Waking up with a beautiful woman’s mouth wrapped around your hard cock shouldn’t be a bad thing. In fact, most men dream about just this.
Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?
Her blonde head bobs up and down on my dick. She swirls her tongue around my piercing, sending a zing of electricity straight to my balls. I grab her hair and jerk her off me with an audible pop. Wide, confused, bloodshot brown eyes meet mine, and she scowls. “What the hell, Gabe?”
She knows my name. That’s a positive sign; we must have at least talked last night. I almost wish I could remember hers, but it doesn’t matter at this point. Surveilling my room, the pile of empty condom wrappers on the nightstand and the half-empty glasses of whiskey assure me she had a good time.
Excellent. That makes kicking her out a lot easier. At least I know she’s leaving satisfied.
I release her hair and extricate myself from under her before sliding out of bed and walking naked to the bathroom. The door slams shut behind me, and I flip the lock. Two seconds later, the knob jiggles, and an angry growl sounds from the other side of the door.
“Seriously, Gabe? You’re just going to lock yourself in the bathroom without a word?”
Yeah, actually, that would be fucking awesome.
But I’m too much of a gentleman to do that. I unlock the door and crack it open, keeping my foot behind it so she can’t push her way in.
“Look, I’m sorry. I have to be somewhere early this morning. Thanks for last night. You can let yourself out.”
Fury turns blondie’s pale skin red, and she stomps over to the bed, searching the floor for her clothes—bare ass and tits shaking and bouncing with every movement. My cock throbs, reminding me of the impending blue-balls situation.
Shit.
I close the door and lock it again without an ounce of regret. She knew exactly what this was. No matter how drunk I get, I’m always up front with the girls I end up with. They know it’s a one-time thing, except with a few regulars I know I can trust not to get attached.
Blondie may have been a miscalculation last night, but I can’t even remember where I met her, so it might have been an off night for me too. The evidence of the evening’s escapades glare at me from the mirror—scratches down my back, a giant hickey on my collarbone, and faint bite marks around my nipple ring.
Fucking fabulous.
I turn on the shower jets and crank the temperature to scald-my-skin hot. A cold shower would probably be more appropriate for my current predicament, but the need to burn off whatever happened last night is one I can’t shake.
A door slams. Thank God she didn’t put up any more of a fuss. I really can’t handle that today.
This is the only day in almost a month I don’t have any work obligations. That should make me happier than a pig in shit, but I have to go to the barbeque today, and I’m not fucking prepared to deal with that right now.
I step into the hot spray, wincing when the water hits the torn skin on my back and then my hard cock when I turn around.
I’m going to have to do something about that. If I don’t, today is going to be even more unbearable than it already promises to be. Sometimes, I really miss shooting those shitheads in the desert; it seemed easier than life here most days.
The water beating down on my chest soothes some of my distress. I drop my head under the spray and take my dick in my hand. I can’t even remember the last time I had to masturbate. That was the whole point of last night, to get this need out of my system.
Yeah, well, that was a miserable failure.
Sliding my palm up and down my length, I close my eyes and picture blondie and what she must have looked like riding me last night, or bent over with my dick jammed inside her. My cock pulses in my hand, and I increase the pace, needing to get this done.
A flash from last night returns, of the blonde towering above me, bouncing up and down on my cock with her perfectly round, silicone breasts bobbing with every move.
I groan and jerk faster, gliding my palm over the head and against my piercing with every stroke, urging my body to give me the release I need.
Her pussy clenches around my cock, and the orgasm I’ve been chasing finally starts at the base of my spine.
But then, her blonde hair morphs into jet black, and her brown eyes become a familiar blue.
No! Fuck!
It’s too late to stop now.
With two final tugs, I come, shooting my load against the tiles of the shower and down my hand. Each pulsing spurt should be blissfully mind-numbing, but even as my body shakes and my head spins wildly into the ecstasy of release, I know it won’t last.
