THE DEBT BOX SET, page 17
When we were kids, I’d made her come like this. Pressure and pressure until she came apart on my fingers and I’d felt like I’d given her something real and precious and important.
But this time, I pushed my fingers inside of her. One and then another. Another.
And she took them all, asked for more.
And I pressed my thumb against the hard knot of her clit.
“Jesus,” she cried, pulling at my hair, scratching at my neck. She was taut and strained. Every muscle clamped and wild, and I turned my head and captured her nipple in my mouth, pulling and pulling until I heard her gasp, like the sound of a lock unlocking, and she went to pieces against me.
She cried out and jerked, twisting between me and the door.
“Tommy,” she sighed, her body fluid and soft. I took my fingers out of her, away from her, the air cold against my skin where I was wet with her. I could smell her, musky and sweet. I remembered the smell from years ago, how I’d carried it on my skin for a day.
I put my fingers to my face, breathing her in. I licked my thumb, where it had been against her clit, and her eyes, watching me, opened wide. I put a finger in my mouth, sucking off the taste of her. I put my other hand between her legs, and when my fingers were wet enough with her, I put them to her mouth. Wiped them against her lips until she opened them and we were tasting her together.
Her eyes locked on mine, and I saw the way she was after this, the way she was living this, like there were no other moments between us but this one.
And I was so fucking envious of that, my teeth hurt. I was envious of the way she looked right at me without shame or worry or fear. Like the intimacy of this, of each of us sucking her cum off my fingers was bearable to her.
Because it was unbearable to me.
I looked away.
I felt more than heard the sigh of her disappointment, and I could have told her that my whole life had been about avoiding these moments. Avoiding getting close to anyone, because it ultimately turned to shit. It was the first lesson I ever learned, alone in that apartment waiting for my mother to come home.
But I wasn’t ever talking about that. Not ever.
“Tommy,” she breathed, “what’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, I kissed her. I kissed her with everything I’d never said and wanted to. Everything I never said and should have.
I remembered suddenly what I’d really wanted in that classroom. What I’d thought about over and over again until I’d worn myself raw in the bathroom. I stepped away from her, my hand at her waist, keeping her against the door when she would have pulled away from it.
“Stay there,” I said.
“I don’t want to.” She pushed against me, and I pushed her right back. Keeping her where I wanted her. She tried again, harder, rearranging the boundaries of this thing between us, and I, clumsy and unsure, pushed her back harder. She gasped, smiling. Her eyes wide and delighted.
She fucking loved this.
Well, if rough was fun for her, I could be rough.
All I was, was rough.
I kicked her legs out wider. “Move from this spot,” I said. “And I won’t let you come.”
Her breath was ragged, her hands in fists at her sides as she waited for what I was going to do to her. I wondered if she thought I’d hurt her, because that wasn’t going to happen. I was rough. Not…that. Maybe?
But the not knowing was turning this thing between us into something razor-sharp, both of us being cut in ways we liked, so I kept my mouth shut. I put my hands to her waist, holding her against the door, my fingertips biting into her flesh, her skin bowing beneath the pressure. I could feel the muscles under there.
She gasped.
And then I went to my knees.
“Tommy,” she breathed.
“This is what I want,” I said, breathing over her pussy, pink and swollen. Wet. “Are you going to give me what I want?” I asked her.
She nodded; I felt the movement in the muscles of her stomach. Her name rose to my lips, but I swallowed it down and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the small bit of hair on her pussy. I licked her, finding the hidden seam that hid all her secrets.
All her secrets I wanted. I shifted, finding the right place, and this time when I licked, the point of my tongue went right through that seam. Right into heart of her. She gasped. Twitched. I picked up her foot and put it on my knee, opening her up.
“Yes,” I said. I held her open with my thumbs, pulling the skin taut until she winced. I kissed her in apology. Licking the folds, finding her clit, the hole of her pussy. My hand slid beneath her leg, stroking the hard muscle of her thighs, the sleek skin of her ass. I gripped her in my palm and squeezed. I squeezed until she cried out and jerked forward into my mouth.
I held her there against me, and I fucked her with my face. My mouth and tongue. I licked her and kissed her and sucked her down. My fingers were all over her. She was shaking and crying, her fingers on my skull, over my hair, squeezing my head so hard it should have hurt but that was the nature of this pleasure between us.
We needed it to hurt.
I sucked on her clit, pulling it into my mouth while I fucked my fingers into her, and she came for a second time. A wild gush against my palm and even that wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. I kept going until she came again, and when she pushed me away, I was so into it, I ignored her. Eager for more. Ready to make her come again and again.
“Please, Tommy,” she breathed. “It hurts.”
I let go of her. Sat back on my ass, my hand too late to catch my weight. I felt like I’d spent the last hour jackhammering. I was numb and shaking and my body didn’t feel right and my hands felt like they were alive and twitchy with nerves coming back to life.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at her where she stood at the door.
Fuck. Me. Like forever.
She was naked, and her hair was a wild cloud and her eyes were full of fire and desire and she was looking at me like I was hers.
