Goode To Be Bad Page 8

  I came and I told him to come

  and he came

  a hot unending wet sticky fluid perfect filling rush of HIM

  his raw love pouring into me

  unguarded beyond real and filling me until

  I spilled over with him

  love leaking out of me, hot and wet and beautiful and mine

  mine because I was his

  * * *

  I was crying. I slammed back into myself from whatever mad wild vision that was, helpless against the fraught intensity of it, crying from the wrenching fury of the orgasm still shaking me in wave after wave after wave.

  He set me on the floor, but didn’t pull out of me.

  Remained hot and huge inside me, a hard wall of man behind me.

  Lips on mine. “Where’d you go, Lex?” A whisper, small and quiet and tender from him.

  I shook my head, afraid to speak lest he hear the tremor in my voice. “I…”

  My knees gave out, but I had nowhere to fall because he was still thick and rigid inside me, holding me up. I sagged anyway, and was glutted on him and aching with him and somehow wanting to be able to do it all over again even as I felt him subsiding.

  He wrapped his arms around my middle and held me. “Where did you go, Alexandra?”

  How did he know?

  “I don’t know, Myles,” I hissed. “I don’t know.”

  “I felt you…I felt something, Lex. Don’t tell me I didn’t, and don’t tell me you didn’t.”

  I shook my head, because I had absolutely zero words for whatever the hell that was. “Yeah, I just don’t know what to fucking call it.”

  He finally slid out of me, and I clenched around emptiness—I wanted him back, wanted him inside me, wanted him where he belonged, and dammit dammit dammit I was all flipped around and upside down and inside out.

  Pulled away from him, turning to put my back to the door. Knees shaking, still, legs threatening to give out entirely yet again. He hadn’t even taken my thong off. I settled it back into place, righted my shirt. Shoved my skirt down. Reached blindly for him, found him—carefully pulled the condom off of him, tied it in a knot by feel.

  “Myles…” I wasn’t even sure what I was planning on saying. Nothing was forthcoming and I just trailed off.

  I heard and felt him zip himself up. He reached past me to open the door, momentarily blinding us both with a sudden sear of golden evening sun.

  Still holding the knotted condom, I stepped out of the janitorial closet and took in my surroundings with one eye closed and the other squinting—the rain had stopped while we were in there and the sun was out but was setting. The community center was a big open room, an empty information desk with a quiet telephone and a darkened computer screen along one wall, windows lining the entire front, a Ping-Pong table and a foosball table in the middle of the room, and a cluster of round games tables with four chairs each on either side.

  And, at one of the tables, was a quartet of elderly women. Each one clutched a hand of cards, a pile on the table between them. Wide eyes. They were staring at us. Shocked. Horrified.

  At me, a used condom dangling from my fingers, my shirt wet and see-through, my hair a disaster, squinting at the light like a vampire.

  “Shit,” Myles muttered. “We had an audience, I guess.”

  I glanced back at the janitor’s closet and saw a garbage can. Tossed the condom into it. “Sorry, didn’t know anyone was in here,” I said to the women, with a tight, apologetic grin, fighting back laughter at their horrified expressions.

  Oh man, they must’ve thought Myles had been straight up murdering me.

  One of the little old ladies huffed indignantly. “Well, I never!”

  Another one recovered faster. “We know, Leslie.” She had pale pink hair and an American flag tattoo on her wrinkled bicep. “You never.” She smiled at us. “I for one say good for you. I just wish Herb had done that to me when he was alive.” She huffed a laugh. “And in a janitor’s closet, bless your souls. Ah, the madness of youth.”

  Myles took me by the hand and led me toward the doors. “Sorry for the disturbance, ladies. We’ll leave you to your rummy.” That ten-thousand-watt grin—he could get away with murder with that grin.

  One of the ladies gasped. “It is you! My granddaughter is just over the moon for you, you know.” She humphed. “I better keep this little tidbit to myself. I swear she thinks you’re going to sweep in any minute and whisk her away into some teenaged fantasyland happily ever after. I haven’t the heart to disabuse her of the fantasy.”

