Thrive (16 page)

“You want to be what I need?”

“Yes,” I answered.

My mouth watered with the appetite to give him what I hoped he was about to ask for.

“I was serious about your mouth. About that tight throat that squeezes my dick,” he rasped. I hummed in response and clenched my legs together. “I want to use you.”

“So use me. I’m yours.” My hands moved higher, up his thighs to where he visibly grew beneath the denim that restricted him.

“I will,” he said. He wasn’t asking for permission. That was his order.

“You want me to let you use me, by using you.”

“Clever girl.” My hand covered his erection and applied gentle pressure; he swatted my hands away, undid his jeans and freed himself so his cock, thick and hard, stood between us. “Make me come, Skye.”

“I can do that.”

I shuffled closer and took him in my hands; I wasted no time, lowering my head and allowing a drop of spittle to fall from my pursed lips and run down his shaft. I worked him firmly, smiling up at him when I was rewarded with the clear trickle of liquid. In one fluid move, I took him in, gagging and gasping for air when I pulled back and bared my tongue

“Mmm,” Curtis groaned, his eyes rolling shut as he took a handful of my hair. “Fuck, I’ve missed your mouth.”

I fisted the base, purring in response, and moaned as my head bobbed up and down. His hips bucked as he tried to ram himself in deeper; he filled my mouth, and nudged the inside of my cheek as I sucked hard. The groans that tore from Curtis’ lips as I relaxed my throat, flattened my tongue against him and sucked him in deep, spurred me on, encouraging me to use the filthy mouth that was making him come apart under my control. His control. Our control.

With his cock pulsing against the roof of my mouth, saliva dripping from my tongue, and my mouth so full I couldn’t breathe, I released him, threw my head back and gasped as I worked him with both hands. His legs clenched, his stomach tensed and quivered; his chest heaved and each exhale brought a guttural grunt as I kissed, licked and sucked every inch I could reach. His hands pulled my hair and held my head still as he thrust into my open, greedy mouth.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he cried through clenched teeth, and his breath halted; the only sounds in the room that accompanied the music were my eager slurps for more.

“Give it to me.” I sat back and opened my mouth, my hands finishing the race with rough strokes, quick, slick twists and a fast pace. “Do it. Use my mouth.”

Curtis took hold of himself and I bent down, tipping my head back and holding my tongue out. One of Curtis’ large, trembling hands held the back of my head still, the other working his cock against my tongue; his back arched, his chin dropped to his chest and his neck turned a deep red from the incoming explosion. No sound left his lips save for a relieving groan as the pleasure stole his breath and he let go. Thick, hot spurts hit the roof of my mouth, dripped onto my tongue, slid down my throat and trickled to the corners of my mouth.

“Don’t move,” he croaked. “Not an inch.”

His body relaxed and he let go, fumbling in his pocket; my eyes widened when he pulled his phone out and snapped a picture of my mouth open and filled with my reward.

“Close and swallow.”

I devoured the remains of his release, licking my lips to catch every drop and then I licked him clean.

“A picture?” I asked, sitting back on my heels and trying to quash the anger when I saw how pleased he was with himself.

“Souvenir.” He took one more picture of my flushed, sweat-coated face and laughed when I smacked the phone out of his hand. “What? Couples don’t take pictures?”

He was carefree, sated and playful…I loved him playful, and was filled with a sense of triumph when he labelled us as a couple…until an unsettling thought moved in. I dropped my gaze and chewed my bottom lip. I never wanted to touch his phone again.

“What did I say?”

With gentle care and concern, he pulled me off the floor and onto his lap.

“Do you have pictures of Charlie?”

His body stiffened and he pulled me closer, cradling me and bringing me into his post-blowjob bliss.

“Yes.”

“Delete them.”

“I can't.” I sat up and before he had a chance to cage me in, I climbed off him.

“You mean it’s leverage.” He nodded, with no sign of regret. “Is that what that was? In case I try and run?”

“No!” He dragged his hands through his hair. “That was me taking a picture of my girlfriend letting herself go and looking sexy as fuck when she did.”

