Take Me Home Tonight (24 page)

Bare feet slapped on the wood floor, and her laughter filled the cottage as she whipped past him, flinging herself onto his bed. Rolling onto her back, she rose up on her elbows and watched him with a mischievous smile.

Grabbing a condom out of his nightstand, his hands shook as he tore open the packet.

She lunged for him. “I want to do it.” Eyes gleaming, she clasped his dick with her warm hands.

Sensation shot through him. “Shit, Mimi.”

“Oh, my God, look at you. You're so hot, you make me crazy.” When her hair spilled forward, need bore down on him and fucking her became an imperative. But her mouth closed over the head of his dick, and he shouted from the overwhelming pleasure of warm, wet suction.

Her hands gripped him, and her tongue swirled around his head, raw desire ripping through him. She licked him like he was dessert. Like she loved his cock. And then she sucked him in, that wicked tongue flicking up and down his length.

“Stop. Jesus, Mimi.” He pulled her off his dick because, dammit, he had to have her
right fucking now
. He pushed her back, her head landing on the soft pillow, the look in her eyes so mischievous, so hungry, so fucking pornographic, he barely gave her a moment to settle in. His arms went under her knees, and he lifted her legs, pushing inside, watching that graceful neck arch, that lush mouth fall open, and her eyes turn lusty.

And then he was fucking her. Her breasts bounced, her neck strained, and her hips pitched up, meeting his thrusts. Fuck, she felt good.
So good
.

Pleasure spread like fire, crackling and sparking. He was close. “Fuck.”

She pushed her breasts together, fingers digging into the plump flesh and rubbing her pretty pink nipples.

“Holy fuck, Mimi.” He wanted it to last, so he slowed his strokes. Savoring every pass through her tight, slick-as-fuck channel. He knocked her hand aside, so he could grasp her breast and lick her nipple. And then he pulled out. “Roll over.”

Her expression turned carnal, and recognition snapped. Was this her fantasy? Him taking her from behind? Quickly, she flipped onto her stomach, hoisting her ass in the air. Her face turned into the bedding, and he could see the raw desire. This was absolutely her fantasy.

Gripping her hips, he slid slowly inside. Her eyes closed, and she gave a rapturous sigh.

Oh, fuck, yes.

He started pumping, taking his time, not wanting to lose it too soon, not when she was so obviously turned on. He leaned forward, reaching for her tits, squeezing them gently at first, but then, when her ass rammed back into him, he palmed her more roughly.

Fuck, she liked it. She liked it a lot. Screw taking his time. Need beat an urgent tattoo in his bloodstream. His balls tightened, and electricity pulsed down his spine right into his cock. “Mimi.” Up on his knees, he gripped her hips and drew her back hard against him. Her arms stretched out in front of her, fingers fisting in the pillow.

He needed her to come. Right fucking now. Slipping a hand between her legs, he found her clit, rubbed, and that was it. Her back bowed, and she cried out. He'd never heard a purer sound of ecstasy in his life.

With her face pressed into the sheets, he slammed into her again and again, harder and harder. She whimpered, moaned, knuckles white with tension.

Oh, Christ
. His legs trembled, his spine tingled, and then sensation blew up so hot and wild he clamped on to her hips, held on tight, and ground his cock into her. He came in scalding hot bursts of pleasure. “Fuck.” It kept coming, wave after wave of euphoria. Jesus, it wouldn't stop. “Fuck!”

His thrusts slowed, each slide lighting up his still-sensitive cock.

He collapsed on top of her, then immediately rolled to the side. So intense.

Too
intense. His body quaked with his explosive release. The moment she reached for him, he pulled away. Got out of bed. “Be right back.”

In the bathroom, he snagged a few sheets of toilet paper, wadded up the condom, and tossed it. Resting his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, needing a moment to get his shit together.

What was happening? What the motherlovingfuck was he doing?

Was it all the stress—Gus moving in with Laney, and his dad working for Blue Fire?

Too much shit threatening his mom?

Because he was completely out of control.

He splashed some cold water on his face. He'd head out to the living room, grab their clothes, and pull his shit together. But when he came out, he found her sprawled on her back, that luscious body naked, those curls spilling all over his white pillowcase. Emotion flared and then tightened in his chest.

She was so fucking beautiful. His heart . . . He thought it might explode.

He quickly turned from her, grabbing a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his dresser. “You want something to drink?” Stepping into them, he shot her a quick look, waiting for an answer.

