Текст книги "Rock Bottom"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVEN

DANIKA

The shit really hit the fan the next morning.

I was digging through my overnight bag, fishing out workout clothes.  The plan was to hit the gym together, and then the shower, but we never got to do either.

I pulled out the black tank top that had been ripped down the middle, unfolding it before I realized which shirt it was.  Rolled up, it had looked roughly the same as my workout top.  I tried to rebury it just as quickly, but I was too late.

It was wrenched out of my hand before I could put it back.

Tristan loomed above me.  He’d been dressing, too, and wore nothing but some dark blue athletic shorts and tennis shoes.

He was shirtless and his chest and abdominal muscles clenched, his biceps twitching, as he gripped the shirt.  In spite of my better judgement, even knowing the day was about to be ruined, I was turned on by the sight.

“What is this?” he asked, unfolding the material, examining every inch of it, as though to make some sense of the rip that ran down the front.

I sighed, my eyes closing in dread.  “It’s a shirt,” I explained, my tone resigned.

“Why is it ripped in half?” he bit out.  I could already tell by his blank eyes that his temper had taken him to a place I couldn’t reach.

“Long story.”

He gave me a very pained smile, his eyes scary.  “I’ve got all day, sweetheart.”

“Let’s not do this, Tristan.  It’s over with, and it was nothing that was worth you going to jail for.”

“Fine.  Have it your way.  You give me no explanations, so I can only assume the absolute worst.  Just answer me one question.  Were you raped?”

“No!  It didn’t get that far.”

Far from appeasing him, that statement seemed to set him off and I realized that I’d finally admitted there was an attack, a statement that I could not take back.

He pointed at me, his hand shaking.  “Stay here.”

I sat on his bed, stunned by the turn of events for a solid ten minutes after he’d left.

I was spurred into action as I realized that I knew where he was going, and if I got to Jerry first, I could stop this train wreck in its tracks.

I started calling Bev’s phone, and then Jerry’s, over and over again on the drive, but no one was picking up.  When I got to the house, a stressed out and confused Bev met me in the driveway.  Tristan and Jerry had already left.

We didn’t hear a thing from them for hours.  And when we finally did, it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.

Tristan was in jail.

TRISTAN

My world had narrowed down to a red haze, my mind working like a broken record, focused on three things:  Danika had been attacked, her shirt torn in half, her body bruised.

Some man had put his hands on her.

I couldn’t quite believe it, but I had no trouble reacting to it.

And her only explanation: It didn’t get that far.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around that, because it clearly implied that it had gotten somewhere.  The steering wheel of my car was some faceless man’s neck.  I held it in a death grip and drove straight to Jerry.

He answered the door himself, his face lighting up in a friendly smile at the sight of me.

I didn’t waste any time, holding the torn shirt up for him to see.  “Where did Danika go on Friday?”

“Friday?”  he asked, just looking confused.

“It may have been Thursday, but I doubt it, because I didn’t see the bruises on Friday, which makes me think they happened right before she came to see me.”

“Bruises?”

I shook the shirt at him.  “And a fucking torn shirt.  She was attacked, Jerry.  Where the fuck was she on Friday morning?”

He swallowed hard, looking ill as dawning horror overtook his face.  “Attacked?  My God…is she all right?”

“Where, Jerry?  Where did this happen?”

His hand covered his eyes as he rubbed at his temple.  “Goddammit, I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone.”

It took all of my self-control not to put hands on him.  “Go where?” I growled.

He darted into the house, re-emerging with his keys.  “I’ll drive.”

I was in the passenger’s seat and glaring at him before he spoke again.

“She went to visit her mother Friday.  It must have happened there.  It’s in a very seedy area of town.”

“And you let her go there alone?”

“I see that I should have gone with her, but I never imagined she’d be attacked.  She was just going to ask her mom if she had her sister’s phone number.  A very quick visit.”

“Well, now you fucking know.  When I asked her if she’d been raped, she said, and I quote, ‘It didn’t get that far.’”

“Jesus Christ,” Jerry said, running a hand through his hair, and pulling out his phone.  He was speaking before I realized that he was calling the police.

“That was a mistake,” I told him as he hung up the phone.  “You just got me arrested, man.”

He sent me a baffled look.  “Well, don’t do anything that can get you arrested, and you’ll be just fine.”

“Someone put hands on her, ripped a fucking shirt off her.  Her shoulders, and one of her tits is completely covered in bruises.  How fucking likely do you think it is that if I see this guy, I’m keeping my hands to myself?”

