Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (12 page)

She rocks against me, her eyes still closed, her lips parted slightly. After a few more strokes I stop. She opens her eyes and I grab my cock by the base until the head is barely touching her lips.

Luna grabs the metal bar of the futon behind my head with one hand and arches backward, putting her own hand over mine.

Then she lowers herself, the head of my cock parting her lips and entering her slowly. I gasp and tighten my hand on her hip, because she’s hot and wet and tight and this feels better than I’d even imagined.

I hear a groan and realize it’s me. Luna’s pussy clenches around my cock.

“You like it when I let you fuck me?” she says, her voice low and rough.

“Jesus, yes,” is the only thing I can think of to say.

She slides down another inch and takes her hand from the base of my cock, and so do I, grabbing her by the other hip. I desperately want to push her all the way down and sink my cock inside her up to the hilt, but I don’t.

“You’re a tease,” I growl, looking down. I watch her take another inch of my thick cock, the muscles in her channel gripping my shaft.

“Because I’m going slow?” she murmurs, her eyes heavy-lidded.

“Because I might come before I get all the way in.”

She slides down a little more, then sits up, pulling me out until just the head is in her. I
growl
, but she sinks back down, her eyes lit up with hunger as she searches my face.

“I just want to feel every inch of your cock as you fill me up,” Luna says.

My mouth falls open, and I squeeze her hips tighter, trying to draw her down.

Suddenly she gasps, her hand tightening on my shoulder.

“
Oh
,” she says, then swallows convulsively.

“Right there?” I growl. I bite her collarbone and move my hips just a little to hit that spot again.

Luna bites her lip and moans, clenching around me so hard it nearly sends me over the edge, and I break. I pull her down the last inch so I’m totally engulfed in her, and I have to grit my teeth against the wave of pleasure that threatens to take me over.

“You feel goddamn amazing,” I growl.

I think she
whimpers
. Alarm shoots through me, and I’m afraid I’ve hurt her, but then she moves her hips against me and
groans
, leaning her forehead against mine.

“Your cock feels so good,” she whispers, still moving. “Holy shit, Stone.”

There’s no way I’m gonna last very long, not if Miss by-the-book talks like
that
.

I hold her hips and thrust deep into her, and Luna grunts. Her muscles pulse around me, almost like she’s trying to grip my cock with her pussy. I do it again and she moans. We work our way into a rhythm, moving together faster and faster.

Luna leans back, her hands on my knees, and now I can watch her whole body as we fuck: her hips moving, her lips stretched around my cock, her tits bouncing. Her head thrown back with her eyes closed.

It’s goddamn
glorious
.

“You showing off for me?” I say.

I’m dangerously close to the edge, but if I finish without making her come again first I’ll never forgive myself.

“You said you liked looking,” Luna says, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “It
feels
like you like looking.”

Don’t come don’t come don’t come
...

“Your pussy around my cock is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, and pull her down onto me,
hard
. She moans and I do it again, watching my cock disappear inside her, feeling her squeeze me all the way down my shaft.

“Fuck me, Stone,” she whispers. “God, fuck me just like that.”

Hell yes, I fuck her just like that, pulling her onto me as hard as I can again and again as Luna rides me mercilessly.

“Slow down, I’m gonna come,” she says suddenly. Her fingernails dig into my knees. I grit my teeth together and slow down, desperately trying to hold back the tsunami threatening to burst forth at any second.

“Come on my cock,” I whisper. “Luna, I want to feel you come so bad.”

I push myself deep one last time and Luna gasps.

“Oh
fuck
, Stone,” she whimpers.

Then she clenches around me, her muscles pulsing and squeezing as Luna keeps riding me, saying
oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck
over and over again, like it’s a chant.

I last two seconds before I release myself inside her. I think I’m shouting, but it feels so fucking incredible that everything goes blank for a moment and all that exists is me, tumbling over the edge of a cliff.

