Sacrificial Magic (35 page)

“But … no, you didn’t want, um, you didn’t want me anymore.”

He shook his head; she couldn’t make out his expression, it was too dark. “Ain’t what I said, neither.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Shit. What you wanting, Chess? Wantin go over all it again? What’s this for?”

“No, I just want you to know, okay? I’m sorry. I said some things, some awful things, and I didn’t mean them.” Her eyes stung; she rubbed at them with fast, frustrated hands and kept going. “And if you don’t want to be with me anymore because—because of everything, I understand, but I don’t want you to think I meant those things. Because I didn’t. I don’t. I wasn’t really … I was kind of out of it and it was so shitty of me. But I didn’t mean it, any of it, and I’m so sorry.”

His left hand covered the back of his neck, squeezed it while his head turned away from her. “Ain’t handled myself too right, neither.”

“You weren’t worse than me, I was horrible.”

“I weren’t fucked up. Got no excuses.”

“Yeah, but …” Where was this going, what were they saying? It felt like walking through some sort of maze, and all of the paths led to exits but only one of them was the right exit. The rain fell faster, cold drops hitting her head or her shoulder every few seconds. “Do you want to, maybe we should go somewhere else, okay? Before it starts raining too hard. And we can talk. If you want.”

For a second—a second that felt like hours—she thought he was going to say no. But he nodded. “Car’s outside.”

She followed him to the back of the warehouse, where a steel door black with smoke sat propped open by a chunk of wood. The Chevelle waited just outside it, slick with the strengthening rain. Thunder tore the air around them, echoed off the broken cement parking lot and the warehouse exterior with its patchy, sooty aluminum siding.

Back in the Chevelle. She’d thought she might never get to sit in it again, that she might never get to reach over and unlock his door for him so he could get in
without messing with the key. Almost as soon as he settled into the driver’s seat the rain increased, rattling on the roof so close to their heads, smearing down the windows so the ruined building before them appeared to melt and shift.

He wiped his hand over his face, drying the rain that had fallen there. “Where you want me takin you?”

Home. Home and bed was where she wanted him to take her, but somehow she doubted that saying so was a good idea. So she shrugged. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, I’m not really hungry, but …”

“You never hungry.”

“I am sometimes,” she said, enjoying the feel of the smile on her lips. This was a familiar discussion, one they had a lot—one they probably wouldn’t have again.

Oh, fuck this. “I’m so sorry I said that stuff. I didn’t mean it. I know you don’t want to—maybe we can at least still talk, be friends, you know? If you don’t want more than that.”

“I ain’t the one ended it.”

“Terrible … I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything here, but you kind of did, I mean, you didn’t want—you didn’t want me, and we had that fight and you don’t trust me.”

“I ain’t the one don’t got trust here, neither,” he said. “Tryin on that one, aye. But thinkin it goes on the other way. You ain’t got trust in
me
.”

Her mouth fell open. What the hell was he talking about? “I trust you.”

“Aye? Iffen you do, got yourself a shitty way of showin it. This whole last week you ain’t givin me the listen, ain’t believing me, ain’t talkin, actin like you scared of me or some shit.”

Of course she was scared. How could she not be, when she’d stripped herself so bare in front of him, when he’d become so fucking important to her? And
how could she admit that to him when he’d been able to turn her down so easily? “So … what does that mean? Because—”

“What you want it to mean? I ain’t can fuckin read you mind, aye? What you wanting? You just, you give me the tell what the fuck you want, Chess, ain’t playin fuckin games here.”

What was she supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to find the right words, when there were so many in her head and none of them felt quite right?

She didn’t know. What she did know was that he looked at her then, and their eyes met and there was that electric charge, that surge of power, that feeling that he was looking into her, through her, seeing everything she was and everything she felt.

And she felt like she was looking into him, too, past the broken nose and scars and heavy brow. Like she could see all the secret things inside him, the things nobody else got to see, the things that were just for her.