“Well, fuck, at least you have your lawyer with you.”

That surprised a humorless laugh out of me.  “At least we have that.  Plead insanity for me when I kill him, because I’m losing my fucking shit right now.”

“Here’s the game plan.  We go there and wait for the cops, then tell them what we know.  You don’t ever even need to look at this guy.”

I shook my head.  “You’re delusional,” I muttered.

If I found whoever had put his hands on Danika, I was going to kill him.

“Well, I may be delusional, but at least I’m wearing a shirt,” he shot back.

I glanced down at my chest.  I didn’t even remember leaving the apartment, but apparently, I’d forgotten something.

“That’s fine.  I didn’t need to ruin one of my shirts with some stranger’s blood.”

“You sound like a nutcase, Tristan.  You’ve been attending anger management, right?  Can you try to use your exercises and tone it down a bit with the rage hard-on?”

“Some guy ripped her shirt off her, Jerry.  Popping a dude in the mouth for calling her hot is an anger management issue.  This right here is a necessary evil.  No one hurts Danika and gets away with it.  And I promise you this, when I get done with this guy, he won’t ever think about doing it again.”

Jerry sighed heavily, shooting me a glance that made him look like a disappointed father…Not that I’d have a clue what that really looked like.

We drove for forty-five minutes before we found the place, and I’d calmed a bit in that time, but my blood started pumping faster as we turned into a rundown trailer park.  This was no place for Danika, and Jerry should have known better then to let her come to a place like this alone.

I glared at him.

“It wasn’t this bad the last time I came here.”

“It’s a trailer park on the wrong end of Boulder Highway, man.  You should have used your fucking head and done the math.”

“You’re right.  You’re absolutely right.”

That satisfied me a bit, but not enough to dampen the rage inside of me for the man we were looking for.

I couldn’t have said whether I would have shown more restraint if we’d shown up and found the culprit, say, sleeping, but that isn’t how we found him.

We found him beating on Danika’s mother, being loud enough about it to shake the walls of their trailer.

I heard a female cry of pain as I opened my car door, and that was it.

I didn’t remember charging to the door, or even through it.

I did remember grabbing the fist the man had cocked back, bringing my other hand to his back, and wrenching it hard enough to dislocate a shoulder, then sending the abuser flying across the room.

I advanced on him, keeping my arms at my sides as he came back to his feet, clutching his limp shoulder, his face twisted in agony.

He took a swing at me with his good arm, and I let his fist make solid contact with my jaw.

He had a hell of a left hook, and my neck snapped to the side with the impact.

I grinned like a maniac as I jerked my neck back to look at him.

It was crazy, but I was so angry that I wanted to feel some pain.  I wanted this son of a bitch to put up a good fight before I took him down.

“Who the fuck are you, and what is your problem?” the man growled.

“You’re my fucking problem.”

I took two steps forward, kneeing him in the stomach hard enough to have him doubled over and coughing.

I gripped a handful of his greasy hair in my hand, pushing down hard while I raised a knee.  I heard his nose break with a wet crunch.

I pulled his head straight, and his fist caught me in the stomach.  Good.  I wanted a fight more than a beating, and it had been starting to feel pathetic.

I never let go of his hair as my fist met his jaw, then his mouth.

I felt a few of his teeth give at the contact, and smiled right into the motherfucker’s face.

“You remember the girl you roughed up on Friday?” I asked him, bashing his face into the trailer’s tiny stovetop, once, twice.

“You remember her?” I asked again when he didn’t answer.  He was too busy swallowing mouthfuls of his own blood to talk.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, blood flowing freely through his nostrils, and out his mouth.

“If you make it through today, if I decide to let you fucking breathe after this, I want you to remember one thing:  You touch that girl again, you’re dead.  Do you understand?”

“I-I d-do, man.  I understand.”  He seemed to mean it.

Unfortunately, the memory of Danika’s breast, covered in bruises from this man’s big hand, came into my head again, and I started beating.

I couldn’t have catalogued all of the blows after that, but he stopped fighting long before I stopped wailing on him, and the only reason I stopped was because not one, but two Tasers had me flopping like a fish on the ground.

Things got fuzzy, and I was cuffed and in the back of a police cruiser before I had my wits back.

“Not cool guys,” I told the two cops in front.  “Tasers fucking suck.”

One of them, an overweight sandy-haired guy, looked back at me, his eyes widening.

