20
Almost two months later, Finger called me. Password given, and I headed downtown to a really cheap dive of a hotel that doubled as a rooming house for the homeless. We were in a tiny, shabby room that belonged to a friend of a friend of a friend of Finger’s who let us have it for the night. Coughing, arguing, the occasional curse echoed in the hallway along with the constant blare of the Cubs game on TV. We added to the cacophony with the screeching of the old metal springs on the twin bed we were fucking on.
I always counted the days, the weeks between Finger’s visits. Keeping track kept me steady, and the anticipation made my insides hum. I looked forward to his visits, planning things to do and see. Being with him wasn’t only the hot times together in bed. Being with him was home to me, be it making love in a mildewy room at a flophouse in a bad neighborhood, sharing a deep dish pizza in a crowded restaurant, walking all over town arm in arm in the icy cold rain.
His groans in my ear, his body crushing mine, a small smile just for me when he hardly ever smiled. My special, secret place was me and him. I danced there. Sang out loud and off key, hands in the air, his wind in my hair.
I didn’t think I had much emotion to give anymore. Med had squashed that for me with his cruelty. But Finger, oh Finger, he was cruel and loving all at once. Brutal in his intensity, in the ferocity of his need, but delicate in his mercy, and that awakened the greedy, hungry woman in me.
His tongue flicked and tugged at my nipple piercings. “Fuck, I love these. Fuck.” The arousal built again, zig zagging through my flesh, the kind of pleasure you think you won’t survive. Explosive. Furious.
“Finger,” I whispered, my legs wrapping around his hips. “Need you so bad. Want your cock inside me.”
He only made a grunting sound. He loved it when I talked during sex. Being with Med—well, you just did what you were told and only spoke when spoken to, and even then, you needed to agree with whatever he said. I hadn’t realized how I’d gotten used to that.
With Finger, sex was a whole other level of freedom. Freedom to touch him, explore, to give to him, to play and know that the playfulness, that joy of discovery was appreciated and mutual. There would be no punishments, no retributions, no report card at the end.
I roughly stroked his cock until it was hard and ready to do damage. That’s what I wanted. His fierceness taking me over. I scooted down and pushed him over on his back. Climbing on him, I sank on his cock and rode him. He held onto my tits in his tight grip and flexed his hips up into mine. The sight of his maimed hands on my body made my adrenaline spike, my blood rush to my head. My nipples stung and burned deliciously, and I grit my teeth and rode him faster, my fingernails digging into his wrists.
“I love you,” I murmured. “Love you. Love you.”
“I love you too.” One hand slid down my hip and held it, the other went between our slick bodies and rubbed my clit hard and fast. “I’m all yours, baby. You’re all mine, aren’t you?”
“Only yours. Yours.”
We reassured each other of this fact frequently during sex. Being apart for long stretches of time, often going without communicating because he was usually on the road on secret missions and not wanting our connection to be traced in any way. So when we were together, every word, every touch took on a mad significance.
“All yours.” I came once more, tears and sweat blurring my vision.
He flipped me face down on the bed and holding me there, thrust into me fast from behind, my hair in his fist. I ground back into him, tightening my insides around his hard length.
Finger always went fast when he needed to come. He wasn’t only chasing his orgasm, but escaping the pain his body and his mind still associated with coming inside of me. His grip on my hair and back tightened, and I bit down on my lip as he tugged my head higher. My fingers curled in the nubby sheet, and my eyes found his.
His jaw set tightly, his eyes were ablaze, his breathing heavy and harsh. Was he still fighting the memories? I thought so. Those memories were still alive in his hands, on his face.
I tightened around his length again, and he groaned. “You and me,” I stuttered.
Another groan.
“Yes, yes, feels so good,” I murmured. Every time I felt I had to assure him, encourage him. Otherwise, we’d always be in Med’s grip, and there was no way. I was peeling it off for the both of us, layer by layer every time.
His fingers dug into my middle, and he collapsed on top of me.
Holding each other, we rolled over and stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, the mold in the corners. He took my hand in his, and I closed my eyes, the sound of our choppy breathing lulling me into a sweet haze, the tremors of my flesh vibrating through me. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. Sitting up, I slid the condom from his relaxed cock and took his damp cock in my mouth. I wanted to taste him and commit that taste to memory through the many days and nights ahead on my own.
“Bitch, stop,” he groaned, laughing.
Releasing his slick velvety smoothness, I giggled, resting my head on his middle. “I have good news for you, baby.”
His scarred hand went to the side of my face. “Oh yeah? Tell me.”
“I got into a design school, part time. I start in a few weeks.”
“Huh?” Blinking, he wiped a hand across his eyes.
I sat up and straddled his lap, facing him. “An art school here in Chicago. I got in.”
“What do you mean?”
“I applied to the night program at a school for fashion design and tailoring, and I got in.”
He didn’t reply.
My back tensed under his suddenly firmer grip. “I thought you’d be proud of me. Happy for me.”
