Screw It Page 16

  The sight is beautiful. It’s perfection. My pussy tightens, slickens.

  “Take off your shirt.” My voice is husky.

  His eyes flash before he lifts up, grabs the hem of his green T-shirt at his neck, and pulls it over his head before lying back down. My mouth waters as I take in his hard chest, raspberry nipples, and rock-hard eight-pack. The eight-pack is new. Before, it was only a six-pack. Coarse, curly dark hair peppers his chest and makes a happy trail down to his navel before disappearing under the waistline of his pants.

  I bend forward, so my lips are at his ear. “Reach back and grab the headboard.”

  When I lift up, his jaw tics, and his eyes are tight, but he slowly reaches back and takes hold of the rails of his wooden headboard. Relief flows through me, and my body relaxes. With him being all that’s him, I wasn’t sure he’d give me this. I’m no dominatrix, but I get control in the bedroom.

  “Good boy.” I dip forward, the control he just handed me building me up, empowering me, filling me, making me strong.

  I trail a path with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. I hit his neck, his collarbone, his chest, and when I hit his nipples, I lick them.

  “Fuck, baby, you’re testing me.” His voice is ragged.

  I bite his nipple.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  Those words, knowing I got that out of him, sends a jolt to my clit and wetness to my panties.

  I lick, suck, nip, and take my time over his abs before dipping my tongue into his belly button. Feeling the coarse hair on my tongue while I taste the soap and sweat builds my fire.

  Him giving me this, letting me take from him, makes my breathing heavier and my nipples hard.

  I hit his PJ bottoms, undo the tie, and slide them off. Staring at the hard bulge in his blue boxers, I get wetter. I toss his bottoms aside, and I lick and suck up his thighs, focusing on the feel of his leg hair against my tongue and the groans coming from his mouth.

  After I whip off his boxers, I grab his cock. He’s ten inches of thick-veined, hard-ridged beauty. I love every inch of his dick—always have, always will. When he’s gone and life goes on, I will never forget the sight of his cock.

  “Fuck, sweets, you’re pushing me.” His voice is strained, low and rumbling.

  Sliding my tongue on the underside of him, he groans.

  I wrap my lips around his tip, and hollowing my cheeks, I fill my mouth with him.

  “Can’t hold on.” He knifes up and hauls me up by my armpits before flipping us.

  My stomach flutters at the same time it drops. “I need the—”

  He silences me with a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with mine before driving deep and then pulling back, and I follow. I wrap my arms around his and thrust my fingers into his hair, holding him to me. One of his hands plunges into my hair, maneuvering my mouth, so all I can do is take what he gives. My breathing comes in heavy pants, and his other hand travels down my side and skims my tit before it hits my shorts. A soft high moan travels up my throat as his fingers work at the button of my jeans shorts.

  He breaks the kiss, pulling a whimper out of me. “I need to grab a condom.”

  Flash—Mama’s red hair covered in puke.

  I shake my head. “I have an IUD.”

  He bites his lip. “You sure about this?”

  Flash—the black broken nightstand drawer handle in my hand.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my voice frenzied.

  His eyes grow tight, so I reach between us and wrap my fingers around him tight. I pump my fist once, twice, before lifting my mouth to his. I trace his full bottom lip with my tongue.

  He moans, deep in his throat. “Swear you’ll talk to me in the morning.”

  The last thing I want to do is talk to him about my past, but I’d give anything to stop the torture in my mind.

  I pull in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tell myself that the trade-off is worth it. “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  I hold his eyes boring into me. “Promise.”

  He kisses me—hard, deep, and wet—before fucking the memories away.

  When I fall asleep, my mind is blissfully blank, and I’m tucked tight against him with his front to my back.

  That night, I don’t dream.

  “Oh, fuck!” Becca shouts.

  My eyes shooting open, I lift up to my elbow.

  Leaping from the bed, Becca moves around the room. My gut tightens when she grabs her shirt and pulls it over her head. My chest squeezes as she leans down and comes up with her shorts.

