Charged (21 page)

I haven’t looked at her since she handed me the phone, but I’ve listened; raptly. The man is distinct in his stance, regimented in his attire and smiling at her. Instead of growing up with family, I’d been left on my own.  Because my dad was with her, helping her grow up, and effectively ignoring his own son. Because of his
job
. Reminding myself that she has answers, I listen.

“So, let me get this straight. He’s been with you?” I clear my throat, handing the phone back, picking up my empty glass. Shifting Georgia over, I rise off the seat to pick up the partially drained scotch bottle. We’re going to need more with a night like this.

“Does this change your exit? ‘Cause it doesn’t change shit for me. I like you, I want to fuck you more, and my parents have nothing to do with us.” 

“So no more talk about them?”

“None.” 

“Really?” she questions not taking me seriously. 

“Yep.” Clearly and concisely I’m done with this. Right now I want what is in front of me, and it has nothing to do with our parentage. 

Georgia tucks the brick of a phone in her purse, and turns back to me with a waggle of her finger.
That
I know.
That
I understand.
That
is the first thing that’s made sense all night. 

Pulling the finger, that she so eloquently signaled me with, closer to me, I suck it into my mouth and relish the soft sigh she lets out. I doubt she knows how much of a turn on her noises are, and she’s making me as hard as a fucking tree. I want to kiss every inch of Georgia, and I’ll be damned if our fucked up families will interrupt any further tonight. 

Putting one arm around her back, and one under her tight little ass, I lift her into my arms. “Round two darlin’.” 

I want nothing more than to pull those lips in for another mind bending kiss, and I have no intention of stopping until they’re raw, red, and swollen from my abuse instead of hers. The clock on the wall may say two am, signaling the hour, but to me it’s the round. We have hours of night time to go. Before I’m done, she’ll beg for sleep.

Georgia

S
o after a fourth round of showing me his sexual prowess, of which included my weekly dose of calisthenics — some of which could be considered advanced positions at Ringling Bros — I fell down the rabbit hole and enjoyed the rest of the night. That, and along with the remainder of the bourbon, the scotch, and a half drank ancient bottle of scotch, I’m now fully and thoroughly exhausted. 

Sleep took me within seconds. As I leaned against Ryker’s strong chest, listening to the sound of his calm deep breathing, I enjoyed my short-lived contentment in his arms. At least until the song in my stomach begged for sustenance. 

As I creep out from under his weight, tiptoeing away with his t-shirt, I traipse out to the kitchen. 

His backyard last night was pitch black except for the moonlight streaking through the trees, now in the morning it’s fantastic. There’s moss trailing down from every branch, some even kissing the ground around the bayou as it creeps between the boughs. The large comfy looking arm chair in the corner brought back memories. I decide a coffee and some toast will tide me over until we get back to town and I can get on the road.

It’s amazing how everything changed so quickly. I went from a coffee date, to hiding from Ryker, to drinking profuse amounts of alcohol in his house, then wanting to run for the door after mind-blowing sex. If he doesn’t think I’m a confusing girl yet, then he should soon enough. 

I know I don’t
want
to leave but I have to. It’s comfortable and easy here, but I can’t leave Ryker or Hazel in the crossfire. My dad and my uncle will crush them body and soul if they get wind of them helping me and that I can’t abide by. No one else will be hurt because of me.  

Searching the cupboards, the drawers, and the fridge, I look for anything edible. This is truly a bachelor’s pad, and he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t cook. There’s a box of ancient crackers — not edible by date, protein bars that sounded disgusting, old eggs, a couple of wilted green apples, an expired half liter of milk, and instant coffee grounds. Well, at least I can have a coffee. Starting a pot on the stove, I curl up in the chair watching the trees sway with the soft breeze.

The silence it offers is a welcome friend. Instead of the alarm telling me to run like the hounds of hell are on my heels, I feel secure. It’ll be short lived but I’m content for the moment.  

Even with the knowledge that Ryker’s father is CJ, and my father is his boss, I think Ryker only has the best intentions towards me. I know my father is still the same screwed up lunatic that will kill us without prejudice, and nothing can change how I deal with it. I have to be gone today, and as fast as I can. Ryker said he’d found me another car, so I’ll have to switch my meagre belongings over and hope that no one sees me. 

What are the chances I’ll see my father? Would he actually recognize me? Will I recognize him?  The man I saw tossing a burning Molotov cocktail into our car was a demon; the devil himself. For years I awoke in the midst of a dreamlike state, to the sadistic grin and sparkling eyes that overshadowed everything else in that fire. I saw his features reflected back when I looked in the mirror, I saw his tough blue eyes twinkle with delight, and every time I think of my mother I shudder.

The sound of the kettle keening in the background wakes me from my internal musings. Rising from the chair, I reach the kettle, turn off the stove, and pour water into the cup of instant grinds that beckon to dissolve. 

Going back to that time, my mind reminds me of the pain. I was a little girl and I had no say in their lives. I could have gone on oblivious to their fight, and I would have grown up adoring him eventually. The crappiest thing is, I know the only reason he’s tracked me at all is that it must prickle him that someone escaped his fiery wrath. I escaped and he had a witness to his complete disregard for life. He killed his family and was gleeful. 

Gleeful?! 

Gianfranco Lusi is a monster, just like the ones that lurk under your bed. But those horned and forked tongue devils can’t hold a candle to his uncontested evil.   