He let out a ragged breath. “I am. I mean, yeah, that’s great. Really great. I’m proud of you, baby, I am.”
“Then?”
“That means that you’ll be staying here, though. You see?”
“Right.”
“I want you closer to me. I thought that’s what you wanted too.”
“I do want that, more than anything. But things haven’t really changed. I can’t just walk into your clubhouse, the two of us hand in hand, can I?”
His eyes tightened, his jaw hardening. He was angry, frustrated.
“What is it? Did something happen? Tell me.”
“It’s Med. I saw him. He’s still looking for you. He’s real pissed. He made accusations about me taking you, and my prez defended me. All my bros did.”
An icy chill stole through me. “Shit.”
“We got to keep things real tight for a little while longer. So, yeah, actually, you staying put here is probably for the best. Little while longer.”
A dull weight rolled over me like a heavy boulder, but I shoved it back. I wasn’t going to dwell on Med, not now. No way. “I have more good news, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I qualified for a work/study plan at this school, a paid internship. And I’m going to keep working a few days a week plus weekends at the store.”
“Cool. You still liking your job?”
“I love my job, and I’m loving my new name, too. There’s something clean about it—Ashley Wyeth.”
He let out a huff of air. “Hey, Ashley. You give amazing head and fuck like a demon.”
I squeezed his balls.
His hand slapped around my wrist. “Why don’t you do that a little nicer, while you tell me about your school?”
“Turn over. I want to see my name on you again.”
A smirk full of heat etched his face. He loved that I loved his surprise for me, a new tattoo on his skin. He turned over, and my fingers ran up the long gothic S, for Serena, now inked on his upper spine. The letter was hidden in the long plume of flames that rose from his lower back, fanned out across his shoulder blades and blew all the way up his neck. I kissed and nipped his spine then turned him over on the mattress, my hand slowly stroking his thick length. His body relaxed as I blathered on about the kinds of classes I’d be taking.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“You’re happy. You’re excited about something you really like, and I’m glad.” He planted a light kiss on my mouth, letting out a soft moan.
“I get excited by you.” I squeezed his firm dick.
“I know, but I mean, you’re excited about something new in your life, an objective, a passion you want to explore.”
“A passion, yeah, that’s what it is.”
“I’ll give you money to pay for it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” His index finger lazed down my middle and slid between my legs. “Let me share in your excitement.”
His finger wound and circled its way to my core. My breath hitched as he gently, gently stroked, and I lost myself in the sensations he knew so well how to conjure in me. I came quickly, crying out.
“This is all because of you, you know.” I kissed him. “I wouldn’t be here in Chicago pursuing dreams I didn’t know I had if it wasn’t for you.” My trembling body curled into his.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low, a hand around my neck. “Are you crying? Those are good tears, right?”
I only nodded, unable to find my voice.
His finger traced the vine up my side to my breast. “Your ink is wild, and keeps getting wilder. I feel like I’m missing out on something with you, and I hate that. It makes me realize how far apart we are every time I see you.”
I met his gaze. “Every piece is about me, me and you. Us. Like spring blooming. Our spring. We’re different than we were before the Smoking Guns. They damaged us, but it made us stronger. We have color. Great big splashes of bright color, great big bursts of it, all outside the lines, and I want to celebrate that.”
“Celebrate.” He uttered the word like it was a new flavor and he liked how it tasted.
“Yes, celebrate. So every time you discover a new tat on me, know it’s our celebration, a new song I’ve written calling out to you.” My face heated. “They may have used me for a few years there, but my body is mine and I want to make it beautiful again—”
“You are beautiful.”
“But on my own terms, my choice.”
He raised my chin in his hand and kissed me. A hungry kiss. A sweet kiss. I sat up and slid into his lap, straddling him. He held me close, the two of us breathing against each other’s skin.
I slid my forehead against his. “I bet most of your bros have old ladies now, right? I’m sure they’re expecting you to bring one home too.”
His hand went to a breast, his thumb stroking a nipple barbell. “I don’t give a shit what anyone expects.”
“You give a shit about your president, though. And you should.”
“I do.” He pressed his lips together.
“I wish I could get on the back of your bike and go to Nebraska and stroll into your clubhouse with you, but I can’t. I’m sure they’re suspicious already. It’s been months of you not bringing anyone around or screwing around. You disappearing whenever you can.”
“They know that’s me. That I keep mostly to myself. That’s how shit’s been for me since I got out from under the Guns. They get it.”
“They may get it, Finger, but I guarantee they don’t trust it. You’ve got them curious. And now with Med accusing you in front of everybody? Maybe that curiosity will change to outright suspicion. It’s only a matter of time until they dig a little deeper and find us together. They’ll find something.”
His one hand fisted in my hair and pulled. He glared at me. Confusion. Irritation. “What the hell are you trying to say? What are we supposed to do? Give up?”
“Not give up, but maybe—”
“No.”
“No?”
“NO!” he exploded. “No fucking way. I’m not giving you up for anyone or anything.” His voice thundered. “Not even for you!” His dark eyes were fierce. “Why are you talking like this? You giving in?”