  Reaching over, I snatch her shorts out of her hands.

  “Hey!” Glaring at me, she puts a hand to the bed and makes a move for her shorts.

  My blood pumping hard, my muscles tensing, I hold them out of reach. “You begged me.”

  She stops, her forehead creasing. “What?”

  “Last night.” My words are clipped. “You begged me. You’re not using that shit to put a wall up. No fucking way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  My jaw clenches. “I’m talking about you jumping outta bed and flying around the room for your clothes ’cause we fucked.”

  Her eyebrows pull together. Then, her face relaxing, she smirks and rolls her eyes. “Zach, it’s eleven o’clock. I have to go to work.”

  My muscles unwind at the same time my eyebrows pull together. “Sweets, you aren’t going to work.”

  Her head jerks. “Yes, I am.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Not sure how you could forget, but your apartment burned down last night.”

  She flinches, and then her tone is acidic when she says, “I know that, Zach.”

  “Babe, seriously?”

  “Seriously, what?” Her tone is high. She’s getting impatient.

  “You’ve got a lot of shit to do. Take one fucking day off to get your shit sorted.”

  “How am I going to pay for that shit if I’m not working?”

  I snag her around the waist and pull her onto the bed. With Becca on her back, I roll over her, and I brace myself up on my forearms.

  She pushes against my chest. “Get off me, Zach. I’m gonna be late.”

  “Babe, you’re not going in.”

  Widening her eyes, her jaw clenches. “I am!”

  “You gotta take care of shit. Already told Matt I’m taking the day off to cart your ass around and get the shit you need.”

  “There are so many things wrong with what you just said.” She clips the words coming out of her mouth.

  My lips twitch. “Fill me in on what those things are.”

  Sticking out a thumb, she says, “One, you deciding when I’m taking care of shit.” She flips out her index finger. “Two, you deciding to take a day off to cart me around when I don’t need you taking care of me.” Her middle finger pops up. “Three, you deciding I’m taking the day off.”

  I grin.

  Her eyes narrow on my mouth. “Four, you grinning at me when I’m pissed at you.”

  I let out a chuckle. “Sweets, you’re fucking cute when you’re pissed.”

  Her body tightens, and her eyes get hard. “Are you shitting me?”

  Dipping my head, I give her a peck on the lips and pull away quickly, so she doesn’t bite me. I roll over and jump out of bed. “You want the shower first or second? Or do you want to take one together?”

  She opens her mouth and then snaps it shut.

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Right. I’ll shower first. You call your bosses.”

  “I’m not taking the day off!”

  Sighing, I put my fists on my hips. “Babe, I get that it sucks you have to miss a day of work. But you work fifteen-hour days, except on Sundays. You have no time to take care of shit, so you gotta make time.”

  She crosses her arms. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  My patience slipping, I place my hands on the bed and lean toward her. “You sound like a three-year-old sometimes.”

  “You sound like a
dick all the time.”

  “Jesus, Becca. You need to get shit done, and I’m helping. Instead of getting shit done, you’re bickering with me and acting like a fucking brat. Ever occur to you to just take the goddamn help, say thank you, and get on with getting shit done?”

  She scans my face and then opens her mouth, but I get there before her. “Anything that comes outta your mouth other than thank you is just gonna piss me off.” My tone is low, warning.

  Her eyes get hard again. “I was gonna say no, it didn’t occur to me. My mother was a drunken prostitute, and I taught myself to do just about everything. After she drowned in her own vomit, my foster parents were overbearing and controlled everything. I don’t take too well to being told what to do. So, I didn’t think to say thank you. I just thought about you ordering me around again. Now, I’ll just say fuck you.”

  I blink. Each fucking word out of her mouth is a blow to my chest.

  Jesus.

  “Sweetheart,” I whisper, my throat tight.

  “And now, I’ll say thank you for last night. I held up my end of the bargain, so you can get the fuck out of my face now.” Her tone is eerily calm.

