Ride (Bayonet Scars) (22 page)

Chapter 24

Falling in love is the best way to kill your heart because then it's not yours anymore. It's laid in a coffin, waiting to be cremated.

- Ville Valo

I LIFT HER
chin and crash my lips down against hers. She’s stiff beneath my touch. I let my lips glide down her temple to her cheek where I place a gentle kiss. I’m so fucking out of my element, so far into my own head, with this tunnel vision, that won’t let the fuck up. I could keep lying to myself, saying I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I know damn well what my problem is.

My problem is standing right in front of me, stiff as a board and seemingly terrified. Angry, quiet, dismissive, flirty. None of it matters. She’s a fucking temptress no matter what mask she’s wearing. Pulling back from her lips and whispering in her ear, I say, “Relax, Cub.”

“Cub?” she says, lifting her head. Fuck. I could rip my own goddamn balls off for letting that one slip. Something about her knowing the name I call her makes me feel oddly exposed. It’s uncomfortable and disarming. I can’t really make out why. And instead of letting her make it into a big deal, I push her up flat against the wall. Just thinking about fucking her gives me half a chubby.

“Why did you call me that?”

“It’s just a nick name. We all have them, remember?” I say. It’s lame, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s the same lame excuse I gave Pop and the club when I said it in front of them for the first time.

“What does it mean?”

“You’re really fucking pushy tonight, you know that?” I say, backing off, irritated by the inquisition. Sure, it’s a simple question, but it has one hell of a complicated answer. Her jaw locks, and her eyes narrow in anger.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hisses. Something’s pissed her off damn good, but fuck if I know what it is. All I did was come in here to spend a little time with her, maybe make her come a few times, and here she is losing her fucking shit over it. She’s fucking lucky it gets me hard when she gets pissed like this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have this complication in my life.

“What is your fucking problem, huh?”

“You keep doing this. You just can’t keep doing this,” she whimpers, crossing her arms over her midsection as tears spring to her eyes. She lifts her chin, refusing to crumble completely, despite the tears on her cheeks. “You’re hot and cold. You want me and you don’t. What are you, bipolar?” She’s screaming now. Her arms fly up in the air as her shouts break up, half in Italian and half in English. I hear certain words that tip me off that she’s pissed at me, but for what, I’m still not sure. I have a feeling if she were screaming at me entirely in English, I still wouldn’t fucking know.

My entire body feels hard and tight, and I just need to pound something—preferably Cub. I’ve always been a go-getter. So fuck it.

I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hands. She lowers her voice, but keeps chewing me out in two different languages simultaneously. As hot as she is when she’s cursing in English, she’s fucking smokin’ when she’s pissed and cursing at me in Italian. I can’t make out the words, but I know better than to assume she’s praying for my soul. I lost that a long fucking time ago. When she finally calms down and stops crying, I kiss her on the forehead. When Ma’s pissed, Pop does it to calm her down. Sure enough, she stops bitching and lets out a heavy sigh. With her eyes focused on mine, she looks so defeated; consumed, even.

“Tell me you want me,” she says. For a brief moment, it’s a reminder of how fucked up our first time was, but I play along anyway. I’m too tired, too needy to get into this with her.

“I want you,” I blurt out and bring my hands to her hips. A shy smile breaks out on her face.

“You said it,” she says so quietly I almost believe I’m hearing things. I don’t even know what the fuck she’s talking about now, which seems to be today’s theme.

“What are you going on about?”

“You said you want me. Earlier, when I—” she says, but I cut her off by kissing her. This time she’s responsive and eager. Her lips slide against mine. She’s so soft in every way, and if I remember correctly, every fucking place. If I just focus on the physical, I can block out this shit that’s running through my head.

“Tell me you want me,” she says.

“I want to fuck you,” I say.

With frantic movements, her hands claw at my shirt. Never one to disrespect a lady’s wants, I reach down and peel the shirt over my head, breaking contact in the process. The smile on her face is blinding as I toss the shirt across the room. She’s so young and so innocent in ways I can’t ever remember being. Not virginal, and maybe not as naïve as I thought, but when it comes to this shit, she lets it matter. And it doesn’t have to fucking matter. But I guess to her it does. And even if it doesn’t matter to me, I don’t stop myself anyway. Because I’m a selfish fucking bastard, and I want her.