I smiled at him.

I could tell that he thought I was a crazy fucker.  I was shirtless, covered in blood, coming off a stun-gun ass kicking, and grinning like a fool.

I’d think I was crazy, too.

“That stun-gun did a hell of a lot less damage than you did to that other guy.”

“Not my fault he only knows how to beat up women.  Probably the first time he’s fought someone his own size.”

“You are no-fucking-body’s size, man.”

He had a point.

“You want to tell me what was going on back there?  Why were you trying to kill that guy?”

He’d gone into cop mode, and the word kill had me nervous as hell.

“Ask my lawyer,” I told him, knowing that Jerry was following us closely behind.

“Fucking maniac has a lawyer,” he told his partner.

They laughed.  They didn’t believe me, but they would soon enough.  Jerry was good, always looking for an angle.  He hated being a lawyer, but that didn’t mean he was bad at it.

In the end, I spent way less time in a cell than anyone could have guessed.  The guy had worked Danika’s mom over before I’d arrived and that complicated things.

I’d only caught the barest glimpse of the woman before I’d gone after the man.  She’d appeared to me to be just a mess of dark hair on a tiny body, but she’d looked badly hurt.

Jerry turned out to be the best witness, and so he called Bev in to be my lawyer, keeping things as much on the up and up as we could.  The cleaner the case the better, he said.

In the end, Bev got me out of there in mere hours, no charges pressed.  My actions were justified, she argued, since I’d stopped a potentially fatal attack on Marta, Danika’s mother.  The woman’s injuries supported our case, since she’d been hospitalized along with the man.

The man, who I found out along the way was named Bert McLeary, was going to live.  He hadn’t struck me as a Bert, was my first thought.  My second was that I’d dodged a bullet.

Theoretically, Bev explained to me, her argument was sound whether I’d killed him or not, but having a corpse in the mix always complicated things.

She sounded so cold-blooded when she said it, as though she wouldn’t have been too upset if he had died, that it gave me pause.

She took in my wide-eyed sizing up with a grim smile.  “I made her show me the bruises.  You can’t imagine you’re the only one who’d kill for her.  That man is just lucky that you got to him before I did.”

She looked so serious, her tone so glacial, that I believed her.

I made a note never to get on Bev’s bad side.

The only time I felt even a second’s worth of remorse about the whole thing was when we got back to Bev’s house, and Danika rushed outside to meet us.  She took one look at me and buried her face in her hands, bursting into tears.

That made me feel like a real bastard.

I gathered her into my arms, making soothing noises as I stroked her hair.  I’d acquired a T-shirt somewhere along the way, and she buried her face in the white cotton, sobbing hard enough to make my gut clench.

Finally, she calmed down enough to talk into my shirt.  “Were you hurt?”

My jaw clenched, my hand fisting in her hair.  I made myself relax the muscles of my fingers and stroke over her hair softly.  “Not at all.  Bastard barely got a punch in.”

“He was so big.  I thought he might hurt you.”

My pulse started throbbing again with that reminder of her contact with the man.  I tried to moderate my breathing, calming myself.  I toyed briefly with the idea of finding Bert at the hospital and finishing him off.

“He was big, but he was slow.  Not a great fighter, from what I could tell.”

She pulled back to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.  “You never lose.  Where did you learn to fight like that?”

My mouth twisted ruefully.  “When you’re the biggest boy in your class, everyone thinks it’s a great accomplishment to kick your ass.  You can’t be my size and not know how to defend yourself.  Having a bad temper never hurt either.”

“I take it Bev posted your bail?”

“That’s the thing.  No charges were pressed.”  I had to consider how to word the next part, sensitive to her feelings.  “He was…beating on your mom when we arrived.  She’ll be okay, I think, but I wasn’t charged because I stopped the beating.”

She showed very little reaction to that news, just the tiniest stiffening of her expression.

“We could go visit her in the hospital,” I offered.

She shook her head instantly and decisively.  “No, that’s all right.  Our relationship is…complicated.  We aren’t healthy together.  I can’t stand the woman, but I know that if she catches me in a moment of sympathy, she’ll prey on that weakness, and I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret.”

I knew just what she meant.  My mother had pulled the same sort of thing on me, countless times.  I kissed her forehead tenderly, thinking that there wasn’t a way I could love her more.

“Do you think I’m awful?  I sound like a cold bitch, don’t I?”

