The Redemption (12 page)

“And I still lean on you, all the time,” he says. “All the time.”

“You can, you know,” I say. “Lean on me. Anytime.”

“I know. And I do. You’re half my brain, you know that—the better half, except when you’re a dumbshit.”

“I’m strong now,” I say. “You don’t have to take care of me anymore. I can take care of
you
sometimes, too. I’m strong now.”

“I know you are,” Josh says. “You’re a beast, man.”

“So are you,” I say.

I suddenly remember the text Josh sent me as I sat vigil in Sarah’s hospital room.
I love you, man,
he wrote.
Thanks,
I replied, emotionally stunted asshole that I am.

“Thanks for your text,” I say. “When Sarah was in the hospital.”

He knows the one. He nods.

My mouth twists. “It meant a lot.”

There’s a beat, neither of us knowing what to do.

Maybe I should say more, but that’s all I’ve got.

Josh tries to grin at me, but he fails. His eyes are moist.

Fuck this. This is too weird. I slap my face and Josh laughs in surprise. I’m never the one who slaps first. Ever.

“Are we good, pussy-ass motherfucker?” I ask.

Josh laughs. “Yeah, we’re good, motherfucking cocksucker.”

I hear the sound of Sarah’s laughter. I glance behind us and, sure enough, Sarah and Kat are traipsing noisily toward us from inside the theatre, big smiles plastered across both girls’ faces.

“Hey,” I say to Josh before the girls reach us, “if Henn’s your brother, then he’s mine, too. I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

Jonas
 

The Playboy and The Party Girl have been making a killing together at the craps table for the past hour. Josh was right—he can’t lose, not with Kat rolling the dice for him. For a ridiculously long time, Sarah and I have watched and cheered and high-fived and even bet more money than we should—but win or lose, my brain is utterly incapable of remaining interested for long in what numbers show up on a pair of dice.

When Sarah whispers to me, “You wanna get outta here?” every square inch of my skin tingles.

“You read my mind, baby,” I reply, pushing all my chips over to Kat’s mammoth stack and grabbing Sarah’s hand. “See you guys later,” I call out to Josh and Kat over my shoulder. “Let’s go, baby.” My cock is already hardening with delicious anticipation.

But, as it turns out, Sarah hasn’t read my mind at all. She doesn’t want to beeline back up to the suite for water sports like I do—she wants to race into the tattoo parlor on the other side of the casino to get inked with her first tattoo.

Sarah sits on the tattoo artist’s table, explaining exactly what she wants him to do. I’m watching her, enraptured and turned on like a motherfucker. All I can think about is tasting her and making her come and then fucking her brains out in that Jacuzzi tub.

“Sounds simple enough,” the guy says. “Show me exactly where you want it.”

She lies back and without hesitation pulls up her dress to reveal her leopard-print G-string underneath. Wow, apparently modesty’s not an issue for Sarah tonight—when in Rome, I guess. Or maybe she’s just a lot bit drunk. Or maybe she’s finally come to peace with how fucking hot she is and doesn’t give a damn who knows it—because, holy fuck, this woman is most definitely smokin’ hot. I glance over at the tattoo artist and it’s abundantly clear he appreciates the olive-toned canvas he’ll be working on.

What the fuck is she doing now? She’s peeling down the elastic of her itty-bitty panties, prompting me to lurch forward and reach for her hand to stop her—is she really
that
drunk?—but she stops on her own, just before she gives up the goods.

She points at a tiny swatch of olive skin normally covered by the front of her panties. “Right here,” she says, her fingertip touching the exact spot she wants inked. “Boom.”

I can’t resist. I reach over and touch the spot, too, and she visibly shudders under my fingers. Oh man, what the fuck are we still doing here? Let’s get into that fucking Jacuzzi tub already.

“You sure about this, baby?” I ask. The feel of her skin under my fingertips is making me rock hard.

“Hellz yeah,” she replies. “The tattoo will be covered up when I’m wearing panties or a bikini—visible only when I’m buck naked—which means no one’s ever gonna see it except me. And
you
.”

My blood pulses in my ears.

She licks her lips. “You’re the only man who’s ever gonna see this tattoo, Jonas.”

My chest tightens. I nod.

She blinks slowly and grins. “The only one.”

“Forever?” I ask.

