Catching Raven (14 page)

I resist the urge to slap him and drag his face back down to my lips.
“And you’re completely hopeless,” I tell him.

He boosts me up. My legs reflexively wrap around his waist. We fall
backwards into the couch, his weight nearly crushing me. He kisses me ardently
and reaches down to massage me between my legs at the exact same moment his
tongue plunges into my mouth. I moan appreciatively and grind against the
pressure.

“Jesus Christ you’re wet.”

“Years of foreplay,” I say breathlessly.

“I’ll say.”

Itching fingers slip into the waistband of my jeans and tug. “Take these
off.”

I offer my hips to him as an invitation. “You do it.”

He runs a finger straight down the seam, making me squirm.

“Gladly.”

My shoes slip off. The jeans are next to go. He hovers over me and fists
the hem of my cami in his hands, dragging it over my head. I’ve never felt so
desirable. Leave it to Eric to make me feel two polar extremes in one night.

He grabs my hips and brings me up so I’m straddling him. I brace myself
against his chest to keep from falling over.

“Sit on my face and ride it,” he commands.

My breath hitches.

“Shouldn’t we establish some boundaries first?”

“What have I told you about boundaries?” he growls.

Without giving me a chance to think, he slides my panties down just
enough to expose me. The sultry, primal look on his face causes my sex to
clench. I lift my hips and allow my eyes to close while he continues to push
the delicate fabric down my thighs. Once it’s out of his reach, I stand and
shimmy the rest of the way.

He groans and slaps his forehead. “You’re going to give me a fucking
heart attack, woman.”

I smile wickedly and climb back on top of him. I use my knees to inch
forward and align the most intimate part of myself with his mouth. His hands
grip the backs of my thighs. Slowly, deliberately, he eases me down onto his
face. The moment his lips touch mine, I gasp. 

He moans deeply and I feel it travel all the way up my spine. Sensory
overload. He’s ravenous. The more he devours me, the faster my head spins.

My hips begin to move, desperately seeking that release. He slows his
pace, keeping me on the brink. I reach for my clit but he blocks my advance and
lifts me off his mouth. Before I can process what’s happening, I’m on my back.

He stares down at me earnestly. “When you come, you’re coming with me.”

His body abandons mine and I make a frustrated noise. A chuckle escapes
him as he deftly unfastens his jeans, then pushes them down and kicks them to
the floor. He repeats the process with his boxers.

I swallow thickly. Even though we’ve done this before, it feels like the
first time all over again. He hovers over me and presses the tip against my
entrance. His eyes shift to mine, his face becoming serious.

“I’m clean, I swear. Haven’t had sex in six months.”

“Six months?”

He nods. “Been too busy pining for a girl who’s had me from the very
beginning.”

“Really? Tell me about her.”

He gradually starts to sink into me. “She’s smart, beautiful, and
annoying as hell.”

“Keep talking like that and I won’t let you put it in,” I threaten.

He grins and pushes himself to the hilt. My back arches in response.
Vivid memories come rushing back. I’d forgotten how amazing Eric feels inside
me.

“Are you on the pill? Or do I have to pull out?”

“I’m on the pill.”

He visibly relaxes.

“Best news I’ve heard in six months.”

His torso begins to move fluidly, expertly. I succumb to the pleasure and
ignore the small voice in the back of my head warning me this will never last.
I’m not expecting anything beyond casual sex. I’ve learned my lesson. Eric may
be the person I trust most with my body, but he’s the person I trust least with
my heart.

“Your head off somewhere else?”

Our gazes collide.

“Not at all.”

“Better not be. I was prepared to kick this up a notch.”

“Well, in that case…” I wrap my arms around his neck and pretend to drift
off again.

“That’s it. You asked for it.”

He abruptly pulls out and flips me onto my stomach, then yanks my hips up
and swiftly buries himself inside me again.

“Oh, God.”

One of his hands grips my hip while the other one fists the back of my
hair, keeping me right where he wants me. “You have a phenomenal ass. One day,
I’m going to take that virginity too.”

He eases back and pushes inside again, making me groan. I meet him thrust
for thrust, establishing a rhythm.

“Are you close, baby?”

“Almost,” I respond.

He increases the pace, causing my entire body to erupt in chills. We’re
determined to cross the finish line together. And when that glorious moment
finally arrives, we fall apart in one spectacular piece, just like he promised.

e     r     i     c

We’re curled up on the couch watching
American Beauty
on Netflix.
Her head is resting in my lap. My
fingers are idly stroking her hair. Solid recipe for romance, right? Think
again. Miss I Have A Ball Busting Opinion Every Two Seconds has been
uncharacteristically quiet. We should’ve completed round two by now, but something’s
up. And I don’t want to fuck this up again. Instead of spending another thirty
minutes decoding the warped female psyche and coming up with my own
assumptions, I go direct.

“What’s on your mind?”

Easy question guaranteed to warrant a simple response.

“Life.”

Or not.

“That’s broad. Care to clarify?”