I pant under the scalding water, waiting for the post-orgasmic haze to clear and the inevitable regret and anger to take over. It will come. It always does right after I do.
Godfuckingdamnit!
Why the fuck can’t I get Skye Hawke out of my fucking head?
Months of endless nights with brunettes, blondes, and red-heads, and I still only come harder than a freight train with her image in my head.
Standing under the water, I’ve never felt so dirty—not even when I killed people for a living.
That was war. This is my life.
I have to find a way to fix this, to cure myself of the unhealthy obsession. If I don’t, it just may be the end of what little sanity I have left.
The thought of ending up back in Doc Cochran’s chair makes me shiver despite the heat of the water. I’ve managed to keep my shit together, mostly, for the last six months without paying her to listen to me spill my guts. I’d like to keep my sanity and my money, if at all possible.
It’s probably my own fault things have gotten this bad. I didn’t tell Doc everything the last time we had a session.
But, how the fuck was I supposed to know I’d still be thinking about her seven months later?
I went back to Doc to deal with the fallout from killing Abello’s men. For months afterward, I drowned in a gluttonous pool of booze, smokes, and women. I got up to a bottle, a pack, and a half-dozen a day, respectively. The tipping point was the same reason I’m dreading the barbeque today and hating myself for jerking off—Skye.
After what happened with her at the wedding, I realized I needed to do something to get my head on straight. I would never have allowed it to occur if I were in my right mind…at least, that’s what I told myself.
But I didn’t mention anything about Skye to Doc when I resumed my sessions. It’s not like she could have done anything about that anyway. She treats mental health issues, not I-want-to-fuck-my-best-friend’s-little-sister issues.
She wasn’t surprised to see me back in her chair, and I didn’t know if I should be pissed about that or not. I couldn’t tell her everything, because that would not only have been a violation of our agreement with Abello and my father; it would also have put her life in danger if they ever came after us again just by virtue of her knowing the truth about what happened. Even without all the details, she withheld judgment when I told her I had killed three people, and she reminded me I am not a cold-blooded killer and never have been.
Every life I took, I did so with honor and without another choice. I remind myself of that every day and try not to let the memories take over my life.
I live every day hoping my symptoms don’t return, and that I can keep my shit together.
But with the passage of time, I only fall further down the rabbit hole of my fixation with Skye, and it’s taking a toll on my miserable ass.
The mid-summer sun seeps into my skin and, combined with my third margarita, it warms me and helps me momentarily forget the clusterfuck my life has become.
Lounging next to the pool in Mom's backyard, my earbuds blaring angsty alt-rock, I begin drifting off into the space between wake and sleep when a shadow falls over me, blocking out the rays and disintegrating any bliss I was so close to achieving.
Fucking thanks.
I reluctantly open my eyes and find my mother looming above me. Her lips are moving, and logic tells me she’s speaking to me, but I have zero interest in whatever it is she’s trying to say. She should know by now not to interrupt my sunbathing.
Just as I’m about to close my eyes and ignore her, she reaches down and yanks the buds out of my ears.
"Hey, what the fuck?" I prop myself up on one elbow, glaring at her even though I know she can't see through my shades.
She scowls. "Skye, language…" Her eyes flit toward the pool where Angelina is swimming with Ben to ensure her young ears haven't been subjected to my foul mouth.
Like she hasn’t heard it a thousand times at home.
"What do you want?"
"I was asking if you knew when Savage and Danika are supposed to get here. You spoke with him earlier, didn't you?"
I sigh, dropping back down and grabbing my half-full third margarita. I take a sip before returning my attention to her. "Yes, I spoke with him. He said she wasn't feeling well. But they’re still going to try to be here before noon."
She smiles and nods. "See, was that so hard?"
"Yes."
Her scowl returns, and she eyes my glass. "How many drinks have you had today, Skye?"
