Screw It Read online

  Her face softens slightly.

  “Last night, I compromised. Not a hardship, seeing as I came so fucking hard that I thought I was gonna explode, but still. It felt wrong, made me uneasy, but I did it for you. I’m asking you to let me keep that memory and not shit on it. This means something to me, so let me have it.”

  Her eyes drift back and forth between mine, searching. They go tight, but she says, “Okay.”

  My shoulders relax, and tilting her head backward, I bring my mouth down to hers.

  Okay.

  Sweet.

  Getting There

  Six Days Later—Sunday

  I have my plan sorted. When he asked me to let him keep the memory of my love, it dawned on me that I had to be in the relationship and quit fighting it, so when I do leave him, he will be so screwed that he’ll leave me alone for good.

  I have no idea how to go through with this plan without getting my heart involved, but I figure I’ve spent my entire adult life guarding my heart from men that I can do it with Zach. He, of course, was able to slither his way in before, but now, I’m prepared. He won’t do it again.

  Every day in the morning, we go for our run, laughing, smiling, and bickering. There is lots of bickering. He’s an egotistical, overbearing dickhead, and I don’t like being bossed around. After showering, he drives me to work and goes to work himself, and then he is at Mario’s to walk me to Hole.

  Sometimes, he stays, and other times, he drops me off and says, “Gotta get some work shit done. I’ll be here when you get off.”

  It seems like I’m doing a good job of burrowing my way into his heart. I’m not sure because I’ve never done something like this before, but from the soft looks he gives on top of his relentless determination, I’m getting there.

  Sitting on his couch, I’m looking for an apartment online on my tablet. For the millionth time, I’m thankful I had it with me at Matt’s when my place caught on fire. Zach is sitting next to me with his arm slung around my shoulders, twirling his fingers in my hair, and watching something stupid on TV. The hair-twirling feels nice and relaxing. My side pressed against him makes me feel safe and protected. I tell myself that what I’m feeling is good for the plan. If it feels nice to me when I’m trying to block my feelings out, then it must feel great to him.

  “I need a car,” I say, opening a new tab.

  “Why?”

  I glance at him. “You can’t drive me everywhere forever.”

  “Sweets, only place you go is work.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know, but doesn’t getting in so late fuck with your work schedule?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Core hours are noon to three. Other six can be all around that.”

  My eyebrows pull together. “But what if you get a call or something and can’t be there to get me?”

  “Worst case, babe, grab a taxi, and I’ll pay you back.”

  I shift to face him, making his arm fall. “Zach, that doesn’t make sense. If I get a car, it won’t be an issue.”

  “No joke, this is how it is. I barely get to see you as it is. Me carting your ass around gives me more time to see your sweet face. No fucking way I wanna give that up. Plus, you’re saving for your food thing, and a car will be a big hit to that. Why buy a car when I can cart you around? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Okay, he’s got me there.

  And the way he said it was nice, making my belly warm.

  I ignore my warming belly. “I knew you’d bitch about me working too much.”

  “Babe, we’re having a relaxed, quiet night, the first we’ve had since we got back together, and you’re picking a fight. What the fuck?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not picking a fight.”

  “Babe, seriously?”

  My heart beats faster. “Yeah, seriously.”

  He looks to the ceiling, sighs, and then looks back to me. “You do work too much, but—”

  My fingers ball into fists. “See?”

  “Woman, would you let me finish my fucking sentence?”

  I roll my eyes but shut my trap.

  He closes his eyes. “Fucking three-year-old.”

  “Dick.”

  He draws in air deeply, lets it out slowly, and opens his eyes. “Now that we get that I’m a dick and you’re immature, I’ll finish my goddamn sentence. Yeah, you work too much, Becca. Christ. Ninety hours a week is too much. You get six hours of sleep and do nothing but work. Still trying to figure out why. It’s insane and unhealthy.”

  “I’m saving, and I don’t want to be forty when I get my business up and going.”

  “You try for a loan?”

  “No.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “I won’t get one.”