  Myles’s grin faltered momentarily, and then returned brighter than ever. “Well, I don’t know what I can do about that, but I can do this…” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Sharpie, strode across the room and snagged one of the extra Joker cards and scrawled his autograph on it. “You got a phone?”

  The old woman pulled out a cell phone that was at least ten years old, brought up the camera. Handed it to him. He circled to crouch behind the woman and snapped a selfie with her, and then another with all the women in it.

  I was weirded out by the whole thing. And I suddenly realized why he’d put on the cap and had been acting so weird on the ferry and the walk to Mom’s: he didn’t want to be recognized.

  Until now, I’d never been in public with him—only on the bus, at his condo, or going from his car to a quiet booth in the back of fancy restaurant. No one had ever bothered him like this—I’d never been faced with the reality of his fame. Not like this.

  He was a different Myles. Smooth, suave, easygoing, grinning. Fake. But still him, all him, all brightness and friendly warmth. So, not fake, just a different facet I’d never seen until now. He signed one of the other women’s CVS receipt, a brochure for hot air balloon rides, and a page from a day planner. More pics. Chitchat. I saw hints that he wanted to get away, but he never let on, and they seemed to have forgotten that only moments ago he’d been making me scream bloody murder in a janitor’s closet. I was completely forgotten. They had his undivided attention, listening, nodding, laughing.

  Finally, he eyed me. Smiled apologetically at the group of women. “Well, I should get this one into some dry clothes,” he said, nodding at me. “It was nice to meet you all.”

  They gave a chorus of nice-to-meet-you as he ambled back to me. I heard whispers from them, along the lines of my, isn’t he handsome, and what a lucky girl she is.

  What a lucky girl I am.

  I saw him with new eyes, then.

  He wasn’t just my Myles.

  He was Myles North.

  Rock star god. Not a rock musician, but still every inch the rock star. Famous enough to get stopped for selfies and autographs in the community center of a tiny condo complex in suburban fucking Ketchikan, Alaska.

  He wasn’t my Myles at all.

  He wasn’t my anything.

  I let him walk me out the door, and then sped away from him. He didn’t stay with me.

  “Um, Lex?” His voice stopped me.

  I turned. Saw him gesture in the opposite direction. “This way, ba––” he cut off, stopping himself. “It’s this way.”

  More mixed up than ever, I ducked my head and moved past him. Made it about twenty feet before he jogged to catch up to me, stopped in front of me, and grabbed me by the shoulders. Not holding, not restraining—he’d learned that lesson, clearly.

  “Wait.”

  I rolled a shoulder, away from his touch. “What, Myles?”

  “What’s the deal? Are we going to talk about what just happened?”

  “Which part? My tantrum at Mom’s, Lucas, and you? The fact that we just fucked—loudly—in public, in a closet, within earshot of four little old grandmas? Or—or maybe you want to talk about the fact that you signed autographs and took selfies with fingers that were literally just inside me? Or maybe you want to talk about whatever the fuck it was that happened in that closet…which I still have no words for, and the answer is no, fuck no, I do not
want to talk about that, at fucking all.” I stomped past him, aware I was basically one big walking meltdown. “I have to go apologize.”

  He didn’t follow, and I stopped. Glanced back at him. “But you first. I’m sorry, Myles. I apologize for my outburst and my behavior. It was really wrong.”

  He shook his head. Seemed…either confused or disbelieving; walked over to stand in front of me. “Lex, you can’t—you can’t avoid everything all the time, forever.”

  I raked my hand through my hair. Reached up and snagged his hat, settled it on my head backward. “Sure I can. Been doing it successfully for years. Don’t plan on stopping now just because it’s inconvenient for you.” I sounded breezy, felt anything but.

  “Goddammit, Alexandra—”

  I whirled on him, stabbed a finger at his nose. “Ohhh no. No no no no no. My mother is the only human being on the planet who gets to call me that, because she gave birth to me. You’re not her, so you don’t get to use that name, especially not in that tone.”

  I gave him no opportunity to respond—I bolted, stomping in my shit-kicker boots across the parking lot. I had no clue if I was going in the right direction, and honestly didn’t give a shit. I was not having this conversation with him, not now, not ever.

  I hated apologizing. Hated it.

