“Must be Candy,” Joel says and he’s still grinning when I turn to look at him. “I’ll get the door.”
I nod, hiding a smile. Thank fuck this didn’t turn awkward. He didn’t act distant, he didn’t run away—and Candy is here.
The things that scare me, the things that go bump at night or stab you in the back are fading into background noise. All I can feel is Joel’s touch on my body, all I can hear is Candy’s voice from the living room.
I’m safe here, right?
And if I should be worried that this is turning into a real good evening, if I should know that good things never last… Don’t blame me. A mind can only take so much before going off the deep end.
***
So that’s why I don’t think as we lie on Joel’s bed and kiss, Candy in our middle, and touch, and hold on to each other.
I don’t think as Joel goes down on her while I kneel beside them, stroking my hardening cock, watching. Or as she goes down on him afterward, sucking him until he comes hard, his hand in her hair.
I don’t think that five years before my father killed my mom, his brother turned up dead. And it’s been five years since my mom’s death. Almost to the day.
That means nothing. And if I thought I saw someone in the crowd at the bar once who seemed familiar, and if my cousin saw a guy watching from the windows, if someone broke and entered his house, looking for something… it wasn’t for me. It wasn’t my father, come back to get me.
That’d be crazy. Like stuff-me-in-a-straitjacket-and-gimme-pills sort of crazy.
So I refuse to think about it. My father’s missing, probably dead in some ditch out of the way, in the woods where an innocent tourist will discover his bones one day.
Okay, so I can’t stop the thoughts from returning and feasting on my sanity like vultures, the images from that night five years ago haunting—my mom toppling over, the blood spreading under her…
My father’s cold, blank gaze when he turned to look at me.
Shit.
Then Joel directs Candy to sit on my cock, distracting me for good. I’m fully hard by now, not even the godawful memories able to take down my hard-on.
She takes my face in her hands, brown eyes warm, no, heated. I hope she won’t ask me if I’m okay, that she won’t bring up our conversation at the store.
She doesn’t. Instead, she hands me a condom, probably from Joel’s stash, and bites her lip as I put it on. Then she climbs on top of me and sinks down, swallowing my moan with her mouth, my dick with her pussy.
It’s so good. Her softness surrounds me, her slender arms wrap around my neck and her scent fills my senses. Soft is good. I need it, after the violence of the memories—but it’s not enough to yank me out of reality.
Fuck.
Looks like tonight I won’t have any real respite. She’s riding me and kissing me, and my body is tightening with need, but I don’t feel safe.
Tomorrow. The anniversary is tomorrow. Five years.
Stop, I tell my mind. Stop. Enough. He’s dead. He’s gone.
I break the kiss to draw a shaky breath, my heart hammering fit to break a rib in my chest.
“Jet?” She’s stroking my face, and I’m mortified to find myself shivering.
“What do you need?” Joel asks, and his hand on my shoulder is a welcome weight.
Joel is strong. He makes me feel safe. Makes me feel protected.
And I want him. So damn much.
I don’t say anything, but he’s scooting behind me, turning my face to suck on my lips. His kiss is bruising, savage.
Perfect.