Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4) (17 page)

“Fuck you feel good,” he rasped against my ear, softly kissing down the side of my neck. His lips felt as smooth as I remembered, making their way down to my breasts. Licking and sucking my nipple into his mouth.

My breathing hitched when he cupped my pussy with his rough, calloused fingers.

“I want to fuck you with my fingers,” he groaned against my mouth, biting on my lower lip.

He gripped the back of my neck with his strong, warm hand. Holding me in place, working my clit, back and forth in slow torturous movements. He deepened our kiss, pushing me to the brink of ecstasy. My legs, stomach, and body quivered, tightened, and spasmed all at once.  

Our breathing escalated. My head fell back as my mouth opened wider. It was forceful, urgent, and demanding. The way his tongue sinfully played with mine. He tasted like whiskey, cigarettes, and weed, with a hint of peppermint, causing a loud, moan to escape my mouth.

My back arched off the bed when his fingers slipped inside me, angling straight for my g-spot, as if he knew my body better than I did.

“Here…” he huskily groaned, hitting my sweet spot over and over again. “You’re going to come,” he stated, taking me over the edge.

I panted, fisting and clawing the sheets all around us.

He kissed every last inch of my skin as he slid down my body. When he reached where I wanted him the most, I gazed down at him through hooded eyes, while he stared up at me with a piercing blue gaze that tore into my soul.

“I want to fuck you with my tongue,” he rasped, slipping his tongue into my opening.

My eyes closed and head fell back against the bed.  He devoured me, sucking on my clit as I rode his face, fast and hard. Coming apart yet again in a matter of seconds.

He gripped me firmer. His fingers dug into my hipbones as he thrust his tongue in and out of me. Eating all the wetness that he evoked from me, like I was his favorite fucking meal.

My body fell forward as if hanging off from cliff and I panted out, “Austin!”  

I peered around my bedroom, shaken and confused when I should be anything but.

Alone.

“What the fuck?” I breathed out, waking up from yet another damn sex dream with the man I’d only met once.

My panties were soaked and my skin hot and tingling all over. My pussy still throbbed, mimicking the beating of my heart. I shook off the sentiment, pulling off the wrestled sheets that I was still grasping onto, throwing them to the side.

I took a deep breath, roughly yanking my hair away from my sweaty face.

“This can’t be normal,” I said to myself as I crawled to the end of bed, desperately needing to get up and go take a long, cold shower.

It had been nine months since I left Miami, and I still couldn’t forget about Austin. His intense blue eyes were etched in my mind.

Why couldn't I stop thinking about him?

It was like he had this hold on me. I didn't understand.

I had met him one time.

One. Fucking. Time.

It didn’t make any sense.

I stepped out of the shower and changed into a tank top and some cotton shorts. Brushing my hair and teeth while I looked into the mirror.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked my reflection before spitting toothpaste into the sink.

I opened the bathroom door and made my way out into the kitchen to grab something to eat. I loved my apartment; it was my favorite place to be. It had an open floor plan, the rooms transitioning smoothly but still connecting. My stackable washer and dryer were tucked in a closet near the kitchen, keeping my laundry hidden. My windows were floor to ceiling, letting in natural light, warming up the sharp lines.

“Are you ready for your trip?” Uncle Alejandro asked.

I gasped, my hand immediately going over my heart.

“Oh my God! You scared the shit out of me! Again! Can’t you knock? For once, fucking knock on the door like a normal person.”

He sipped his coffee, sitting at my dining table.

“I refuse to knock in an apartment that I own.”

“No shit,” I murmured, walking into my kitchen to serve myself some much-needed coffee.

“I see it’s your bitch-causing time.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I asked you a question. I don’t like waiting for an answer.”

“Mmm hmm,” I said, sitting at the island, flipping through the latest issue of
Cosmopolitan
.

“You don’t look ready.”

“I have a few weeks,” I said, peering away from the magazine looking into his eyes before he ordered me to.  

“I give you a gift and this is the thanks I get. I’m handing you a big responsibility, peladita—”

“I’m not a little girl,” I gritted out.

He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Then stop acting like one. You have been handed everything on a silver-fucking platter and you still act like a bitch. Throwing fits and demanding respect. You dropped out of high school and you still get to live a life of privilege.” He gestured all around him. “How many other eighteen-year-olds can say that?"

"I'm not like most eighteen-year-olds, Uncle," I countered.

"I take care of you. I always have, Briggs. Since the day I picked you up from the hospital in Washington. If it wasn’t for me you’d have grown up in foster care. Where do you think that would have led you, eh?
Dime
?” he asked, “
Tell me
.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Let me remind you. En caso de que,” he said, “
Just in case
.” He stood, rounding the corner to stand in front of me.

“You wouldn’t have this million-dollar apartment, the name-brand closet, the fancy restaurants, the endless traveling around the world. How about the black credit card in your wallet? You know who pays for all that, Briggs? I do.”

I wanted to tell him that none of that mattered to me. That I never wore half the shit in the closet. That it was there because he said I needed to wear it to the upscale parties and the fancy restaurants. Everything he does for
me
…

Was really for him.

But I didn’t bat an eye. He was right about one thing. I embraced it or I had nothing.

This life was all I had.

It was all I ever had.

I smiled, big and wide. “I’m fucking thrilled. I can’t wait. Thank you again, Uncle, for everything," I said in a sarcastic tone.

“Better. Next time wipe off the shit-eating grin off your face.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Why don’t you go deface your body some more? Or is there no part left on your skin to ruin?”