  But I knew I’d blown up on people who didn’t deserve it, and I had to make it right.

  Didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “Lex, hold up.”

  “No. We’re fighting.”

  He didn’t try to catch up. “Why?”

  “Because you seduced me out of my tantrum, and it worked, damn you. Also, that’s my strategy and you can’t have it.” I knew how childish and stupid I sounded.

  He laughed. LAUGHED, damn him.

  I let out a wordless howl of frustration and annoyance, knowing my anger and my whole entire fucked-up-ness was only going to build, and build, and build, because I was just so fucked in the head and heart about so many things, and didn’t have the ovaries to woman up and face any of it.

  Myles

  The poor girl was coming apart at the seams. She had so much going on in her head, so many issues and she was refusing to deal with any of them. I’m not a shrink, but I can see pretty damn well that she’s a mess. A beautiful disaster, but a disaster nonetheless. She needed support. She needed someone who could just…be there. Not be afraid of her titanic temper. Not take her outbursts personally. Someone who could help her find a sense of calm and control. Someone who could distract her.

  I wanted to drag her stories out of her, drag the hard, painful truths of the past out of her. But I couldn’t do that. I didn’t dare force her to talk. Couldn’t force her to trust me.

  So, all I could do was try to maintain calm and reason, and do what I could.

  Which included giving her space to stomp off her anger. Let her be mad at me for stealing the thunder of her tantrum and co-opting her sex-as-distraction strategy.

  I followed her at a distance, making sure she didn’t get lost in the condo complex, and letting myself relish the sweet view of her swinging ass in the tiny little skirt. So plump, so round, so juicy, filling out the denim until it was stretched so taut it was a wonder the seams didn’t fuckin’ split with each sultry step. And those thighs—damn. I loved watching them slide against each other, the jounce of the muscle, loved imagining and remembering the way they felt curled around my face as I devoured her.

  How the hell I could be hornier for her now—after that epic fuck session—than I had been before, I wasn’t sure. But I was.

  I didn’t dare let my libido take over entirely, or I’d end up doing something really idiotic, like trying to copulate with her under a damn bush or something. She just eradicated my self-control, my judgment, logic, reason, everything. Sexually, mentally, emotionally, she just…short-circuited everything I thought I knew about myself. Made me crazy. Unpredictable at best, and without any vestige of self-control at worst. Capable of…well, dragging her into a janitor’s closet in an occupied community center and fucking her until she sobbed and screamed. I think my ears were still ringing, actually.

  And what the hell had that been, there at the end? She’d been coming, and I’d been coming—I’d felt her pussy squeeze me harder than it had ever squeezed, so hard it actually hurt. And she’d gone from screaming like a banshee to silent, in an instant––from shaking and writhing in the throes of an almighty powerful climax to stiff and tense as a board, but shivering and trembling, almost like a seizure. Clinging to me, every limb, every muscle tensed. Then, she’d begun whimpering, mumbling something I couldn’t make out, too soft and under her breath. Desperation—it had been pure, unadulterated desperation I’d heard in her voice. That much I recognized. As if the orgasm she’d been feeling had gone past that, into something beyond a mere orgasm. It hadn’t been me—it was nothing I’d done. I’d been in the middle of finishing my own and couldn’t have consciously done anything anyway.

  Was emotional fracture a thing? ’Cause that’s what it had seemed like to me, like she was fighting back her emotions and feelings for me, fighting so hard, so desperately that she just fractured and split apart, the emotions she’d been denying and refusing to deal with coming up anyway, in whatever way they could make themselves known in her brain and soul and heart.

  Or maybe I’m just crazy.

  Maybe it was just a one-off, weird kind of climax.

  We reached her mom’s building, and she glanced at me for confirmation that it was the right one. I nodded, and stayed back, hands in my pockets, and then followed her inside.

  Her mom was dressed, hair freshly styled, wearing dress slacks, low-heel wedge shoes, and a form-fitted pullover sweater. Looking sleek and professional. Lucas was still in his khakis, but he had his button-down back, the one Liv had been wearing, and he made the garment seem tiny and stretched to capacity. The man was a damned monster. He was sitting at the island with Liv, and they were both eating omelets and sipping coffee—two more plates sat on the other side of the island, each with a big omelet and several strips of bacon. I could smell a fresh pot of coffee.