She shakes her head and keeps her attention fixated on the screen. This
blasé attitude is getting on my nerves. Did I miss something? Just once I’d
like to have sex when it’s not precipitated or followed by an argument. Or in
this case, both.

I reach for the Xbox controller and pause the movie.

“Are you having regrets about what just happened between us?”

“Not at all,” she insists.

My fingers stop stroking her hair. Before I can call bullshit, her
attention drifts to the wall where my mom’s portrait is hanging. I study her
reaction closely, searching for any sign that will clue me in to what she’s
thinking. She opens her mouth to say something, but ultimately decides against
it.

“I don’t have many photographs of her, so I drew one.” I offer up.

“Why don’t you have many photographs?”

“It’s hard to capture meaningful moments when there weren’t many to
document in the first place.”

She glances up at me. “Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you angry?”

I mull that one over.

“Not as much as I used to be. I’ve come to accept that she’s the best
version of herself she can possibly be.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“How often do you see each other?”

“Not as often as we should,” I admit.

“What about your dad?”

“What about him?” I say, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead.
She closes her eyes, relishing the contact. When they reopen, there’s a depth
of yearning, a hunger for more information.

“Why isn’t there any trace of him in your life?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve never met my biological father. The only
semblance of a father I’ve ever known was my mom’s boyfriend who helped ‘raise’
me. He ended up skipping out when things got rough.”

“Do you know anything about your real dad?”

“Other than him raping my mom and leaving her pregnant with me at
sixteen, not a thing.”

“Jesus,” she gasps, horrified.

“Yep. Now imagine being raised by a woman who never wanted you in the
first place, who had absolutely no choice in the matter, and who had to
constantly be reminded of that reality every time she looked at me—at you. One
of the most traumatic experiences a person could ever survive resulted in my
conception. In a weird way, I’m responsible for ruining her life. Combine that
with a pseudo dad who had no legal or genetic claim to me, and a bunch of other
dysfunctional shit, and you’ll wind up with one really confused kid and two
equally resentful parents.”

 She’s silent for a few beats. I get it. I mean, what do you say to
something like that, anyway?

“Eric, what happened to your mom was horrible, but if she truly didn’t
want you, she had alternatives. You have to believe you were wanted. All
parents love their children. Some just have better ways of expressing it than
others.”

I laugh sardonically. “She tried to have me aborted, Rave. My
grandparents wouldn’t allow it. That’s why she doesn’t speak to them anymore.
She was underage, and she needed parental consent. They refused to give it.
Lucky for me, right?”

“Hey, stop it. None of this is your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this
to happen to you.”

“Neither did my mom. She was a kid too. One with a bright future ahead of
her until some asshole came along and raped her at a party.”

This is such a bizarre situation to be stuck in. I can’t be grateful for
my own existence and still sympathize with my mom. Doesn’t work that way. Being
happy I’m here makes it seem like I’m condoning what happened to her. Then I
feel guilty and worthless all over again. Such a mindfuck.

Raven sits up and swings a leg over to straddle me. She cups my face
between her hands and forces me to meet her gaze. The level of intimacy being
shared between us is uncomfortable. I don’t bother to say anything, though.
It’s a better alternative to the blatant indifference she was giving me before.

“Listen, you may think you are the worst thing to happen to her, but you
are without a doubt one of the best things to happen to me. And Chase. And Mia.
Just because your parents failed to recognize how amazing you are doesn’t mean
no one else sees it, cause we all do. Having you in my life has made me a
better person. Albeit, a crazier person, but a better one.”

“Did you just crack a joke during a serious conversation?” I reach up and
feel her forehead. The woman must be sick if she’s using my favorite defense
mechanism to lighten the mood.

She slaps my hand away and wraps her arms around my neck. “I took a
chance and it paid off. Happens a lot with you.” Her arms squeeze me tightly.

“Mmmm.” I lean forward to kiss her soft lips. “Not always.”

I’m not trying to kill the vibe, but I want her to notice I’m owning up
to all the shit I’ve put her through over the years. No one has tugged her back
and forth more than me. I’m aware she’s put up with more than anyone should,
but I’m so glad she has, because even though I don’t deserve her, I still
maintain nobody is capable of loving her more than I am.

She leans back, her face serious. “Why are you sharing this all of a
sudden? What’s changed?”

“Me. I’m sick of carrying this burden alone. I can’t do it anymore and
there’s no one I trust more than you. Plus, I know how badly you’ve wanted me
to open up. Figured I’d start tonight and see how it goes.”

“You know you can tell me anything and your secrets will be safe.”

I flex my fingers into her hips. “I know. But now do you see why I’ve
been so reluctant to share all this?”

“I do,” she acknowledges. “But I’m glad you did. It helps me understand
you better. Certain things make more sense now.”

“Such as?”

“Why you are the way you are. I’ve always known about your abandonment
issues, but I never really understood the self-destruction and the obsessive
need to distract yourself with anything and everything. It helps keep the
darkness at bay, doesn’t it?”

I nod.

Her fingertips slide through my disheveled hair. “Am I a distraction? A
temporary filler for a void?”

