Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

his pants, until – fucking finally – he lets his boxers fall, too. The hand on my throat moves down my side, and he grips my ass with both hands to lift my body off the chair. He fits himself against me, but he just teases with the tip.

I wrap my legs around his waist, and say, “It's been a while. This might suck.”

He gaze flashes dark, and I pull him into me with my legs. A growl is the best way I can describe the sound he makes, it melds with my moan, then he's bucking into me. He manipulates my weight easily, holding me steady while he thrusts. I can't do shit but grip the chair and come on him.

He pounds into me until he growls once more, and pauses with his shaft buried deep. I cut my weighted gaze to him. He's staring at me again.

He releases my ass, wraps both arms around my back, and lifts me out of the chair. The shirt holding my arms falls away, and I grab his shoulders. There's nothing supporting me but his strength as he bounces me on his cock.

“Aaaaaaaah fuuuuuuck,” he groans as I ride him.

At length, he jerks me up and his hips back, and he holds me, wrapped around his upper body as he comes. Sweat slides between us, and for a long time, he doesn't let me go. We just pant together.

But the time always comes when the moment is over. He sets me down, and turns away, toward the kitchen. He opens a few cabinets before he finds a glass, and he fills it from the tap. I'm not sure if he's ignoring me. He drains the glass and fills it again.

He brings it to me, and now he's definitely not ignoring me. He's searching my reaction as he passes the water to me. My eyes roam the trail of clothing, and my body sings with a rare and foreign relaxation. Regret serves little purpose in the wake of a conscious decision.

I look back to him and say, “If you want to shower, I have clean towels.”

I sit back down, still naked, and pour two more shots. He's still for a stretch, then he says, “You're too skinny.”

I refuse him my attention, staring at the shots instead. I say, “Sometimes I forget to eat.”

He sighs, but he doesn't say anything else. He joins me, and we hold a toast. If he wants to say anything else on the topic, he doesn't. We take the shots in silence.

“Where's the shower?” he asks.

I point lazily down the hall, and answer, “Very end.”

He turns away, makes it to the mouth of the hallway before he turns and nails me with an expectantly lifted eyebrow, and says, “You coming?”

Part 2

Chapter 12 Reality Suspended

Joshua

The first thing that makes me realize I'm awake is a meticulous, massive pounding on the inside of my skull. The next thing I notice is the smell of food cooking. My stomach turns.

I sling an arm over my eyes, but I can already tell it's bright in the world of the waking. For a long time, I just lie here, refusing consciousness like it's my choice. It's not uncommon for me to wake up in a bed that's not mine, and for an indefinite while, I'm not sure where I am. My throat is dry enough to hurt, and my muscles are sore. I'm naked.

Oh. Shit. The events that led me here begin falling fuzzily into place. Dinner, and a show. I know exactly where I am.

I groan into the empty room. I've spent the past two years proving to everyone that I'm not the idiot they pegged me for, and I've gone and made the most stupid decision I could. Still, the memories are too good not to remember – the way she pushed against me, the way she became someone different beneath my touch. The way I subjugated her, and she let me.

My cock stirs beneath the sheet, so I drag my thoughts away from the sound of her screams. The one and only other time we fucked, I woke up alone, too. That was another lifetime ago, or that's how it feels. It hasn't been that long, but everything changed so much so fast. Sometimes it's easy to forget that we fucked at all. Sometimes, though, that one time is my own personal hell.

Well, I guess it's twice now. No, three times. And she hasn't cooked me breakfast since well before that first time. She used to love to cook for everyone.

I scrub my arm across my face, and squint into morning. Maybe it's morning, and maybe there’s not a dead friend on the other side of this one.

Maria's bed is a four-poster cherry affair that rings strangely familiar. The sheets are soft, and I'm still considering just staying here a little longer. I don't know what to expect when I look her in the eye, and if I'm totally honest, it scares me.

At some point, I stopped lying to myself about the morning after Charlie died. She didn't break to me because of love. She wanted escape. The same thing she wanted last night.

My clothes are folded on the bedside table, dress slacks, button-up, suspenders. I pull on the boxers and leave the rest. I run my hands through my hair a few times. It's a tangled mess against my shoulders, and flat on one side from falling asleep with it wet. My elastic, I notice, is around my wrist, so I pull the whole mess into a high knot.

My muscles protest. They're tired, worn out by my enthusiastic gymnastics. My cock stirs again at the thought of bouncing her on it, and I curse aloud. That won't do. I have to piss.

I focus on something less…enticing as I wander out of the room and into