  Lifting my hand, I cup her jaw and sweep my thumb across the freckles on her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinks and then tilts her head to the side. “For what?”

  “About your mom.”

  Her face blanks. “You didn’t pour alcohol down her throat.”

  Remembering the state she was in last night, I ask, “You loved her?”

  Her jaw tics. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I tilt my head. “Why?”

  Her face scrunches. “Why?”

  “Yeah, sweets. Why?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “Babe, you love someone, you keep that person with you even if it’s just inside your heart. If you love someone, you share that person with others. You tell stories and talk about that love. Keep her alive in your heart.”

  Her eyes move over my face, and then she opens her mouth and closes it again. Looking away, she works her jaw back and forth. Her eyes make their way back to mine.

  “I loved her because she was my mom. She loved me and told me often. She made me feel precious because she thought I could hang the moon and the stars. But I hate her.” Her tone, low and sweet, is the softest one I’ve ever heard her use.

  I keep my tone gentle, already knowing her answer. “Why do you hate your mom?”

  She purses her lips. “Zach, she was a fucking drunk. She was a fucking prostitute. My first memory is of her being so drunk that she tripped over her own two feet and knocked me over.”

  Sitting on the bed, I move to pull her into my arms, but she bats at me and then stands.

  “Happy sharing time is over. I’m not getting into this shit right now. I held up my end of the bargain, so we’re all done.”

  Standing up, I sigh. I know I’m not getting more, but I’m thankful for what I got. “Right. You gonna let me take you around to get shit?”

  She crosses her arms and juts out a hip. “Fine. I need to get shit, so might as well do it today. Since you’re off, it’ll save me gas money.” She licks her bottom lip and then slides her teeth across it. Looking uncomfortable, she glances around the room before her eyes move back to me. “And, um…thanks.”

  I grin.

  Half an hour later, I’m leaning against the counter, shoveling bacon, eggs, and toast into my mouth. “Babe, don’t know how you make bacon and eggs better than anyone I know ’cause they’re just bacon and eggs, but fuck, this shit is the shit.”

  She peeks up from her plate with a smile on her face. “Thanks. You fry the bacon first and then fry the eggs in the bacon grease.”

  I chew and then swallow. “Makes sense. Bacon makes everything taste better.”

  Her smile grows bigger. “A good life philosophy.”

  Grinning, I take another bite.

  She gives a little shake of her head. “I want to hit the grocery store first. You have nothing in the house.”

  “We’ll do that after the mall.”

  “But you have no food. We should do the grocery store first. That’s at the top of the list.”

  We.

  Letting that word sink into my chest, I pop my plate in the sink and swig the last of my coffee.

  “Babe, mall first. Groceries can’t be sitting in my truck in the summer while you hem and haw over what color T-shirt goes with your eyes.”

  Her jaw drops. “I don’t hem and haw.”

  “Babe, you got tits. All women hem and haw.”

  She sets her plate down, making the fork clatter. “Oh, so you’re an expert on women now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Right. That’s why you’ve been looking for”—she makes finger quotes—“the one for years.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, a muscle jumping in my jaw. “Exactly. Know a lot of women, so I know what makes them tick.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You not finding the one wouldn’t be because you’re a screaming dick.”

  I clench my teeth, pissed that she’s throwing in my face what I shared during our intense conversation. “It was you screaming on my dick last night.”

  Her eyes widen. “Dick!”

  I sigh. “Right. Finish eating. We’ve got shit to do.”

  “Quit telling me what to do!”

  Taking a deep breath, I look at the ceiling, begging for patience. When I get some, I look back at her tight face. “Fine. Oh, great master princess of the world, would you so graciously finish eating your delicious food, so I can take you to get your shit sometime today?”

  Her face softens, and her lip twitches. “That’s better.”

  I grin.

  An hour later, we’re walking out of Marshalls. I’m carrying bags stuffed with a shitload of clothes, panties, and bras. Shopping fucking blows, but knowing what her panties look like makes traipsing around a department store worth it.