Leaning down, I swoop one of my arms beneath her legs. She yelps as I stand erect—in more ways than one—and she wraps her legs around my waist. With one arm around my neck for support, she uses the other to cup my chin. I walk us to the bedroom door, closing is quietly. I don’t give a fuck if Pop knows what we’re doing in here; I just don’t want a goddamn audience, and I don’t want any fucking interruptions. I lock the door then walk us to the bed. We don’t break eye contact, and even though I know this is the worst goddamn idea imaginable, I let it happen. There’s honesty in her brown eyes I wish I didn’t see. She’s not a Lost Girl. She’s not jaded like the rest of them. Chel knows the score. She knows exactly what we are to one another. As long as we keep shelling out the cash, she’ll keep being pliable. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. But this is different.

Bringing us to the bed, I bend at the waist, laying her down. Her eyes dance in anticipation as I lie down on top of her, my dick uncomfortably bound by my jeans and her paper-thin yoga pants. I rock into her, and she bites her lip trying to stifle a moan. She lets me lead. I begin by running a hand up her shirt, over her rubs, and sneak a finger underneath her bra. I didn’t allow myself the pleasure of exploring her body the first time we were together. This time, I’m going to make damn sure I memorize every fucking curve of her flesh.

I try to give myself time and undress her slowly, but I’m anxious. She keeps looking at me and touching me in ways that no woman does—without expectation. It’s fucking me up. I tear her shirt off then wrestle with her yoga pants. I get down to my underwear, and she’s in her panties when I unsnap her bra. She gulps, her hands shake slightly, but she doesn’t say a word. I’ve been here a hundred fucking times with as many broads, and none of them act nervous like this. At least, not since high school when virgins still existed—at least they did until they met me.

Using one hand, I bring her arms above her head and run my nose down her neck, kissing along the way. She purrs under my touch, shivering as I remove her bra. Her tits are fucking perfect—teardrops forming a mound. She can’t be more than a B-cup at most. My hand closes around it, fingers pinching at her nipple. It’s enough to make my dick twitch. As an apology for last time, I bring my other hand down to her panties, dragging a finger up the center. Her back arches; she moans under my touch. We’re just fucking around, but there’s no reason I can’t make this enjoyable for her.

Tensing for a brief second, her body goes lax when I dip my hand inside her panties, finding her slit. She’s not shaved, but she is manicured. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a chick who didn’t wax her pussy. It’s pretty much a requirement of the Lost Girls. Sliding in and out of her wet lips, the tip of my finger is coated in her juices.

“You like that, baby?” I ask. She murmurs an incoherent yes, tossing her head back as I slide two fingers into her. She’s so slick and wet. I lick my lips in anticipation.

“Yes,” she chokes out as I slam my fingers into her wet pussy and hold them there, watching the shivers that take over her entire body. She sucks in a deep breath and says, “Again.”

I pull my fingers out and push them back in between her folds. She gasps, her eyes turn into saucers, and her lips part.

“Again,” she mouths, unable to speak. I’m only too fucking happy to oblige, pulling out and ramming back into her. A strangled whimper escapes her mouth as it parts, and she tosses her head back in a beautiful fucking arch. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers like it’s a fucking vice. My dick is immediately fucking jealous, and I pull my fingers out. Slowly, her spasm ceases, and she looks down at me, breathing heavily. Her eyebrows pull together in question.

Reaching over and grabbing a condom from my duffle, I shove my boxers to the floor and strap on the rubber. Sliding back up her legs, I kiss her inner thigh and then her hip bone, traveling up her stomach to her ribs. Covering her naked frame, and looking into her nervous eyes, I reach down with one hand and part her legs even further. She bites her lip as I guide myself to her entrance. Very slowly, I enter her, and the feeling is fucking amazing. Hot and tight and slick.