“Morning,” I hear as Ryker comes up behind me, jolting me out of my thoughts. If I could, I’d look like a cartoon cat stuck to the roof, with my claws dug deep and the hairs on my back raised in fear — then you would be picturing the shocked look on my face, perfectly. 

I laugh softly remembering where I am and answer happily.  “Morning.” 

I don’t need to turn to see him. I know it’s only us. “Water is warm, coffee is in the pot for you, and I’m sorry, but it really can’t be compared to the Brew.” 

“Yeah. This shit’s not great for a hangover, but it helps.” I see his reflection in the glass as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, flips his hair back out of his face, reaches sky high for a stretch, then turns to me. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, rounding the counter with a coffee in hand. Pulling my hair out of the way Ryker dips his head, lightly kissing down my neck, my earlobe, along my collar bone all while teasing my nipples through the soft shirt. 

“I know
I’m
hungry. And I don’t mean food.” 

Ryker growls low and I squirm. He can turn me on with a single move. Feeling wetness gathering immediately, I squeak out a moan as a reply. 

He snags my coffee, setting it on the windowsill. “You just keep looking, out there.” 

I look at him, taking in his attire — no pants, no shirt, and in daylight, he’s ethereal. A tattoo that I didn’t see last night snakes around his torso, covering one whole side of him. Curving, red, orange, purple, and black, a phoenix runs along his inner thigh, swinging around to lick his perfect ass. I’m in awe. In the brilliant sun, it’s vibrant. The deep russets and bright orange makes it afire, and realistic. 

Ryker moves closer, lifting the shirt to tease my already punished clit. He’s hungry looking and deadly. 

“God, you smell like vanilla cookies.” 

Ryker licks along my collar bone, pulls the edge of the shirt up all the way, exposing my skin. “Take this off.

“No,” I say breathlessly, as he strokes circles along my sensitive and sore clit. 

“Fine then, be defiant.” Ryker pushes one, then two, then three fingers inside me, stretching me quickly. “I’ll make you want to cum
so
bad, then I’ll hold back your climax, until you finally obey me.” I’m not big on obeying, and I’ll rebel if this is my punishment. 

Falling captive to his ministrations, I moan. 

“You are so wet. When I woke up without you beside me, I thought you needed to be taught a lesson.” Ryker bends down in front of me, kneeling on the small area rug, yanking me forward. Keeping only my tailbone on the chair, he moves his fingers in and out punishingly as his fingers spread, stroking my clit in lazy swirls. I’m falling as my orgasm builds. I’m falling for his talented fingers, his dick, and his tongue.

“Your punishment is that you must watch me make you come apart.” Staring up, Ryker’s hooded eyes flash wide, he licks his lips, then bends low. Licking my pussy lips apart, lapping at my clit, his fingers press against every surface. Watching him work me, I heat up through my spine. I want to defy him — I want to hold out, and I can’t scream out my need. I want him to work for it.
God
do I want him to work for it. 

It’s a dangerous and thin line that I’m walking. Wanting more, not wanting to give him the upper hand, and not giving him the satisfaction of pulling me to pieces. I look back down at him as he pushes my knees out further — widening me out to a point I didn't even know I was capable of — while stroking the sensitive skin around my asshole with his thumb again. Licking, biting, sucking and flicking at my clitoris as I gaze down, intent on holding out. I find it erotic to watch. I’ve never seen someone go down on me and it turns me on fast. 

As I feel the undeniable edge of my orgasm cresting, I finally relent allowing it to climb. “Oh my God, Ryker, I’m going to come.” 

Lifting his head, stopping. “Not yet. Hold out, sweetheart,” he says panting. I’m so close. How does he expect me to hold out? But I try. 

Laying back against the chair, Ryker hums deep in his throat as he licks me firmly with fast strokes. I want to break; I want to cave as the lick of the blue flame rises through my spine. It’s lovely torture. 

Without warning, my body decides it’s had enough and I come harder than I ever have, crying out my release. Ryker pushes his thumb just inside my ass causing me to fall apart even more. I scream, squirm, and buck as my body clenches down on his fingers. Bliss takes root in every nerve ending and fiber of my body. I want him to pull me close, and drive into me hard.  

“God woman, you’re a drug.” Ryker rises off the floor, taking my foot in his hand. “Hold that thought,” he says. 

I pull my foot back quick. “Don’t touch me yet. Let me come down first,” I say as he laughs, walking away toward his room. 

I’ve never had multiple orgasms,
never
once had someone kiss my pussy, or put my pleasure before theirs and I’m starting to get a feel for what passion truly is. I understand the reason behind dangerous liaisons, and why people are willing to search for a life of passion. 

Wanting to be loved and cherished is one thing. 

Wanting to be crushed by passion, with a searing heat of need is totally different. It causes your cheeks to hurt from smiling, crying with laughter, and god dammit I
want
that more than ever now. I never knew what I was missing with quick fucks.  

“What’s taking you so long?” I call out, pulling my now cold coffee off the sill and then rising off the chair to put it in the sink. “At this pace, I’m gonna need another round.”

People say you can sense danger. 

People say that when a predator is in your midst you feel the instinct to run. But I have to say that’s bullshit. 

As Ryker walks back in, stiff and tight, that’s when I know my date with destiny just moved up in its timeline.