She was up on her knees, crooking a finger and patting the bed. “I want to tell you something.”

The need to get away warred with the pull to be near her, please her, make her happy—no, that was bullshit, she made
him
happy. She was fucking irresistible. He came back, sat on the edge of the bed, and she walked toward him on her knees, draping her arms around him, pressing her breasts just under his chin. “You almost got it.”

He breathed her in, the faint scent of perfume on her skin, the gardenias in her shampoo. “Got what?”

She ran the tip of her nose up his cheek, nudging his hair back, and then whispered in his ear. “My fantasy.”

Lust turned his body rigid. So, it
had
been taking her from behind. But . . . “What do you mean
almost
?”

“Close . . .” She slowly licked his earlobe. “But no cigar.”

“Tell me.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Her hands stroked down his chest and back. She pinched his nipple.

He grabbed her wrist. “It's taking you from behind, but what else? Just tell me.”

“Why? Are we never having sex again? You done with me?”

He twisted around, grabbing her by the waist, and toppling her onto her back. “No fucking way am I done with you.” Her legs immediately came around him, and he kissed her. Oh, fuck him, she tasted so good. This woman was passionate. She loved with all her heart.

And he needed it. Everything she had to give, he was starved for.

“Are you into spanking?” he asked. “Is that it?”

“You slap my ass, and I throat-punch you.”

“Good. 'Cause I'm not into that shit.”

“What are you into?”

“You.” He said it too quickly, and he wished he could take it back. He was rushing ahead, and he had to slow down. Get a hold of himself.

But her smile told him it was too late. And since when did he think he could hide anything from her?

“I'm gonna grab a water. You want anything?”

This time he didn't wait for an answer.

When he got back to his room with the water bottles, he found her standing at his dresser, top drawer open, staring at a framed photograph.

She turned to him. “You keep Hopper in a drawer?”

A riot of energy whipped through him, and he snatched it out of her hands. Shoving it back under his T-shirts, he slammed the drawer shut.

The shirt she'd borrowed reached her knees. “Why don't you hang it on the wall?”

Handing her the water bottle, he gave a curt shake of his head, letting her know the conversation was done.

“What?” She tossed the bottle onto the bed. “It's been three years.”

“Yeah, and I don't need that reminder every day.”

She gave him a frustrated look. “It's not a reminder that he died, dummy. It's a celebration of his life. What he meant to you. The good memories.”

“You don't understand.” Dammit, he'd forgotten to bring back their clothes.

“All you can think about are the bad ones?”

Well, okay. Maybe she did understand.

“Tell me about them.” She started for him.

But he went to the bed. Sat on the edge of the mattress. “Them what?”

“The bad ones. Tell me.” She reached back into the drawer and pulled out the picture. Adjusting the brace at the back of the frame, she set it on top of the dresser.

Hopper smiled, his brown eyes trained on something just over Calix's shoulder, as if refusing to acknowledge him.

“Why would I do that?”

“So you can get rid of them and make room for the good ones.”

He liked the sound of that, but he didn't believe for a second it would work.

Besides, he should get her home. No one had heard from Gus since his dad had fired him several days ago. And Gus still hadn't given anyone his new address, so there was no way to get in touch, see how he was doing.

He needed to find his brother. Gus showing up at work wasted, moving in with a groupie, getting fired? Shit was out of control, and it was time Calix did something about it.

“Calix?” That soft, sweet voice.

Sometimes he felt like he had his finger on the fast forward button, his heart racing as the world sped by in a blur. But she calmed him right down.

Even when she pushed, making him face shit he didn't want to deal with, it eased the pressure in his chest.

And the bad memories? Well, there was only one, really, that burned so bright in his gut. He
needed
to get it out.

Maybe even more than he needed to go on a wild-goose chase to find Gus in the middle of the night.

He looked at Hopper's picture—the most familiar face in the world. “My brother . . .” The muscle in his throat hardened into a knot.

Mimi reached for him, drawing him back so that they lay side by side on the big bed. With her head on his chest, not looking at him, she made it easier to continue.

Swallowing hurt like a bitch, so he waited for the knot to ease. He sifted her hair through his fingers until it did. “Hopper was a moody fucker. The older and more independent
we got, the harder it was on him. Gus and I . . . we were pretty wild. It was all about music, girls, and hanging out with our friends. I mean, we spent time with Hopper, don't get me wrong. We loved him. But we were full of piss and vinegar. And that was tough on him.”

Her hair tickled his chin, and he smoothed the silky, springy curls.

