Dodging Trains (7 page)

“If you’ll excuse me?” He nods at me and points to a group of forest animals. They’re squirrels and bunnies—Playboy bunnies. “I see a friend. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, it was good to meet you,” Keyon says and crosses his arms, effectively drawing my focus to his biceps. Because holy hell.

“How long are you in town for, Arias Junior?” I ask, running the tip of my tongue over my lower lip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he studies my mouth, and I think that he’d be easy to pull in. I could probably control Keyon right now if I wanted to.

I hadn’t planned on that though. At the most, I was going to peek at him from behind a corner, hyperventilate over seeing the boy who gave me my first kiss, and run back home. I was going to relive rosy film clips about long-gone moments of innocence.

I study his face. High cheekbones, a strangely perfect nose for a fighter, and almond-shaped eyes tipped upward at the outer crooks.

When it comes to his body, there’s nothing fine-boned about Keyon anymore. Still, I see familiar traits. The scar on his index finger from the time he hung from a branch outside my bedroom window until the skin cracked. The way his lips slope into a full-blown grin right now.

But I’ve never seen the scar on his lip before. Suddenly, I wish I’d been there when he got it. If the circumstances hadn’t ripped him away, I would have.

“I’ll be staying for a week,” he answers my question. “I’ve got two months left until a big fight in Mexico, so I’ll need to focus on training after that.”

“And you can’t here?” I slant my head playfully at him.

“Right. This is my parents’ pad. They’re cool, but there’s something to be said for your own place. Or more like your own gym.”

“You live at a gym?”

He shrugs. “For the next few months, yeah—pretty much. You want a tour of the house, Rubina Hood?” He changes the subject seamlessly.

I extend an arm above my head and touch the archway of the door behind me. My spine curves, accentuating my cleavage, and I yawn like I’m bored. Then I let go of the doorjamb and nod.

“Hit me with it,” I say and watch him force his stare up from my boobs.

Power. I’ve got it.

Keyon completes the speed version of a guided tour downstairs with me on his arm, pointing at random things and people as we go.

“Sir, those are private quarters. They’re off limits to the public,” a security guard says as Keyon takes the first step into the chained-off staircase that dominates the foyer. He swings around, shifting my hand from one of his and into the other so I don’t have to move.

“Edgar.”

“Oh, didn’t recognize you there,” the security person apologizes. “Please, by all means, sir.”

“No worries. You’re doing a good job.” Keyon pats his shoulder.

I don’t understand what’s happening next until Keyon’s elbow is wedged under my butt and he’s lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. Then, he’s got me standing on the other side of the rope.

“Wow, you’re strong,” I squeak, momentarily losing both footing and control. He steadies me.

“Well, good. I sort of need that for my job.”

Right, and I need to step up my game. “Bet I could take you like no one’s business,” I blurt.
Fuck. Lame!

“We could take each other is my bet,” Keyon says, and as bizarre as his comeback is, my cheeks understand and flush. I swallow my embarrassment; I’ll be the sexy, silent girl unless I’ve got something clever to say, I decide, and send Keyon a heated stare.

“Upstairs foyer,” he murmurs, extending his hand in a sideways sweeping motion.

“Fish tank.” I nod at what’s essentially a glass wall with tons of small fish in orange and silver speeding through the water.

“Correct. Five points to
Rubina Hood.
” He lifts my hand over our heads in victory and cheers in a hissing whisper. It makes me laugh.

“Pooch,” I add, pointing at a small wagging creature with curly fur at our feet.

“Another five! That’ll multiply to fifteen points if you guess her name.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I should get two hundred points if I, of all dog names in the world, manage to guess…” Lady’s nametag jingles. It’s written in pink block letters too, impossible to miss. “I’ll go with ‘Lady.’”

“Sorry, you just lost all the points you’ve earned so far. Lady was her mother, who sadly passed away at the tender age of two. This is Duchess.”

I giggle, all pretenses fading away. Yeah, he looks different, but Keyon’s sense of humor is as wacky as ever. I feel like my old self for a moment, from when we stole flowers from backyards in the summer to brighten the dinner tables of random, surprised neighbors.

From when we gave old Mrs. Grudgefeld’s dog a bath because of a bet over a black spot on his belly—was it dirt or a birthmark? The loser would be in charge of swapping the sugar and the salt containers in Keyon’s kitchen. I lost. We both suffered the consequences when we were served the saltiest key lime pie in the history of mankind the day after.

“You’re silly,” I tell him now. He shrugs thick shoulders, and I can’t help thinking that I’d like to bite into them.

“Born that way.”