Gradually, she slows. I open my eyes, and after a moment, so does she, still sitting on my spent cock, hands on my knees behind her. I lean my head back against the futon, and I can feel sweat trickling down my neck.

My mind’s gone totally blank, like I came all the thoughts out of my head, and we just stare at each other for a long moment, breathing hard.

“Holy shit, Detective,” I manage to say, and that breaks the spell.

Luna leans forward, puts one hand on my chest, and kisses me deep, then pulls herself off me and flops on the futon. I have the urge to pull her back to me, her head against my shoulder, and bask in the afterglow like that, skin-to-skin.

I wonder what she’d look like asleep in my arms, relaxed and soft, tangled with me.

I stand up.

“Be right back,” I say, and head to the bathroom to get rid of the condom.

I throw it away, then stare after it into the trash for a moment, not seeing a thing, because I didn’t think this through at
all
. Surprise surprise: someone who’s been a criminal most of his life doesn’t think a lot about the consequences of his actions.

I just
wanted
her. Even though I knew better, I never really thought about what might happen afterwards. I didn’t think that I might want to snuggle, or I might want to ask her to stay.

I didn’t realize that after finally fucking Luna, the next question on my mind would be
how do I get to do that again?

I’m an idiot
, I think.

I wash my hands slowly, dry them on the single towel I’ve unpacked, and sit next to Luna on the futon.

She leans her head against my shoulder lightly, and I put a hand on her knee.

Shit.

O
kay
, I think.
Maybe, every once in a while, the sex is worth the crazy.

“That was fun,” I say.

Stone’s living room is almost completely dark now, and I’m leaning my head against his shoulder, my hands in my lap. I kind of want to get closer, snuggle in, but I feel like I’m in choppy, untested waters here.

Also, you told him you wanted to feel every inch of his cock as he filled you up
, I think.
And now you have to look him in the eyes and pretend you’re a normal person.

“Yeah, I had a positively lovely time,” Stone says, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “You should come over for tea and crumpets this weekend.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I mutter.

Stone just laughs.

“I’m not the one who went from ‘please fuck me, Stone,’ to high society lady,” he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh.

“Sorry,” I say.

“I’m just teasing you,” he says, his head still back on the futon. “You’re right, it was fun.”

“No, the ‘fuck me’ stuff,” I say.

Stone is silent for a long, long moment, and I start squirming.

Too much, Rivers
, I think.
Way too much. Dial it back next time.

“You’re apologizing for talking dirty?” he finally asks.

He sounds genuinely baffled, and now I feel like a huge dork for bringing it up at all. I stare at his handsome face, into his incredible green eyes, and feel like the world’s most awkward person.

“I’ve dated a couple people who didn’t really like it,” I explain. “Sometimes it kind of... happens.”

By
a couple people
I mean
most of the guys I’ve been with,
because somehow I’ve mostly dated losers who don’t even like dirty talk.

Stone raises his eyebrows, looking skeptical.

“Did I seem like I didn’t like it?” he asks, his voice still low and slightly raspy.

“No,” I say. I swallow and look away, my face still bright red. “But you wouldn’t be the first guy to like it in the moment and decide you prefer nice girls later.”

Stone just laughs, leaning his head against the futon.

“What the fuck about me says
I like nice girls?
” he asks. “I came so hard I think one of my balls went back inside my body.”

“Ew,” I say.

He rubs his thumb over my knee.

“You can talk dirty to me any time, Detective,” he says, and grins. “I’m more than happy to listen.”

Cool
, I think.
I met someone who does sex really well and wants to talk dirty to me and he’s a juvenile offender with a million tattoos and a GED.

“Thanks,” I say, and Stone just chuckles.

We just sit there for a moment. I put my head back on his shoulder, and start wondering when he
did
move in. Based on the amount of stuff stacked on
top
of the moving boxes, it wasn’t all that recently.

