Hard Time (24 page)

“Deeper,” he breathed.

Deeper now meant as deep as he could go. Beyond the point where I was giving pleasure, beyond the point where I could act as anything more than a vessel. I hadn’t done this in ages—let a man in my throat. I couldn’t say I’d ever done it especially willingly. I’d had it sprung on me, and I’d submitted, thinking maybe this was simply what oral was. I’d never made a craft of it. I’d endured it only, feeling ugly—my face sometimes left beet red from the gagging, snot making it difficult to breathe.

For Eric, I’d do more than endure. I’d invite him there, not merely suffer the intrusion. But that required some honesty. I drew back, against the urging of the hand on my head, and he slipped free.

“I’m not good at this,” I told him, finding his eyes on my face from miles above. “At going deep. But I want to be, for you. So just go slow at first.”

A single nod, though his lips parted and closed and he swallowed. He was holding back words. Reassurances, probably, or an offer to rescind the request. They never came. Instead he said only, “Get on the floor.”

I did so on shaky, half-asleep legs, then he tossed me a pillow for my knees and came around the side of the bed.

“I do anything you can’t handle,” he said, “you just pull away. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll just try, real slow.” He reached for the mirror, tilting it way down, framing whatever he saw from so high above me. “You see if you can find a good angle. If you do, then maybe I’ll speed up. But anytime it gets to be too much, you give me any sign at all and I’ll stop.”

“I know you will.”

“Good.” He stroked my hair lovingly, then the hand I’d put on his hip. “Now suck me.”

I took him in my mouth once more, so much easier on my knees.

“Nice and hard. Good . . . Goddamn, I think you like that, sometimes.”

I told him with my mouth,
I fucking love it.

“Yeah. Fuck. Do it like you want, baby. Get comfortable, then I’ll show you another way.”

For a minute or more I took him for myself, using my lips and tongue and hand, showing him my hunger. Slowly, so slowly, he joined in with his thrusts, stealing the reins. As he fed me more, I grew passive. Eventually both his hands were on my head, cradling, then holding me still.

“You’re doing so good,” he moaned. “You’re perfect.”

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t pleasurable, not physically. But there was something about it, something about the surrender and the submission, the servitude, that turned me on. Something about feeling used by him . . . feeling dirty, little more than a stranger.

His hips sped. I gagged, but only softly. No stinging in my sinuses or tears ducts like I’d felt with other guys, no burn in my cheeks. No suffocation. Only the dark, thrilling size of him, filling me in such a threatening way. His smooth head, stroking the back of my throat. His eyes on me, surely.

“I’m getting real close, sweetheart. Relax for me.”

I tried. I didn’t quite succeed. As his head bumped my palate, I closed up. He eased out, giving me a few seconds to get loose. He drew my attention off the discomfort, running his slick crown back and forth along my lower lip.

“Again,” he warned, and pushed back inside.

Better this time. Gentle fingertips tilted my chin up, and the angle was smoother. I welcomed him all the way in before my throat constricted, and again he eased back. The palms stroking my hair felt nearly patronizing, but I craved it, same as the dirty feeling.

“Again.” He eased back in, all the way. In place of the gagging response, I felt only him. The scary size and threat of him, in such a vulnerable place in my body. Also his length, his girth between my lips. The scent of his skin and sweat. The sound of his tight breathing from so high up.

He drew back, then gave me more of the same. Slow. “Good girl.”

His kind, stroking hands transformed, fingers tangling in my hair again. Not rough, but not sweet, either. His hips grew restless, a little faster with each thrust, grace ebbing. I gagged. We paused. He gave me more, and I took it.

“Close your lips up tight, if you can.” He sounded so excited, and I wanted to please him so bad, it ached. I did as he said, embracing how ugly my breaths sounded, wheezing in and out of my nose. He’d never felt so big, or so crass, or so dangerous. No man ever had, during sex.

And I hoped no other man ever would again, no one except Eric.

