Use Me Page 14

  Sliding the melting piece down, I traced my collarbone before I circled around my nipple ever so slowly, around and around, starting at the edge and working my way closer and closer to the tip.

  Two fingers guided the cube down the center of my belly with a slight dip into my belly button, making my abdomen muscles tense then relax as I continued down and inside my panties. The liquid pooled into the fabric as I slid it between my pussy lips.

  My doorbell rang just as I moaned at the cool sensation.

  I left the melting cube in my panties as I rushed over and opened the door, sticking my head out. Much to my surprise, Jonathon stood there.

  I opened the door wider, and he smiled his appraisal at my almost naked state. He didn’t speak as he stepped inside and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. Then he invaded my mouth with his tongue while he shut my door behind him.

  He roamed his hands along my body as I pulled at his shirt, trying to get skin to skin. We broke apart so he could strip, and when we made it to the living room, he turned me around and bent me over my couch.

  “I’m here for my snack,” he growled as he dropped to his knees behind me, pulling my panties down and off, and finding the remnants of the ice cube.

  “Got too hot, did you, Annie?” he asked as he slid two fingers deep inside me. “I’m about turn up the heat.”

  That was my only warning before his hot mouth hit my pussy in wild abandon, teasing me with his tongue at my opening before sliding it over my clit. He then dropped his fingers, moving his head to directly under me.

  He ate me like a man starved and savoring his last meal, all the while massaging my inner thighs. The sensations overwhelmed me, and I swore the couch was the only thing holding me up as orgasm after orgasm ripped through me.

  My body trembled when he moved away, giving me a small break before he slid his cock inside to the hilt.

  “Jonathon, you fill me!” I moaned as he slid out then thrust back in.

  My body was weak as he set the pace. Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he slid out and rolled back inside at a different angle, making my body come alive once again.

  I moaned, screamed, squealed, and shook in ecstasy before he stilled, and then I felt his hot come fill me.

  He pulled out and guided me to stand. I felt the trickle down my leg, but I didn’t have the energy to move or try to clean it up right that second.

  Jonathon smiled. “That look of satisfaction in your eyes, Annie, that’s my heaven.”

  “Mmmm,” I managed to purr.

  “Gotta get back to work. Stay naked, right here like this, till I get off. I’ll bring dinner, and you’ll be my appetizer and my dessert.”

  “I wish I had the time. I have to work too.”

  “Till tomorrow, then,” he said on a sigh.

  And till tomorrow I will be deliciously sore.

  My heart pounds irregularly, anticipating what will come later. Will Angelo read this and give me this very scene? What will he respond back with in this game of Mad Libs?

  It takes me a few moments to compose myself, my thoughts. I decide I’m going to give every moment I can to Angelo and what we can have together.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Angelo

  With each passing day, Tatum and I share more. The lines between Annie and Jonathon are blurred. Can fiction be reality? Is this still about her writing a book? Or is it about us?

  I mop the gym’s floors, lost in thought. Another week, and then she will be heading back to New York.

  “We got men to do that,” Jagger calls out from behind me.

  I look up and shrug my shoulders. “Not gonna ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

  Jagger steps aside briefly, returning with a mop in his hand. “Guess we can mop it out together.”

  “I can do it,” I argue.

  “Shaw left this to us. Equal responsibility. We may not always see things the same, Kid, but I respect you.”

  I almost want to physically stumble at his words. The only man who ever respected me was my father. Maybe Shaw, too, but he never said one way or another.

  “Tatum; can’t shake it?” Jagger asks, swiping the mop back and forth.

  “Don’t wanna go there.”

  He only laughs. “Been there myself. You ever think she’s here to save you from yourself?”

  “She’s here to use me.”

  He stops mopping and grips my shoulder.

  I look up fiercely. “Touching, Jagger.”