I shook my head, bending forward slightly to kiss her temple.  “No.  You’ve met my mother.  I can well understand what you’ve gone through with yours.”

“She thinks I’m like her because of what I let that old man do to me.”  The words burst out of her as though it were an embarrassing confession.  “I’m not, though.  I was just a kid, and I didn’t think I had a choice.”

A bullet to the chest couldn’t have hurt my heart more than the weak thread to her voice as she whispered those words.  My eyes stung as I clutched her to me, whispering into her ear.  “Of course not.  You don’t ever have to defend yourself to me, sweetheart.”

“I know.  I know.  And I know what the truth is.  It’s just so hard to feel it.  Some dirt you just can’t wash off.”

I picked her up, cradling her to me.  “There’s not an ounce of dirt on you, sweetheart.  You have the purest heart I’ve ever known.”

That seemed to appease her, and she calmed and quieted for a long time before she spoke again.  “We’ve made a spectacle of ourselves on the front lawn.”

“Ask me if I give a damn.”

I was gifted with a tiny smile and flashing silver eyes.

God, she was beautiful.  Perfect.

“Promise me you won’t ever do that again.  It scares me when you get like that.  You can’t kill a man because I have a few bruises, Tristan.”

I kissed her, a blatant distraction from her train of thought.  There was no way I could make that promise when her bruises hadn’t even faded.

“You should never be scared of me, Danika.”

We laid on the grass, side by side, hands clasped, in Bev’s front yard as I told her haltingly about the boy I’d been, always too big, too strong for my own good.

Too good at fighting, too ready to fight, with too much to fight for, albeit futilely, with a mother I could never protect, because she didn’t want protecting from the men that hurt her.

I shared that piece of myself, the huge piece that needed, above all things, to protect, because I hadn’t been there protect her when she’d needed me the most, though of course I hadn’t known her then.  It wasn’t logical.  It was a feeling, an undeniable sense of failure, because I’d always failed the biggest tests when it came to sheltering the ones I loved.

There were things I needed to explain to her, about the girl she’d been, the girl who’d needed a protector, and hadn’t had one, and how she’d never be that girl again, because she had me, and I took my duty seriously.

It was why I went crazy when any man so much as looked at her shifty, I explained carefully.  I couldn’t regulate that part of myself.  No anger management class in the world could convince me that there was a way I could keep her too safe.

That seemed to bring her peace, and her eyes closed, the gentlest smile transforming her lovely face, her hand laying quiet on my racing heart.

And that brought me peace, because she was my perfect girl, and as much as I needed to safeguard her, she needed what I had to give her just as desperately.

We lay on the front yard like silly teenagers, for minutes, for hours.

It was one of those slowed moments in time, where things became clear, and parts of the past were brought to rest.  I’d learned long ago that moments like these were few and far between, and I tried to remember everything.  The rustling leaves in the tree overhead, the nearly cloudless sky, the mild autumn weather.

The perfect, intensely trusting tranquility written on her face as she lay with her head on my shoulder.

And later, when we finally rose from the grass, I remembered the slip of paper in my back pocket.

I handed it to her gingerly.  It contained no words, just a phone number.

Her brow furrowed in question, her teeth catching her lip.

“Dahlia’s phone number.  Your mother gave it to me.”

She hugged me so hard that I could feel it down to my soul.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TRISTAN

I was shrugging into a dark blue T-shirt when I froze mid-motion, not quite believing my eyes.

“There is no fucking way you are wearing that,” I told her, sitting down on the edge of my bed to watch her, equal parts pissed off and turned on at the sight of her.

She was wearing tiny black cheer shorts that didn’t belong outside of a bedroom, and a black half-shirt that read ‘Fuck No.’  It left all of the skin bare from two inches below her naval to the top of her ribs, just covering her breasts.  She wasn’t even wearing a bra.

My jaw went slack, my eyes glued to the sight.

She didn’t have huge breasts, but they were a handful, and they were fucking perfect, soft and pliant in my hands, and when real tits went braless, there was no mistaking it.

“Fucking no way in hell.”

“I can’t wear a bra after the tattoo, and the half-shirt makes it so I won’t have to take off my top for the cameras.  Frankie told me exactly what to wear, and I’m wearing it, so wipe that Neanderthal look off your face.”  As she spoke, she twisted her hair into a bun on top of her head, the shirt riding up, bearing the undersides of her breasts.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She rolled her eyes, completely blowing me off as she slipped into flip-flops.

