Craving Constellations
Page 8
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“Let me have your tongue, baby,” I whispered against her mouth.
I needed more of her. Where she was shy, I was greedy. I bit at her lips, sucking the top one and then the bottom. I groaned when she finally got more aggressive. When she sucked my tongue in her mouth, I thought I was going to pass out. Images of her sucking my cock the same way raced through my mind until her hands slid down my back. Even through the leather of my cut, her fingers felt like knives slicing through my skin.
I hissed. “Fuck!”
“What?” She looked up at me in confusion as I tried to ignore the tiny black spots dancing in my eyes.
“Nothing. Come on, we’re going to my room. I want you naked in my bed.” I dropped her legs and grabbed one of her hands, dragging her behind me to one of the side doors.
She tried to argue with me, but I didn’t pay attention. My back was on fire, my dick was hard as a fuckin’ rock, and I didn’t want anyone stopping us before I could get her naked.
Thankfully, the door closest to us headed directly to the back hall where my room was. The clubhouse was a rectangle with garage bays on the west side that connected to a large room where we congregated. Behind that space was a long hallway lined with doors that ran the length of the room. Mine, thank fuck, was only three doors in, but we passed Grease on our way there. He did a double take as we passed and then called my name as I opened my door.
“Stay here.” I pushed her inside, flipped the light, closed the door, and walked back toward him.
“What’s up, man?” I asked him distractedly.
“Hey, you sure you want to go there? Poet’s gonna fuck your shit up if you go there.” He was staring at my door.
“You really asking me about where I put my dick? Want to get a latte and fuckin’ gossip, too?” I shook my head. “I’ll see you later…hopefully, not until morning. Don’t come knocking.” I gave him a look that promised retribution if he ignored me.
I knew Poet didn’t have an old lady, and he didn’t seem to have a favorite with the other bitches either. Why the fuck would Poet care? I was just drunk enough and thinking with my dick, so I ignored the questions running through my head.
Then, I went back to her.
Boss dragged me back from five years ago with a few quick words.
“Dragon, quit fuckin’ daydreamin’, and get your ass out there with Poet. See what the fuck is going on,” he snapped at me. “You too, Grease.”
I shook my head and walked away from the Chevelle I was working on and out into the sunlight. I caught up to Poet pretty quickly because he had stopped in the middle of the forecourt, staring at a woman standing next to an old Corolla. What the fuck? That couldn’t be her. The lady was wearing a fuckin’ cardigan. Her hair was not the bold-as-hell red that I remembered; it was more of a strawberry blonde and sleek with no curls in sight. It wasn’t her. No way. This lady would never cut up an old Doors T-shirt, making sure that she didn’t mess up Morrison’s bone structure. She’d never fuck a man the first night she met him. She’d never spend hours lying on his chest, telling him about the constellations and their meanings. And I could never, ever see this lady down on her knees sucking a man’s cock like it was the best fuckin’ lollipop she’d ever tasted.
I didn’t realize how hard I’d been breathing until it started to slow. Poet was just standing there. This bitch must be lost. I thanked Christ and all the apostles. Poet mocked my thanks when he started moving—fast. He was across the forecourt in a matter of seconds, and as I watched, her mouth formed one word—Pop.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. Five years later, and she showed up out of the fuckin’ blue. No warning and no word for five goddamn years, and she just drove in like it’s nothing, like she didn’t leave her dad—or me—high and dry. Fury raced through me, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that my heart was beating hard against my ribs as Poet wrapped his arms around her. Then, I swear to Christ, I felt it stop as I watched her face pale and her body go limp.
After Brenna passed out, everything happened in a blur. Poet caught her, but as he started to walk past her car to bring her inside, his eyes caught on something in her backseat, and he hesitated.
“Dragon! Come get Brenna! Take her to my room, yeah?”
I was stepping forward to grab her when I realized exactly what Poet was looking at in the backseat—a kid. A kid who didn’t look anything like Brenna. At first, I wondered if she’d fuckin’ lost it and stolen someone’s kid. Why else would she be here? Shit. Not my problem. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, standing by that piece of shit Toyota. Poet’s voice was nothing more than a buzz in my ears.
I think Grease ended up taking Brenna inside, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the little girl. After what seemed like hours later but had to be only minutes, Poet opened the back door and unbuckled the kid from her seatbelt. It was the strangest thing. She was crying, but she wasn’t making any noise or trying to get away. She just sat there on his arm. Stoic. She was a fuckin’ statue, except for those tears.
I couldn’t figure out why the fuck I was frozen. I was just standing there like an asshole, a lot like the way I had reacted to seeing Brenna for the first time. Poet just kept talking to the girl, trying to get a response, but she was as closed up as a bank vault. Her eyes were darting around the yard though, so I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with her. She was assessing the situation like a little general—finding all of her escape routes and possible enemies.
