Authors: Cheryl McIntyre
Rocky
I had no idea when I met Linken
that he would be capable of doing this to me.
I was perfectly unhappy, living
my miserable existence before he came along. I was
fine
humping strange men’s faces in dirty bar bathrooms. I was comfortable living like a hermit and drinking myself into oblivion.
I
. Was. Fine.
Now I want things. I want
him
.
I moan, losing my train of thought. He feels so good. What the man can do with his mouth is beyond mind blowing.
I’m incapable of thought or emotion. Right now, I’m just
feeling
. I’m just a body, drifting closer and closer to relief. A respite from who I am.
What
I am.
And it’s perfect.
I push up on my elbows, watching as Link nibbles gently on my clit. My hips arch off the floor as ecstasy rips through me in waves. With a contented sigh, I collapse to my back, all my girly parts tingling happily.
Link moves to his knees, peering down at me. He places his hand flat on my stomach, just as I did to him earlier. He pushes my shirt up, just above my belly button. He leans in slowly, his eyes holding mine as he
presses his lips against my skin.
I can feel my entire body stiffen now that I’m no longer caught in the heat of the moment. But I don’t stop him. I allow him to play the game, probing and exploring. He’s gotten farther than any other player.
I’m honestly rooting for the man to win.
The roughness on his chin scratches at my stomach as he moves hig
her, exposing more of me. His tongue glides between my ribs, his fingers joining and gliding smoothly over my skin.
“Is this okay?” My shirt is gripped in his fist, hovering just beneath my breasts.
My breathing is fast. Unsure. But I nod, and he slides it up and over my head, working it free of my hair. I’m left in nothing but my bra.
As Link looks down at me, his
hands pick up right where they left off. He moves higher and higher. My breath hitches in my throat. He uses the tips of his fingers, brushing them lightly over my nipple. It hardens immediately. My lips part. My abdomen contracts.
“This?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
My eyes blur with moisture as I nod my head, unable to articulate my consent. I close them, feeling a tear slip free. It glides over the side of my face, running into my ear. I don’t move to wipe it away.
I feel Link’s callused fingers on my shoulder as he slips my bra strap down. Then the other. “Okay?” he
rasps.
I nod again. He touches my face and my eyes pop open. His thumb slide
s under my eye before he lowers himself. The veins in his arms stand out as he holds his weight. He kisses my cheek, and then the other. My forehead. My chin.
“Do you want me to stop?”
he murmurs.
I have to think about it. I know I’m shaking. I know I’m breathing heavy. I know I’m crying. If he stopped, I would probably stop shaking, and breathing heavy, and crying. I know this too. What I don’t know is if it’s because I’m scared of him or if I’m scared of how much I want him.
“No,” I utter. “Don’t stop.” I finally move, lifting my hand to his face. I grasp his jaw. His eyes flutter shut and he runs his nose along my wrist, inhaling deeply. With his eyes still closed, he begins an unhurried path of kisses up my arm, working his way back to my chest.
He sweeps his tongue int
o my cleavage and I bite down on my lip. Link’s fingers move underneath me and I know what’s going to happen next. My stomach churns, but for once, it’s not from dread. It’s from the spike of adrenaline anticipation brings.
With quick efficiency, he unhooks the clasp, loosening my bra. It still remains over me and he makes no
attempt to remove it. He kisses all around the material, his tongue leaving a scorching trail of moisture.
H
e begins to slip the silky material away carefully. “Is this okay?”
I don’t reply. I don’t say yes. I don’t say no. I just watch it slip away. I raise my gaze, meeting Link’s. He’s always good at masking his emotions, but whatever he sees in my eyes leaves him exposed.
The expression on his face—a mix of approval, admiration, and dread—has me tugging him down until we’re chest to chest. Skin to skin. I cling to him, wrapping my arms and legs around him. He turns his face into the crook of my neck, his breath panting against my shoulder with every harsh exhale.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, not replying. I don’t think he understands anymore than I do, but he holds on just as tightly.
Link
The desire previously fueling my brain has dissipated, leaving me feeling drained and raw. For so long now, I’ve felt the same handful of emotions—fury, grief, loneliness, regret, wrath—and more recently, numbness. I can’t identify what I’m experiencing now.
I don’t understand the reaction I have to this woman.
But I know I can’t afford the distraction.
I sink my palms into the ca
rpet and push myself off Rocky, rolling to my back. I pull my boxers on, unable to look at her.
I miss Livie so much at this moment.
Though I can feel the heaviness of her gaze, Rocky stands up without a word. She sweeps the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around her shoulders like a cape. I watch all of this with my peripheral vision, not ready to meet those dark eyes, slowly showing sparks of life.
The air shifts as she moves past me quickly. I continue to get d
ressed. The apartment is growing darker as the sun begins to set outside. I should go. I’ve already stayed longer than I meant to.
After I get my shoes tied, I check my pockets, making su
re I have everything before I leave. Rocky’s perched on a chair directly across from the kitchen counter, a liquor bottle in hand. The fridge stands open illuminating the small space and I notice there’s next to nothing inside.
I flick my eyes back to hers. She watches me with quiet examination as she raises the b
ottle to her still swollen lips and drinks deeply. I do some quick math in my head and figure I owe her about three hundred dollars for the hours she’s put in so far at the gym.
I clear my throat and fish my wallet out of my back pocket—careful to avoid looking at Livie’s picture as I open it. I only have about eighty in cash, but I slip it out and place it on the table in front of her.
“I haven’t added you to the payroll,” I say. “Until then, I’ll have to pay you in cash. I’m a couple hundred short right now, but I’ll get the rest to you in the morning.”
