Tonic (17 page)

I rested my forearms on the table and shifted in my seat. “Off the record?”

“Of course,” she said, looking surprised.

I brought my fingers up to touch my beard. “We were so young. I was on my own for the first time and I met her and it was like … I don’t know. We were inseparable. She was crazy. I was crazy. We got married in Vegas a month after we met.”

She didn’t respond, but watched me in a way that told me she wanted to know more.

I sighed. “I don’t really talk about it a lot because it wasn’t pretty. My parents died back to back in the middle of it all, and we took Shep in. The stress of everything just imploded something that was already burning down.”

“She was almost charged with assault, right?”

I nodded, hating that she’d dug around on me when I knew virtually nothing about her. “It used to get physical a lot. With her, not me. I just want you to know that. I never laid a hand on her in anger.”

“I believe you,” she said quietly.
 

“I mean, I wrecked shit, it stands to note. Many a lamp, a couple TVs, and a damn good couch were sacrificed to our fights. But I never touched her. I’d wreck the apartment instead. We’d drink, and she’d come at me, ready to fight. She’d push every button, point at every flaw, tear me down. But don’t look at me like that,” I said when I saw the trademark pity that accompanied this story. “I wasn’t any better. We’d yell, scream, hurt each other with our words. She’d slap and scratch and throw things at me. Once, she came at me with a baseball bat.”

Annika was still. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
 

“Don’t worry. She didn’t get a shot off. I caught it and threw it off the fire escape.”

“I don’t even know how I’d handle that.”

“I dunno. We were married. It wasn’t simple — she was there for everything, a part of me. A part I hated, sure, but she was a part of my life. Sometimes I just had to get her still long enough, and she’d kiss me, or I’d kiss her. It was the easy way to switch gears, put all that adrenaline into something less destructive. But it was hell for both of us, this cycle we found ourselves in.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

I realized my smile had fallen and resurrected it. “Don’t be. I learned a lot about what I want, about who I am and what I want out of a relationship.”

“Which is?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t had a girlfriend since.”

Her mouth fell open a hair, her brow dropping as she did the math. “Fourteen years?”

I nodded.
 

“I mean, certainly you’ve—”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’ve done plenty of that.”

She didn’t look overly amused.
 

“I just haven’t been interested in anything deeper. I’m not going to say Liz ruined me for that, but …”

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

And I lied again, carefully cultivating the words, slipping them into her brain. It was the only way I knew to keep her coming back to me until I figured out what to do next. “This is why what you and I have here is perfect. You do your job. Come here when you want me and I’ll take you when I want. And when it’s over, it’s over. That’s the deal, right?”

Something flitted behind her eyes, but was gone just as soon as it appeared. “Exactly.”

I smiled. “I’m glad we’re in agreement. Now, tell me you’re finished eating.”

She laid her hands in her lap. “I am, thank you.”

“Good,” I said as I stood, and so did she. But when I stepped into her, she turned her head.

“Wait,” she said softly, and I froze.

“What’s wrong?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I … this is weird, but …” she paused and pursed her lips. “Can I, um, use your toothbrush?”

I laughed a little louder than I meant to. “I didn’t peg you for the type to share toothbrushes with anyone.”

The flush deepened. “I have egg breath. Egg breath trumps germ sharing. Plus, it’s not like your mouth germs aren’t already well acquainted with mine.”

I leaned in, wrapping my arms around her waist, running my nose against her temple before kissing it. “Sure. Mine’s the purple one.”

“You have a purple toothbrush?”

“Asks the girl who’s worried about egg breath.”

She chuckled. “Thank you.”

I let her go. “You’re welcome.”

“Maybe you should brush yours too,” she said as she turned for the bathroom. “Just saying.”

“Why, does your pussy care?”

Her jaw popped open, and she laughed, the sound full of embarrassment, tinged with amusement and shock. “Joel!”

I shrugged. “That was my intended destination, so if your little lady doesn’t care, you shouldn’t either.”

“Oh, my God. Please don’t call it that ever again.” She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light.

