Chapter Eight
Vince
“I have an idea, but you’re going to think it’s crazy.”
I reluctantly open one eye and squint up at the cheerful blonde disturbance, dressed and ready for the day as she takes a seat on the edge of her bed. We stayed up way too late watching crap TV last night, so I just crashed at her place. It was her idea, I was too tired to argue, and now here we are.
Her blonde hair is pulled up in a high pony tail and she’s wearing tight jeans that make her ass look incredible with an off-white, super soft sweater. She’s always wearing sweaters that make you want to touch her.
“If the idea is I sleep some more, I’m on board,” I tell her, rolling over with my back to her so I can pull a pillow on top of my head and block out the light.
“Nope, that’s not my idea.” Since I rolled over and put a bunch of space there, Carly climbs over and straddles my back. Her bedroom is hot as hell so I peeled my shirt off before I went to bed. Now she runs her hands over the tattoos she’s never seen before, her train of thought redirected. “Ooh, I like these.”
“Yeah?” I murmur.
“Mmhmm, they’re sexy. Do they mean something, or do you just like them?”
I sigh heavily, since she’s not going to let me sleep. “They mean things.”
Running the tip of her index finger across my left shoulder blade, she reads, “This one says ‘worth it.’ What’s that mean?”
“You won’t like it,” I warn her.
“Tell me anyway.”
Sighing again, I explain, “When Mateo kills me, I may not see it coming. I wanted to get the last word in, so I put a last ‘fuck you’ on my body. It means, basically, I’m not sorry for all the shit I did to make him want to kill me, that it was all worth it if it made him that angry.”
Carly snorts. “Of course it does. You’re so crazy. I’m going to predict someday it will mean something different for you. Someday this same tattoo will mean all the shit you went through with them was worth it, because now you have Bandit, a house with friends to come to your cook-outs, and probably a really cool girlfriend who makes bomb-ass spaghetti sauce.”
I grin, burying my face in the pillow.
Carly moves along, trailing her soft hand across my other shoulder blade. “What about this one?”
That one is two playing cards, a bloody king of hearts with a blood-spattered Ace of hearts on top of it. “More symbolic bullshit,” I tell her. “Aces beat kings.”
“Gotcha. Your bar name, Wild Aces, that have a little bit to do with this?”
“Maybe.”
Now her hand moves to the center of my back and she rubs the black M with twisted, thorny vines wrapped around the letter. “And this one?”
“The curse of being born a Morelli,” I tell her, simply.
Now she runs her hands down my back, then leans down and flattens herself against me. The soft fabric of her sweater feels nice against my bare back, and even though we don’t kiss, she brushes her lips against each one of my tattoos, like she’s healing them.
“They’re not terribly cheerful, but I like them anyway,” she informs me, once she’s done kissing them all better.
I reach behind me and grab her around the waist, tugging her onto the bed beside me and pulling her close. She looks surprised, but pleasantly, and she snuggles into it.
“I have one, too. Wanna see?”
I quirk an eyebrow. “You have a tattoo? Look at you being a little badass.”
She waves me off. “It’s not a badass tattoo. I just got it during a hard time—same as it sounds like you did—to remind me what I was doing it all for.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised when she unzips her pants, bridges her hips on the bed, and tugs her jeans down. I should have known this damn temptress would have her tattoo in some place I shouldn’t be looking.
Sure enough, there on her hip bone is a cute little quarter moon. Or it might be a C, for Carly. If it’s a C, it looks like a quarter moon with little lines around the closed part of the C to make it look like it’s shining.
“Is it supposed to be a moon?”
Carly nods her head, looking down at it. “It’s for Laurel. When she was little, her favorite book was Good Night Moon. We shared a bedroom and I would read it to her every night, even when she got too old for it. Moons were kind of always our thing after that. We got matching quarter moon necklaces when we were younger; I wear mine almost all the time.” As if to prove her claim, she peels down the high neck of her sweater and flashes me a simple gold moon necklace. “If I ever get to have a baby, I want to decorate the nursery in moons and stars and read him or her Good Night Moon. It’s a nice tradition and it makes me happy.”
She gazes up at me with those big blue eyes, her perfect lips curved up in a faint smile. She could point out that the permanent marks I made on myself are angry and spiteful, while hers are hopeful and reminiscent of better times. She could point out that despite being a year younger than me, she clearly has a much better handle on how to deal with life. She could at least be annoyed that every mark I’ve put on my body in some way relates to an ex.
But she doesn’t. She gazes up at me like I’m the greatest thing she’s ever seen, and it’s all I can do not to close the distance between us and kiss her.
It doesn’t help that she didn’t bother to zip her jeans back up. She pulled them back up on her hips, but didn’t zip them, so I get a peek at the scrap of pale pink lace of her panties.
“Why do you like me?” I ask her.