I needed more of her. Where she was shy, I was greedy. I bit at her lips, sucking the top one and then the bottom. I groaned when she finally got more aggressive. When she sucked my tongue in her mouth, I thought I was going to pass out. Images of her sucking my cock the same way raced through my mind until her hands slid down my back. Even through the leather of my cut, her fingers felt like knives slicing through my skin.
I hissed. “Fuck!”
“What?” She looked up at me in confusion as I tried to ignore the tiny black spots dancing in my eyes.
“Nothing. Come on, we’re going to my room. I want you naked in my bed.” I dropped her legs and grabbed one of her hands, dragging her behind me to one of the side doors.
She tried to argue with me, but I didn’t pay attention. My back was on fire, my dick was hard as a fuckin’ rock, and I didn’t want anyone stopping us before I could get her naked.
Thankfully, the door closest to us headed directly to the back hall where my room was. The clubhouse was a rectangle with garage bays on the west side that connected to a large room where we congregated. Behind that space was a long hallway lined with doors that ran the length of the room. Mine, thank fuck, was only three doors in, but we passed Grease on our way there. He did a double take as we passed and then called my name as I opened my door.
“Stay here.” I pushed her inside, flipped the light, closed the door, and walked back toward him.
“What’s up, man?” I asked him distractedly.
“Hey, you sure you want to go there? Poet’s gonna fuck your shit up if you go there.” He was staring at my door.
“You really asking me about where I put my dick? Want to get a latte and fuckin’ gossip, too?” I shook my head. “I’ll see you later…hopefully, not until morning. Don’t come knocking.” I gave him a look that promised retribution if he ignored me.
I knew Poet didn’t have an old lady, and he didn’t seem to have a favorite with the other bitches either. Why the fuck would Poet care? I was just drunk enough and thinking with my dick, so I ignored the questions running through my head.
Then, I went back to her.
Boss dragged me back from five years ago with a few quick words.
“Dragon, quit fuckin’ daydreamin’, and get your ass out there with Poet. See what the fuck is going on,” he snapped at me. “You too, Grease.”
I shook my head and walked away from the Chevelle I was working on and out into the sunlight. I caught up to Poet pretty quickly because he had stopped in the middle of the forecourt, staring at a woman standing next to an old Corolla. What the fuck? That couldn’t be her. The lady was wearing a fuckin’ cardigan. Her hair was not the bold-as-hell red that I remembered; it was more of a strawberry blonde and sleek with no curls in sight. It wasn’t her. No way. This lady would never cut up an old Doors T-shirt, making sure that she didn’t mess up Morrison’s bone structure. She’d never fuck a man the first night she met him. She’d never spend hours lying on his chest, telling him about the constellations and their meanings. And I could never, ever see this lady down on her knees sucking a man’s cock like it was the best fuckin’ lollipop she’d ever tasted.
I didn’t realize how hard I’d been breathing until it started to slow. Poet was just standing there. This bitch must be lost. I thanked Christ and all the apostles. Poet mocked my thanks when he started moving—fast. He was across the forecourt in a matter of seconds, and as I watched, her mouth formed one word—Pop.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. Five years later, and she showed up out of the fuckin’ blue. No warning and no word for five goddamn years, and she just drove in like it’s nothing, like she didn’t leave her dad—or me—high and dry. Fury raced through me, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that my heart was beating hard against my ribs as Poet wrapped his arms around her. Then, I swear to Christ, I felt it stop as I watched her face pale and her body go limp.
After Brenna passed out, everything happened in a blur. Poet caught her, but as he started to walk past her car to bring her inside, his eyes caught on something in her backseat, and he hesitated.
“Dragon! Come get Brenna! Take her to my room, yeah?”
I was stepping forward to grab her when I realized exactly what Poet was looking at in the backseat—a kid. A kid who didn’t look anything like Brenna. At first, I wondered if she’d fuckin’ lost it and stolen someone’s kid. Why else would she be here? Shit. Not my problem. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, standing by that piece of shit Toyota. Poet’s voice was nothing more than a buzz in my ears.
I think Grease ended up taking Brenna inside, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the little girl. After what seemed like hours later but had to be only minutes, Poet opened the back door and unbuckled the kid from her seatbelt. It was the strangest thing. She was crying, but she wasn’t making any noise or trying to get away. She just sat there on his arm. Stoic. She was a fuckin’ statue, except for those tears.
I couldn’t figure out why the fuck I was frozen. I was just standing there like an asshole, a lot like the way I had reacted to seeing Brenna for the first time. Poet just kept talking to the girl, trying to get a response, but she was as closed up as a bank vault. Her eyes were darting around the yard though, so I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with her. She was assessing the situation like a little general—finding all of her escape routes and possible enemies.
