Losing Me, Finding You (28 page)

“But?” I say, wondering about the strange, silent way he came in and picked me up, leaving his friend on the floor with a shimmer of angry tears in her eyes. “Why did you grab me like that?”

It's Austin's turn to look away as he pulls me into the bathroom and pretends to be extremely interested in the temperature of the water. I cross my arms over my breasts and tell myself that I have no problem being naked in front of him, none whatsoever, that I am completely okay with this.

And then his brown eyes flicker back over to me and glide up and down my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. I continuously avoid looking at the area of his crotch.

“I had to make a point,” he says with a sigh. He smiles sadly. “That I wasn't into Mireya in a romantic way.”

I stare at him and my pulse starts to speed up the way it always seems to when he's around, pumping blood to my nipples and the area between my thighs, heating me up for the moment when Austin's skin makes contact with my own.

“But why pick me up? What does that mean?”

Austin doesn't answer me.

“Austin?”

“Hey,” he says, moving across the white tiles of the floor and holding his hands out like he wants to touch my arms. “Take it easy on Mireya, okay? She hasn't had the easiest time of it, you know?”

“But wh-” Austin cuts me off mid-word with a kiss that could melt mountains and burn skies, taking my arms in a bruising grip and pulling me hard against his chest, smashing my breasts against his taut flesh. A cry gets caught in my throat, pushed back by Austin's tongue, by his roving lips that don't seem to mind the blood on my skin, tasting me for all I'm worth. Only when he wraps his arms around me do I really feel the bruises that Mireya left and cringe.

Austin relaxes his arms and pulls his mouth back, just enough so that our lips our touching but only barely. And then he starts to move, sliding down slowly while encouraging me to take a few, careful steps back so that I'm leaning against the wall.

His hot breath touches my chin first and then singes its way down my neck, burning me with each press of his mouth against skin, each graze of his teeth. When he finds my breasts, he pays special attention to them, licking them first and then blowing gently across the skin to wake it up, leaving me a shivering, drooping mess.

“Austin,” I whisper, watching as the hot steam in the air moves along with my breath, floating away like a cloud in the sky.

“Shush, sugar, and just enjoy yourself.”

He drops to his knees and pushes my legs apart with his hands, dipping his head between my thighs and flicking his tongue across my sweet spot.

Pleasure incinerates me from the inside out, turning me into a melting puddle that wobbles and collapses back against the wall, so that I'm nearly in a seated position, held up solely by Austin's hands on my ass. My hand immediately grabs a handful of his soft, blonde hair and tangles in it, tugging it towards my bruised belly as he slides his warm, wet mouth down the gentle curl of hair and dips his tongue inside of me.

“I … I can't stand up,” I say, but Austin doesn't let me use that as an excuse, continuing his journey by pressing his face fully against me and nibbling lightly with his teeth, teasing my clit into an almost painful state that makes me realize how right all those girls in my books were:
oral sex is a-ma-zing.
He heckles my poor pussy until my eyes flutter shut and my head rolls to the side, consumed by the sensation of touch and the smell of his sweaty body in the enclosed space of the bathroom. Just when I start to feel that tickle at the base of my spine, the one that promises that
la petite mort
is not far off, he stops and has the audacity to
chuckle
against my most sensitive bits, sending a warm vibration through my core.

I perk up suddenly and press my hands against the wall to steady myself.

“How rude,” I whisper to him, watching as he rises up in front of me, moist with the steam from the shower, tattoos bright under the shimmer of water. He looks like he's been oiled up for a magazine shoot or something. Every muscle is standing to attention, straining against his skin and swearing to me that yes, he is as tough as he looks.

I reach out and flick my fingernails against a tattoo that I hadn't noticed before but can't believe that I ever missed. Three
M'
s sit along his hip bone with one larger one in the center and two smaller ones on either side. It's done up in red and black ink and is quite striking against the tanned golden color of his skin.

“What does it stand for?” I ask as he shudders at my touch.

Austins points to the tattoo and smiles.

“Motorcycles, madness, money,” he says, but doesn't explain any further and instead decides to kiss me with the taste of my own body tainting his lips, pausing just long enough to drag me into the shower and pin me up against the tiles before he's back at it again.

I let my hands trail up his arms, savoring the firm, rounded muscles and the full sleeves of tattoos that I've always admired but never had the time to quite appreciate. Intricate webs of art tangle around one another and color Austin's skin with this tapestry, this story, carved from ink and skin like some sort of fresco. I stare at them for as long as I can, until the water soaks my hair and tugs the soggy strands over my eyes, blending them with Austin's sandy locks until it's hard to see where one face ends and one begins.

When his knee comes up between my legs and spreads them, I open gently, sliding my arms up around his neck, so that I have something strong and sturdy to hold onto, something that's absolutely, one hundred percent worth digging my fingers into and keeping hold of.

When Austin angles his shaft up into me, sliding deep and holding himself there, pressed against me, I don't know that he knows we're making love. But I do. We don't have it yet, but it's the process that counts, the making that counts. I hear another bit of wisdom run through my head, but this time, it's not the words of a fictional character but someone I know very well, someone who I have finally decided I may actually miss – my mama.

Please don't say that it's strange to think of your mother when you're having sex with a man you might actually like because really, that's the best place for it. Mom's are supposed to guide us, to show us the way, to help us understand what we want, so we can find that secret, mysterious, thing, that one, golden egg in a sea of white: happiness.

So as Austin begins to move inside of me, I think that maybe, just maybe, I could have that. It's just a gut feeling, of course, and I could be entirely wrong; he could dump me here tomorrow and take off into the sunset, but I don't think so. I think my mother's words ring truer here than they ever have before.