“It’s important for me to be comfortable and properly prepared, Frankie says.  If you can’t behave yourself, you are staying home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I repeated.  “I took a week off just for this, and you’ve had to postpone it for weeks, just so I could go with you.”

“So behave yourself if you actually want to come.”

I clenched my jaw to keep from arguing, counting to ten, my eyes glued to the front of her shirt.

“Fuck No?” I asked her.

“Frankie says it’s a great way to let the censors keep you modest.  If my nipples are hard, they won’t pick it up, because they’ll already be blurring the word fuck.  She loaned me the shirt.”

No shit, I thought.  It was clearly a Frankie creation.

She moved to stand in front of me, hands on her sexy little hips.  I reached up, palming her breasts with both hands.  I closed my eyes, not quite managing to stifle a groan.

“We’re already late, Tristan, and the camera crew is on a tight schedule.”

My eyes snapped open to glare at her.  I lifted her shirt that minuscule degree it took to bare her tits, cursing loudly and fluently as I leaned forward, framing her breasts in my hands and sucking one hard nipple into my mouth.

“I’m going to pin you to that table when she’s done with you and fuck your brains out.”

She gasped, and one of my hands snaked down, sliding into the waistband of her shorts to finger her.  I yanked it out with a curse, using the leg of her shorts instead to ram my finger into her hard.

“If I can get at your pussy this easy, that’s a good sign that your shorts are too tiny.”

Her hips twitched, moving on my finger, and I went back to sucking on her nipple and working her on my finger.

I waited until she was close and pulled away, extricating my finger slowly, teasingly.  “We’re late, boo.  Remember?  Tight schedule.”

She glared at me, backing away.

I grinned at her and winked.

I could barely keep my eyes on the road as we drove to Frankie’s tattoo parlor, glancing over at her every time she shifted on her seat.

She was jittery with excitement, and every movement, every twitch of her body was distracting in that barely there excuse of an outfit.

I fondled her with one hand until she moaned, trying to push my hand away.

“Quit teasing me,” she complained.  “I don’t want to be turned on right now.  It’s going to be hours before we can do anything about it.”

“Well, tough shit,” I told her, sending her a sidelong smile.  “You know what that outfit is?  It’s a tease.  You’re only getting what you’re dishing out right now.”

She lifted her shirt, and my hand was suddenly kneading at her bare skin.

Fuck.

I glanced over.

She was folding the band of her shorts down, making them even tinier, and pulling the waistband open wide.  She grabbed my hand and slid it down her body, cupping my hand over her sex, shifting until she could force one of my big fingers inside of her.

I yanked my hand away, and refused to look at her for the rest of the drive.  As always, she’d won the teasing contest.  She was the uncontested champ.

I should have known better than to go there.

I put my arm around her like the overprotective boyfriend I was as we walked through the casino, glaring at every asshole that stopped to stare at her.

“Fucking pinning you to that table as soon as she’s done.  Going to fuck until we’re both fucking raw,” I muttered under my breath, making her giggle.  I wasn’t even close to joking.

She tried to hug Frankie when we got to the shop, but I got in between them, giving Frankie a pointed look.  “You talked her into wearing this, but you sure as hell aren’t feeling her up while she does it.”

Frankie just laughed.

Danika punched me in the shoulder.

I stood back, arms folded across my chest as the TV producer did a brief interview for the show about her tattoo.  She blushed and giggled and told a little story about how she’d always loved cherry blossoms.

She was adorable, and I was counting the seconds until I could fuck her brains out again.

They did a lot of close-ups of the spot on her back where the ink was going.  Frankie held up a square of paper that was about three by five inches, illustrating exactly where and how she planned to place her precise sketch of a cherry blossom branch, left of her spine, the top ending right where her shoulder blade started.  It was beautiful, as I’d known it would be.  Frankie’s work was always excellent.

I stood at Danika’s head, holding both of her hands for hours while Frankie worked, wanting to punch each member of the camera crew nearly every second of those hours.

The process was slow and fascinating.  Watching Frankie work was always a treat, but watching Danika’s lovely back becoming even more exquisite with an intricate piece of art was an experience.

And of course, it turned me on.

Danika took the pain well.  I’d crouch down to check her expression, and only occasionally were her eyes squeezed tight with pain.  Mostly, they were clear and excited about seeing the results.

I took down her hair, stroked it, and even bent down to kiss her face when Frankie took the needle off for brief breaks while she switched ink, or wiped the area.