My stomach fluttered and my knees buckled, dropping me to the table – or stage – in the centre of room. How could something so dirty, so preciously filthy be so sweet? Because it was Curtis and he was my animal. My lost and afraid, utterly sexy man cub.

“Come on.” I stood up with a placated smile and held my hand out. “Let’s go. When we’re done with Charlie, those pictures are history. The only time you’ll ever look at them is if we have to use them against her.”

“Yes, boss.”

He tucked himself in, fixed his dishevelled appearance before righting my shirt, flattening my hand and swiping his thumb over my mouth; we snuck out of the room and headed straight for the exit hand-in-hand, filled with an excited relief that we’d gotten away with our tryst in the strip club’s room, the guests completely ignorant to the two people who had just used each other inside it.

Geoff was going to die. The only constant in my life was going to evaporate and leave nothing behind but a failed legacy on my part and one that ended too soon on his. Death was a part of life, we all knew that. But why did the innocent have to leave this world alone, while the evil that dominated it was allowed to flourish? Why Geoff? Why a painful death that would suck the life from him and leave him helpless until death moved in and granted him mercy?

The drink helped. Drink always helped numb the pain.

And Skye. I had to rely on her, and only her, to save me from going under. It would be so easy to give up – to succumb to everything and enter the next life with my arms outstretched, ready to take my punishment for fucking up the last chance I was given.

Death wasn’t an option; not until the mission was accomplished, one way or another.

But dropping the guard was. That’s the thing about bowing to the numbness I craved. I couldn’t select what I felt and what I didn’t, what I saw and what I was blinded to.

I just didn’t see it coming…

~Curtis~

Curtis kept hold of my hand as we left the bar and walked through the alley to get to the main road to call a cab; he was swaying, bumping into me as we walked and nothing was wiping the smile from my face. Not now. Stepping outside and taking in a lungful of fresh air had brought on the effects of his cognac consumption. He swung our hands between us and hummed the song that had been playing in the bar. I couldn’t stop watching his face as he stumbled through the access road; he was going to be hung over to hell – of that, I had no doubt – but he was enjoying himself now and I was happy to be on the ride of intoxication with him.

I was so hot for him; from the aftereffects of not getting what I really wanted in the bar – to ride him in the armchair and send us propelling into fuck-the-world ecstasy – and there is no greater turn-on than a happy man and, right now, Curtis was a happy man; giddy, satisfied and radiating an energy that told me he was ready for more.

“I want to touch you,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just said what I was thinking. One simple thing that set my heart racing.

“So touch me.”

I stopped and backed myself against the wall beneath an orange streetlight; with our arms outstretched and our fingers still laced together, I pulled him into me until he stood just a breath away and braced his hands on the wall either side of my head.

“Here?” he asked with a cheeky glint in his dark eyes.

“Yes. Right here.”

His mouth turned up into a core-melting, toe-clenching smile and his hot lips collided with my neck, his touch ravenous but playful, hot and hard, but soft, and a shriek of laughter escaped when his stubble tickled my chest. His hands stroked my ribs, his face scraped my neck as he dragged his lips over my skin with a smile; all I could do was laugh and pull him closer. It felt so good to laugh with him. He chuckled, I giggled and our hands roamed until humour morphed into a relaxed seduction.

“I like this,” he said, pulling back and cupping my face, an easy smile relaxing his so often steely expression.

“What?”

“Hearing you laugh. Making you laugh.”

“I like it when you laugh, too.”

“I laughed,” he mused and frowned, as if it were an impossibility, but then he looked into my eyes and the smile returned; a trace of a smile that made his eyes beam.

“You did, and you know what?” He cocked a brow in curiosity. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if archiving my words and committing them to memory. What I saw in his eyes it that moment, when he opened them again and focused on me, was hope; hope for salvation…hope for a better life for us, eventually. The laughter ceased as the sparks of electric passed between us. Curtis edged closer to me; my eyes fluttered closed, ready to embrace his optimism and use it to connect us – to drive us towards our goal together. But before our lips met, Curtis let out a strained cry and I opened my eyes in time to see him throw his head back. His hands slid down my body and he fell to the floor.

