Pretty Thing (Naughty Things 1)

He eases back, then thrusts again. And again I squeak out my pleasure. “More,” I beg. “More.”

He does it again, then again, then again until he’s pounding me so hard I’m being pushed up the bed. His hips move quickly. Each time his punishing thrusts make me gasp. I grip his shoulders with tight fists, digging my fingernails into his flesh.

He grimaces and… slows.

“No,” I say. “Keep going.”

But he leans down and kisses me, whispering, “We’ve got our whole lives, Kali.”

Do we? I wonder.

“We do, I promise,” he says, reading my mind. And then he begins to move again. This time slower. Thoughtful and careful as he enters and pulls back. I begin moving with him and he sighs. “Yes. Like that. That’s how I want it.”

I wrap my legs around his hips and slide my hands over his back as he lowers himself down onto his forearms.

“I love you,” he says, arching his back and sinking his face into my neck so he can whisper it against my ear. “I have always loved you.”

I press my cheek into his and say it back. “I love you too.”

And then there is a moment when all the stars align and the world turns upside down. When black is white, and off is on, and nothing and everything makes sense in the same instant.

And in that instant we come together.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – AIDEN

I don’t remember the last time I fell asleep so early in the evening, but then again, what did I expect when my whole week has been nothing but weird hours? All I remember now, the next morning, is that I rolled off Kali, pulled her into a tight embrace, and everything else but us faded to black.

But now it’s seven AM, Kali is snoring softly in the bedroom and I’m standing in front of her living room window looking out on her city.

It’s nice from seven stories up. Mostly quiet. A few traffic noises leak up, but not a lot since it’s Saturday. I try to envision myself moving here with her. I could do that. I could probably just make Clyde the manager of Custom Crawlers and show up once or twice a week to check on shit.

But… this place is not my place.

It reminds me of my childhood before Bob became my dad. When it was just my mom and I, and we were nothing but products of this city.

It wasn’t really a bad time. But compared to the life back in my adopted home town it was shit.

That’s the only word I have for it.

How can you compare the woods, and the rocks, and the tadpoles to this?

I look up and down the street, taking in the neighborhood. Coffee shops, restaurants, little grocery stores. But I have all that back in my town too. And it’s all close because I live above the garage in downtown.

Then I try to picture Kali living there with me and can’t quite see that either.

I’m holding the envelope my dad gave me yesterday at the reading of the will. My name written across the front in Kyle’s handwriting. I’m afraid to open it even though I know there’s nothing inside but a phone number to call.

I want to make that call and then again, I don’t. I have no clue what hearing Kyle’s voice would do to me. Will it send me into a new depression? Because that’s what that was last week. Pure manic depression. I tore apart his Jeep, for fuck’s sake. Like the Jeep is a living thing and I’m holding it accountable for its actions.

And it’s not even mine, it’s Kali’s now.

Guilt.

That’s what this is about. Guilt.

Last night felt so good. So perfect. So inevitable.

But the next day always looks different.

All the doubts are back. All the misgivings and uncertainties come rushing forward with the rising sun, exposing them once again.

I look at the envelope, then turn it over and break the seal on the back, pulling out the single sheet of paper.

Just a number, that’s it. Ten digits and nothing more.

My phone is in my back pocket so I pull it out, press the numbers, and hold it up to my ear.

There’s a few clicking sounds, then a man’s voice saying, “Welcome to Dead Notes, where your loved ones have an eternal voice. You’re being connected now.”

There’s more clicks and beeps, then Kyle’s voice.

“Dude.” He laughs. “Dude! What the fuck happened? I hope to God I went out fucking a girl, or in a fight, or at fucking rock concert. Or on the trail, ya know, crushed by the Jeep because—”

I end the call.

Oh, fuck that. No fucking way. Fuck that.

I can’t do it. I just can’t. My best friend died last week and now he’s on my phone.

I don’t know what kind of sick asshole makes an app like this, but if he was here in front of me, I’d take a swing at him.