Whoa. I can’t believe I just said that. But, fuck it, I did, and I can’t take it back now.
Forever.
Yeah. That’s exactly what I want from her.

Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of scarlet. She shrugs shyly and bites her lip.

“I want to be the only man who ever sees it,” I say, my voice low. I motion to the tattoo artist. “Besides this guy.”

She swallows hard and nods.

My skin is on fire. I wish I could consummate this pact of ours right now on top of the tattoo table, but since that’s obviously not possible, even in a city as debauched as Vegas, I do the next best thing—I take her face in my hands and kiss her like I own her. Our kiss is so full of heat, so deliciously arousing, I can’t muster the willpower needed to pull myself away from her. I know in my head the tattoo guy is sitting there waiting for us, but my body doesn’t care. She’s my crack. And, right now, I want my crack.

I make a big point of pulling Sarah’s dress back down over her thighs—
I’m the only man who’s allowed to see my baby’s panties, motherfucker—
and then I scoop her up into my arms.
Mine.
 

“Sorry man,” I say to the tattoo guy. “We’ll be back to do this another time.” I look at Sarah in my arms. “I’ll get you whatever tattoo you want before we leave this Godforsaken city, I promise, baby. But right now, I’m taking you straight to our room—straight to that Jacuzzi tub.” I lean into her ear so the tattoo guy doesn’t hear this next part. “And then I’m gonna dine on some delicious, par-boiled pussy
.
”

Her face bursts into flames.

I reach to pull my wallet out of my pocket, but it’s too hard to do while holding her in my arms. “Do me a favor and pay the nice man for me, baby—for his inconvenience.”

She grabs my wallet and practically throws two hundred-dollar bills at the guy. She could have given him a thousand bucks and I wouldn’t have cared—whatever I have to pay to get the fuck out of here so I can taste my baby’s beautiful, sweet pussy underwater in a warm Jacuzzi tub is fine with me.

I kiss her again. “You are so fucking hot,” I say.

She’s panting.

I bound out of the tattoo parlor with my baby in my arms and beeline through the noisy casino toward the elevator bank on the far side of the lobby. When tight aisles and slot machines and crowds make it impractical to continue cradling her, she hops out of my arms and leaps onto my back, and I continue making my way past gaming tables and cocktail waitresses and drunk bachelorettes wearing tiaras, my hands grasping Sarah’s smooth thighs, my cock aching with anticipation. I’m a man on a mission. My legs are pumping. My heart is racing. I hear her tipsy laughter from atop my back. Yeah, baby, I’m a horse racing back to the sweet-pussy barn. Nothing’s gonna stop me from tasting my horny little pony as soon as humanly possible.

But my legs suddenly cease pumping. I stop dead in my tracks. What the fuck? Apparently, my legs have a fucking mind of their own because I’m positive I didn’t instruct them to stop moving. I look up.

I’m standing in front of a wedding chapel. It’s an Elvis-themed chapel, a true Vegas absurdity—but a
bona fide
wedding chapel all the same.

I feel her heart beating against my back, but she doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have stopped. Why did my legs stop? I didn’t tell them to do that. Did I? They hijacked me and took over. Fuck. Her silence on top of me is as thick as molasses. I feel her chest heaving against my back. Why did I stop?

Because I want to marry this girl.

What?

I want to marry this girl.
 

Oh my God. I want to marry Sarah.
I want her to be mine and only mine, and no one else’s, ever again.
Forever.
I want to call her my wife.

But it’s not possible.

I could never ask Sarah to pledge herself to me for eternity without first letting her see the non-traversable wasteland inside of me, the bastion of fuckeduppedness I’ve somehow managed to obscure from her thus far. I can’t ask her to vow to love me forever without first telling her every last thing about The Lunacy—and that’s something I’m just not willing to do.

Wordlessly, I start walking again, leaving the wedding chapel behind. As I gain speed, I feel the tension leave her body and melt away. She lays a soft kiss on the back of my neck.

I see the elevator bank, including the private elevator leading to our penthouse, off to the right—and I hang a sharp left.

“May I help you, sir?” the woman behind the jewelry counter asks.

“Yes, please. We’re in the market for a couple of bracelets.”

Sarah slides off my back and stands beside me, grasping my hand.

“There was blood all over my bracelet from Belize,” I whisper to her. “I had to take it off.”

