpaid parking fines. The man never pays his tickets.”
“I hope you’re right.”
As I dash between the car and the apartment, the pouring rain soaks me right to the skin. When I get inside, the place is as silent as it was when I left it in a flat panic earlier.
I change into a tank and pyjama shorts and start cleaning up the kitchen bench, tossing the dry, crumbly pasta in the rubbish. I sweep the flour off the floor and wipe down the bench.
Not having eaten anything for dinner, I lather some butter and vegemite between two slices of bread, and scoff them down in record time. Of course, I end up giving myself the hiccups.
When I walk towards my room, that’s the moment I hear it.
The sobbing. The sniffing.
In relief, I fill my lungs with a long, deep breath. He’s here … but something is wrong. Rocco does not cry. My chest deflates. Whatever is going on behind that door, it doesn’t sound good. No one cries over unpaid fines.
To put his friend’s mind at ease, I quickly shoot a text to Spencer.
Me: He’s home. I’ll find out what the deal is and get back to you in the morning.
Carefully I open his door. A flash of lightning beams into the room through the open blinds, highlighting Rocco’s curled up frame, his back to me.
“Rocco?” I whisper over the constant patter of rain against the window.
He sniffs and his shoulders slump, yet he doesn’t say a word. Whether he wants me to or not, I slip under the sheets behind him and squeeze around his middle.
“What’re you doin’, Suds?” he rasps.
I tighten my hold on him. He grips my hand and pulls it to his chest.
“We’ve all been worried sick about you,” I say softly.
“Who?”
“Me, Spencer, Mac.”
“What the fuck for?” he barks. Did I say something wrong?
“When you left … with the cops and you wouldn’t answer your phone, Spencer was the first person I called.”
“I didn’t have my phone.”
“I went down to the nearest police station and asked for you. Demanded someone fucking talk to me, but no one would.” The rain pounds harder against the window frame, sending a chill through me. I hold him tighter, drawing on his warmth.
“You did that for me? Not even knowing what the fuck the cops were doing here?”
“Yes. I was worried.”
He lets out an exasperated breath. “Fuck me, girl.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Don’t ever fuckin’ apologise for shit like that. Not to me or anyone else.”
“What’s happening with you, De Luca? Talk to me.”
He fists the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Argh!” he growls.
I lower his arms to his chest and take his prickly jaw in my hands. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”
He chokes on a sob, and it slices right through my heart. “Vinnie.” His voice breaks at the mention of the name. “He’s dead.”
I gasp for air.
No. He’s lost his brother?
The police were here to tell him? Where did they take him?
“I’m so—”
“Sorry?” he spits out.
Tears fall down my face, as I blink and nod.
“Please don’t fuckin’ cry. I can handle that on top of this.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my cheeks with my palms and suck in a deep breath. “That’s why the police were here?” I try to say it with some kind of composure. I have to be strong for him.
“I had to”—he strangles a heart-breaking sob—“identify him.”
Oh my God. I cover my mouth with my hand. He was at the morgue? He had to do that shit by himself?
“His death is on me, because I opened my mouth and they put him in protection. I did this.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him as I take his closest hand and squeeze. Surely he doesn’t think that?
Rocco growls loudly and clears his throat. “Fuck this shit,” he curses, and tosses the covers off him. He stalks into the kitchen, still wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with what looks like remnants of flour on it.
Frantically, he opens and slams cupboard doors until he finds what he’s been looking for. He slams the familiar-shaped bottle on the bench.
Tequila.
I thought we’d tipped every last drop down the sink. Did he buy some since or had he stashed some? My Nana had trouble destroying it all, and it took years before she had the strength of will to.
“Rocco, no.” I try to say it firmly, but my voice is strangled by unshed tears. Don’t cry. You’re not helping.
He takes a glass from the dish drainer on the sink and sits it hard beside the bottle. Tears stream down his pale face as he unscrews the bottle top.
“Don’t,” I say in a quiet voice, placing my hand on his forearm.
“You don’t know how fucking hard this is,” he yells. He can’t even look me in the eye.
With my finger I turn his head to face me and stare him down. “You’re right, I don’t, and I’m so sorry this happened. Don’t fall back into old habits now.”
“Me being sober isn’t gonna bring him back. It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does matter.”