“What’s your favorite lollipop flavor?” I ask, thoughtless and leaving him speechless. His beautiful mouth opens. Then it closes again before he answers.

“Raspberry.”

I regret my prodding. What was I thinking? It’s like I
want
him to find out who I am.

“Yours?” he adds, popping his hands deep into his pockets. The position hitches his shoulders upward and defines hard pecs through his shirt.

I want to say a different flavor. I rummage for something believable, but nothing comes to mind, because who’d believe pineapple when there’s raspberry?

Licorice. Chocolate?

He’d catch my lie immediately. No, he wouldn’t. Heck, why would he? I’m overthinking this. For all he knows, I’m just some girl he’s never met before, someone who turns him on. He wouldn’t even care enough to consider if I’m lying.

“You don’t like lollipops? That it?” He smiles his wide, bright, careless smile, the one he kept until the last months he lived here, until he started beating the crap out of everyone he didn’t like. It’s good to see that smile again.

“Lollipops rock. And it’s my favorite too—raspberry is. Especially when they’re blue,” I admit. And God, it’s time to pull a Cinderella and get the hell out of here.

“What time is it?” I hurry out while his eyes are wide and beautiful and shiny under those black lashes he has.

“Blue raspberry?”

“Or licorice,” I backtrack. “I like chocolate too.”

“I don’t think I understand the conversation we’re having,” he says, “but I’d talk about anything with you. Who
are
you?”

“It’s midnight, huh?” I ramble, clutching my hands together like the prim ladies in the church my mom used to go to.

“Nine thirty. Got somewhere to be?”

“Yes. Home.”

Keyon shakes his head. Then he swallows the distance between us and clasps a hand around my upper arm. I remember the heat from his fingers vividly. All these years, and my body still recalls it. “Don’t go anywhere. If you want to get out of the party zone—”

“Like here?” I joke.

“—yeah, like here. I’ll show you my digs.”

“Your room?”

“Rooms,” he specifies. “We can chill, and I’ll find out more about you.”

Terrible plan. Get out while you can.

“Okay.”

PAISLEE

I
said yes.
How did we get to this? It’s fast and abrupt, and his body is hard as steel. Oh my God, I was cocky minutes ago, inviting, in control of his lust. He was just another man, not the Keyon I knew as a teenager, and nothing like the boys and men I lay with in this town.

Who the
hell
did I just open my arms to?

We’ve had a drink in his three-room apartment upstairs at the Coral Mansion. I can’t even begin to consider the luxury of it at the moment, the damask, silk, the velvet—the rich colors draping everything. I can only imagine his mother being in charge of the décor.

But there’s this man in my face, pushing me against a wall with burning eyes. They flame almost orange, not a smooth whiskey—I feel like I’m an opponent, someone he needs to crush. I want to tap out, only I’m simmering too, needing to brave this, find out what he’s about.

Keyon growls. He freaking growls before he cups my throat with a hand and devours my mouth against the brocade wallpaper. It’s on purpose when he looms over me, making me feel small and trapped by his body. Something snaps into action in my head, and suddenly—

I’m scared. It’s been years since train stations have come to life while I’ve had sex, but they do now as he pushes against me so hard a painting crashes to the floor. My heart palpitates. Why so rough?

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

I remind myself that I’m not a virgin, not twelve years old, that Keyon isn’t an insane, gross drug addict wanting to hurt me.

I’m hot when he rips my cleavage open, narrowly saving the buttons. I don’t have time for
scared.
Psychology books say I search for approval, but I just want to blow his mind. Soon his eyes will cloud over with pleasure.

My pussy throbs for him already, strange—it must be his smell, his body against mine when he pushes my breasts together and gives me a shove against the wall. He latches onto a nipple and grumbles, “Fuck, you’re exquisite.” Wedges a knee between my legs and lifts me with it like it’s nothing.

“Can we slow down?” I ask as if I’m between hiccups. It’s fear, but Keyon isn’t hurting me—not yet—I’m not going to panic.

His eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t reply. He’s action, and I let him peel my clothes off, layers falling in a heap around me. “Your breasts are fantastic,” he tells me, holding them high, and I’m worried he’ll pinch, squeeze—but why would he do that? No one has ever hurt my boobs, not even at the train station. That guy was too busy just plowing into my—

I’m about to panic.

I can’t let that happen.

I’ll be set back by years if I panic now. I can’t have everything I’ve built up crashing like a house of cards. No, no, it’s not going to happen.

Small bites, like he’s having me for dinner. He bends me to the left, my torso hanging over one of his arms as he eats his way up the side of my body, detouring by a boob again, sucking on my neck and plunging into my mouth. I try to kiss him back, because action beats panic.