He hated my tattoos. Every last one of them. Especially the first one I got done on my back. To say he was livid would have been an understatement. He never asked about the meaning behind it but then again, he didn’t have to.

“Make sure you’re ready. No fucking around. Understood?”

I nodded, ignoring him, flipping through another magazine.

With that, he turned and left my apartment.

I spent the rest of the afternoon, thinking about someone…

That I shouldn’t.

Over the last two months it was only me and Mike. After Detroit, we all sort of went our separate ways. I was expecting it. I never thought I was going to make lifelong friends with the people I happened to come across. It was cool while it lasted, but everyone had to move on at some point. Mike wanted to head back to his home state, New York. He said he had a lot of friends that we could crash with. We made several stops along the way, but nothing too promising or exciting to make us stay for more than a few weeks.

We worked at a couple places in Pittsburgh to earn some cash before heading to Manhattan. We arrived in New York early one morning and managed to find a shitty motel to stay at until Mike got in touch with his friends; in the meantime, we would look for some more work.  New York was expensive as shit, and I was grateful we’d made some decent money over the last two months.

I took a long, hot shower, soaking it up while it lasted. I walked out of the bathroom and Mike was lying on the bed, talking on the hotel phone.

“Yeah, I’m at Hotel Carter on West 43rd Street. Perfect, thanks.” He hung up. “Feel better?”

I nodded, setting the wet clothes I washed in the shower on the air vent to dry.

“I’m going to jump in next. I ordered us some food and shit. Answer the door.”

I nodded again, waving him off.

When I heard the bathroom door close behind him, I changed into my last pair of clean jeans, forgoing a shirt. Traveling was fucking exhausting. I plopped on the bed and stared up at the brown, water-stained ceiling.

I thought about how much I’d wanted to come to New York almost four years ago. How I wanted to start my life here, my career. There was still that sense of longing for something I could never have. After all this time…

I was still lost.

Still confused.

At least for now…

We’d been on a cramped train for the last few days. All I wanted to do was lay down. My back was fucking killing me. I had run out of pain pills the night before, and I was feeling the effect today. Mike said he would take care of it though.

The loud knock on the door startled me awake. I had just started dozing off. I could still hear the water running in the bathroom. Mike always took the longest damn showers. I stood, stretching my back for a second, trying to work out the knots. Rubbing my stomach as I made my way to the door, perfect timing.

I was fucking starving.

I opened the door and the first thing I saw were a pair of familiar bright blue eyes staring back me.

Almost knocking me on my ass.

“Austin.” She jerked back as stunned as I was.

“Briggs,” I rasped.

We both stood there looking at each other for I don’t know how long, taking one another in again as if it were the first time.

Damn, she was a sight for sore eyes.

She was wearing a white low-cut tank top that hung lose on her tiny but curvy frame. Her lacy, bright pink bra peeked out the top, revealing her ample cleavage. One of her bra straps hung low on her upper arm, the other one exposed on her shoulder. With small ripped shorts that I knew barely covered her luscious ass.

But the black combat boots, that’s what really made me smile.

A dark green backpack hung low on her back. Her vibrant purple hair cascaded down her face, reaching her waist, like she hadn’t cut it since the last time I saw her. Almost a year ago.

“What are you doing—”

“Was that the door?” Mike asked, walking out of the bathroom, interrupting me with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Hey.” He nodded toward her. “We met at a party a long time ago. Briggs, right?”

I glanced back at her and she nodded, her gaze settled on me. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at my abs or my scars. Working in construction most of the time kept me fit as much as the gym did. I assumed it might be a bit of both by the way her cheeks turned slightly red.

“Austin, you rude fuck, let her in. She’s your new best friend.”

She bit her lip, not in a seductive way, but in a nervous one.

I stepped aside, opening the door wider to let her by. She walked in and my eyes went straight to her ass, as suspected the shorts barely covered her cheeks. My attention went right to the black tattooed bows on the backs of her upper thighs. Each one attached to a seam running all the way down her long legs, into her boots. They were the only tattoos she had on her legs.

God, she’s beautiful.

It looked like she was wearing thigh highs and it was sexy as all hell on her.

My cock twitched, an instant fucking hard on.

I walked to the other side of the room, sitting on the couch. Trying to hide the fact that I was sporting wood like a goddamn, horny teenager.

“Just throw your shit on the table and we can decide what to buy. I’m going to throw on some clothes,” Mike said, closing the bathroom door behind him.

I glanced from Mike back to her, and then it hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.

“I ordered us some food and shit. Answer the door.”

“You’re not here to deliver food, are you?” I whispered loud enough for her to hear, even though I already knew the answer.

She shook her head no. “I’m your new best friend, remember?”

She walked over to the beat-up coffee table in front of me, taking off her backpack and setting it on the floor beside her. She opened the top zipper, reaching in and pulled out several bags, throwing them on the table in front of me.

My eyes wandered to all the bags on the shitty table. I couldn’t look away from the truth that was so blatantly staring me in the fucking face. I could feel her looking at me. I could sense she was waiting for me to say something, anything.

I couldn’t.

I felt like my mind was playing tricks on me, like this was a joke and I was waiting for her to say, “Just kidding.” Like she wasn’t supposed to be the person who showed up at the door ready to numb my pain.

So when I heard her take a deep breath, my eyes shifted to her beautiful face. Her serious, solemn expression mirrored mine, and then she confirmed all my illusions and stated,

“I’m the drug dealer.”