Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (53 page)

W
e’re still lying there
when her alarm goes off, so she grabs it and turns it off and I roll over onto my back.

We look at each other.

“Tell your boss you’re sick,” I say. “It’s Friday. Spend the weekend in bed with me.”

She frowns and opens her mouth, so I reach over and put my fingers on it.

“Be bad
once
,” I say. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

I keep my hand there until she nods. She grabs her phone, gets out of bed, and as she walks into the next room, she says something about eating a bad salad last night into her phone.

I grin at the ceiling, and then remember that I
also
have a boss who
also
expects me at nine, so I get up and make a call too.

* * *

W
e pretty much stay in
bed for the weekend. I don’t put a stitch of clothing on the entire time, and Tessa only puts a robe on when she’s answering the door for food delivery.

That morning I eat her out on the kitchen counter and then we fuck on the kitchen floor, her knees over my shoulders. We eat breakfast and talk about how different Portland is from Los Angeles, how it’s a little strange that the rivers here are so big and the freeways so small.

Then she sits on my lap and feeds me blueberries one at a time, and by the time the blueberries are gone I’m hard again. She rides my cock and whispers
you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had
when she comes, like I don’t already know.

That’s the weekend, more or less. We fuck in the shower and we fuck on her couch while reruns play on her TV. She gives me a blowjob while Rocky and Bullwinkle is playing and it feels so good that I eat her out
again,
right there.

When I’ve come too many times in a row to do anything, I tell her to go through the toy drawer and find something she likes and just let me watch, but by the end I’m licking her while there’s a vibrator in her pussy and she’s screaming. Afterward my mouth is numb from the buzzing and Tessa pokes at my lips with her fingers and we laugh about it.

Around eight Saturday evening I raise the white flag, sprawled face-down in her bed. She’s next to me in the same position.

“I have to stop for a while,” I say. “I’m gonna start coming spinal fluid.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“Ew,” she says.

“It’s your fault,” I say.

“It’s not my fault you phrased it like
that
,” she says.

I just grin.

“Sex monster,” I say.

She rolls her eyes.

“I am not,” she says.

I push myself up and then smack her ass, because it’s there and I can. She yelps.

“Would the sex monster like pizza?” I ask, getting out of bed.

“You can
not
call me that,” she says, over her shoulder.

I ignore that and find my phone to order a pizza, then sit on the couch. She’s covered it with a sheet, “Because, you know,
fluids,
” and I lean back and turn on her TV.

A few minutes later she walks out and collapses next to me, curling her legs under her and leaning her head against me. Like we’re a normal couple, or something.

I’m pretty sure we’re not, but at some point yesterday I decided to quit wondering whether she
likes me
likes me or not and just enjoy the weekend. We can talk about
us
later.

I flip through movies on her TV, and I’m scrolling past Rocky III when she puts her hand on my wrist and turns it.

“Oh,” she says. “For a second I thought you got rid of the scorpion.”

“I probably should,” I say. “I like it, though.”

“Did people
really
call you that?” she asks, sounding skeptical.

“They did,” I say. “
El Escorpion
in Spanish.”

She swallows, quiet. Her eyes are on the tattoo, and I wish I could tell what she was thinking. Then she moves her hand up my arm.

“What’s the snake?” she asks.

I shrug.

“Just a badass snake,” I say.

“The saint on your shoulder is Guadalupe, right?”

I raise my arm and kiss the Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo, Mary wearing her starry blue mantle, surrounded by a red and orange halo.

“Yup,” I say. “Is this the tattoo quiz?”

“Does everyone do this to you?” she asks. “It’s probably annoying.”

I just laugh and put the remote down, propping my feet on her coffee table.

“I usually lie,” I say.

“Are you lying now?”

“No.”

She moves her head and runs her fingers along the tattoo on my left shoulder and bicep, the mirror of Guadalupe on my right arm.

“Who’s this?”

It’s another saint, also wearing a robe with her hands in a prayer position, rosary dangling from her fingers, but she’s a skeleton.

“La Santa Muerte,” I say.

“Saint Death?” she asks, her fingers still on my arm.

“Something like that,” I say. “When I was nineteen, I told her that if I made it to twenty I’d get this tattoo. Here I am, so there she is.”

“It worked,” she says. “You’re keeping her?”

“I wouldn’t want to see what happens if I don’t,” I say, only half-teasing.

“You believe this stuff,” she says.

“I don’t
not
believe it.”

“Still?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Her fingers slide down my arm again and I turn my hand so my palm is facing up on my thigh. I know she’s looking at the tattoo that’s just two dates:
5/2/1984 - 4/13/2004
.

Javier’s tattoo.

“That’s your brother, right?” she asks softly, her fingers at the edge of the lettering.