Rocky drops her eyes to t
he cash, staring at it like it offends her in some way, before moving her gaze up to me.
“Don’t do that.”
I feel my eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Do what?” I ask. I close my wallet and tuck it back into my jeans.
“Pity me.”
“I don’t—”
“You looked
into my empty fridge and then handed me money. Just because I sucked your dick doesn’t mean you owe me.”
“Don’t do
that
,” I counter. “I do owe you, because you work for me. Don’t cheapen whatever the hell this is between us. Don’t act like I’m throwing money at you for sexual services rendered. And don’t act like I’m just using you for sex.”
She laughs softly, her dark eyes holding mine. “Aren’t you though? Isn’t that what we’re both doing? Using sex—using each other to forget?”
We are. I know we are. But I don’t think it’s as bleak or as black and white as she makes it sound. Isn’t she the one who said people are more complex than that?
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I leave the money where it lies and walk out the door.
***
I stare at Morrison’s house. I count the windows and doors, making note of each possible exit. There’s only one car in the driveway, but there could be another in the garage. His Facebook relationship status said, “It’s complicated.”
I have no idea what that means.
He doesn’t have children. At least
, that’s the conclusion I made based on his lack of family photos. And isn’t that what you do when you have kids? Post pictures of every accomplishment the kid makes. Show off new outfits representing the current holiday. And mark achievements, such as first steps, first day of school, first tooth lost.
Morrison
has pictures of a cat.
I just need to figure out if he lives alone.
“It’s complicated” could mean a hundred different things.
In my time sitting in my car across the street from his house, I’ve noticed a few details that could be important later. Like the fact there are three n
ewspapers on his stoop, but the mailbox stands open, empty. And the way all the lights are out in the house except for the blue flicker of a TV in a back room. And the slightly opened window in the same room, though it’s easily thirty degrees tonight.
Just minor details, but I store them in my memory anyway.
And then I just sit here, watching. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to think.
What I’d like to do is knock on Morrison’s door, look him in the eye, and explain I’m here to kill him.
Rocky
I’m still learning how to deal with
who I am now after what happened to me. I do whatever works best at the moment. Whatever it takes to get by. That doesn’t mean I’m often happy about my actions after. I live with so much regret it’s overwhelming at times.
Today, as I watch the light filter through my blinds
with the sunrise, I worry about what’s transpiring between Link and me. Something is happening and it scares me.
I’m tired. So tired.
I can’t remember the last time I slept well.
I get ready for the day, but instead of going to work like I’m supp
osed to, I sit on the couch and stare at the floor where Link and I laid last night. At the exact spot where something changed for me. And I wonder why I don’t feel any regret.
This lack of repentance is almost as overwhelming.
I slide off the couch onto my knees and I press my hand into the carpet.
I like Link
. I like him a lot. The idea is foreign, and honestly, a little unwelcome.
I don’t want to like him. Because what good can possibly come from it?
What can liking Linken Elliot do for me?
It doesn’t matter what it can or cannot do for me. I can just sit back and enjoy it while it lasts. And when it ends, it ends.
I push myself off the floor and grab my purse. I can’t stall any longer. He knows where I live anyway. I’m about to turn the doorknob just as someone knocks in a succession of four quick raps.
Several seconds pass as I stand here. Frozen. I don’t really know if someone can knock with authority, especially when this isn’t their home, but I just know Link is on the other side of the door.
He’s probably here to give me a ride to work, but I’ll never know if I don’t open the door. It’s just a door, and he’s just a guy, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to turn the handle.
The knocks sound again, louder this time, causing me to startle. I inhale a deep breath and pull the door open. Link stands there with several shopping bags in hand. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in. He nudges past me and walks straight into my kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. I watch silently as he opens the refrigerator and begins emptying the bags.
“You bought me groceries?”
“You needed them,” he answers without looking away from his task. “I don’t know what you like, so I just kept it ba
sic. Milk, eggs, cheese, bread, juice.” He glances back at me with a smirk. “And some fruit and vegetables.”
Most women would be grateful and say as much. But I’m not most women. And I’m try
ing really hard to establish some kind of line with him.
“You might as well take the healthy shit home with you. I’m on an alcohol diet.”
He straightens and swings the door shut before turning to face me. “It’s all healthy,” he says.
I press my lips together and raise my eyebrows.
Link chuckles as his gaze meets mine. “I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?” I ask innocently.
“I’m not taking anything back. If you don’t want it, don’t eat it. But you’ll need your strength for what I have in store for you tonight.”
That gets my attention. “What you have in store for me? Tonight?”
He prowls toward me, closing the distance between us. His fingers skim my hips, finding their way just under the hem of my shirt with ease. Goose bumps erupt up my arms.
“Tonight,” he murmurs, his breath puffing against my hair on both of the T’s. “I’m going to work you hard.” His fingers slide higher, caressing my ribs. “Make you sweat.” Higher still until his thumbs brush back and forth across the underside of my breasts. “Through the entire class.”
Damn.
I step back, glaring at him and he grins. It’s the only thing that saves him. “You’re kind of an asshole,” I inform him.
He grins wider and it has a direct effect on my girly parts. “I’m not finished.” He tugs me back to him, pressing me close to his body. And I don’t hate it.
“If you’re a good student, after class, I’ll let you help me clean up.”
I crinkle my nose. “You’re just making it worse.”
Link brings his mouth to my ear, letting his lips stroke feath
er light as he continues. “I don’t mean clean the gym. These classes make me very dirty.”
H
m
. Visions of Link, naked and sweaty, fill my mind. I think I can handle that. And I also think I’m looking forward to self-defense class tonight.