The final result was well worth the wait and the pain.  Dark branches were painstakingly detailed and ended in pretty blossoms that went from myriad shades of pale pink, to magenta, to a bright red.

It was a feminine tattoo, perfect in every detail, just like its owner.  She squealed in delight when she finally got a good look at it.

“Give her some privacy while she gets dressed,” I snapped at the crew when Frankie was finally done.

Frankie shooed them out, following behind.  She gave me a rueful smile before she shut the door behind her.  “I’ll blast some rock so you can have some privacy.  I’d recommend you lock up after me.”

I locked the door, moving back to the table.  Danika was already on her stomach, lying down, so all I had to do was twist her until she was sideways, her hips at the edge of the table, her feet not quite touching the ground.

“Get up on your elbows,” I told her, tugging off her shorts.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said breathlessly, rising up just enough to give me access to her chest.

“No one can say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

“Frankie knows exactly what we’re doing in here.”

No shit, I thought.  “Nah,” I said.  “You just needed a minute to straighten your clothes.”

“I don’t have that many clothes.”

“That’s the problem, now, isn’t it?”  I slid my hands up her ribs, palming her bare breasts under that joke of a shirt.

I rammed into her, not stopping until my hips slammed hard against her.

She screamed, gripping the other edge of the cushioned table.

“Well, now she definitely knows what we’re doing,” I rasped, pulling out slowly.  I let go of her breasts, leaning back to watch my cock slide out of her slick entrance, cursing as her sheath gripped me tight, the curses turning into praise as I lunged back inside of her, hitting the end of her so hard it jarred us both, and she screamed again.

I bent back over her, speaking into her ear.  “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

“No.  More, Tristan, more.  Fast.  Please, please.”

I closed my eyes, the sound of her soft voice begging me about all I could take.

I was true to my word.  I pinned her to that tattoo table and fucked her brains out.

I came so hard, my legs just about gave out, and I was shouting nearly as loud as she was screaming.

“You like that angle, huh?”

She mumbled something in the affirmative, laying her cheek on the table, looking like she was about to drift off.

I cleaned us both up with paper towels from the bathroom that adjoined the room, slipping her shorts back on her.

I had to pick her up and set her on the table to get her upright, and even then she leaned forward against me, her head on my shoulder.  I copped a feel, completely powerless to keep my hands off her bra-free tits.

“Just remember, if you ever decide to wear something like this again, this is what will happen.  You won’t be able to get anything done, because I won’t be able to stop touching you for more than seconds at a time.”

“I need a nap,” she said, sounding half-asleep already.

“I need inside of you again,” I said into her ear, already trying to work her shorts back over her hips.

Copping a feel had backfired in a hurry.  My brainless cock had taken it to heart.

I fucked her sitting up that time, leaning her back on her hands so I could watch her round breasts bounce with every jarring thrust, her shirt pulled up to her neck.

Frankie knocked loudly on the door for that round, telling us to hurry up.  I shouted loudly back for her to fuck off.

I pounded into Danika, growling, cursing, praising, all the while completely mesmerized by her naked chest.  Something about having just the tops of her shoulders covered, and the rest of her bare, was turning me into a sex-crazed maniac.

Come to think of it, everything about her turned me into a sex-crazed maniac.

She moaned almost lazily as she came that time, squeezing me like a vise for torturous, drawn out moments.

I shouted and came, laid her back on her elbows, spread her legs wider, bringing her heels up to the table, and hard again, I pushed inside of her.

Again.

She was so slick, so full of me, and I groaned and cursed and rutted mindlessly in her until my legs wouldn’t hold me for another second.

I leaned forward on my elbows as I twitched and spurted inside of her, my face in her neck, and wondered if anyone would notice if we passed out on Frankie’s table for a few hours.

“You better clean up after yourselves, you nymphomaniac horndogs!” Frankie was shouting on the other side of the door.

Who knew how long she’d been shouting?  Not me.

“I put Clorox wipes by the door, lovebirds!”  she shouted, maybe five minutes later.

I blinked, wondered if I’d been sleeping, and then studied Danika, trying to figure out if she was sleeping.  She was still managing to prop herself up on her elbows high enough not to lay directly on her fresh tattoo.

“I hope she doesn’t think we’re going to use those to clean ourselves,” I muttered, trying to find the strength to stand up straight.

“I think those are for her table that we desecrated,” Danika murmured, eyes still closed.

“And the floor!  And the wall!  And everything else you touched in there!”  Frankie shouted.