“You look good,” he told me. I could tell from the angle of his voice, he was watching in the mirror. I tried to picture us that way. Wondered if I didn’t need my imagination. I opened my eyes and sought the reflection. It was tilted for his pleasure, so he could watch my mouth on his cock, and what I saw was his face. His neck taut, features strained, his eyes black in the low light. I saw them widen, caught by mine.

“God,” he muttered, his thrusts stuttering a moment. My gaze was affecting him, surely as anything my mouth was giving.

I grabbed his hips, digging in with my nails, and he responded, giving me more of his cock. He was losing it now—I saw it in his narrowed eyes and his parted lips.

In his letter, he’d admitted how he’d wanted to come in my mouth. To let me taste it. I waited for that now, anticipating it, craving it. Expecting it.

His entire body shook. “Fuck, Annie. I’m gonna come.”

Good. Do it.
With an almighty groan he pulled back—pulled out. Air flooded my mouth and throat, and I watched with surprise as he fisted himself, stroking hard and fast just below his head. Hand jerking, he gasped, cupped my shoulder in his free palm, and let go. His release was long and hot, basting my collarbone and the tops of my breasts.

Dirty, nasty,
perfect.
His arm shook as he came down and I listened to his breathing, the exhalations little more than grunts.

“Oh,”
he sighed, and his hold on my shoulder loosened. Our eyes left the reflection, finding each other’s faces for real. His gaze dropped in a heartbeat, to the spoils he’d marked me with.

“Shit. Hang on—”

“No,” I said, and got to my feet.

Casual as you please, I snatched my discarded tee off the floor and tidied myself before flopping across the covers. The last thing I wanted was Eric thinking what he’d done was too filthy for my delicate sensibilities.

I smiled up at him. I could barely remember why I’d been so pissed at him, earlier. The things we did to each other always crowded out reason.

“C’mere,” I said, curling a finger.

He did, his chest still rising and falling hard, eyes a little dazed. Would he fall asleep, leave me wanting? I half hoped so, I was so strangely infatuated with his selfish side.

“Before you ask,” I said, gathering his arms around me, kissing his forehead, “that was fine. Everything we just did. Thank you.”

“Okay. Good.” He sounded unsure, but not upset.

“I want to see every side of you there is to see. Even the greedy ones and the dirty ones. I want us to be everything for each other that two people can be . . . Everything short of hurtful.”

He nodded, expression unreadable.

“You okay?” I asked, cupping his face.

He sighed, eyes closing. “You want to see all these sides of me . . . All except that one I’m going home, prepared to be for my sister, in a couple weeks’ time. The side of me that was capable of what I did to get locked up. And that one might be so bad, I could lose you over it.”

My heart pounded hard, all the feelings from before the sex flowing back into me, a cold wind rattling my bones.

Would he lose me, if he went home? Could I do that to him? Could I do it to
me?
I couldn’t guess. What was I trying to accomplish, drawing such a hard line in the sand? To prevent him from hurting himself, risking another altercation and more years forfeited behind bars. And for what? His sister’s safety, or maybe her honor. I got it; that was a big deal. But so was this man’s future. So was what
we
had.

Only it wasn’t enough, not to him.

I stayed pissed at Eric for a while, over a week. No cold shoulder—nothing as childish as that, but I cooled us off. On Friday we spent New Year’s Eve apart, exchanging only quiet, strained good wishes over the phone as the proverbial ball dropped.

“Happy New Year,” we’d said together.

And from him, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do. And I love you.” So why on earth hadn’t I been with him? Him, in my bed. Him, inside my body. Which of us was doing the hurting here?

I didn’t feel I was issuing an ultimatum, or punishing him, or trying to tell him,
Do as I say or no sex for you.
I was just scared and confused, and I needed the space. In time the surprise of it all faded and the situation ceased feeling like a crisis, mellowing instead to a nagging worry.