  “Don’t know if you don’t try.”

  “I don’t want to owe anyone.”

  He jerks his head back, an eyebrow rising. “Babe, that’s fucked.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. It’s not up to you, and I’m not changing for you this time. I’m not taking off time, and I’m not spending money.”

  His eyes soften, and he smiles. “Don’t want you changing for anything, especially not for me. Like you how you come, sweets.”

  I ignore my heart warming.

  A Week Later—Sunday

  I stomp into Zach’s apartment after he picked me up from Mario’s.

  “Babe, what’s up your ass?”

  Ignoring his question, I slam my purse on the counter. “Don’t be a dick.”

  His fingers curl around my hips, and he spins me around, pressing my ass into the counter. My eyes widen in response. We broke the seal on the night of the fire, but we haven’t gone there again. He said it was too soon. I disagreed because I liked my orgasms, and my bright pink rabbit was another casualty of the fire. This resulted in an argument where I called him a pussy, and he pinned me down and tickled me until I took it back. I eventually gave in, and he kissed me hard and deep. The kiss was wet and long but just not long enough. Since then, we’ve cuddled on the couch and had a few frustrating make-out sessions that were cut short but no pressing me up against the counter.

  This is nice. Having his groin pressed against my stomach is very nice.

  I tip my head back to look at him. “What are you doing?”

  He puts a hand on either side of me. “Finding out what bug got up your ass.”

  I purse my lips. “Why are you such a dick?”

  “Babe, fucking seriously? Just wanna know why you were stewing in the truck, stomping into the house, and slamming your purse down. So, seeing as you’ve been pissed since the second I laid eyes on you when I picked you up, I wanna know what bug you have up your ass.”

  “Stop saying I have a bug up my ass!”

  “You have a bug up your ass.”

  I push against his chest, thinking being pinned against him isn’t so nice anymore. “You’re such a dick.”

  “We already know that, but I still don’t know what your problem is.”

  I bite my lip, trying to grab hold of my anger, so tears don’t threaten. “The economy is hitting Mario’s, and they gotta cut back. Mondays and Tuesdays are really slow, and it costs Bertie more to stay open on those days, so he’s closing down on Mondays and Tuesdays. I’m losing fifty bucks a week plus whatever tips. So, yeah, I’m pissed. I need that money.”

  His lip twitches as he cups my jaw and swipes my cheekbone with his thumb. I feel that thumb sweep in my heart, but I ignore it—or I tell myself to ignore it.

  “You can serve me. Hold grapes for me to eat, and get a fan of leaves to cool me off.” He wags his eyebrows. “You can put on a sarong, and I’ll wear a toga.”

  The mental image he’s conjured up is so not him and so not me that I can’t help it when a bubble of laughter flies out. “Quit making me laugh when I’m pissed.”

  He chuckles, making his hard body shake against me. His convulsing body paired with the warmth in his eyes
are a really good combination. My nipples tighten.

  His chuckle dies, and the warmth disappears. My stomach churns.

  “Got some bad news.”

  My heart dips. “What?”

  “Case is cold.”

  My eyebrows pull together. “My apartment?”

  “Yeah. It was the curling iron, babe, but there was also gas.”

  My jaw drops open.

  “We don’t know who did it. You’re ruled out ’cause you don’t have renter’s insurance, and you’ve got an alibi, seeing as you were with me. We couldn’t salvage any other prints, and no one saw anyone coming or going, so we’ve got nothing.”

  “Damn.” I drop my forehead to his chest before tipping it back. “I don’t get why someone would do that. I haven’t seen Brian since that night, and he’s the only one who I can think of that might do something like that.”

  Zach’s mouth gets tight. “He has an alibi. Showing some husband evidence of his wife cheating. He was there all night. Talked to the husband, and alibi checks out.”

  My shoulders relax. “I’m glad I didn’t pick someone that crazy to fuck.”

  His jaw hardens. “Shut it.”

  My head jerks back. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t wanna hear about you fucking other people.”