The next words balled up on his tongue. The hardest memory. The one he hadn't shared with anyone. She gazed up at him, and the look of kindness just tore him open.

“He didn't like to be alone. Especially at night. And for some reason, he only wanted to sleep in my bed.”

She waited for him to say more, and when he didn't, she said, “He loved you the most.”

Ice-cold pain lanced through him. “Yeah. Probably. I didn't mind it so much when we were younger, but as I got older, it pissed me off. And I . . .” These memories pelted him like hard, icy balls of hail. “I'd kick him out. Literally, I'd kick him until he fell out of my bed.”

Her hand gripped his biceps. She got it.

Fuck me.
Why had he done that? If he could take back anything in his life, it would be kicking his brother like that. The sound of his soft body hitting the floor was just as vivid today as it had been back then. “But he'd always climb right back in. Stubborn as fuck.” He shifted, sitting straighter, as the worst memory clawed through him. “I loved my brother, I did. But I didn't want him in my bed. I wanted to be left alone.”

“Of course you did. That's totally normal.”

“One night I screamed at him. I . . .”
Fuck me
. “I grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him out of my bedroom.” He would never forget the feel of those doughy shoulders in his hands, the heat coming off Hopper's overwrought body. The look in his brother's eyes as he waited for Calix to change his mind. Because, of course, he'd change his mind. Everyone always gave in to Hopper. “I shoved him out the door. And . . .
fuck
.”

Her fingers brushed his chest, a soothing stroke.

“The way he looked at me.” That forlorn expression
haunted him. “I felt like a dick, but I wasn't going to back down. I was going to teach him that he couldn't sleep in my bed anymore. I was too old for that.” Perspiration beaded over his lip, and he swiped it away. “I got back into bed, watching my door. Because I
knew
. I knew he'd come back in. And I was ready.”

She pressed her face into his chest. He could tell she didn't want to hear this.

“And, of course, the door opened. I launched the first weapon, but it was a pillow so it just hit him and fell to the floor. Hopper just stared at me, like I hadn't just thrown something at him. Like he was waiting for me to break and pull back the blanket to let him in. So I threw the book that was on my nightstand. It hit him right in the face, and I shouted for him to get the fuck out.”

She burrowed deeper into his chest, her warm breath on his skin.

“It took me forever to fall asleep that night.” That panicky feeling started up in his chest. “The next morning I was disgusted with myself. I stared up at the ceiling remembering his face, the way I'd shouted at him, and I was sick to my stomach. I had to fix it, you know? I was gonna make him his favorite pancakes.”

“What were his favorite pancakes?”

Calix smiled, running his fingers through her hair. “Buttermilk. With a smiley face. Strawberry slices for the mouth, chocolate chips for the eyes, the tip of the banana for the nose, and whipped cream hair.”

“I want that.”

“Not gonna make it for you, Meems.”

“You totally are.”

He stroked her hair, lifting the curls and letting them fall through his fingers.

Yeah, he totally was.

“You ready to tell me what happened when you woke up?”

No.
Dammit
. “Got out of bed, and there he was. On the floor, right next to me. My sweatshirt balled up under his head, the little crocheted blanket my mom made him covering his shoulders.” He could see it in his mind as vividly as the
day it'd happened. “I think that's what killed me the most, seeing that baby blanket on him. It just drove it home. I was growing up, maturing, but Hopper wasn't. Not in the same way. And he never would. He'd never have the full life I was gonna have.”

“What'd you do?”

“Left him sleeping. Made his breakfast. Then I woke him up, showed him his treat, and it was like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't broken his heart.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Oh, come on. All thirteen-year-old boys are smelly, selfish jerks.”

He smiled. “How would you know?”

“Trying to make you feel better here.” She looked up at him. “Is it working?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Only when she placed her hand over his did he realize he'd been rubbing his leather bracelet. “What is that?” She pushed his fingers away and stroked the braid.

“A bracelet.”

She gave him an impatient expression. “I'm asking what it means to you.”

“I've got a lot of them.”

“Okay, but that's the one you're always touching.”

He watched her thumb the leather, darkened by water and wear. “Hopper made it.”

“Oh.” She sounded like she understood.

But she didn't. “In the hospital, they were gonna cut off my mom's bracelets. But she freaked out. Even all drugged up, she fought like a tiger. Wouldn't let them cut this one. She only calmed down when I promised her I'd take care of it.” He let out a tight breath. “She watched me tie it around my wrist, and then she let go. Like she'd found some peace.”