I look at her, surprised.

“How’d you know that?” I ask.

“You said he died when he was nineteen,” she says. “I put two and two together.”

“Oh,” I say, and look down at the tattoo. It feels strange that she’s known this whole time, like she was holding onto a piece of me I didn’t know she had.

“What was his name?” she asks, leaning her head against La Santa Muerte.

“Javier,” I say. My mouth feels sticky when I say it, because it’s a name I haven’t said to anyone in years. My mom won’t talk about him, and it’s been so long since he died that I’m not sure anyone else remembers.

“Javier,” she says. “That’s a good name.”

“He was six years older than me,” I say slowly.

I don’t know how to tell this story because I’ve never told it before, because everyone either knew already or didn’t need to know.

“Were you close?” she asks.

“I pretty much worshipped him,” I say. I’m just staring at the dates on my arm. “I’m sure it drove him crazy to have some kid tagging along all the time, but God, I thought he was
so cool.
”

I go quiet for a moment.

“He got shot,” I finally say. “We both did, but I got shot in the arm and he got shot in the chest, right in front of our house. Rampart 18
^th
drive by.”

My memory of it is still vivid and sharp around the edges, like it’s made of glass. I’m walking home from school. He’s there, talking to someone. He sees me and nods.

A car squeals around the corner and the guy Javier’s talking to shouts
OH, SHIT
but before anyone can do anything there’s gunfire and men shouting from a car. Something hits my arm and knocks me backward and the car is gone.

For a second there’s total silence, so much silence it’s heavy and eerie even though my arm is on fire, and then I hear Javier gasp, a loud, ragged,
wrong
sound. I look over and his hands are both pawing at his chest, an astonished look on his face.

It takes him a couple minutes to die, and all I can do is cry and shout
no
.

I tell it all to Tessa, the first time I’ve ever told it all to
anyone
.

“Jesus,” she whispers.

“I’m older now than he ever was,” I say. “It’s still weird that to think that I can do something he didn’t do first. In another year I’ll have lived longer without him than I did with him.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she laces her fingers through mine and squeezes my hand.

“I’m glad you made it out,” she says.

“Me too,” I answer, and kiss her on the top of her head.

I fight the overwhelming urge to say something silly, like
because now I’m here with you
.

After a moment I speak up again.

“You ever seen
The Rock
?” I ask.

“Is that the one about Alcatraz?” she asks.

“Hell yes,” I say, and hit play.

We’re still holding hands. We hold hands until the pizza guy comes and Tessa scrambles to put on her robe and answer the door, and then we eat pizza.

We miss the end of the movie because we’re fucking on the couch.

I
still haven’t talked
to him by late Sunday afternoon. I mean, we’ve talked, we just haven’t talked about
us
. We’ve been talking almost nonstop when we’re not fucking.

It turns out Alex is smarter and funnier than I gave him credit for. He’s still stubborn as hell and pigheaded to boot, but even though we almost get into a fight over what kind of delivery to get he’s always
interesting
.

We both take showers,
separately
for once, and while he’s in there I take a minute to clean the pizza boxes and takeout containers from my apartment. I even light some candles, even though I have a feeling that this place will smell like sex for at least a month straight.

Finally, I sigh and hear the water in the shower shut off. My stomach clenches as I put dishes into the dishwasher.

We are going to have The Talk, and we’re going to do it right now.

The bathroom door opens, and Alex walks into the bedroom, probably getting his clothes. My mind is a blur, all the wheels spinning too fast, not helped by the completely outrageous amount of sex we’ve had this weekend.

This was fun but we need to discuss what’s going on here
, I practice to myself.

Ugh, that sounds like I’m scolding a child for something. I wish I’d done this yesterday, or Friday, because now it’s hanging over my head.

Alex walks into the kitchen, still totally naked. I guess he wasn’t getting his clothes.

“Cleaning up already?” he asks, coming over to me.

“I’m going to work tomorrow,” I say, sliding the top shelf of the dishwasher closed.

He leans forward and kisses the top of my head.

Not a thing fuckbuddies do
, I think.

“Me too,” he says. “I don’t think I’d survive another day of you, tiger.”

“Poor thing,” I tease. “You’ve had a rough weekend.”

Open your mouth and start talking to him
, I think, but then I realize he’s got both hands behind his back and a shit-eating grin on his face.

I narrow my eyes.

“What?” I ask.

My body responds before he even
says
anything. I think it’s a Pavlovian response. After this weekend I’m just conditioned to get wet any time he makes
that
face.

“You want to find out?” he says.

“It’s why I asked,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“You’re gonna have to work for it,” he warns.

“I’m probably not that curious.”

“It’ll be worth your while,” he says.