  I roll my eyes. “Quit being a dick. We both have pasts, and we both know it.”

  He draws in a deep breath, and his eyes gentle. “Right. Know that, sweets, but how about you and me keep our eyes on the future?”

  My belly warms as I think that was a sweet thing to say.

  This is fake.

  I ignore my warming belly.

  “Moving forward, you gotta keep your eyes open. Stay safe, and stay smart. If you notice someone paying particular attention to you or you get any ideas on who might have done this, you let me know.”

  I nod, sliding my arms around his waist. “Okay.”

  One side of his mouth tips up. “Okay.”

  He dips his head and slides his nose against mine. My eyes flutter shut, and tilting my head up, I press my lips to his. He groans deep in his throat, and the sound makes me wet. I unwind my arms from his waist and glide my hands up his solid abs, chest, and shoulders before curling them around his neck and into his hair. I moan when he slides his tongue into my mouth, and his dick pressed against me thickens.

  He moves his hand to my hip, sliding his fingers on the skin where my pants meet my shirt. My heavy breath catches, my skin tingling under his light touch. Molding myself to him, his cock grows harder, and my panties get damper. He rips his mouth from mine, pulling a frustrated whimper from me, and shoves his head in my neck.

  “Which ones are you wearing?”

  My eyes snap open. “What?”

  “Panties, sweets. Which ones are you wearing?” His voice is muffled in my neck.

  My pussy clenches before I whisper, “The dark green lacy ones.”

  He groans. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me I’m getting in there.” His voice is hard with a hint of desperation.

  My heart skips. “What?”

  He pulls his head up from my neck to stare down at me. His heated, intense eyes scan my face. “Am I getting in there?” His voice is soft.

  My eyes widen, and my heart rate picks up. I’m not sure what I should say. Self-preservation screams no, but to stick with the plan I should say yes.

  Instead, I say, “Um…”

  He grins, dips his head, and kisses me. With his hand supporting me at my neck, his tongue plunders my mouth, the force of the kiss bending me over the counter. I clutch his shoulders, holding on for the ride. His other hand slides up my side to cup my tit. His thumb sweeps over my hard nipple, and I whimper into his mouth.

  He pulls away and grabs my hand. “Fucking finally.” He drags me down the hall.

  “Finally?”

  We hit his room where he flips on the light, kicks off his shoes, and tugs his shirt over his head.

  My mouth waters as I look at his hard chest, his ripped abs, and the V at his hips.

  “Yeah, finally.”

  I understand finally when he moves almost faster than I can blink. One second, he’s three feet away, and the next one, I’m in his arms until he’s crushing his lips against mine.

  My pulse kicks up, and goose bumps break out along my skin when I realize I’m finally going to have his cock again. My breathing comes in harsh pants as my hands move over the smooth skin of his back. He breaks away, and a whimper of protest slides up my throat. One side of his mouth quirks up into a sexy smirk. His hand goes to the hem of my shirt, and he pulls it up. I raise my arms, and my shirt is off in no time at all. Then, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, as his fingers work my fly. My skin heats, and my clit throbs as I work the button and zipper of his jeans. Once I have access, I dive my hand into his pants and grip his cock.

  “Fuck, yes,” he moans.

  I whimper into his mouth feeling his silky solid length twitch in my hand. I pump once, twice, and a third time, making him groan. His groan sends a delicious shiver through me, hitting me deep inside my core.

  My pants undone, he glides his hand into my panties. He wastes no time sinking his thick, long finger into my pussy. I break my mouth from his, and my head rolls back. I let out a moan when his finger slides out, and he rubs my clit.

  “Fucking drenched.” His voice is rough.

  “Yes,” I whisper as he rubs his finger on that sweet nub. My nipples harden, the rough lace of my bra brushing against them.

  When he takes his hand out of my panties, I let out a cry of protest, but it’s short-lived when he grabs the waistline of my pants and drags them down my legs. He’s down on one knee, tugging off one sandal and then the next, and he helps me step out of my jeans.