“You haven't given it back?”

“She hasn't asked for it yet.”

“Calix,” someone shouted. Multiple voices spilled into the cottage. He didn't know why their intrusion brought him so much relief.

At the sound of bare feet padding down the hallway, Mimi sat up.

“Calix,” Shay called.

He threw off the covers and snatched the pajama pants off the back of a chair. “I'll grab your clothes.”

He blocked the door the same moment Shay reached it. “Hey.” He rested his forearms on either side.

“We saw your lights on.” She tried to see past him, but he didn't budge.

She tried to duck under his arm. “You got someone in there?”

“Yeah, Shay. I do.” And she was wearing nothing but a T-shirt.

She tried for a playful expression, but it just came across as confused and hurt. She mouthed,
Who is she?

He nudged her back, stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

This was good, his friends coming over. He'd get everyone in on finding Gus.

Someone turned the music on. “Wait up.” Shay tugged at the waistband of his pajama pants.

He stopped so abruptly she slammed into him. Her cool hands landed on his chest.

He'd start with her. “You hear anything about where Gus moved?”

“Of course not. You know I'd tell you.”

“Yeah.” He continued on into the living room. He fist-bumped his buddies, hugged some of the women, and then picked his and Mimi's clothing off the floor.

Shay stepped in front of him, a pair of lacy pale pink underpants dangling off a finger. “You gonna tell me who these belong to?”

This was not going to go well. “Mimi.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth gaping open. “That girl you're giving cooking lessons to?”

He nodded, balling the panties and shoving them in his pocket. “Yeah. Let me bring these to her.”

“You're such a player.” She tried for a teasing tone.

“Not playing.”

Shock hit her features hard. “She's not your type at all.”

“It's not—” He stopped himself from saying it wasn't serious. First of all, it was none of her business, but second—fuck him—the words didn't fit his heart. He didn't know what he had with Mimi, but he sure as hell knew it had to be some kind of serious if he couldn't stop seeing her. “I gotta find Bones.”

Scanning the crowd, he found his friend in the kitchen. A head taller than everyone else, Bones stood out. Calix greeted him. “Dude.”

With his lanky frame, lazy eyes, and easy smile, his friend always looked stoned. And maybe he was, but he was the nicest guy around. “Hey, man. How's it goin'?”

“Listen, still haven't heard from Gus.” He'd known Bones so long he didn't have to even ask a question.

“Gotcha. I'll make some more calls. We'll get him.”

“Appreciate it.” Without a doubt Bones would come through for him. He lifted the pile of clothes in his arms. “Let me take care of these, and I'll be right back.”

“You okay with us crashing here? It started to rain, and we saw your bedroom light on from the beach.”

He thought about Mimi, waiting for him in bed. “Sure, man.” It was pouring out there. His friends needed a place to wait out the storm.

Besides, this was good. Normal. They got too heavy all the time. Needed to lighten up and just
date
.

It was fine.

*   *   *

Mimi
watched out the window as the guys finished up work on the gazebo for the day. “It's like an episode of
The Bachelor.
Look at them—their skin's actually glistening.” They all had their shirts off, their muscular bodies on display in the twilight. Slater even wore a tool belt around his waist.

Emmie came up beside her, drying her hands on a towel. “And to think I'm carrying that man's child.”

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“I don't care. I just want to see Slater hold his baby.” And
then Emmie turned toward her. “You know what? I totally want a girl. More than anything in the whole world, I want a daddy's girl.” Tears glittered in her eyes.

Mimi reached for her friend's hand and gaze it a squeeze. “He'll be an awesome dad.”

“He will.”

Violet came up from the basement. “What're we looking at?”

“Shirtless, hot men.”

“Ooh, can I see?” Violet edged between them, smelling like fragrant tea leaves. Her gaze went straight for Derek, who jumped off the ledge of the gazebo. She sucked in a breath. “That one's mine.”

“Oh, he's yours all right,” Emmie said. “I don't know what kind of voodoo you practice, but you've changed him. That is not the boy I grew up with.”

“Speaking of boys,” Violet said. “You came home early last night, Meems. How'd your date go?”

“It wasn't much of a date. We had about an hour before his friends showed up.”

“He invited his friends over during your date?” Emmie looked confused.

“He didn't invite them. They just showed up. We were in bed, all cozy and intimate, and they just let themselves into his house and took it over like they owned it. He left me alone in his bedroom, while he went out to get my clothes—”