“Sensitive,” she said, her hand over her pussy, like some sham portrait of modesty. Fuck. I could come just looking at her. “That’s all.”
I didn’t know that was a thing, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“Get down here,” I said, pulling her onto the ground with me. She split her legs over mine, her hand back at my cock, now leaking cum like a hose with a hole in it.
“Ask me to suck your dick,” she said, watching me through her hair.
“Suck my dick.”
“Ask me.”
“I told you.” I pushed my jeans down past my ass, the floor cold against my overhot skin.
“What if I fuck you instead?” she asked.
I shook my head. Not… I mean, it was fucking ridiculous to think it, but I wasn’t ready. I was twenty-three years old and I wasn’t…ready.
“We don’t have a condom,” I said.
She shook her head, the black lace of her hair parting over her creamy shoulders. “You always were the reasonable one,” she said, and without saying anything else, she gripped my cock in her hand and bent over me. Her hair hid what she was doing, and that was okay. I was strung so tight if I watched her lipstick-smeared lips taking me, I’d fucking pop.
I felt the heat of her breath, the dampness when she opened her mouth over the head of my cock and then—
“Fuck. God!” I groaned. And then it didn’t matter if I came in an instant; I had to see it. I had to watch her. I gathered up her hair in my rough hands, probably pulling it, but I didn’t care and she didn’t either. We were blown out with lust. We were numb to anything but this fucking fire between us.
“Yes,” I breathed, watching her mouth stretch wide, slipping down over the ramrod-hard length of me. The veins and tendons were slick with her spit. She took me fast and slow, her hand gripping the base of me, holding me still. “Suck me.” The words were barely breaths out of my mouth. Barely thoughts in my brain. But she liked them. I could tell, the hum of her pleasure reverberating against me.
Years ago she’d begged me to talk. To tell her things, and I’d thought I had nothing to offer her, this brilliant star. And so I’d said nothing.
But these words. These filthy sex words. I had them. I had a lot of them, pent up and kept inside for seven years. If she wanted these words, she could have them.
“Jada-“
She flinched at the use of her other name and for a second I thought she was going to stop. So I kept talking. Like my filthy mouth could keep her here.
“Suck my cock, baby. Oh my God. Yes. Yes. Just like that. You look so fucking good like this.”
It worked, and she took me deep, my cock disappearing, and I tried to arch up onto my heels, the pleasure too much, it felt like electricity in my veins, and when she let me go, it was with a gasp and pop. Her eyes were watering, black mascara running down the side of her face, her lips swollen and smeared.
“You are so beautiful.”
“You like this look,” she said with a smile that told me she knew how fucking sexy she looked. How dirty.
I wanted to tell her that I liked her. Every way she was. Every way she looked.
But she bent down to me again, licking me and sucking my head. Her fingers playing with my balls. Her fingertip brushed the crease of my ass, and I flinched away.
“No ass play, Tommy?”
“I want to come down your throat.”
Her cheeks went pink, her eyes went wide and when she bent over me again, she meant fucking business. It was heat and pressure and suction and I didn’t last. Couldn’t last.
“I’m going to come,” I said, and she held me deep in her mouth as the orgasm rolled over me, took me under like a wave. I came in spurts, wild and messy, and she stayed with me the whole way. Not letting me go.
Because I was begging her not to.
18
Beth
“Don’t let me go. Fuck. Beth. Please. Don’t let me go.”
I mean, they were just words, I told myself, leaning away from him, wiping at my mouth. They didn’t mean anything. Sex talk. That was all.
I just wasn’t sure I believed it.
Because in that moment – vulnerable and outside himself – he called me Beth.
Everything felt…different. My skin felt shaky over my bones, like it didn’t quite fit me.
My lips were sore. My pussy too. I was…sensitive all over.
I pushed my hair out of my face and looked at him. Really looked at him. Soaking him in as a whole and then again in pieces like he was artwork I was going to recreate.
“You okay?” His fingertips touched my shoulder.
“I wish—”
He shook his head. “Careful,” he whispered. “That’s dangerous.”
“I know. But let me wish. Just…just for this second. For a minute. Give me a minute to wish.”
He exhaled, his fingers pushing the hair out of my eyes, and nodded. “Go ahead, then. Wish.”
“I wish I’d been able to find you seven years ago.”
His smile was tight, like he was holding it in.
“I wish I hadn’t hurt you so much. I’d give anything to not have hurt you.”
“Not everything hurts,” he said, smiling and running his hand down my bare hip.
“But most of it does.” He didn’t argue.
“I wish we’d just met. That we didn’t have any of this shit behind us.”
He smiled, crooked and endearing. “How would the two of us have met?” he asked.
“We could have met at a party.”
“I don’t go to parties.”
“A bar—”
“I’m a recovering addict, Beth. I go to one bar, because they let my dog come in. I drink one beer. I’m not…a good time.”
“I think you are.”
“Don’t lie to yourself. You know you deserve more than me.”
“I wish you didn’t believe that,” I said, my heart chipping at the edges.