I leaned on the doorframe and folded my arms across my bare chest. “So, pussy is preferable?”

She picked up my toothbrush from the cup and opened the medicine cabinet. “I’d prefer you not call it anything. Just ravage it.”

I laughed. “I can do that. You have no idea how I can do that.”

She smirked and loaded the toothbrush with paste. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”

I pushed off the door and stepped behind her, looking at the two of us in the mirror. “No, you don’t.”

That blush. That blush was the best thing to ever happen to me.

She slipped the toothbrush into her mouth, and a new objective manifested: distract Annika by any means necessary.

I leaned back as she started scrubbing, looking down her back as she watched me in the mirror. First, her hair, my big hands making quick work of the hair tie holding it together. I shook it out — the bun had left it in soft waves that fell over her shoulders. My head tilted, hands running from her waist to her hips, then around to the back, to her zipper. I unzipped it and slipped my hands inside, down her hips, the band catching on my wrists, and I pushed until the material was a pile around her long, white legs.

She braced herself with her free hand on the counter, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
 

The white silk shell had tiny straps, and I slipped one off her shoulder, bowing my head to kiss and lick in the wake of my fingers. The strap fell to her elbow, exposing one breast, sheathed in a nude, strapless bra that I wanted out of my way, but there was plenty of time for that.
 

I noticed her hand had stopped scrubbing.

“Keep brushing,” I said into her skin and kissed down her back.

She did as she was told, though the motion was slow. It had maybe been twenty seconds. I had a full minute and a half left, according to the American Dental Association, and I’d take advantage of that time. I smirked at her over her shoulder as I ran my hands down her hips and around the front of her thighs, sliding them up until I found what I was looking for and slipped a finger inside.

Her lids fluttered, and her hand faltered.
 

“Keep brushing, egg breath.”

She let out a small, muffled laugh, and spit into the sink before she got going again. With my free hand, I pressed my hand to her back and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Spread your legs.”

She hinged at the waist and widened her legs as I dropped to my knees and grabbed her hips, pulling her toward me until I connected. She was so soft, so warm against my tongue, and I moaned, the sound rumbling through me.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed and dropped my toothbrush in the sink, opting to hang on for leverage. My lips were too busy to protest.

I buried my face in her, squeezing her hips, guiding her to move just how I wanted her to until she moved on her own, telegraphing to me what she liked, what she wanted, rocking against my tongue. Her back arched, and I reached up to grab a fistful of her shirt.

“God,” she whispered into the basin, but I couldn’t see her and didn’t care what she looked like, not with all of my attention focused on making her come. She pulsed against my tongue and I knew she was close. I used my fisted hand to guide her, moving the hand on her hip between her legs, finding the sensitive spot with my thumb, circling it as she gasped. Then arched. Then shuddered against me, her body releasing. I slowed my lips, my tongue, easing her down as I hoped she wasn’t tired. Because I was nowhere near done with her yet.

I kissed her long and slow as she panted, her legs trembling as I kissed the soft skin of her back, my hands skating up her ribs under her shirt, wanting it gone. She took the cue and pulled it off, and I spent a long moment kissing the skin between her shoulder blades as I flicked the snap of her bra open with my thumb and forefinger.
 

And just like that, Annika was naked, looking over her shoulder at me with wild hair and burning eyes, spread eagle in my bathroom.
 

“Go get in my bed,” I said gruffly and kissed her back again.

She stood and turned to me, looking down my body as she reached for my hand, meeting my eyes for a split second before pulling me toward the bedroom. I followed her, admiring every curve of her long body — her shoulder, the dip in her spine, the slow wave of her waist to her hip — as she pulled me into my room and stopped in front of the bed.
 

She turned and looked up at me, her face young again, her lips wide and full, parted just enough to see a sliver of teeth. She brought her hands to my naked chest. Her fingers trailed fire as they slipped down my hips, under the band of my pants and back to my ass, pushing the elastic down and over until they dropped. I stepped out of them — her eyes hadn’t left mine.
 