“I’m not giving in. I’m being smart.” I gulped in air. “It’s just...not good.”
“What? The situation?” He released his hold on my hair. “Of course it’s not good.”
“It’s just so damned difficult.”
“Difficult? Is that what’s climbed up your ass? Difficult? Everything is difficult in this life. Every fucking thing.”
I touched the hard edge of his jaw. “I feel like we have some sort of expiration date hanging over us. And we keep managing to push it back a little here and a little bit there, but how long can that last?”
“Serena—”
My fingertips brushed his lips. “We’ve killed people to be together,” I whispered.
He snatched at my hand, crushing it in his. “We’re surviving.”
My fingers throbbed in his steel grip. Surviving. Agony was entwined in that word, and a desperation that I knew so well. I’d been surviving for a long, long time. But now, with Justin, it was another kind of pact, a better, richer promise. And suddenly, there was more at stake.
“How many more victims will have to pay the price for our survival?” My fingers curled around his. “There will be more, you know there will be. I’m always looking over my shoulder.”
“You’ll always have to. Unless maybe you move to some shack in Greenland. Is that what you want to do?”
“Why not?”
He released my hand. The skin was red.
“But you couldn’t go,” I said. “You’re a Flame. A Flame through and through.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not. But what we’re doing to survive is at odds with your life as a Flame. One day, things will get out of hand, and then what? How much more brotherhood are you going to have to sacrifice in the name of us? You’re heading for a crucifixion by your own hand.”
“I was already crucified,” spilled from his lips. “With you I got my resurrection.”
I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, my heart galloping in my chest.
He whispered roughly, “Don’t talk like this. I don’t know who I am without you.”
“Maybe you should find out.”
The side of his scarred face stroked my cheek. He planted a kiss on my neck. “I love you, baby. I need to love you.”
Those three words. Simple, complicated, glorious, insane. I breathed them in. They’d never been given to me before. Not like this, not ever. I kissed him. A delicate, gentle kiss, sealing the vow between us.
“What I feel for you is bigger and deeper than some tagline I’ve always heard thrown around,” he said. “I can’t define it, and I don’t need to. These feelings I got for you aren’t just a part of me or one piece I got stashed inside. They are me.”
My heart squeezed in my chest, my mouth dried. Yes. Yes. Yes. It’s the same for me. “I love you too.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze focusing on my mouth, his hands rubbing the back of my neck. I pressed a hand over his chest where his heart beat hard and strong. I was safe there. I was on a beautiful adventure there.
His eyes brightened. “I liked hearing you say that.”
“Good.”
“I told my bros that I got a woman out of state, and they’re good with that,” he said, his voice lower. “And in case you’re wondering, the whores know it too.”
I ground my hips against his thigh, a small smile tugging on my lips. “I trust you.”
He slid a hand down my ass and pulled me against his erection, and I let out a gasp at the precise friction. “You’re going to be meeting college boys now, artsy-fartsy pretentious fuckers who are gonna try to get inside your panties.”
“So not interested. I’ve got the finest man ever, and he gives me everything I need. Everything I’ve ever wanted.”
He licked at my lips and they parted for him. He took my mouth, and I took his, our tongues greedy for one another. His thumb swept the side of my face. “I don’t want you worrying about this shit. I told the guys my woman’s got family problems, a sick dad with terminal cancer and she’s taking care of him and can’t leave home right now.”
Funny. I’d never pretended about having my dad in my life. Once he’d left, I’d shut him out. Was he still alive? Was he healthy, enjoying the good life with his new family, playing golf on the weekends in some fancy suburb and taking them on vacations? I’d never know, and I’d trained myself long ago not to care.
I swept the hair back from Finger’s face. He always kept it in his face, like he was hiding. I wanted to see him. My fingertips traced around those hard, dark eyes, the long, lean nose, rigid jaw, scarred, hollowed cheeks, dimpled chin.
“So many lies,” I said. “Always lies. You think we’ll ever be able to tell the truth?”
“As long as we never lie to each other, that’s all that matters. That’s what keeps this sweet,” he whispered hoarsely as his thumb swirled over my center. I rocked my hips to meet his steady, slick rhythm. “Yeah, so fucking sweet.”
He held my gaze, his eyes shining as the pleasure washed over me, sweeping me away with him into that spiraling current.
“You want a house one day? A kid?” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
“Yes, our house. Our baby.” I grinned. “Me baking brownies and you teaching him—”
“Or her.”
“Or her how to ride a bicycle in the yard.” I let out a laugh at my all-American cliché dream. But it was true.
“What a nice dream.” He stroked faster, his hips thrusting against mine. “I love you, Serena. That’s no dream. It’s real. You’re keeping that safe for me, aren’t you?” he breathed. “You have to. I need to know you are. That’s what keeps me sane.”
Being on the pill was the best. I pushed his hand away and guided his bare cock inside me. His loud gasp made my insides flutter.
I rocked into him. “Me too, baby. Every day.”