“We would have met at the park,” Tommy said and I closed my eyes with a painful happiness too sharp to even bear. “Pest would have gotten loose from her leash. She does that sometimes-“
“Of course she does,” I whispered.
“And she would have led me straight towards you.”
“I’d grab her, and when you come running up I would have said something very clever like “does this belong to you?”
“And I would say something really clever like, “what to get some coffee?”
“I would say yes.”
He stopped stroking my hair, and the air around us grew colder.
“Tell me,” I said.
“What?”
“Tell me why these wishes can’t come true.”
Remind me why we can’t be together; that’s what I was asking him. And he knew it.
“Because you are fucking magic, Beth. And I’m stone. You have a life to get back to. You have people counting on you. A career. You’ve got some ground to make up after the last few weeks. And there’s no place for me in that. And I don’t want to be the thing that keeps you from being what you should be.”
I pushed my face into the skin beneath his armpit where he smelled the most like him.
“And I…” he said. “I live in a shitty one-bedroom apartment in the worst neighborhood in the city. I have a really bad guy who is going to come after me at some point, and Carissa, who—if she finds out I touched you—has threatened to have my balls. Tell me what part of that life you want?”
His life made me sad. And angry.
“I just…I want you.”
“You have me. And I have you. One night.”
“And then…?”
“It’s over and you know that. Right? Beth? Tell me you know that.”
“I know that.”
We both took a second to swallow the truth.
“We’re not a fairy tale,” I said, and he nodded, his face all folded up, like all his thoughts were put away. “I used to think we were.”
“So did I,” he said and that was a comfort, at least. We’d felt the same way for a while there. And that had enough sweetness in it to last a while.
I found my underwear next to his hip and slipped it on while he pulled up his pants. Neither of us looking at each other. I hadn’t noticed how cold the room was when his body had been pressed to mine. But now my skin rose up in goose bumps.
“Here,” he said, his voice so different from what it had been a few minutes ago while he’d told me to suck his dick. I was sore, my body exhausted, my head a mess, but the memory of his voice saying those words turned something over in my body. And would for a long time. Maybe forever.
“You told me to suck your dick,” I said and then giggled. I actually giggled and he actually blushed and the feelings in my heart were sharp enough to cut.
“I did.”
“That’s going in the spank bank, Tommy. Top-shelf spank bank, right there.”
“Oh my God,” he muttered like I was just too much.
I put the shirt on, the bra gone. The leggings… in ruins. I held them up in my hands, torn in pieces.
What am I supposed to do now?
Behind me I heard Tommy getting to his feet, and I turned in time to see him standing up, his back to me. The skin of his back was so pale compared to his forearms and the back of his neck, so maybe that’s why I could see the faded scars, no longer pink but silver almost, along his spine and sides. Like stretch marks. Physical proof of growing pains.
“Tommy,” I sighed.
He turned and caught me staring, read maybe on my face what I was thinking.
“It was a long time ago,” he said and shrugged into his shirt, the scars hidden but there. Always there. I’d never not see them.
“Not that long,” I said.
He took a deep breath, and in the silence before he said something, we heard the scuttle of paper across the floor and Pest came trotting across the room with a cheeseburger wrapper in his mouth.
“Dinner!” I cried.
Tommy snagged Pest and pulled the wrapper from her mouth. “I should have warned you. Cheeseburgers are her favorite.”
“Well, she got her fair share of them,” I said, picking up the McDonald’s bag. She’d eaten two, the third one she hadn’t gotten to in the bottom of the bag. It was cold but edible. I handed it to him, trying not to laugh.
“It’s yours,” he said. “You’re probably starving.”
I was. I was starving. “You probably are too,” I said.
He picked up the other bag, which had the Doritos and carrots in it. “This will work for me.”
He smiled, showing me the teenage Tommy’s delight in Doritos and baby carrots.
Still his favorite.
All at once I couldn’t believe this was the end.
“I have so much I want to say,” I told him and he was immediately shaking his head, but I just kept on talking. “And so much I want you to say. So much I want to hear—”
“Why?”
I blinked, stunned by the question. “What do you mean, why?”
“Talking isn’t going to change anything.” He jerked his thumb back at the floor where we’d had sex and sketched out our alternate reality life.
“It might make the memories we have of each other won’t hurt less,” I said, feeling unbelievably shy considering what we’d just done to each other. “Because I don’t really think it’s our future keeping us apart. It’s the past. And how we don’t talk about it. But we’re reminded of it every time we look at each other. That’s the real truth of why we can’t be together. Because our past makes it hurt too much. ”
He knew I was right; I could tell just by looking at him. Just by the clench of his jaw and the way he kept making fists with his hands like he was holding onto something he wanted to let go of.
“We never talked about your parents. My mom. What we did to get to St. Joke’s. We talked all the time, but we never talked about that. We wrote notes and knocked on the walls, and we created these wishes we couldn’t say out loud. Everything we never put into words, it’s sitting right here in this room. Between us like walls.”
He blinked at me, those blue eyes seeing me as clearly as I saw him. My mother, the last seven years, that night, the scars on his back, the man that had him kidnap me—all those things were in our way.