That Saturday evening I met him down in Lola’s for a drink. Upstairs I had dinner fixings ready to go, but hadn’t invited him for that officially. I figured I’d see how things went. See if my anger flared over the course of our date.

“Hey you,” I said as he strolled over, a gust of cold winter air chasing his heels.

“Hey yourself.” He tugged off his knit cap and sat across from me in the booth.

“How was work?” I asked. He’d been off on some special job all day at the airfield.

“Brutal. But extra pay for the holiday, so no complaints. Whatcha drinking?”

“My usual.”

He tossed his gloves and scarf on the bench and shed his coat, then went to grab my spiked tea and a beer for himself.

As he sat back down he asked, “How was work yesterday? My old roommates treat you good?”

I nodded. “No major incidents. Some new guy was kind of a dick during book discussion, but a few of my favorites put him in his place.” Good old Wallace, my heckler-turned-bodyguard.

“They better.”

I smiled at Eric, moving my ice around with my straw. “I remember a certain tall, dark and handsome inmate defending my honor once. In the face of dickery.”

He smiled back. “They may stick us in cages, but no need to act like animals.”

Man, it was way too easy to get drawn into his warmth, into the memories of our reckless early romance. I mentally waved the fog aside and got down to business.

“What’s the plan for next weekend? You definitely going home to be with your sister?”

He nodded and took a long drink, setting his bottle down and rotating it by the neck. “Fucker’s out on Tuesday and I couldn’t swing any workdays off. Unless something goes down between him getting sprung and the weekend, I’m heading over on Friday night. If anything, it’s just so maybe any old buddies of his might see me around. Let him know I’m lurking, that he’s on my radar, in case he gets any ideas about intimidating my sister.”

“I can’t imagine many people stand a chance at intimidating her,” I said, remembering that aggressive phone call, me sitting in this very booth, in fact.

“Nope, not many. But he’s one of them,” Eric said gravely.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He’d been watching his pirouetting bottle, but suddenly his eyes rose to catch mine. “Why don’t you come with me?”

I blinked. “What, to see your family?”

He nodded. “I’m going up Friday night, coming back Sunday after dinner. Wouldn’t demand any time off for you, either. And what a shame, losing out on a whole weekend with each other . . . I’ve been missing you this past week.”

I shot him a look, admonishing the smooth-guy act.

“C’mon. Why not?”

I considered it seriously, beyond the major issue of how much I resented the entire premise of the trip. “For one, your sister hates me.”

“Nah, she doesn’t even know you yet. She’s just prickly. Plus I thought you wanted a chance to talk to her. Convince her to quit relying on me or whatever.”

“You made it pretty clear, that’s more than an uphill battle. A sheer vertical drop, in fact.”

He cracked a thin smile at that. “Come with me.”

“You really want me there? If there’s drama?”

“I seriously doubt there will be any. That piece of shit would need to have a death wish to come sniffing around. Not just because of me. My sister’s got a couple guns, and more than a couple friends.”

“Oh. So why do you need to go back?”

His look said,
We’ve been over this before.

“Will you be . . . Will
you
be armed, in case he shows up?”

Eric shook his head. “Those days are over. Says my parole, and says me. Not that I was ever much for packing, not even when I was young and stupid.”

“What if he had a gun?”

“Then I’d better be careful.”

“Jesus.” My hand had gone to my heart, a vision of Eric clutching some bleeding wound knocking me sideways. All these months I’d thought Cousins had desensitized me to such realities, but I went cold as ice at the thought. “Why would you even want me coming with you, then, if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because I don’t think it’s going to come anywhere near to that. Because this guy’s a coward. I’m going so I can give my sister peace of mind, and you coming with me might set your own mind at ease.”

I did want to meet his mom, and see where he’d grown up. More facets—I was always after those facets, like a magpie scanning for the gleam. And truth be told, the invitation made me feel like his girlfriend, and I wanted that again, after this horrible week apart. And I wanted his family’s approval, unpleasant as I knew at least one of them to be. I wanted to charm them. Show them I was good for Eric. Or in Kristina’s opinion, show I was worthy of him.