  My chest heaves as my breathing comes in heavy pants. The anticipation is exquisite torture.

  “I fucking love these.” His finger traces the lace outline where my thigh meets my hip, right next to my sex.

  Instantly, I decide they’re my favorite pair of underwear.

  He leans forward and covers my pussy with his mouth. His hot breath seeps through my panties, and I do a full body tremble. He stands abruptly. Before I can say a word, his shoulder is at my belly, and he’s carrying me potato-sack style toward his bed.

  “Hey!” I cry out when he tosses me on the bed.

  He doesn’t respond as he pulls down his boxers and jeans at the same time.

  When he stands back up, his eyes meet mine before they rake over my body. I take the time to appreciate his tall and toned body. I take in every inch of his hard, olive-skinned form. My eyes hone in on his thick, corded cock, and my mouth goes dry. I nearly frown when I lose sight of it as he puts his hand to the bed and crawls over me.

  “Keep looking at me like that, foreplay isn’t gonna last long,” he says, his lips an inch away from mine.

  I meet his eyes. “We can have foreplay next time.”

  His brown eyes darken as a slow smile spreads across his face. “Sounds like a plan.”

  When he finally sinks his cock into me and I arch my neck, I don’t realize he took control, and I didn’t give it a thought. When my pussy throbs through my orgasm and his loud deep groan of satisfaction comes a second later, I don’t reflect on how right giving him control felt.

  A Week and Two Days Later—Tuesday

  “Hey, pretty girl. Mama has a date tonight,” Mama says, walking into the living room.

  “Okay.” I drink the chocolate milk I didn’t finish from my school lunch and watch cartoons.

  Chocolate milk is yummy. Cartoons are funny.

  Mama wobbles and falls to a knee. My belly hurts when she does this.

  I jump up and rush to her. “You okay, Mama?”

  She peeks at me, her smile shaky and her eyes teary. She looks sad. “I’m good, pretty girl.”

  She taps my nose, and I giggle.

  She stands aga
in, but she trips, and the way she falls makes her bump into me.

  I fall, and my head hits the coffee table. “Ouch!”

  “Ouch!” I shoot up in bed, clutching the back of my head. The pain I felt over twenty ago echoes in my head.

  “Fuck, sweets. You okay?”

  It’s been over a week since we re-broke the seal, and every night, I’ve spent tucked into his side.

  The first night, we had a fight about where I would sleep, but he finally changed my mind when he made me come again with his mouth—and then again with me on my knees and him slamming into me. By then, I was too exhausted to argue, and I passed out. Each time, I moved to make my way to my own room, he’d do his thing again. I was stupid for letting him sway me, but I couldn’t hold up against him with the feel of his fingers rubbing me and his cock sliding in and out. And if I were honest with myself, which I wasn’t, I felt safe when I was wrapped in his arms. Although I wouldn’t admit it, having his huge body enveloped around my tiny one was perfection.

  Now though, I’m seeing the horrific drawbacks of sleeping with him. I’m surprised waking from a nightmare hasn’t happened long before now.

  My attention is now on Zach, his face barely illuminated in the soft moonlight. As I stare at him, my mouth is dropped open, and tears are stinging my eyes. I’m beyond humiliated.

  He must catch my shimmering tears because he reaches up to cup my jaw and swipes his thumb along my cheekbone. That sweep makes a dent either in my dream-induced embarrassment or the shield around my heart. Maybe both.

  “Dream?”

  “Uh,” I stutter. It’s totally unlike me, but I’m thrown off from my nightmare. “No.”

  He catches my lie easily as anyone would. “Tell me about it.”

  “No, let’s go back to sleep.”

  “I’ll torture it out of you.”

  “Zach—”

  “Not joking.”

  “But—”

  “Talk to me.”

  I sigh. Compared to what he already knows, this is cake. I’m tired, and I don’t want to argue, so I share in a dead voice, “I think I was five-ish. My mom was drunk. She accidentally knocked me over, and I whacked my head on the coffee table.”