Maybe she’d never get to see them again. But in that moment she could, and she wasn’t going to let them go, not without a fight.

She’d tossed her bag on the floor when she got into the car, so her hands were free; she used them, reached for him, dug her fingers into his hair, and kissed him hard.

For a second she thought he wasn’t going to respond, thought she’d failed, but before her heart finished falling, he did. He kissed her back just as hard, yanked her closer. Her heartbeat cranked from normal to out-of-control, so fast she thought it was keeping time with the raindrops hitting the car.

“I want
you
,” she managed. The sound of the words in her voice sent fear shivering up her spine; she’d said them that night and he’d turned her away, and he might turn her away again, and she walked on a plank of those
words and hoped desperately that he’d catch her when she tumbled off the end. “I want … I just want to be with you.”

He squeezed her tighter in reply, his fingers insinuating themselves beneath her top, slightly rough on her bare skin. She pushed her hands down his collar under his shirts, tilted her head so he could bite her throat.

His back under her palms, his skin soft between the scars. Still warm, he was always so warm, and it radiated through her, found the dark frozen parts deep inside her and thawed them so she felt whole. She pulled her hands out of his shirts, found his waist and shoved them up his chest, pausing only to press her palm against him hard beneath his jeans.

His fingers inched up over her ribcage, his thumb stroking her nipple through her bra. Her gasp disappeared in the sound of the rain, the crash of thunder overhead.

She heard what he said, though. “My place, aye?”

“Yes.” Her fingers shook, but she managed to undo several of his shirt buttons. The belt buckle was easier. So was the button fly of his jeans; two firm tugs took care of those so she could reach inside. “Fuck, yes.”

He shifted position. His mouth didn’t leave hers but she felt him moving, hunting for the ignition, felt him slide the key home and turn it. Cold air blasted into the car, smelling of rain; music blared from the speakers, Howlin’ Wolf at full volume, which he turned down in almost the same movement.

The kiss grew deeper, deeper still, until she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. When his hands left her it took every bit of strength she had not to grab them back. Instead she knelt on her seat and leaned over, started kissing his neck, letting her teeth play along. Her right palm slid over his chest, trying to be everywhere at once, feeling it rise and fall with his rapid breath.

Somehow he shoved the car into gear, backed them out of the space. Lightning cracked the sky open, an eye-searing flash in the near distance; the wipers slapped fast across the windshield.

The Chevelle roared through a puddle, sending a high white plume of water off to the right. Chess could barely see anything outside the car, just sullen sky and the dead outlines of buildings, glimpses of empty sidewalks. A rare thing, rain so hard it drove even Downsiders to find shelter, but it had. The Chevelle rolled alone down the streets.

Good thing, too, because she couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, taking his face in her hands and turning it toward her, leaning across him, practically in his lap. His bowling shirt hung open, and she tugged his white T-shirt up out of the way so she could feel his bare skin.

Across his chest, down his stomach. With his jeans open her hand had room to move, and his gasp sent a fresh rush of heat coursing through her.

Chess’s hand wasn’t the only one moving, either. Terrible’s slid over her bottom, curved around her thigh, slipped between her legs to press against her. For a second she actually thought she might pass out.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead she shifted, her heart pounding, and kissed a line down his stomach, pulled the waistband of his boxers out of the way and took him into her mouth.

“Fuck, Chessie.” His voice so hoarse over the sound of the rain and the music, his skin salty-soapy and unbearably soft, the thick heavy length of him solid and alive against her tongue when she started to move. She braced herself for the flashbacks, for the terror that would force her to stop, the memories that had kept her from even trying it before, but they didn’t come.

And after a minute she realized they wouldn’t come, that this was different. This was Terrible and she knew
it was Terrible, and she loved him and she trusted him, and his hand rested so gently on her head, like an illegal blessing. She could feel him wanting to pull her hair, to tangle it in his fist; could feel him shake from wanting to move but holding himself back because he knew what this was for her and didn’t want to scare her.