  “Need your attention.” He gives a firm nod. “Don’t miss what’s right in front of your face. You’re a good man, Angelo. Shit hand dealt to ya by life; I get that. Your future doesn’t have to be defined by your past. It’s okay to hold on to something good while you have it.”

  “You Caldwells and all your good bullshit.”

  He releases me and goes back to mopping. “Call it bullshit, call it whatever, but one thing you can’t do is ever take away the good.”

  When Maria died, after I killed him, I stood over her while I waited for the police. Then I sat there, listening to the sirens in the distance as I whispered to my sister, “I did a bad, bad thing, but sister, I did it for a good reason.” I let a tear fall from my face onto hers that day, and then closed up my fucking soul.

  I let the cops, the paramedics, the town, and everyone else think whatever the hell they wanted. The truth didn’t matter. Who came after who first didn’t change a thing. My sister was still dead.

  Sometimes, we have to do a bad thing for a good reason.

  I can’t leave Michigan. Tatum’s life is in New York. She has been held back for far too long by Gregory. It’s my time to let her go.

  Just before Jagger leaves, he stops and looks at me as I finish the last sweep of the mop. “Don’t miss out on something to punish yourself. In the end, you’re hurting more than either of you should. We only get one life.”

  Pounding the bags does nothing to calm me. Running until my calves burn beyond what’s healthy does nothing to touch the agony in my mind. Therefore, I find myself in front of the sign for Caldwell’s Bar. I only entered it once before, and I never intended on coming back.

  Funny. Since Tatum has been in my life, I find myself doing a lot of things I never did more and more.

  “What can we get ya, sugar?” Sally, the bartender according to her name tag, asks with a smile as I look at the man on the bar stool beside me, taking a pull off his draft.

  “Something strong.”

  “You’re a big man to be expecting anything in a bottle to kick your ass,” the man beside me mutters.

  “What do you know about it?” I ask as Sally slides a glass in front of me. “Make it a double next round.”

  “You get kicked out of the gym today?” the man asks.

  I realize this is Jared, the man who officiated Jagger and Tatiana’s wedding.

  “No,” I answer, tossing back the amber liquid that burns all the way down.

  “You get kicked out of many restaurants?” he asks with straight face.

  I immediately feel defensive. “Why? Do I need a stamp that says felon?”

  He laughs. “No, you goon. You’re carryin’ a six pack and two guns.”

  I don’t get what’s so funny. I look at my sides. I don’t have a six pack and two guns.

  Sally sets the second drink in front of me. “Jared, honey, gotta let the man get a few rounds down first. He doesn’t get the muscle jokes yet.”

  I find myself smiling as I think six pack and two guns being my muscles.

  “Relax a little. Life’s too short to be so serious,” Jared says before raising his glass and tipping it back.

  The man, Jared, is pretty damn funny, and I get caught up in his shit spewing to Jagger’s brother, Hendrix, and his pregnant wife.

  The pregnant wife thing fucks with me. I am no longer just hanging out and having a good time. I am looking at a woman carrying a child, who is radiant, glowing, an
d her husband looks at her with nothing but love and adoration.

  I swallow back another drink, trying to make the thoughts fucking with my head go away, but I can’t help thinking about the pictures now in my room. The ones of my family, my mother, my father, my sister—all fucking gone.

  Every-fucking-thing I touch dies. Everything that matters.

  Hendrix’s wife, Livi, rubs her belly and whispers something to him. Both look at me, and then she smiles at him and nods. He shakes his head, and she whispers again, and again they look at me. It makes me uncomfortable.

  “Chill, Kid,” Hendrix says. “My wife thinks you need a dog.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Gotta dog that needs a home.”

  “I’m not interested,” I grumble as I look down at my phone lighting up.

  Four missed calls and two messages. The last one says, “Just tell me if you’re okay. Tatum.”

  “The fuck does it matter?” I mumble as I toss back the rest of the drink and push back my stool. I hold the edge of the bar to steady myself as I stand. “Bathroom?”

  Jared, Sally, Livi, and Hendrix all point in the same direction.