I cupped her small face in my hands, my fingers like tattooed wings against the flawless porcelain of her skin. She was so beautiful, so strong, so capable, but in that moment she was vulnerable, and that made her strength that much sweeter. She could move heaven and earth. She could move my heart, which I thought was immovable.

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to hers to stop me from thinking anymore. I didn’t want to think. I only wanted to feel her.

Her lips were sweet and supple, moving with mine, her tongue slipping past my lips and into my mouth. And as the kiss deepened, she wound herself around me, and I wound around her, pulling her flush against me.
 

She broke away after a moment and whispered into my mouth, “Lie down.”

I smirked, my heart banging as I followed orders, stretching out on the bed, slipping my hands behind my head. Her bottom lip was between her teeth, one corner of her mouth pulled up too, eyes combing me over. I wondered if she’d ever seen anyone as tattooed as me — I was covered from neck to heel — but it was only a passing thought. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, the shadows across her body in the low light of the room — the curve of her breast, the peak of her nipple, the bridge of her small nose.
 

She was art, made of shadows and light.
 

I was almost startled when she moved — my brain had been calculating the strokes it would take to recreate her on paper, but it would be impossible. She was too real.

She crawled onto the bed and between my thighs, her hands skating up the outside to my hips as she dipped her head and trailed her tongue down the V of muscle that led down. She followed the path, tilting her head so the tip of her nose grazed my shaft, and I hissed, slipping a hand into her hair. She tilted her head again, replacing the tip of her nose with the tip of her hot tongue — my fingers clenched, twisting her hair in my fist. And then she looked up at me and smiled, licking up my shaft until she reached the crown, her lids closing softly as she opened her mouth, and I disappeared inside of her.

I held onto her hair as she rose and dropped, my eyes on her lips, my brain trying to match what I saw with what I felt — the wet heat as it surrounded and disappeared, her tongue as it rolled, her fingers as they dug into my hips, her breasts between my thighs.

She hummed, and my eyes closed, chin tipped. She took me deeper with every wave of her body, her hand leaving my thigh to touch me low, cup me, rolling her fingers in time with her mouth, dropping again and again until I couldn’t let her go on.
 

I hissed her name, and she backed off me slowly, her eyes on mine, my cock leaving her lips so hot, it took all my reserve willpower not to slam back into her.
 

“Come here,” I growled, the words barely audible as I rose to meet her, our mouths connecting, breath heaving, all hands and skin, the two of us pressed against each other and touching each other until I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began. I lay on my side with Annika in the crook of my elbow, her hair in my fingers, our legs scissored together as we kissed and kissed, rolled and tumbled. Until I needed her so badly that the only thing I could do was to take her.

I backed away, and she rolled onto her back, chest heaving, lips swollen and red, lids heavy. My hand slipped between her legs, cupping her, squeezing her as I leaned toward my nightstand for a condom. She whimpered, clutching my wrist, riding my hand, begging for me to touch her without saying a word, and I slipped a finger into her, then another as she gasped and whispered my name.
 

I groaned, lips together, letting her go to rip open the package, trying to focus enough to roll the condom on as she writhed on the bed, her thighs squeezing, looking for pressure. Pressure that was mine to give.

I opened her knees, one hand gripping my base as I hovered over her, pressing myself against her until she parted for me, let me in.
 

We both moaned as I slid into her, and I paused for a breath, then another, bending to kiss her, my lips feverish, hips still, feeling her all around me. I pulled her thigh into my ribs, and she raised it higher, resting her knee against my tricep, her hips rolling against me to give her the weight she wanted to ease the aching I knew she had to feel. I felt it too.
 

I pulled out and flexed, slamming back into her, and she kicked her head back into the bed. Then again, and a cry passed her lips. I pulled her other thigh up, and she squeezed my ribs before bringing her knees as close to her shoulders as she could. I leaned into her, hovered over her, her shins hooked under my arms. Our open lips were inches apart as I pumped my hips and she gasped for air, and when she came, when she pulled me into her with her breath and her body, I followed her, pulsing and shaking with the release. And as I slowed, I looked into her eyes, finding myself reflected in them, hoping she saw herself in mine.