When you start something, make sure that you're willing to take the time to finish it right because, honey, the work you put into it will be more than worth it in the end. The best things always are.

Whatever it is that Austin and I have together … this, this feeling I can't quite describe, I'm going to figure it out and going to damn well make sure I finish it. If it's love, then I'll make sure that it's right, that it's a bodice ripping, head spinning, stomach aching, twirling, tumbling, spinning cascade of
life.
And if it's not, well, then I always have Sali Bend's words of wisdom to fall back on.

Enjoy the ride because sometimes that's all you have. Sometimes, on the other side there's nothing but a trash can a whole bunch of people there to watch you throw up in it.

I hope that this time, Sali is wrong.

I don't know what it is that happens in that bathroom between Amy and me, but when we get out, all I want to do is hold her tight against me and breathe in the scent of her hair.

That shit has
never
happened to me before.

I can't say that I'm a disrespectful guy or that I'd go so far as to call myself a whore like Beck, but I've also never felt the urge to just lay there with a woman, touching her but not having sex with her. I'm twenty-eight years old, so it's not like I haven't had the opportunity. There have been plenty of nice girls like Amy and even more naughty ones like Mireya, but I didn't feel like this.

I'm a bit spooked, to be honest, and the whole damn thing sort of makes me want to run, but I don't.

I fucking can't.

I fucking
cannot
get up and leave this girl here alone, not after seeing her all banged up and covered in blood. I also have to tell her the truth about Mireya, so she understands. I want everything to be clear, so I'm going to be as honest as I can be about it. Sawyer's a good friend of mine, and I hope she'll always be.
But you chose Amy.
I don't delve into the symbolism behind what I did, how I pretty much laid it flat out for the group in the lobby:
Amy is mine.

How else are they supposed to interpret that? I mean, Beck can joke about the 'Code of the Road' all he wants, but in some ways, it's true. There are a set of rules that are to be followed not because you signed somethin' or because somebody told ya to, but because that's the way they've always been and you know they're right. There's the obvious ones of course: don't kill, don't steal, don't disrespect. But then there's the little things, like not fucking with other folk's bikes. And of course, stating your intent. Intent is friggin' everything out here, and I've just made mine loud and clear.

My heart starts to pump, and I wonder if Amy can feel it, if she knows that I like her more than the average girl. I don't know, but I promise myself that I'm not going to say a damn thing. Besides, I could be wrong. This could pass like I thought it would. Maybe after a few more rounds in the bedroom, Amy will lose her appeal and she can blend into the rest of Triple M, just another friendly face with no romantic attachment.
Bullshit.

I sigh and my breath ruffles Amy's hair.

“Austin?” she asks me. “Are you awake?”

“I shouldn't be, sugar,” I tell her, thinking of our long ride tomorrow and about Fort Clinton and Kent and all the other crap that's going on. “Since we're leaving tomorrow morning, bright and early.” I pause. “But I've gotta tell you something.”

“You mean about Mireya?” she asks.
Ah, perceptive little lady I've got here.
I scoot my hips back, just a bit, hoping I'm not going to get another hard-on.
Yet.
Amy has a habit of givin' 'em to me left and right. I squeeze my arms tighter around her chest to make up for the gap between our hips.

“Yup.”

“About the video … ” Amy pauses. “When was it taken?”

“Video?” I ask her as she tries to squirm away from me and sit up. “Where do you think you're going, beautiful. You ain't gettin' away from me yet.”

“Austin, I have to know,” she says. “I won't be angry, but I just have to know. Where's my purse?” I shrug and figure that if she left it downstairs, Gaine's probably got it. She sighs and leans back against me. “This may not be any of my business, but Austin … ” Amy takes a deep breath. “When's the last time you slept with Mireya?” I think about that for a minute, but I don't know why. There's only way to answer that question – honestly. To do anything else would be to spit in this beautiful girl's face, and Austin Sparks does not disrespect.

“The day after we had sex in the bar,” I tell her without shame. I didn't have any obligations to her then though I can sort of feel in my chest that maybe that wasn't the best choice to make, not for Mireya, not for Amy, and definitely not for me. Amy stiffens for a moment and then relaxes into a sigh.

“She sent me a video on my phone of the two of you … ” Amy doesn't need to finish her sentence. I'm a smart guy, so I get it.

“Shit. No wonder the two of you ended up tussling like alley cats. You know, don't you? That she sent that video to your family.” Amy nods her head and shifts, so that she's staring at the ceiling instead of the wall, pale blue eyes gazing upwards without the slightest hint of anger in 'em.

“I do.”

“And you're not angry?”

“Pissed.”

I pause for a moment and run my fingers along her belly. She shivers and closes her eyes but doesn't say anything else about it.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her because I am, truly. This whole thing between her and Mireya is about me, and it shouldn't be. I shoulda made it clear to Sawyer years ago that I wasn't in love with her like that. But me, being the fucking dumb ass that I am, didn't see it until it was right in front of my face.
Yet another reason to hit Fort Clinton. You owe these girls now, Sparks. Better see to it that you deliver.

“Don't be,” Amy says, opening her eyes again. “It's over now.” I watch her face and I can see the respect there that she's got for Mireya. A good fight will do that to you, you know. 'Specially if you get your ass beat around a bit first. I grin nice and big.

“Looks like you did some damage to Sawyer, eh? Never thought I'd see the day.” Amy smiles back, and her eyes sparkle a bit.

“I don't condone fist fighting, you know,” she tells me, but her voice has this edge to it, like maybe she liked it and she shouldn't have.