Then I frown. I think I’m sliding toward Stone very, very gradually.

I sit up and look at one end of the futon, then the other.

“Hm?” says Stone.

“Shit,” I say.

The corner of the futon is against the wall behind his head — a good foot from where it started — and there’s a mark and a dent.

“Your wall... got fucked up,” I say. “We should pull this back out.”

Stone looks behind himself, then shrugs and gets off the couch. We pull it away from the wall, and then we both stand there, looking at it.

“That’s crooked, isn’t it?” Stone asks, sounding more than a little amused.

“Maybe something got bent?” I ask, tugging at my hair.

Stone just laughs, then walks to the doorway and flips on the lights. He lowers himself onto the floor next to the futon, looking under it.

I take a moment to appreciate the way the muscles in his back ripple as he does, moving under the black and blue lines of his tattoos, though there aren’t as many there as on his chest.

Then one of them catches my eye. I take a step closer and lean over, staring at the wavy, faded lines inked into his skin.

“Yeah, the thing that supports this bar is fucked,” Stone says. “Damn, cowgirl.”

I barely hear him, because I’m staring at a tattoo of an eye over crossbones, wrapped in barbed wire. I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe, and I wish,
desperately
, that I could take the last hour back.

“I can probably bend it back later,” Stone goes on.

It’s old and faded, more blue than black, and the lines are totally uneven: wider in some parts, thinner in others, like it was done by an unsteady hand. Part of the crossbones looks distorted, like something bent it out of shape after the tattoo was done. It’s obviously amateur.

I know a prison tattoo when I see one.

Stone rolls over onto his back and looks up at me.

“It’s just a futon, detective,” he says, and grins. “Don’t worry, it was worth it.”

“Where’d you get the eye tattoo?” I ask. I think my voice is shaking.

It feels like something sucks all the air from the room.

“The eye with the bones and the barbed wire,” I say, and clear my throat. “It’s on your back, on your left—”

“I know where it is,” he says.

We stare at each other.

“When were you in prison?” I finally whisper, my throat nearly closed.

“It’s from juvie,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes.

I don’t answer, because I’m afraid I’ll scream or cry or both. I just walk across the room, grab my pants, and pull them on without bothering about underwear.

“Luna,” Stone says, getting to his feet.

“Don’t
fucking
lie to me,” I say through my teeth.

“It was years ago,” he says.

I whirl around, still wearing nothing but pants.

“First you lied and
then
you thought it was okay to fuck me without mentioning that
you were in prison
?” I ask.

My voice is shaking, and I take a deep breath. All I can think about is every statistic I’ve ever read about all the diseases that are rampant in prison. HIV. Hepatitis.

“I’ve gotten tested,” he says. “We used a condom.”

“Condoms break!” I shout.

I take a deep breath and try to get control of myself, because getting into a screaming match isn’t going to fix anything here. I see my shirt on a box and grab it, pulling it over my head.

“Your bra’s behind you,” Stone says.

“Why would I believe that you’ve been tested?” I ask. I’m trying to use my regular voice, but it’s still too loud and too high-pitched. “You lied about being in prison.”

Stone stalks back and forth, between a pile of boxes and his futon, running one hand through his hair.

“It’s from juvie,” he says. “I fucking
told
you about that.”

I’m
completely sure
he’s lying. I’m not even sure why — it looks too recent, tattoos in juvenile detention aren’t as common — but I know he is.

I pick up my shoes with one hand and my bra and blazer with the other, fighting tears. I don’t know where my underwear went but it’s a small price to pay for getting the fuck out of here before I start crying, so I’m happy to leave it.

“Don’t call me,” I say, heading for the door. “Don’t text me, don’t fucking spray paint your own garage again.”

“Luna,” he says.

“You can’t lie about shit like this,” I say, yanking the door open. He walks toward me, like he’s going to follow me out.