  Somehow, I manage to get to the bathroom, piss, and not on myself. Then I make my way back out, finding the place looks busier than I remember before taking a piss. Or maybe I’m just paying a little bit more attention than I was before. Either way, it’s getting a little fucking crowded for my liking.

  Once back at my spot, I push the glass forward. “One more.”

  I watch Sally look at Hendrix, who nods. “On the house.”

  Someone sits next to me. I have no clue who. Give no fucks, either.

  I get another text message and grumble before picking up the phone.

  “Unreal,” I hear, and now I know who is sitting next to me.

  I look over to see her shaking her head. Even drunk, I can clearly read her face. She’s hurt, confused, and angry.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I didn’t know where you were. You didn’t answer, Angelo. I was worried.”

  I can’t take it. I can’t take that she feels the same things I’m feeling. Nothing fucking good will come of this. Not one damn thing.

  When I don’t say anything, she shakes her head and repeats, “Unreal.”

  “Is it fucking unreal?” I stand, pushing the barstool back and causing it to tip over.

  “Fuck you,” she whispers. “Fuck you for...”

  “For what?” Unable to look into her eyes and see the hurt I’m causing, but knowing I can’t do this shit anymore, I tell her, “I’m done.”

  “You’re what?” She pokes me in the chest, and only then do I realize the scene playing out around me.

  Jared and Hendrix are at my sides, looking ready to pounce.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask Jared.

  “Shit’s gonna fucking hurt, you fucking ox, but you ain’t putting your hands on the lady ’cause your ass is drunk.”

  Shocked that he would think that, I look at Hendrix and see the same damn thing.

  I need to leave.

  “You’re right; I’m a fucking killer.” I look at Tatum as I grab my jacket. “This is done. Good luck.”

  “He won’t hurt me,” she says, defending me to them both.

  “You don’t think so?” I laugh haughtily.

  “All right, big guy, let’s get you out of here.” Jared grabs my elbow, and I rip it away. “Aw, man,” he huffs and grabs my shirt, looking like he knows he’s about to get his ass kicked.

  “You got two seconds to get your fucking hands off me,” I warn.

  Tatum, fucking Tatum, pushes him and screams, “Don’t!”

  “Hendrix,” I growl, “get her home.” Then I step back and walk out the fucking door.

  I look back to see Hendrix has his arm around her waist as she tries to get to me.

  I point at him. “Don’t fucking hurt her.”

  He nods as she yells, “Why not? You certainly are!”

  “You and I are done now.” I look directly into her eyes, seeing the pain and feeling it myself, but I know it’s for the best. Then I open the door and look back over my shoulder one last time. “Stay safe, Tatum.”

  “Why are you doing this to me? Why?” Her voice shatters me, cutting through me to my soul.

  I don’t look back again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tatum

  I stand there, feeling numb, and then something unreal happens. I cry.

  The man Angelo called Hendrix is holding me up. My feet are raised, and I curl my legs up, hugging them to my body as I cry.

  I cry for the loss I knew was inevitable, but never realized it would make me feel this way.

  I cry for the attachment I shouldn’t have.

  I cry and cry before I finally swallow back the lump in my throat and put my feet back down on the ground. Wiping my eyes, I decide to hold my head up and walk right out of this bar.

  “Sweetheart, he got hit too hard with a dumbbell today,” a man says.

  “Jared, let her be!” Sally, the bartender, says, going about serving the other customers.

  Shame washes over me. I made a complete and utter fool out of myself and Angelo.

  Seeming to understand I am settling down, Hendrix releases me and immediately drapes an arm over the pregnant woman beside him. With a quick kiss to her temple, he looks at me. “You want a ride home?”

  Home. What a funny word that is. Home is New York. I will be there soon enough. I came to Detroit to feel this piece of Gregory he never really got to connect with. One assignment changed everything.

  “I’ll call a cab,” I manage to get out in a strained voice.