Without even realizing I’d tasted it, I’d finished my drink, straw stirring nothing but ice. Eric’s beer was nearly gone as well. “You want another round?” I asked.

“Sure.” He drained his bottle.

I waved him back down as he made to stand. “I got it.”

Nosy Kyle was working, and my stomach did a flip. He’d grilled me frequently in the past few months about my mysterious, inadvisable romance, but this was the first time he’d been bartending when I’d shown up with Eric. God help me.

He gave his Tigers cap a chivalrous dip as I approached, an odd ritual he’d recently decided paired well with my accent.

“Hey, Kyle. How are you?”

“Just fine, Annie.”

“Same as before,” I said, setting our empties on the wood.

“So-o-o,” he singsonged, cracking open my can of tea. “That’s him? Mr. Bad Idea?”

I nodded, eyes on his hands.

“Not so long-distance anymore, huh?”

“Nope. He moved to Darren.”

“Jeez. Guess you guys are getting pretty fucking serious, then.”

“He moved here for work, actually,” I said. “But we’re kinda serious, yeah.”

Kyle finished my cocktail and rooted in the fridge for Eric’s beer. “He treating you good?”

I smiled. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to. “Yeah. He treats me real good.”

“Glad to hear it. And I’ll give him this much,” Kyle said, twisting the cap free. “Nobody’s fucking with you, not with that dude by your side. What is he, like six-three? One ninety-five?” Kyle was a huge pro boxing fan, I’d come to learn. He was always trying to guess people’s stats.

“Your estimate’s as good as mine.”

“Well, good to know you got that on your side in this town.”

I raised my glass to toast the ringing truth of it.

Kyle grinned, but it looked a little half-assed. A little hollow. I was pretty sure he had a crush on me, so Eric turning out not only to be real but also gigantic was probably a letdown. I tipped him way too much and said thanks, heading back to the booth.

“He likes you,” Eric said, nodding subtly toward the bar.

“Probably. But he’s a good guy. And an even better bartender—he’s been listening to me waffling about you since August.”

“He tell you you were nuts, getting mixed up with a convict?”

“No . . . I never told him that much.”

Eric looked relieved at that.

“I just said we were long-distance, and that I didn’t quite know what to make of you.”

He tilted his bottle to his lips, not meeting my eyes as he set it back down. After a long pause he said, “You know, I still haven’t given you your Christmas present. I forgot to bring it up, that night I brought you home from the airport, when we were fighting.”

“I haven’t given you yours yet, either.”

That hung between us, the question of where these drinks were taking us. Up to my apartment, where he could unwrap me, discover me clad in flowers and satin? I’d be a liar if I pretended it’d been easy, going without our sex this past week. Five years I’d forfeited it, but now that I knew what it could be like with the right man . . . it felt as vital as food or water or air.

“You need dinner?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t mind it.”

“I made meatballs earlier. If you feel like spaghetti.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” His stare was hot, telling me he craved far more than that, after this awful week.

We finished our drinks without speaking much more about anything, and I dropped the empties at the bar and said good night to Kyle.

Up in my apartment, I switched on the living room lights, but as we dropped our layers on the rocker, I was still in the dark on so many fronts. I met his eyes, and held them. Outside a car alarm went off, and the sound of it triggered my frustration all over again. I dropped my gaze to Eric’s feet, and he seemed to take it as a hint, crouching to unlace his boots.

When he stood I asked, “Are we still . . . good?”

He features went hard and deadly serious. “I want to ask you the same thing. Because nothing about how I feel has changed, because of . . . because of this stalemate we’re stuck in.
Nothing.
I love you exactly the same. You’re the one who feels different, so you tell me.” He wasn’t angry. Not quite. It was a different strain in his voice now. Desperation.