“Has the drink caught up with you?”

I bent over and reached out my hand to help him up. He raised his head to look at me and we shared a look of shock when we realised there was a patch of blood on his shirt, spreading and growing rapidly.

“Curtis…”

My back straightened as the prickle of fear smothered me; I turned to scan the area and a loud roar ripped through Curtis as something hit the side of my head and sent me tumbling to the ground.

I opened my eyes with a dazed groan. My cheek was flat on the floor as a light drizzle fell to the concrete around us. My head felt like it had doubled in size and my pulse hammered in my ears, bringing a throbbing pain with it.

Curtis.

I struggled to my hands and knees, crawling to where he laid, curled up on the floor with one arm stretched towards me. I tapped his cheek and his eyes opened to focus on me with relief.

“God, Curtis, what happened? Where are you hurt?”

I felt his neck for a pulse; it thumped against my fingertips and I sighed.

“Pressure,” he groaned, grabbing my wrist and thrusting my hand down to his waist.

Warm, sticky blood covered my fingertips and I felt a slash beneath the liquid that pumped out as his heart beat.

“We need an ambulance.”

“Jesse,” he whispered. “Call Jesse.”

“Jesse’s gone. We don’t have time to search for a ghost.”

“I’ll be fine. The bleeding will stop. Call Jesse.”

I snagged my top lip in my mouth, resisting the urge to give him a lecture about just how much of an emergency this was. He couldn’t see the blood, but I could. I fumbled in his pocket for his phone, pulled it out and called the last number he dialled.

“
Hi, you’ve reached Jesse. Leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

“Jesse, this is Skye. I'm with Curtis…there’s an emergency and he needs you. Please, Jesse, call me back.”

I hung up and tossed the phone onto Curtis’ lap as I rolled him onto his back.

“You need to go to the hospital.”

“No hospitals,” he replied adamantly.

“Who would have done this? We weren’t robbed.”

I began to panic. I knew it wasn’t good for Curtis, I knew I had to keep him calm, but it didn’t stop me frantically looking around for a figure lingering to watch the effects of the attack play out. Satisfied – I scoffed at the word, considering the state Curtis was in – that we had no spectators, I pulled my jacket off and whipped my shirt off my body; I screwed it up and held it over the gash in Curtis’ side as the blood continued to ooze out.

“You’re losing blood. We need to…”

His phone lit up with an unsaved number. I answered the call and held the phone to my ear.

“Jesse?”

“Where are you?”

I heard the rising sound of a car’s engine, a gear shift, and the distant honking of nearby cars. Jesse was alive and he was coming to save Curtis.

“Outside a club called Angels.” I finally let the panic loose. “There’s so much blood. It’s everywhere and I can't stop it.”

“Where?”

“His ribs.”

“I’m on my way. Keep your hands on it. Push hard, Skye, no matter how much it hurts him. What happened?”

“It’s a straight slash. I think he was stabbed.”

“Can you get your fingers in it?”

“Yes,” I answered, already knowing I could.

“Keep something on it.”

“I am.” I looked from Curtis’ wound to his face. His eyes were rolling back as he fought for consciousness. “Stay with me, Curtis.”

“I’m here, I’m just tired.”

“You can sleep soon, baby. Jesse’s coming.”

“Put me on speaker and put the phone down,” Jesse instructed. “Use both hands, Skye.”

I did as he asked and he began talking to Curtis.

“How are you doing, Cut Throat?”

“I’m good,” he lied, earning a synchronised snort from Jesse and me. “I can't look weak in front of the lady.”

He tried to laugh. I smiled. My animal – even in pain, teetering on the edge of the place I refused to think about, he was still worrying about me.

“So you found her.”

“I did.” Curtis’ eyes opened wide to meet mine. “I can't let her go now.”

“You most certainly cannot. Angels, eh? Did you introduce her to Ernest?” Curtis chuckled and a pulse of blood flowed over my fingers. “Stay still, mate.”

“It’s our secret. I'm not letting her in on the genius.”