  I checked my phone, laughed. “I thought I’d entered a time warp, or something. Breakfast food and coffee at…nine at night?”

  Lucas shrugged. “I like omelets. They’re easy to make and fuckin’ delicious. The coffee is half-caff. Liv is meeting with a client in an hour, because her client is a night owl.”

  Liv picked at her omelet, eying Lexie. “Calmed down, now?”

  Lexie huffed, adjusted my hat on her head. “A little. Not really, but a little.” She sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry for my behavior. I’m just…dealing with a lot right now.” She looked at Lucas, hesitant, awkward. “I…especially you. I’m sorry.”

  Lucas left his stool and stood in front of Lex, towering over her, his brown eyes warm and friendly. “Ah, no sweat, Lexie. I don’t take most shit seriously, just ask your mom. I could tell you were buggin’ when you walked in. It ain’t anything, all right?” He smiled down at her. “You need the words? Forgiven and forgotten. Already was before you ever came back, darl…ummm, Lex. Sorry, old habits die hard.” He clapped her shoulder with a huge paw, a fatherly gesture. “Made you two some food. Sit and eat.”

  Lexie shifted from one foot to the other. “You made me food? After the way I spoke to you?”

  I noticed Liv was fairly beaming, watching this exchange.

  “Sure.” Lucas rested both hands on her shoulders. “Told ya, I don’t take much personal. You’re hurtin’, dealin’ with some major fuckin’ shit. Plus, with my past bein’ what it is, I got no room to be touchy. I was an awful goddamn bastard for decades, an’ I’m lucky to be standing here at all, luckier yet to stand here with an angel like your mother in my life. So Lex, my dear girl, I’ll overlook and forgive and forget just about anything, because the shit I done that’s been forgiven is way bigger and nastier than a pissy little outburst like you done.”<
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  Lexie didn’t say anything about his use of “my dear girl,” I think mainly because the way he said it wasn’t as a pet name but as an indicator of depth of meaning. She just stood there, silent, staring. “Thank you,” she whispered, and seemed to teeter forward, hesitating, and then with a weird sniff, leaned into him and hugged him. Lucas seemed stunned, just stood stone still for a split-second, and then enveloped her in his burly arms and just held her till she pushed away.

  Lexie had her head ducked, and I had a feeling it was to hide emotions she couldn’t quite shove down. She took one of the plates, the one whose omelet was slightly smaller, and sat on a stool on the far side of her mother, digging in. I sensed Liv had something to say, and that she’d prefer to say it in private.

  “Liv, you got a balcony?”

  She nodded, pointed. “Off the master. Lucas can show you.”

  I took a plate, accepted a mug of coffee from Lucas, and met Lexie’s eyes. “I’m gonna take my food to the balcony. Yeah?”

  She looked almost panicked at being left alone with her mom, eyes wide, fearful, nervous. But she nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered.

  Lucas went with me, taking a mug of his own, showed me the balcony; there was a cute little wrought iron bistro set, a tiny table and two tiny chairs. I sat at the table while Lucas leaned meaty forearms on the balcony railing and glanced sideways at me.

  “So. Myles North.”

  I ate a few bites. “Lucas Badd.”

  He grinned. “Relax. I ain’t gonna go all…what’s that term Rome uses? Fanboy?”

  I laughed. “That’s a relief. It’s tricky enough fending off a squealing sixteen-year-old girl with a celebrity crush. Ain’t sure how I’d feel about trying to fend off the same from you.”

  He smirked. “I like outlaw country better, anyway.” He paused. “Lived a good two-thirds of my life down Oklahoma way. Spent more’n a few hours polishing a barstool with my fat backside, listenin’ to your pa and grandpa play.”

  I ate, washed it down with coffee. “You make a hell of an omelet.” I finished, stood up to join him at the rail. “I came up on the scene doing mostly outlaw covers. It’s honestly where I’m most comfortable as a performer, but the sound my fan base wants is just a little newer. One of these days, I’m gonna do a special album of covers of Dad’s and Grandpa’s music.”