“Why wouldn’t I like you?” she asks, absently resting her hand on my stomach, then tracing the ridges of my abdominal muscles. “I’m going to avoid pointing out that you have this body, this face, and that head of hair since it’s all kind of superficial, but you know what you’ve got going on here. The important thing is, you’re just as attractive on the inside, you just don’t want anyone to know. You’ve got this rebel without a cause thing going on and you push people away, but only because you’re sick of being hurt. You’re grumpy sometimes, but you still help me out every time I’m in a jam. I can tell you have it in you to be really devoted; I mean, you kidnapped your ex-girlfriend. If that’s not serious devotion, I don’t know what is. You’re smart—you know how to pick locks, which is some combination of scary and sexy that I’m really into. You watch Smallville with me every single night even though you hate it. You’re honest and upfront about how you feel and what you want when you could easily be an asshole and just use your looks to your advantage. You—”
She’s still going, but I’ve heard enough. She’s crazy, but she’s genuine.
I reach over to cradle the back of her head in my hand, then draw nearer. Her blue eyes widen in surprise and a nervous breath rushes out of her, but she doesn’t move away. I just brush my lips against hers to begin with, simple and light. Excitement moves through me, anticipation coiling up inside of me as she kisses me back. As the perfect, plump lips that have haunted more than a couple of my dreams brush against mine and she opens for me, reaching for me like she needs to pull me closer.
I oblige, rolling on top of her and trapping her beneath me. One of her hands moves around my waist, holding me close. The other moves through my hair and settles on the back of my head, keeping me from pulling back as she deepens the kiss.
Fuck. Straight to my groin. I growl against her mouth, catching her arms and bringing them to her sides, pinning her to the bed as I kiss her. She moans in approval, hooking her leg around my thigh and lifting her head to meet my lips.
God, she makes the sexiest little noises. Desperate, needy little sounds that turn my blood molten. I might not have started kissing her if I’d have realized I might never want to stop, but with every helpless noise of pleasure she makes, I want to give her more.
Releasing one of her hands, I shove my hand down the front of her jeans. Carly gasps, our lips separating for a moment as her head falls back, then she lifts up and crushes her lips to mine again.
My fingers slide up under the scant fabric of her panties and I rub her pussy, catching her groans with my mouth.
“Vince,” she says on a gasp, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me closer, kissing me harder.
I break away long enough to murmur, “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” she says, between kisses. “Please.”
“You want me to make you come?”
Her head lolls back again as I slide a finger inside her. She’s so fucking hot for me she practically purrs as I rub my index finger against her clit. “Oh, God,” she says, her hands falling to her sides. She presses her hands against the bed as I delve deeper, then come back to play with her clit.
I kiss her hard, then I murmur against her lips, “I want a taste.”
Her eyes are closed, her head pressed back against the pillows as I continue exploring her with my fingers. “Taste my pussy, Vince.”
Withdrawing my finger, I grab her jeans and tug them down, tossing them on the floor beside the bed. Her pink panties are tossed next. I run my hands down the outside of her thighs as I spread her legs, planting myself between them. I steal one last look to see her up on her elbows, breathing hard, her lips slightly swollen from my kisses. God, she’s beautiful. With that last glimpse, I lower my face between her perfect thighs. My tongue darts between her folds, at first just doing what I said—tasting her. Her entrance is so wet and warm; I want to bury my face between her legs and not come up until she’s yanking on my hair, begging me to stop because she can’t take anymore.
Her voice above me is breathy and hitched as she cries out my name. I pull my face back to watch her pussy as I push a finger inside her. “Jesus, Carly. You’re so wet for me.”
“I want you, Vince,” she says, pushing her hips against my hand. “More, please.”
“You want my mouth?”
Her hair bounces as she nods vigorously. “Your mouth, your hand, your cock. Anything. Please. I need you.”
I keep exploring her pussy with my fingers, but I let my tongue find her clit so I can draw more of those desperate little gasps out of her. With each relentless flick of my tongue Carly’s hips move more desperately, her needy cries breaking as she clutches the sheets. Then her cries change and her legs start to shake. I focus each stroke of my tongue accordingly until she cries out with her release. God, she sounds sexy when she comes. I don’t want to stop tasting her, but as she comes down, she threads her fingers through my hair and tugs so I finally pull back.
She’s all sexy and sated as I come back up to lie beside her. She leans in and kisses me for a few seconds, then her hand drifts down my body and she starts rubbing my cock. “My turn,” she tells me.
I shake my head, though it’s hard as hell to move her hand away from the good work it just started doing. “I just want to hold you,” I tell her.
Nuzzling into me, she wraps her arms around me so she can pull her body close. “You sure?” she asks.
I murmur, “Mmhmm,” and tuck her head under my chin. Her damn pony tail is so high, it brushes my chin, but I can’t help smiling. Then the scent of coconut assaults my nostrils and my smile slips.
I can’t put a finger on exactly what I’m feeling, but it’s uncomfortable. I like the pictures Carly paints of what the future could be like; I appreciate the way she views life and all the awful shit people go through. It’s undoubtedly healthier, but I’m not used to healthy. I’ve literally never encountered it before. The scent of coconuts anchors itself like a hook in my heart, reminding me of the last time I let myself feel any of this. I don’t feel any of this for anyone but Mia. Every girl I’ve been with since her, I’ve gone through the motions, waiting to feel something, but I never did.
Right now, with Carly snuggled up against my chest, I feel something.
But I don’t know if I can do this again. Pain is an old friend. Bitterness is familiar.
Whatever this is, I don’t have the first clue what to do with it.
All I know is that eventually I’m going to fuck it up, and the longer it takes to fall apart, the more it’s going to hurt.