I stared at his wool socks. “I feel the same about you, too.”

“No, you don’t. Not if you’re still considering breaking all this off, if I go to be with my sister on Friday.”

I bit my lip. “It’s the only way I can think of to maybe . . . To force you to do what’s best for yourself. I don’t want to lose you, if something bad goes down and you get sent back to prison.
Because
I love you.”

“But you
would
lose me. You’re prepared to. You’d leave me, if I said I had to go.”

I smiled weakly, lips trembling with brewing tears. “I’d say whatever I had to, to keep you free.”

His brows drew together, every other feature of that handsome face suddenly softening.

He gets it now
, I realized. I’d finally found a way to explain it that broke through that wall of convoluted ethics.

“I’d rather you were out, living a decent life without me, than stand by you and pretend I was okay with you risking everything. And risking everything out of
hate
for someone. Some piece of
shit
who doesn’t deserve to have the power to take everything you’ve worked so hard to get, the last five years.” My voice had risen, nascent tears burned away to nothing. “Don’t go, and neither of us has to lose.”

He didn’t need to reply. I knew his answer word for word, by now.
Don’t make me choose between you and my family.
Between his newborn love for me, and thirty-plus years’ bond with his sister. Between blind lust and blood loyalty, when it came down to it. I had to admit, I wasn’t going to win that fight. But I couldn’t help but feel I ought to. I couldn’t help but feel I treated him better, cared more. Cared differently, anyhow. I rolled my eyes at that woman in the Gap, threatening Justin with Eric’s vengeance. She’d devolved into a persuasion of Kristina, fetishizing or idolizing a primeval code of manhood. Eye for an eye, just like that ink on his shoulder mandated.

“You’re still that kid who got that tattoo,” I said sadly, gaze on his arm. “You told me you weren’t, but all that same revenge crap still applies, doesn’t it?”

“This trip isn’t about me punishing him. It’s about being what my sister needs. And I’m done talking about it, okay?”

I paused at that. I wasn’t sure he’d ever shut me down like that before, not even on the drive home from the airport. He’d always been ready to keep giving. Keep proving. We’d reached a crossroads, and while I was left debating which way to go, Eric saw only one path. I could make my threat. I could leave him when he climbed into his truck on Friday against my wishes. But he’d still be getting in that truck. Maybe he’d go, and come back on Sunday night, perfectly fine, perfectly free . . .

He must have read my mind. “You stay with me, everything goes smooth, we still get each other when I’m back.”

But for how long, I had to wonder? Until the next time this happened. Until the next call from his sister, the next fight. The next stalemate.

“You make good on your promise,” he went on, “we lose each other for sure. I don’t get why you can’t see the math here, Annie.”

He was right. The only way I won was if my ultimatum worked—he stayed safe, legally and physically, and we stayed together. But I wasn’t going to win. That was the difference in our two perspectives. He’d already crossed out that possibility.

“I guess I lose,” I said quietly, and sat on the coffee table, cupping my elbows.

Eric sighed and dropped to his knees. He leaned close, and I thought he was going rest his forehead on my thighs, maybe, but instead he was unlacing my sneakers. They were double knotted, but he worked the bows free with his big fingers, slow and patient, and slipped each one off. He held my socked feet in his hands, squeezing gently, and sighed again.

“You gotta quit seeing it as you versus me,” he said. “Or you versus my sister. I’m gonna go, sure as the sun’s gonna rise tomorrow. You stay with me, though, and I’ll have somebody I love to come back to.”

“And a reason to play it safe next time?” Because we both had to know, there was always going to be a next time, if he refused to change.

He raised his chin and met my gaze. “I dunno.”

I sucked in a long, shaking breath, then squeezed my eyes shut, squeezed my lungs empty. “I’ll go,” I told him.

“You’ll leave me?”

My eyes popped back open to find pain written all over his handsome face. “No. I mean I’ll go with you. On Friday.”