“I need more information,” I say, pretending like I’m not sure if I want to do this or not. “How worth my while?”

“Oh, I think you’re gonna
like
this, tiger,” he says, his voice going raspy. He takes a step toward me.

“I can be the judge of that,” I say. I don’t budge, even though I agree with him.

“You can start by getting back in bed,” he says.

I just tilt my head to one side and look at him, and he licks his lips. I’m
molten
already, heat rising through my body like it’s ninety degrees in here.

“Tessa,” he says. “I swear to God I’ll just carry you in there. You know I can do it.”

I reach out one finger and slide it down his chest, getting wetter by the second.

“Just because you want something, you can’t just—”

He doesn’t wait for more. He just picks me up, and I yelp.

“I fucking
told
you,” he says.

Whatever he had behind his back is still closed tight in his fist, but I don’t have much time to think about it before he tosses me onto the bed and then he’s on top of me, his body hard against mine.

It’s all I can do not to moan.

“You held out on me,” he says, his eyes glinting. “You held out on me this
entire
time, you kinky minx.”

“If that was holding out, I’m almost afraid to see what full disclosure’s like,” I murmur.

His cock brushes against my lower belly and I wrap my thighs around his. I think I’d have to turn myself inside to give him any more of me after this weekend.

Good job having that talk
, the back part of my brain thinks, but the horny part shuts it up pretty quick.

He props one arm on an elbow and holds up something shiny and metal, slightly conical with a flare at one end.

I suddenly remember that I bought a butt plug about a year ago, and despite
everything
I can feel myself turn bright red as I look at it.

Alex just laughs.

“
This
is what embarrasses you?” he teases, rolling it between his fingers. “I’d have used this days ago if I knew you wanted it, tiger. I could tell you were a freak from the second I laid eyes on you.”

I swallow and look off to the side, even as his lips are on my collarbone, because
that’s
not the embarrassing thing.

“What is it?” he asks.

I take a deep breath.

“I wasn’t lying when we met and I was drunk,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows.

“About being a prude?” he asks.

I nod, still not looking at him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You’re kidding,” he finally says.

I swallow and then look him in the eye.

“I’m not,” I say, my stomach twisting into knots. “I had a couple boyfriends and I always thought sex was okay but nothing to get all that excited about, until...”

I stop.

Until you growled in my ear on the dance floor
, I think.
Until I told you I liked nice men and you laughed at me.

“Until this,” I say weakly. “The toys are all new.”

There’s a light in his blue eyes that’s new, and he smiles slowly.

“So the freaky, filthy,
insanely sexy
get-inside-me-right-now Tessa is just for me,” he says.

“So far, at least,” I say, just because I hate to give in to him.

He just laughs, and I feel strangely vulnerable, like now he
knows
about the hold he has on me.

I don’t ask how many girls he’s said the same things to, how many women he’s told fit him like a glove, because I don’t want to be jealous.

I
can’t
be jealous.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Just fucking unbelievable. When I saw you in that dress I thought you were walking sex.”

I snort, but my pussy throbs. The butt plug is still in his hand, and I look at it.

“Even when I nearly face-planted going for champagne?” I ask.

He opens the drawer, grabs a bottle of lube, and squeezes some into his hand.

“Even then,” he says, smearing the lube on the plug.

God help me, watching him do it gets me excited. I used the plug a couple times by myself, searching for
something
that would do it for me like he did, but it was never better than just
fine
. It’s probably been eight months since I used it.

“And even more
now
,” he says. He kisses the space between my breasts, his face tickling me.

“Because now I
know
that you’re walking sex.”

He kisses me right above the belly button, then below it, and spreads my thighs far apart so I’m wide open and completely exposed to him,
his
in a way I’ve never been anyone else’s.

“And I’m never gonna get enough of you, Tessa.”

He slides his tongue over my clit and I sigh as he licks me slow, his tongue circling me,
teasing
me as if I weren’t already wet and
ready
and desperately horny, but he takes his time driving me crazy.

His tongue has to be sore
, I think. He flattens it and drags it over my clit and I moan, grabbing one pillow in my fist. I’m already panting for breath, and I
know
we’re barely getting started.

“I love how wet you are for me,” he says, and slides his tongue between my lips, fucking me with it slowly before sliding it back out. “And I love it when you lose control and give in to it.”

He licks me again, and then I feel something hard and slippery right on my back hole. He moves it back and forth, sliding it along the sensitive bud, and I gasp.

Lick. Slide. Lick.

“Put it in,” I moan, because I can’t take this any longer. I feel like a black hole of desire and all I want is for him to fill me in any way he can.

“Relax, tiger,” he says, his breath hot on my pussy, and I try.