“I have no one left.”
Tears blur my vision, then trail their way down over my cheeks. I dig my index finger into my chest. “You. Have. Me.” With each word I tap over my heart. “I’m here for you.”
He pours the liquid into the glass, right to the brim. I won’t lie. It hurts like hell. Did he even just hear what I said?
I want to slap his face, yell at him, but I can’t bring myself to raise my hand. I don’t want to hurt him. Instead, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and lay kisses on his wet cheek. The saltiness zaps on my tastebuds as my own tears fall.
This is a man at his lowest. I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone at this point of desperation and sorrow.
“Suds,” he growls. “Don’t try and stop me.”
“If you won’t put that drink down for yourself, then do it for me.”
Something dark settles in his eyes. I’m pushing a man who’s teetering on the edge. His chocolate pools brim with tears. It’s as if I’ve broken him that little bit more.
His warm lips smash against mine. The kiss is hungry, fuelled by passion and desperation. He flicks the stud against my tongue as he fills my mouth, driving me to the point of breathlessness.
This kiss is nothing like it was in Vegas. This kiss is opening up my heart to him, and breaking it at the same time.
There are so many mixed emotions that plague me when it comes to this man. I’m sad for him. I’m proud. Some days I hate him, and some days I really like him … or is it more than that?
Rocco’s fingers dig into my arse cheeks as he takes hold of me, lifting me onto the edge of the bench. I link my ankles around his waist and squeeze my thighs around him, locking him against me.
A garbled cry fires from my lips as he moves his hips between mine and rubs the tip of his hard dick over the thin cotton covering my clit.
With determined strides he carries me to his room, our lips fixed together until he lays me back onto his bed, kneeling beside my outstretched legs.
His hands tremble as he pushes the hem of my shirt up to reveal my bare breasts. He greedily draws a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking with desperation before he moves on to the other. I fist his hair in my hands, tugging as his mouth sends ripples of pleasure through me.
Before I know it, his hands have gripped my shorts and the wet heat of his mouth is lapping at the bundle of nerves buzzing at my clit.
Wait. What’s happening here? His brother just died. Does he even know what he’s doing?
“Roc,” I grunt out as he spreads my knees apart with his calloused hands, and thrusts his warm tongue inside me. Jesus, that’s incredible. The intense action of his mouth drives my senses into a tailspin.
“What’re you doing?”
Rocco continues his delivery of this tortuous pleasure, ignoring my attempts to lift his head. His fingers rake against my inner thighs. The relentless flicking of the stud renders me useless, unable to exercise my vocal cords.
He lifts my jelly legs to rest over his shoulders. I gasp as he trails a finger through my pussy lips, spreading the wetness right around to my back entrance, swirling the puckered hole with his finger. It stirs a flood of crazy sensations right through me. I can’t deny that I want this.
He slides a finger inside my pussy, and pushes another in the back until he can’t probe any farther. With measured thrusts he curves his digits, massaging me inside to that point of no return.
With trembling hands I fist his hair and gasp for air.
His tongue grinds faster and then his hot mouth sucks my swollen clit. I arch my back. A sharp cry breaks from my lips as I come. Pleasure thunders out to the tip of every limb. My body buzzes with electricity as the movement of his fingers slows, wringing out my release until I’m reduced to a shattered mess, unable to move.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper.
He crawls up my body and slumps his weary head on my stomach. I try to lift his jaw, to meet his eyes, but he resists, wrapping his arms around my waist tighter.
“I just wanted to feel something.”
“And did you?” Because I did. Something I thought I’d never feel again, let alone with a man. Do I have serious feelings for the dirty-talking grease monkey?
“I wanted this … I want you. I was gonna fuckin’ tell you that before they came.” His voice is thick with emotion. Tears brim in my eyes as I process what he’s just admitted.
He wants me?
“I’m fuckin’ ruined. I’m no good to you or anyone else.”
I swallow around the large lump in my throat. With tender strokes I run my fingers over his hair and hug his broad shoulders. “Please don’t say that.”
Hot tears drip onto my stomach and his upper body jerks. I rub his back, comforting him as he breaks down. My heart aches for this man, but I have to hold myself together. He needs someone to be strong for him.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