"Not enough, apparently.” I drain the last drops of the delicious tequila concoction and set my empty on the small table to the side of my chair. Sometimes, I wonder how I would survive this family without alcohol. There’s always some sort of drama.
I’m the only sane one left. Although, if you ask them, I’m the worst of them all…well, except maybe Stone.
Mom ignores my comment and plows ahead with her agenda. "What about Gabe? Do you know if he’s coming with them?"
Hopefully not.
Leave it to my mother to bring up the one person I don't want to think about, let alone discuss. How she’s so oblivious to the tension between us blows my mind. She must be denser than she appears.
"I don't know, I didn't talk to him, and Savage didn't mention him at all."
She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I’m going to finish getting the burgers ready. Why don't you try switching to water for a while."
"Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Madre."
She retreats to the house without glancing back.
I don't mean to be a bitch to her, but she grates on every last nerve I have. The only person who ever seemed to understand the dynamic with her was Star. Since the accident, things have only gone downhill, and the tension between me and the woman who gave me life has quadrupled. I know she means well, but we’re like oil and water, never going to mix.
I pop my buds back in, close my eyes, and try to relax again.
Deep, calming breaths, Skye. Enjoy the boozy bliss.
A second loss of rays wakes me, and I shoot up, ready to tear my mother's head off with my bare teeth if I have to. "Jesus, what do you want this time?"
The words are out of my mouth before I have time to register who I’m looking at.
"Shit, I'm sorry." Dani holds her hands up in surrender and eyes me like I’m a rabid dog ready to attack—which isn’t far from the truth.
"No, no, no, I'm sorry. I thought you were my mother again." She gives me a sympathetic smile and slowly lowers herself down onto the chaise next to me. Her normally bouncy and happy demeanor is gone, and she’s as pale as I’ve ever seen her. "Damn girl, you look like shit. How are you feeling?"
She sighs, resting her hands on her protruding belly. “Okay. Better than this morning. I swear to God, this morning sickness bullshit was supposed to end when I hit the second trimester. I’m already twenty-six weeks along, and I still feel like shit. I guess I lucked out by not really feeling it until into my third month, but on top of the occasional queasiness, I’m also just exhausted all the time."
Yet another reason I never want to have kids.
“Did your doctor prescribe you Zofran?”
“Yeah, it helps with the nausea, but it knocks me out. I’m so tired when I take it, I’m completely useless.”
“How’s Savage doing?" I peer over her shoulder at my brother talking with Storm under the back awning. He waves, but his eyes never leave Danika. He watches her like a hawk, ready to swoop in should something happen. I can only imagine what it’s like living with him hovering around 24/7.
No fucking thanks. I don’t need a babysitter.
She glances over her shoulder and waves before turning back to me. "He is…well, he’s Savage. It drives him crazy not being able to control this."
"I don't doubt it." I know my brother, and I understand his need to be master and commander in every situation. Watching his wife suffer must be hell for him.
As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, he appears next to us. "Hello, ladies."
I lean over and give him a half-hug, ruffling his perfectly combed hair in my usual attempt to push his buttons. "Hey bro, how are you?"
Running his hand back through his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to return it to its rightful place, he smirks at me, fully aware I did it intentionally. "I'm fine. How are you?"
I shrug. "Oh, you know, the usual."
Tired. Annoyed. Not drunk enough to do this today.
He nods and reaches out to take Danika's hand in his. "You feeling okay?"
She nods and smiles at him. "I'm fine, I think I'll go help your mom and Storm in the kitchen."
"Okay." He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses the back.
Ugh. They are so disgustingly adorable and in love.
I can practically feel the love they have for each other radiating from where they sit a foot away from me. I should be happy for them, especially after everything they’ve been through. We still don't know all the details of what went down last year. Everyone has been keeping their mouths shut about the shooting of Uncle Dom’s men, but we know Dani, Savage, and Gabe were there. No matter how many times Storm, Stone, or I ask Savage, he just won’t talk, and Mom doesn’t even bother to ask. We all know Dom’s involved in some questionable stuff, but he’s good to us, and she would rather live in blissful ignorance than have to admit he may not be squeaky clean.