She nods, her big brown eyes melting me. “They cut mine off at the hospital,” she says softly. “I don’t know where it is.”

“See if you like any of these,” the saleswoman says, placing two trays of bracelets on the counter in front of us. “These ones here are men’s and those are women’s.”

I pick up a plain, platinum c-band off the men’s tray. It’s as basic as you can get. “Can I get this engraved across the face?” I ask.

“Of course,” the saleswoman says.

 “Sarah,” I say, handing it back to her. “S-A-R-A-H.”

“Very good.” Now she looks at Sarah, her eyebrows raised. “And what about you, miss?”

Sarah peers at the tray of women’s bracelets. Virtually all her options are much more elaborate than the simple one I’ve chosen for myself—full of diamonds and curlicues and chains and colorful gems.

“Do you see something you like, baby?” I ask.

She picks up the female version of mine—platinum, c-band, totally plain.

“No, baby, pick something pretty, something with diamonds. You can have whatever you like.”

She grabs the simplest one and hands it to the saleswoman. “Jonas. J-O-N-A-S.”

“No,” I say. “Baby, listen. Pick one with diamonds on it.” I grab a platinum bangle off the tray. It extends all the way around, unlike my c-band, and sparkling diamonds rim its edges. “This is pretty. Or how about this one?” I grab a dazzling diamond tennis bracelet off the tray. “This one is stunning.”

The saleswoman puts my bracelet and the one Sarah handed her onto the counter, awaiting our final decision.

“I want the one that matches yours,” Sarah says simply.

“Yeah, but—”

“Jonas, listen to me.” The tone of her voice leaves zero room for argument. She picks up the matching bracelets off the counter and holds them up, side by side. “I’m the sole member of the Jonas Faraday Club—and you’re the sole member of the Sarah Cruz Club. That’s all that matters to me—not frickin’ diamonds. Our bracelets have to be a perfect match because
we’re
a perfect match.” She juts her chin at me. “End of story.”

Sarah
 

I’m bursting out of my naked skin in the rising water, waiting for Jonas to return to the tub with our champagne. I run my fingertip over the engraved inscription on my new bracelet.
Jonas
. I should probably put it on the ledge of the tub so it doesn’t get wet, but I don’t want to take my new bracelet off. Ever.

I’m aching. Throbbing. Crazy. All I want to do is give this gorgeous man the blowjob of his life. Of course, I want to make love to him, too. And kiss him. And touch him. And feel him deep inside me. And, of course, I can’t wait to tell him I love him using the actual, magic words again, too—sacred words it seems we’re only allowed to exchange when we’re making love—but, holy hell, that blowjob is my first priority. I’m going cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs wanting to take him into my mouth and pleasure him ‘til he can’t see straight. He gets crazy-turned-on pleasuring me? Well, I’ve discovered I get crazy-turned-on pleasuring him, too. So there.

I didn’t know this about myself until recently, and I’ve never felt even remotely eager to perform oral sex on any other man, but with Jonas, I’ve discovered that if I open my mind and touch myself while I’ve got him in my mouth, sucking on him gets me so aroused, it almost makes me orgasm. I like having him at my mercy—literally and figuratively.

I wanted to drop to my knees and take his full length into my mouth the minute he said the word “forever” in that tattoo parlor, but since I’m a nice girl (and not a crack whore in a back alley), performing fellatio in public wasn’t an option (even in a city as perverted as Las Vegas). And then, when he stopped in front of that wedding chapel, holy crappola, he “delivered me unto pure ecstasy” right then and there. I tried to whisper, “the culmination of human possibility” into his ear, but my voice wouldn’t work. I knew in my bones Jonas was closing his eyes and pledging forever to me—and willing me to do the same. And so I did. I closed my eyes and thought, “I promise you forever, Jonas.” It was every bit as magical as our kiss outside the cave in Belize—maybe even more so.

I touch my bracelet again and close my eyes.

We don’t need to stand in front of our friends and family wearing traditional wedding clothes to make our love real and forever. We don’t need a piece of paper. Today was our wedding day. And that’s good enough for me.

Warm water is rising steadily in the tub around me, relaxing me and making me hella horny. I press my lower back into a blasting stream of hot water. “Aah,” I sigh. “Come on, baby,” I call to Jonas in the other room. “I’m w-a-a-a-a-i-t-i-n-g.”