So much right.
So much light and darkness, a mixture of both.
There was so much about the way she looked at me, how she didn’t look up to me or fear me. She accepted me entirely, as she did herself. A girl full of so much love and passion. A girl that shouldn’t have been lying in my bed.
She fell asleep on my chest, breathing evenly, and I watched her. The purity was what killed me. She may have thought she wasn’t innocent, but to me, she was. I was the one that started this, coming onto her when I was too drunk to care. I lead her on, but we both took this to deeper, darker places.
We ventured into the same blackness I couldn’t seem to escape, sinking further and further into the sea. But being under this sea was different. We could breathe, so it was okay. We could feel and touch and move. Nothing held us back, and nothing saw us.
Just like the ocean, our black sea was full of wonders—full of uniqueness and secrecy. It was our place, this vast ocean we lived in. It was for us, and the only way it could have been ruined was if something intruded, messing up the fluidity and transforming it into a menacing typhoon.
Unfortunately, the ocean can also be disturbed and interrupted. Peace doesn’t always linger. Happiness doesn’t always stick. Freedom doesn’t always ring.
Our ocean of black, our tainted mess, would be demolished by the end of summer and nothing would be able to repair it.
It’d been so long since I had anyone sleeping with me in my bed. Three and a half years to be exact. Not even Trixie stayed the night. I always made her go. Our rules.
It felt good waking up next to Chloe, but what was even greater was awaking to her soft, familiar hand running across the tip of my cock.
I stirred out of my sleep, but she shushed me, placing her other hand on my chest and gently forcing me to lie back down. I eased back, eyes trained on her before I looked down and calmed myself. Yes, it had been a while since something like this happened so early.
Her hand moved under the comforter, lifting up and down, stroking slow and smooth. My groan was hoarse as she put small pecks on my chest with her petal-like lips. Each kiss further aroused me. My morning wood needed to be satisfied.
I could never control myself in the mornings. There was just something about them, perhaps the crisp feeling of the sunlight or knowing it was a new day. Or maybe my few hours of sleep recharged me, building me up for another release to happen soon.
“Damn,” I groaned. “Yeah, keep doing that, baby.” She dropped the sheet, her head went down, and her lips wrapped around my tip. She did what I did not expect. I thought I could hold it a little longer, but that simple act alone was enough to make me explode.
I splurged into her mouth, shooting down her throat, and she swallowed every last drop, eyes on me, not daring to pull those hazel irises away. I jolted even more, pressing my palm to the back of her head and making the moist walls of her mouth mold around my length. “Fuck.”
She moaned around my cock, bringing her mouth up, swirling her tongue swiftly around my tip and across the slit between and then pulling away, causing my hips to buckle. Pulling up, she grinned and then rested her head on my chest. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she confessed.
“Shit, thanks for giving me the first shot at it,” I laughed, planting a kiss on her forehead. Leaning on my elbow, I turned to face her, admiring her physique. She looked good in my T-shirt, her slender legs toned in all the right places, skin smooth. Her nipples were what I expected, erect, prodding through the white cotton.
I ran the back of my hand across her cheek, and she caught it, holding on. “I’ve always wanted to ask…” She paused for a moment, lips twisted. “How often do you think of Mrs. Black?”
Her question caught me off guard. I felt my heart come to a slight skid. It wasn’t as intense as it used to be. Before, my heart would slam to a standstill from the mere thought of Janet. The wound was deep, but with time, it became easier to accept—easier to control the emotion that used to wreak havoc. “Every day,” I responded.
“You miss her a lot, don’t you?”
I huffed. “Severely.”
Chloe’s brows creased for a single moment, then her face softened. “We… never would have happened if she was still here, huh?”
I blinked. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that question. Yeah, if Janet were still around, I would have kept my boundaries, maintained distance, and considered Chloe one of Izzy’s hottest friends. I wouldn’t have touched her—hell, I never would have gotten so fucking crazy if it weren’t for the murder of my wife.
Instead of giving a direct answer, I said, “Wanna know how fucked up my life was before? Why I sometimes think I’m the one that should have died that day?” Her eyelashes batted at me, and she adjusted herself, pulling her hand away. Her eyes were full of questions. I answered them.
“When I was eleven, I lost my dad. Seems like a corny job, but he was a firefighter, and I always admired him for it. Saving lives. Working day and night to provide for us. Risking his life on a day to day basis. I always wondered ‘Why him?’ when he passed, and I guess since I never came to terms with him dying, it was even harder dealing with Janet’s death. My therapist says it was because I wasn’t expecting to lose anyone else. I had finally found safety with her—security—but lost it within the blink of an eye. When I lost my dad, I became rebellious. My mom couldn’t control me for the life of her.” I laughed. “I regret putting her through so much hell—with being suspended from school for picking fights and even setting off firecrackers in the boys’ bathroom just for the hell of it.” My head shook. “Shit, for a while I thought I wouldn’t live to see this age. I didn’t want to live, and for some reason, when he died… nothing changed. Nothing got better. Everything became worse.” Chloe’s face was serious as I stopped talking for a brief moment.
“Life got so much harder for me and my mom. My mom worked way too much in order to support me, which left me at home alone. So… one day I met this guy named Horris at a bike convention, and he introduced me to this gang of bad-asses. All we did was cause trouble and fuck shit up for no reason. Some of them killed for fun. Tormented members of other gangs and robbed from innocent civilians.” I swallowed thickly. “I hate that I’m even telling you, but… I almost killed someone.”
She gasped. “Who?”
I focused on the silver sheets. “Janet’s dad.”
As if that were a twist, she gasped even louder. “What!? How?”
“Her dad is an uptight asshole. You probably saw him at her funeral, how he didn’t say a single fucking word to me. Well, before I ever met Janet, I used to hang out at this bar in L.A. They played poker there every fucking night. Her dad happened to be there one night, knowing damn well he wasn’t supposed to be gambling. At a young age, I’d learned how to play poker and was pretty damn good at it. Let’s just say her dad tried to cheat and that left me with no choice but to beat his ass.”
“You had a choice—what do you mean you had no choice?”
“My gang was there, demanding me to do something about it. And I’m no pussy. I wanted to show them that I could hold my own—that they didn’t need to worry about me. Shit, the whole gang thought I was a pushover for a while, but that was only because I was quiet and new. But when they saw me beat her dad until he was black and blue… well, let’s just say I was highly respected. Maybe not by her dad, but by the gang. The Union. That’s what they called themselves.” I laughed, remembering those dark and somewhat exciting days.
“Wow,” Chloe whispered. Her eyes moved down to the jagged “U” on my shoulder.
“I got it as soon as the gang let me in,” I said in reference to the tattoo. “I wanted to prove my loyalty to them. But that’s not even the best part. Janet worked at the bar, doing dishes in the back, and when she saw her dad getting pummeled, she jumped right in, breaking it up and then cursing me the fuck out, threatening me with the nearest object. That object happened to be a broken glass bottle.” I chuckled.