Whatever happened, it was bad. We know that much. Three people died and the media basically swept it under the rug saying it was a police operation against organized crime. But no details were released—all very hush-hush and super sketchy. No explanation whatsoever as to why Gabe, Savage, or Dani would have been there.
The wedding was a new beginning for Savage and Dani, and the beginning of the weirdness between me and Gabe that threatens to make today utterly unbearable.
Danika stands and immediately wobbles, grabbing her head in one hand and trying to steady herself on Savage’s shoulder with the other.
"Dani? You okay? What's wrong?" Savage's voice is laced with panic. I jump up and wrap my arm around her to help her balance, taking her wrist so I can check her pulse.
"I'm okay. I just stood up too fast, and I haven’t eaten today. Maybe a drink of water or juice or something would be a good idea."
Storm appears behind Savage. "Everything all right?"
Dani’s pulse is normal, and I release her when she seems stable on her feet. “Yes, she just got a little dizzy. She hasn’t eaten today. Why don't you take her into the kitchen and get her something to eat?" Storm nods her agreement and takes Dani’s hand, leading her back to the house with Savage close on their heels.
I drop back onto the chaise and am about to return to my less-than-blissful relaxation, when the hair on my arms stands on end and tingles ripple along my skin. Turning toward the house, I find Gabe stepping from the backdoor. Even with his sunglasses on, I can feel his eyes boring into me, stripping me bare even though I’m already practically naked in my itty-bitty string bikini.
My skin heats instantly, and I look away quickly, reaching for my drink as both a distraction and to hopefully help numb my fraying nerves knowing he’s here.
Empty. Shit.
I recline on the chaise, rest my arm across my forehead, and try to regain my composure as my blood pressure rises. At least he isn’t half-naked like he usually is when we’re hanging out by the pool. If I had to watch him walk around in nothing but board shorts all afternoon—all muscles and tats and that fucking nipple ring—I would spontaneously combust.
Even though I tried to avert my gaze as fast as possible, I couldn’t help but notice his long-sleeve, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows and the collar flipped up. Definitely a strange choice with his khaki cargo shorts on a ninety-five degree day; he must be sweltering.
At least he’s suffering as much as I am.
Angelina squeals and races past me, squirting me with her water gun. I shriek when the cold water hits my hot skin, and I whip off my sunglasses and glower at her. She pauses a few feet from me, gun raised and pointed in my direction, ready for another attack or to run if need be.
Game on, little girl!
I grin at her, and she giggles.
"You little brat, I am so going to get you." I rise and step toward her slowly, and she squeals again before she takes off running around the pool toward the deep end where Ben watches her, laughing at my expense.
"Angel, no running." She stops immediately at her father’s warning and glances back at me as I close the distance between us rapidly. With another giggle, she leaps into the pool, splashing Ben before her floaty arms cause her to pop to the surface with a laugh.
I can't suppress my smile no matter how foul my mood. That kid is fucking adorable. The result of yet another blissfully happy relationship. Although, Storm and Ben aren't nearly as obvious as Savage and Danika. I think the newness wore off about the time Angelina was born, but the love is still very much there; I can see it every time they look at each other.
I need another drink.
At least if Star were here, I’d have someone to be miserable and alone with. Although, I never felt alone when she was alive.
Ben pulls Angelina from the water and towels her off. Gabe and Savage man the grill on the corner of the patio and seem oblivious to the vicious assault that just occurred.
A swim sounds like the second-best option since Mom is acting like the alcohol police today. I wander over to edge of the pool and take a deep breath before diving into the cool, crisp water, praying it will wash away the annoyance, awkwardness, loneliness, jealousy, and anger currently consuming me.