Right! I’ll take the power back.

But his tongue doesn’t allow for mine to suck and play with his. It’s all him, and all I can do is
receive
.

I yelp when he hoists me above him against the wall. He’s got my legs wide around his face. He growls against me, sucking and making my small whimpers turn into cries. I dig my heels into unyielding flesh, and an orgasm rolls unexpectedly through me. It’s far between each time I climax with my friends. The guys are just therapy, so for me it’s not about coming.

“That’s right, baby,” he purrs, a contented jungle cat now. “Come for me. Keep coming. Oh yeah, I like the sound of that.” When I stop quivering against his mouth, he throws me over a shoulder and strides off into another room.

Oh. It’s the bedroom. I’m not feeling so hot now. I can’t unplug myself from this. I’m not sure I want to either. Would he quit if I asked? I should ask. I should.

I’ll tell him I want to leave.

“That mask you have across your eyes, baby. Do you have any idea how you look with it? Black over fire-green eyes. It’s like you’re trying to kill me,” he hisses.

Somehow, he has undressed himself on our way to the bedroom. Kicked off impatient pieces of clothing in a trail until he’s naked.

I hike up on my elbow to tell him I’m outta here, but my voice fails at the sight of his body. Every line is toned perfection. I want to stretch my hand out and feel each ridge, each muscle that contracts when he moves.

Keyon. Is a goddamn piece of art. Thick, muscular thighs, square knees and taut calves. Hell, even his feet are beautiful.

He sinks his body over me, stilling his frame above me like he’s doing push-ups. With a small dip of his hips, he touches my stomach with his cock.

“Ah!” I exclaim, as if he’s
doing
something.

“What?” he says. “Do you want me to ride you hard?”

I see myself as a sexually free person, but Keyon’s language—what he does? Geez. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

I open my mouth again to tell him I’m out of here, but his hands work between us, pulling on a rubber, and his mouth covers mine, tongue delving in so deep I’m choking.

“You can blow me later,” he murmurs, confident and used to getting his way. “Right now, I just need to fuck you. Are you ready?” He nudges my opening with his cock. My body screams that I am, while my brain yells,
“No, you’re going to hurt me!”

With one efficient shove, he’s in, nudging at something deep inside of me, a dread-filled, overwhelmed desire, and my God I’m holding on for the ride.

Keyon doesn’t make love. This is a big bed, a heavy bed. An old-fashioned princess bed with drapes on it. He rocks us so hard, the headboard of this princess bed slams against the wall.

I’m wet, overly ready for him, making little sounds he appreciates and comments on. His member is a stiff, swollen beast that takes what it needs. Already I’m sore with friction and unprecedented lust.

He’s primal, owning me, doing what nature tells him to do—it’s survival of the species, get the female done. I close my eyes, not wanting to watch him ravage me.

The bed trembles at his pace. He’s loud, groaning, oblivious to whoever might roam the floor we’re on. I hold my breath, hands clutching the sheet below me, hips high so I can receive and let him get where he needs to be.

At this speed, he should take minutes to finish, but he lasts, lasts, and much later he has flipped me. He has carried me to the mirror in the hallway so he can see what he’s doing to me, and in the end, he’s got us both naked in the bathroom, me leaned over the sink and him pumping me hard from behind.

When he explodes, I get a hazy look at him in the mirror. We’re both covered in sweat, and his hands clutch my boobs so hard they have white finger marks when he lets go.

“Damn, Ruby. That was awesome.” He takes one look at my eyes in the mirror and sees that I’m scared shitless.

“Too much?”

“It was good,” I say, swallowing.

“That’s why you’re teary-eyed behind that mask?” he asks casually while he lifts my boobs to study them in the mirror. A short grunt reveals that my breasts still meet his approval.

“You’re… a bit violent,” I admit.

I don’t expect the reaction I get. Keyon laughs out loud. “Really? You proposition a warrior and expect vanilla sex?”

My chest is blotchy. I’ve got a red bite mark on my neck. Somehow, I almost came a second time, and now his hand digs in between my thighs to find my cleft from the front. He slides two fingers through it until I start moving my hips. We watch each other in the mirror, and he doesn’t stop until I clench my thighs around his fingers. I try to squirm away, but with his other arm, he hooks me against himself. Then his chin digs into my shoulder and stares down my reflection until I look away.

“I want you to come again.”

“You can’t order someone to have an orgasm.”

“Just. Fucking. Look at me.”

And between the gravel in his voice, the insistent stare-down in the mirror, his face, his body, his touch—

I moan out another climax.