“You’re much more than that,” I assure her. “But you’ve been used for
that purpose, yes.”

“Sexually?”

“Yes.”

Her face falls with disappointment.

“Aye,” I tilt her chin up. “You have to bear with me. I’m not good at
this stuff. You’re not going to like every answer that comes out of my mouth,
but my honesty has to count for something, right? Otherwise, this is all for
nothing.”

“Fine. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Fair enough. As long as we’re on the same page.”

She throws her hands up, exasperated. “When are we ever on the same
page?”

I crack a small smile despite the heavy subject matter. Leave it to Raven
to help me find the positive in something, no matter how bleak it may appear.
Her fierce hope against all odds is what makes her both inspiring and
delusional.

“There’ve been some bumps in the road,” I admit.

“Bumps? Try potholes.”

“Okay, so our track record isn’t the greatest, but I’d like to think
we’re not completely shit out of luck.”

“As I recall, you once told me that it would happen for us one day. Funny
how that seems so close, yet so far away.”

A wave of guilt washes over me. I swallow it down and slip my hands under
the hem of her shirt, softly running my fingers up her bare back. The skin to
skin contact is mollifying. Helps me formulate what I want to say.

“I want to do this right, but I’m afraid of failing you. You’ve been the
one consistent person in my life for seven years. I know I’ve hurt you in the
past, but you’ve managed to forgive me. Probably because of the friendship. I’d
be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about losing that luxury. You may not
tolerate as much bullshit once we’re in a relationship, and knowing me I’ll
find a way to fuck it all up. I always do.”

“So we’ll take it slow and see how it goes,” she proposes. “I can modify
my expectations a little bit if you’re willing to put forth effort on your
part. It’s the perfect compromise.”

“And if I can’t meet your expectations?”

She exhales. “Then we revert back to old patterns and die a pathetic pair
of lonely, miserable, tragic lovers.”

“Now
that’s
romance.”

“Shakespeare would approve.”

“Just don’t kill yourself, okay? I know you’re dramatic by nature, but
that’s going a tad overboard.”

She tilts my face up and kisses me senseless. I groan my appreciation and
press her chest against mine. In an ideal world, I’d never have to let go of
this feeling.

“Does this mean we’re exclusive?” she asks, breaking the kiss.

“This means we’re trial and error. If the product works, we’ll slap a
label on it.”

“I can live with that as long as you promise to ditch the latté girls.”

My brows shoot up. “The what?”

“Your side chicks. I like to call them latté girls.”

“Do you now?” I couldn’t hide my amusement even if I tried.

She nods.

“Consider it done.”

“Good. Now let’s take this back to my place,” she suggests.

No argument here.

* * *

The sound of a camera shutter goes
off as Raven snaps photo after candid photo of me absorbed in a graffiti mural.
Ever since my spiel last week about not having enough memorable experiences to
document, she’s taken it upon herself to provide me with an abundance of them.
We’ve banked a disgusting amount of Kardashian worthy selfies, along with
scenic snapshots from our nature walks. Who knew isolation with my dream girl could
be so relaxing? Normally, my mind wouldn’t be able to handle the lack of
distractions, but I’m adjusting to this whole self-discovery thing better than
I expected. Raven, on the other hand, is whining nonstop about the bugs.

“Seriously, do I have a sign on my forehead that says ‘Eat me’?”

I stop spraying, turn around and raise an eyebrow.

She purses her lips. “You know what I mean.”

The corners of my mouth lift into a grin. I resume painting.

We’re hanging out at the HOPE Outdoor Gallery where artists can come and
graffiti freely without having to worry about getting arrested or fined. It’s a
safe place where our work can be appreciated instead of ridiculed. I do miss
the thrill that comes with the illegal stuff, but it’s not worth the risk
anymore. Not when there’s an option like this available.

After putting the finishing touches on my most recent contribution for
society, I take a step back to admire the results. A giant blue Teddy bear
graces the center of the wall—a cigar in one hand, a pale pink shotgun in the
other. A red banner falls from above with the words “Suicide is for Quitters”
plastered across it. I’m all about promoting positive messages.

Hypocrisy at its finest.

Raven captures a few pics, knowing it’ll be gone in a couple days when another
artist comes along and paints over it.

Out with the old, in with the new.

“Are you hungry?” she asks in between snaps.

“Starving.”

“Me too. Wanna meet up with Chase and Mia to grab some Tex-Mex?”

I walk over, cup her chin, and bring her in for a swift kiss. “Sounds
good, baby.”

“I’ll meet you in the car.”

I load up all my paint cans and follow her down. I’m amazed at how well
things are going. I know it’s only the early stages, but I was expecting all
sorts of drama to rise up and defeat us before we even had a chance to
flourish. Always does. It’s different this time, though, which makes me
nervous. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t want us to fall
apart, but history shows a long-standing relationship isn’t promising. Maybe we
got it right this time. Or maybe I’m just doing what I’ve always done every
time something good happens in my life—mentally preparing for its inevitable
demise.