  “Told you I don’t hem and haw,” she says, her tone mocking, as she hefts herself into my truck.

  “Learn something new every day.” My lips part and tip up, and she beams up at me. Her smile hits my chest and warms me.

  Sweet.

  Seven hours later, I’m sitting at my eat-in kitchen table, shoveling food into my mouth. “Fuck, Becca. Forgot how good you can cook.”

  Her lips tip up. “Thanks.”

  “What is this?” I ask before popping a noodle into my mouth.

  “Swedish meatballs.”

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  Her face blanks, and then she drops her head to stare at her plate.

  I let it go, guessing she’s had enough sharing. I think she learned to cook out of necessity, and that makes my gut churn. We’ve had a good day. Don’t wanna fuck shit up now.

  “I was thinking,” Becca starts, still staring at her plate. “We already broke the seal, so we should be fuck buddies while I’m here.”

  My brows draw together, my gut squeezing. Yesterday, she said I was her man. I admit, I coerced the relationship status a bit, but she said it and never took it back. She turned to me when she needed me last night, she shared this morning, and we had a great day today.

  “Fuck buddies?” My tone is low.

  Glancing at me, she licks her bottom lip. “Yeah, fuck buddies.”

  My jaw tics. “Seeing as I’m your man, don’t you think fuck buddies is a step backward?”

  “I—” She snaps her mouth shut. “Forget it.”

  “No, Becca. What the fuck?”

  She looks to the side and licks her bottom lip again. When her eyes hit me, they’re tight. “The only relationship I’ve ever had was you, Zach, and it wasn’t even a real one. Give me some room to fuck up, all right?”

  Fire lights in my gut. “We had a relationship.”

  She puts her fork down and crosses her arms. “I thought we had one. You didn’t, so no, it wasn’t real.”

  M
y grip on my fork tightens. “It was real.”

  “It wasn’t. You know, now that we’re on this topic, I don’t think I loved you. No, in fact, I couldn’t have loved you. I didn’t even know you. I didn’t know any of the shit you shared with me today. How could I have loved someone I didn’t know? Maybe I loved the idea of you, but—”

  “Shut it.” My words are hard, my face granite. Every word holds truth, and it burns. I never realized it, but after hearing her take those three little words back, I know now that they meant something to me in a big way.

  “Whatever. I made my point.” She looks at her plate.

  Drilling my eyes into her, I grind my teeth. “You loved me.”

  She snaps her head up and narrows her eyes. “I didn’t.”

  “What you said about not knowing me, I’ll give it to you. You’re right. You didn’t know all of me, so you couldn’t love all of me. But I still gave you a chunk of me, and you loved that chunk. That meant something to me. Let me keep it.”

  She crosses her arms. “No.”

  “You telling me you didn’t mean those words when you gave me your virginity?” My tone is quiet.

  “I didn’t know the man I gave my virginity to,” she snaps.

  My muscles tense. “You knew enough.”

  She throws up her hands. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation.”

  “I’m not.”

  She stands and carries her plate to the sink. “I am.”

  Standing, I make my way to her. She’s washing her dirty dish, so I cage her in with my hands on either side of her. “I’m not.”

  “Jesus Christ, Zach. Fucking drop it.”

  “No.”

  “Look at me.”

  “No.”

  Reaching over her, I grab the sponge from her hand and plop it on the counter, bubbles squishing out.

  “Hey!”

  Grabbing her hips, I spin her around. “Do me a solid, all right?”

  “What?” Her word is clipped.

  I cup her jaw and sweep my thumb on her freckles. “Sweetheart, this relationship shit is new to me, too. Had a few that lasted a little while, but no girl met a member of my family. I sure as shit never let any woman I was seeing bond with my niece and nephew. We’re gonna clash, we’re gonna bicker, but we gotta talk, we gotta listen, and we gotta compromise.”