I shook my head and tried to squash the fear that the blood flow was slowing. Was that good or bad? I didn’t know. My knees were sopping from a mixture of rain and blood, and it didn’t look good from this vantage point. I kept my hands pressed hard to his wound, concentrating on the sound of Curtis doing something I never thought I’d hear him do – exchanging banter with a friend.

Headlights fell over the alley and illuminated the state Curtis was in as a car turned into the no-entry road. Curtis’ white shirt was now dyed crimson, as was mine, his hair was dripping with sweat and his usually golden skin was far paler than it should have been.

The car stopped a few feet from where we were on the floor and the driver’s door shot open.

“I’m right here, Cut Throat.”

Jesse’s voice came from the dark figure approaching us and from Curtis’ phone before the call ended. Jesus fucking Christ, Jesse Kennedy should have been a model – not the androgynous kind that made you want to feed them and confiscate their razors, but the kind that would have women tearing at the pages of magazines, imagining they were his clothes. I’d seen pictures of him in my Google search, but nothing compared to the real thing. As he kneeled by Curtis’ side, it was like being in the presence of a potent, infertility-curing duo.

“What happened, superstar?” Jesse asked, nudging my hands away and replacing them with his.

“We were targeted.”

“The mission?”

“Yeah. That or…” he glanced sideways at me before turning back to Jesse. “…John.”

John? Who was John? Jesse was John?

I didn’t like the cryptic, encoded talk. Jesse knew more than I did, and I didn’t like that. It seemed Curtis didn’t keep everyone in the dark.

I backed away and sat against the wall with my knees bent.

“Are you okay?” Jesse asked me. I nodded.

“Check her head.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Visions of Thomas entered my head and the déjà vu set in. He was unsaveable. I just had to pray Curtis wasn’t, too.

“I can see that.” He eyed me suspiciously and slipped his arm under Curtis’ neck. “Come on, let’s go patch you up.”

Jesse’s car zipped along the road, weaving in and out of the cars, much to the dismay of the oncoming vehicles he narrowly missed. He ran every red light, refusing to slow down. A blue siren on the roof of his unmarked BMW stopped him being pulled over by the police, but it didn’t stop the abusive outbursts from pedestrians or the purposeful slowing of cars, just to be assholes.

Curtis was lying in the back across the seats, dripping with rainwater and blood. The scream that erupted from him when Jesse pulled him to his feet would haunt me forever. I sat in the front next to Jesse, facing Curtis to keep an eye on him and avoid the sight out of the windscreen.

“He’ll be okay,” Jesse assured me.

“Is it bad?”

Jesse tipped his head from side to side and looked in the rear-view, “Well, it’s not good, but he’ll be fine. I can examine him properly when we get back, but the blood is clotting.”

“And that’s good?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s good.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re already here.” He handed me Curtis’ blood-stained phone. “Hit speed dial two and tell them to clear the lift.”

I did as he asked; the woman I spoke to had no qualms, asked no questions and didn’t sound shocked in the slightest by my request.

Jesse parked in a visitor’s spot in the car park and we climbed out. I took one arm, Jesse took the other and together we helped Curtis out of the car and up to his apartment.

I threw back the duvet and Jesse set him on the bed; he produced a large plastic box from beneath the bed and flipped the lid up.

“You’re going to operate here?” I shrieked and recoiled. “He should go to hospital.”

Jesse laughed. “Am I going to perform surgery in Cut Throat’s bedroom? No. He just needs patching up.” Sensing my discomfort, his eyes met mine and softened with reassurance. “Why don’t you go put the kettle on and clean yourself up? I’ll look after him.”

It wasn’t until then, as he pulled a pair of scissors out of his box and began cutting Curtis’ shirt down the middle, that I noticed the metallic smell of blood, and it was coming from me. I was covered in Curtis’ blood; it was on my hands and face, it matted my hair and had dried and stuck it to my face and neck; it was soaked into my bra and jacket, my shirt discarded and unrecognisable on the bedroom floor. I nodded, complying and hiding my shock as the nausea roiled within. I stumbled towards the bathroom and threw myself into the shower, finally allowing the tears to fall.