Everything else disappeared, shrank until the whole world was the dull roar of the rain and the Chevelle’s engine, flashes of light, the darker, louder crash of thunder. And over it all Terrible, filling the world, the smell and taste of him filling her head, making her safe. Making her excited, more than she’d ever thought she could be.

The car swung to the right, halted. What …? They couldn’t have reached his place yet, could they?

Now his hand did fist in her hair, holding it so tight at her nape it hurt, yanking her up for another kiss. And another, his free hand busy at her waist. By the time she realized what he was doing he’d gotten her jeans halfway down her hips. “Get this shit off.”

They weren’t at his apartment. He’d pulled into an alley, where shadows would have been if there’d been any sunshine. But there wasn’t. There was only rain, drumming loud on the car, almost drowning out their breathing.

The Chevelle was like a cave, a hot damp cave, dim and scented with leather and passion. The rain hid the buildings from her view, hid them from any curious eyes that might have caught them there, and his insistent hands pushed her jeans and panties farther down to her knees, urged her to straighten her legs, toe off her shoes so he could strip her bare and he could pull her across his thighs to sit in his lap.

Another flash of lightning, another crash of thunder, closer now. His palms running over her skin, his fingers slipping between her legs and making her want to
scream. How did he know how to do that, to find the exact right spot, to barely touch it in that way that she felt all the way through her?

She’d only just managed to finish the thought when it overwhelmed her. Her voice seemed incredibly loud in the small space, drowning out even the sound of the rain. Or maybe she just couldn’t hear it because she was blind and deaf, because she was floating somewhere in the air and only Terrible’s hands kept her from flying into space completely.

He lifted her, turned her to straddle him. The seat was just wide enough for her legs to fit on either side of his; he rose up a few inches to push his jeans out of the way. She clutched his shoulders, let him guide her hips down until he was completely buried inside her and her voice bounced off the foggy glass again. Both of their voices. She pressed her forehead against his, paused for one long, delirious moment before she started rocking forward and backward, slowly at first and then a little faster, kissing him harder.

His hands on the sides of her face, on her neck, holding her there. “Chessie … shit, Chessie, I love you so bad.” His teeth on her throat, biting hard, his lips soothing the spot. “So fucking much, so … so bad.”

Fear shot from her chest to her head, spread out through her entire body. Those words changed everything, changed what they were doing, made it mean something, and that … Why would he do that, why would he want to do that, with her? She wasn’t good at this, she didn’t think it was possible for her to be good at it, didn’t know what to do.

His hand found her hip, kept her rhythm steady while she panicked. He didn’t seem to notice that, or if he did he ignored it, let her find her own way to process it. He pressed his lips against her chest, down the neckline of
her shirt, shifted the fabric out of the way to tease her nipples with his mouth one at a time and make her cry out again.

She didn’t
want
to panic. It wasn’t fair that she should panic; it wasn’t right, and she was suddenly angry, so fucking mad, that the man she loved was telling her he loved her, that he was trying to show her how much, and all she could feel—aside from the physical—was scared. Not of the words, she’d said the words, but of saying them there, in that situation, after she’d lost him. Scared of what that would mean. How it would mean more.

That fear coagulated in her chest, sat there like clumps of ball bearings in her lungs. He tilted her head, kissed her harder; his hips started to move beneath her and his free hand slipped down between them to touch her again. She didn’t have much time, not if she wanted to respond, not if she wanted to give that back to him.

And she had to, because she knew if she didn’t she’d regret it, because she was sick of being scared and he was the one person in the world she didn’t have to be scared around. She had to because she wanted to know how it felt. She wanted to know just once in her life what other people—what normal people—felt.

She wanted to because he deserved it.

She had to do it soon, had to do it now, because the pressure was building and she was about to explode from it, because his breath came louder and more ragged, his eyes so dark on hers. “Chessie … fuck, I can’t … can’t hold up much more, Chessie please …”

Her hips moved faster. She clutched the headrest of the seat, used it as leverage while his hands urged her faster still.