I move out slowly, then draw back in. Her body quivers under mine. Gooseflesh springs up across her tits and her thighs. My muscles tense, and I can feel it fucking coming soon. She reaches up, cupping my chin, her eyes fixated so intently on mine. The way she looks at me just fucks me up—so trusting, so caring, so fucking stupid. It’s like she’s seeing someone who’s not here, someone who died the day he earned his cut. Lifting her head, she brings her lips to mine and kisses me with just as much care. I’ve never been one for kissing while fucking, but I let her do it anyway. I guess I owe her this for that shit from the other night.

She slips her tongue into my mouth, and I eagerly welcome it. Just as I consume her mouth with my own, her body tenses beneath me, her pussy clamps down, and I can’t stop myself from coming with her. She pulsates around me in a frantic rhythm, never breaking our kiss. I fight through my own orgasm, as the warmth envelopes me, sweat drips onto her forehead, and my eyes fly back into my head.

When I finally come down from the best fucking orgasm I’ve ever had, I open my eyes and study her. Her brown eyes are wide, and she’s panting heavily. She opens her mouth and, with a breathy whisper, says, “Holy shit.”

Moving off of her, I slide out of fucking wonderland and roll off the condom, tossing it into a nearby trash can. My lips turn up into a smile at her appreciation of my dick and his skills. He is pretty fucking impressive, if I do say so myself. Standing in her room, watching her scamper under her covers, I’m struck by a sudden awkwardness. This is why I don’t normally fuck chicks at their place. It’s too awkward when I give their ass a pat and walk out the door. Especially because the last thing I want to do right now is walk out the fucking door.

Before I can make up my mind about what the fuck I’m going to do now, she throws the covers off her beautiful naked fucking body and rushes past me to her closet where she throws on a robe. Keeping her head down, she leaves the room muttering something about needing a shower. Frustrated because I don’t even know what the hell just happened, I grab my sweats from my duffle and throw them on then leave the room and walk down the hallway to the kitchen.

Just beyond the kitchen, in the living room, is Ma, curled up on the couch, watching a movie. Her eyelids are half-closed and her lips are parted. Smiling, I cross the room and pull down the throw blanket from the back of the couch. She stirs and opens her eyes, yawning.

“Hey Punk,” she says, cuddling into the throw blanket. Her eyes travel down my damp frame and take in the change of clothes. Her eyes narrow and her voice comes out much harder when she says, “Don’t hurt her.”

I give her my classic smirk to cover up the onslaught of paranoia that’s settling in. I’m not used to dealing with this shit. The chicks I fuck don’t have their friends or moms coming to me, asking why I’m not calling the bitch. This shit doesn’t happen to me. But I guess when she’s Ma’s kid, it does. Without anything good I can say, I walk away, striding down the other hallway that leads to Ma and Pop’s room. Passing Ian’s old room, I duck into the hall bath where I turn on the shower. Dropping my sweats onto the floor, I catch sight of a rim of bright pink around my dick. I rub my thumb over it and the pink smudges. On closer inspection, I see it’s lipstick. Chel’s lipstick.

Stepping into the shower, scrub the lipstick off furiously until my dick is bright red and stinging like a bitch. This isn’t the first time this shit has happened, but it shouldn’t have happened now. Not with Cub. This is the shit Ma was talking about. Fuck. Once my dick is clean and so is the rest of me, I turn the water off, pat myself dry, and pull my sweats back on.

Back in Alex’s room, she’s curled up on her side with her covers pulled to her shoulders. I crawl in the empty side of her bed, fighting for my share of the comforter as I stare at her back. “Will you share the damn covers?”

She flops over, scowling at me. Her eyes are red like she’s upset, but trying to hide it as best she can. Ma’s words ring in my head for the hundredth goddamn time. Don’t hurt her.

"You deserve happily ever after," I say, for no other reason than I’m a fucking moron.

She clutches the blankets to her chest and hisses, “I don’t want happily ever after. I want fucked up and mean.”

“You don’t want me,” I say. “I’m a bastard, remember?”

“Don’t you tell me what I want!” she says, pulls on the comforter, and wiggles in closer to me, curling up against my side. And as much as I want to tell her that I don’t cuddle with chicks, it’d be a lie. Because having her next to me is really fucking comfortable, and I’ll pop a cap in anybody’s ass who thinks they’re moving us out of this bed.