There’s pressure on my hole and I hold my breath. It’s not a big plug by any stretch of the imagination, but right now it feels huge as he’s slowly pushing it inside me, his tongue steadily licking me.

The sensation of being stretched and licked at the same time is strange and intoxicating all at once, and it feels like something I’d never imagined. I feel like I’m being invaded, like I’ve given myself over to Alex completely.

I moan again as I stretch, and then suddenly it slides in another inch with no warning and I
yelp
at the sudden, strange feeling of
fullness
.

“It’s in?” I gasp.

“It’s in,” he says between licks. “You like having something in your ass while I lick you?”

He flattens his tongue again and it’s like there’s an electricity line running between my clit and the plug inside me.

“Oh,
fuck,
” I moan. “Fuck yes I do.”

He chuckles and licks harder and faster, and between that and the plug it’s not long before I’m about to explode, moaning into a pillow.

“Make me come,” I say, my toes already curling. “Make me come, Alex.”

He flattens his tongue and drags it over me one more time and stars explode in front of my eyes. I gasp his name, over and over as my whole body
jolts
, the plug sending shivers up my spine while he keeps licking me until I’m so spent that I push him away and he crawls over me, his cock like iron.

Alex kisses me with a ferocity that makes me groan, my own taste on his mouth, his tongue on mine like he wants to be inside me every way he can be.

“You’re my filthy sex tiger,” he says into my ear when he pulls away.

“I’m a nice girl,” I whisper, and he laughs.

“You’re my fuck goddess,” he says. “And it only makes me harder when you argue with me.”

“Like I don’t know that,” I say.

I wrap my legs around him and reach down for his cock, and it moves the plug inside me, sending a shiver down my back and straight to my clit. I bite my lip and moan, but then he grabs my wrist and takes it away.

“Turn over,” he says, but he just does it for me, rolling me over ny the hips like I’m a rag doll.

Now we’re looking at each other in the mirror and he spreads my knees again. He pulls my hips up toward him and grabs a pillow, putting it under my hips. I’m face-down, plugged ass up, spread and wide and ready and just
offering
myself to him.

He grabs my ass in both hands and then runs them over my back.

“Say it again,” he says. “I can’t hear it enough.”

“Say what?” I ask, just to taunt him, because I know what he wants me to say.

The tip of his cock is just
resting
at my entrance and I can almost feel myself gushing around it, I’m so ready.

“
Say it
,” he says, his voice lowering to that dangerous pitch, the one that means he’s about to lose control. The one that makes my heartbeat
pound
through my pussy like it’s an echo chamber.

“Fuck me, Alex,” I whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He slides inside me slower than I thought possible, just the head of his cock, but it pushes against the plug in my ass and I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, barely able to breathe as I swear to God my vision sparkles around the edges.

“
Jesus,
Alex,” I whisper.

He’s breathing hard, his tattoos shiny with sweat. In the mirror I can see him kneeling behind me, all that pure hard muscle and his long, thick cock just barely inside me.

I look like some kind of ruined, wanton harlot, like I’m so desperate for him that I’d do anything, but I don’t care because right now it’s
true
. He slides in a little more and then pulls back, like he’s being careful with me even though he can barely control himself, and it’s the absolute hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” I say. My eyes are half-closed and my hands are clutching the sheet so hard I might tear it.

“I know,” he says, and then he bends over and kisses my back. Gently. Still thrusting carefully in and out by millimeters, moving the plug in my ass and sending a shower of sparks through me every single time.

“I can fuck you however I want,” he says. In the mirror, most of his cock has disappeared inside me. “And right now, I want to feel every millimeter of you, and I want to feel the plug filling your ass, and you want that too.”

I just moan as he fills me more and more, and even though it feels like it takes forever it’s a
good
forever, like time might have stopped.

At last he’s all the way in, his hips flush against my ass in the mirror and I just groan with this feeling of being so satisfied and
full
. I reach back with one hand and stroke his hip because I feel like I
have
to touch him.

He takes my hand in his and then the other one and somehow I’m even more helpless than before, stuffed in both holes and now I can’t even push myself up because we’re holding hands behind me.

Then he pulls out a little and as he thrusts back inside me he pulls on my arms and slides in
deep
and we both groan at once.

“Do it again,” I manage to say, and he does.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, tiger,” he whispers while he fucks me. He’s slow and he’s not exactly gentle, but he’s not rough. “It’s like you were custom made for me.”

Every time he thrusts and pulls back on me it moves the plug in my ass and the shiver of that slides down my back along with the pure molten heat that’s at my core.

“No, I think you were made for
me
,” I say, and this insane
possessive
feeling washes over like he
belongs
to me, like he’s
mine
, and we’re fucking a little harder now, his hands gripping mine tight.

“Dirty,” he says, a grin in his voice.