  “Nah, we’ll get you home,” Hendrix says as the woman beside him smiles. “I’ll grab the keys to the SUV and be right back.” With another quick kiss to the woman’s temple, he heads toward the back.

  “Tatum, I’m Livi. I’m Tatiana’s sister-in-law. Kid, he hasn’t had a whole lotta good in his life. He’s not a bad man. But you know that already. You see it.” She smiles softly. “I know it’s hard, but sometimes the best thing we can do is give someone the space they need to accept that they are allowed to have happiness.”

  I nod, not knowing what to say.

  Hendrix comes back out, and we leave. The ride is silent, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. I don’t know what to say to myself, much less someone else.

  Hendrix walks me all the way to the door of my hotel room. I want to tell him I’m from New York, so I know what dangers are out there in the big cities, but I don’t.

  Entering my room, I don’t bother changing clothes. I don’t bother taking off my shoes. I simply lie on the bed, curl into myself, and think.

  I have one week left of my stay. I could probably cancel it for a fee, but everything is paid for, and though I have money in the bank, I don’t like the idea of wasting it.

  The night plays over and over in my mind until exhaustion wins and I fall asleep.

  In this tangled mess of emotions, I fell in love with a man who is so broken that I don’t know if he will ever see the good surrounding him.

  Waking, my eyes are puffy, my head hurts, and I feel the weight of yesterday on my heart. Taking a shower, I fight the urge to check my phone every five seconds, knowing he’s not going to call. He won’t text. No, whatever Angelo and I were building has fallen apart. Now the wall he has built between us is too high to climb.

  It’s not his fault. I’m the one who asked him to be my muse. I thought it would be simple. Find some eye candy and allow my mind to create the best fictional man ever. Only, in getting to know my muse, I found the man beneath the body was so much more. The man who pushes his body to the limits all because he is trying to tame the beast inside of him can’t see the beauty he carries as well.

  I came here to feel again. Angelo has given me that in more ways than I ever could have imagined.

  Sitting down at my computer, I decide I need to focus on what
I came here to do. I need to write my book.

  With my emotions so mixed up, I go over the journals both me and Angelo wrote in. With my heart bleeding for the man I unintentionally hurt, I write. I write for myself. I write for Angelo. I write for Annie. I write for Jonathon. I let the words bleed onto the screen without allowing myself to overthink or second-guess what I’m writing.

  They say the best writers focus on things they know. I know heartache. I know love. I know overcoming. I know more than I thought I did about romance, emotions, and the tangled mess they can make, as well as the beauty they can bring out in another person.

  Hours upon hours, I write.

  Two days later, I find myself sitting at the coffee shop, leather bound journal in hand. My phone has been silent, except for Melanie checking in. Not a single text or call from Angelo. I picked it up many times and typed out message after message, my thumb hovering over the send button, but I never quite made it press down. I pulled up his contact countless times with my fingers hovering over the green button to make the call. Again, I couldn’t actually make it happen.

  Hesitation, guilt, sadness, heartache; it all mixes together with my own wishes for what might have been.

  My strength lies in researching. It’s why I love to write non-fiction. I deal in facts, realities. This emotional mess I made out of things is why I never wanted to write fiction.

  Annie and Jonathon will get their happily ever after, but what about Angelo and me?

  I watch the barista and wonder if he’s seen Angelo. I shouldn’t care. After all, Angelo said he’s done, and he is a man of his word. Except, it is like with Gregory—I can’t leave things unfinished.

  I close my eyes and push down the emotions.

  When I came to after being shot, the first thing I was aware of was my pinky locked in his. I can’t help feeling like Gregory thought we were dying together. An eternal link of sorts.

  It has taken me years to change my thought process from being one of death and dying with the man I loved to having hope and him linking our pinkies in a way to hold on to the hope I would survive. I believe in my heart of hearts that Gregory wrapped his pinky in mine to give me the love, courage, and strength to move on.