“I didn’t—”

“No,” I say, holding up one hand. It’s the one with my bra in it. “Just fucking don’t, okay?”

Then I practically run down his steps into the cool night air.

“Luna,” he calls.

I keep walking.

“Luna!” he shouts. From the corner of my eye I can see him, naked and silhouetted in his doorway. I ignore him and hurry to my car, biting my lip to keep from crying, and throw my clothes in.

Stone’s door slams shut.

“FUCK!” I hear him shout. I get in my car and slam the door shut.

Then I crank the engine and burst into tears.

* * *

T
en minutes later
, I’ve got the crying out of my system. I hate, hate,
hate
crying, but I’ve also come to terms with the fact that a good hard cry works. By now it’s just part of my crisis-solving method: step one, sob hysterically for a couple of minutes; step two, take a deep breath and consider the problem objectively.

I’m on step two as I pull into my driveway. I rent half of a small side-by-side duplex that’s owned by the nice retired couple who lives in the other half. They’re lovely people, particularly because they travel the country in their giant RV for about six months a year.

I toss my clothes on my kitchen table and look at the shelf with the whiskey on it. I’m tempted, but whiskey’s never made anyone cry
less
, so I drink a glass of water instead.

In concrete terms, it’s a fairly simple problem: I had sex with someone who may have been exposed to several serious fluid-borne pathogens. Therefore, I get tested, even though we used a condom, because I am straight-up freaking out.

It’s the other shit that’s more complicated, like the fact that I banged someone who I
knew
was a little crazy, who I already thought wasn’t telling me the whole truth. And the fact that he didn’t tell me he’d been in prison before we had sex, which any halfway decent person would have done.

Do a lot of decent people go to prison, Rivers?
I think.

I’ve got a good point.

It’s still only eight-thirty, so I decided to deal with first things first and call Raine.

“Sup, Luna?” he answers.

“I need a really big favor and you can’t ask any questions,” I say.

There’s a pause on the other end.

“Cedar probably knows way better places to bury a body,” he says. “Being Mister Forest Ranger and all.”

I can’t help but smile.

“I’m not there just yet,” I say. “I just... need some blood work done.”

“What happened?” he says quickly. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” I say. Something about the concern in his voice makes me choke up again. “I did something dumb is all.”

“What kind of blood work are we talking?” he says.

I can hear him walking around his place, and something clinks in the background. I swallow.

“Full STD and blood borne pathogen panel,” I say.

He’s quiet again, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“When did you do this dumb thing?” he finally asks.

I sigh and swallow, trying to make the lump in my throat go away.

“An hour ago?” I say.

“You’re at your place?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Give me thirty minutes,” he says.

* * *

I
shower
, change clothes, and make myself a giant mug of my mom’s home-blended stress-relief tea. Even though I take all her natural, herbal medicine stuff with a grain of salt, drinking tea
does
make me feel a little better.

The door’s open, so Raine just comes in.

“Mom’s de-stress tea?” he asks, sniffing the air in my kitchen.

I nod, looking up at my little brother.

“Oh, shit, Loony,” he says, his voice mildly alarmed.

“I look that bad?” I ask.

Raine just crouches on the floor next to me and gives me a long side-hug. I lean my head against his and sigh as he rubs my shoulder.

After a long time he pulls up his own chair and sits down, looking at me very seriously.

“I know you said no questions, but I’ve gotta ask some,” he says. “You said this incident occurred earlier tonight?”

I nod.

“Have you ever... performed this incident before tonight?”

I shake my head. Raine leans in.

“I’m guessing this involved a transfer of bodily fluids?” he asks.

I open my mouth. Then I clear my throat.

“Not any of the important ones?” I say.

Raine raises one eyebrow, and I give up with the charade.

“I had sex with someone I shouldn’t have,” I say, putting my head in my hands. “We used a condom, but I’m pretty sure he’s at least been exposed to a whole lot of shit.”

“And the condom remained intact?”