Redemptive (Combative, #2)(47)

She winced when she draped her legs over mine. I lifted her chin, her eyes clear as she stared back into mine. “Was I too rough? How badly did I hurt you?” I asked.

She drew back a little, relaxed and lazy in our post sex, post blood, post murderous-rage bliss. Well, the last two were more mine than hers but I pushed back the thought at the same time she answered, “A little. I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t seen or felt how big you were. I guess I just didn’t expect it to feel so big inside me.”

I smiled—I couldn’t help it—and flipped us over until she was beneath me. My mouth finding the crook of her neck as I murmured into her skin, “That’s ’cause your *’s so f*ckin’ tight, baby.”

She moaned, her head tilting back so I could kiss her neck. “Is that good or…?”

“So good,” I said, my lips trailing down her neck toward her breast. I was already hard—or still hard, I should say. “Your *’s perfect. You’re perfect, Bailey. So f*ckin’ perfect.” I took her nipple into my mouth while her fingers found my hair, stroking gently.

“Do you like that?” she asked. “Talking dirty, I mean.”

I pulled away and gazed up at her. “I didn’t really know I was. I can stop if it bothers you,” I told her, a little deflated.

She shook her head. “No. Don’t stop. I think… it kind of turns me on.”

I smirked. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, and I went back to business. Back to worshipping her perfect breasts that go with her perfect everything else. “Nate?”

“Mmm?”

“Will you teach me?”

I pulled back. “Teach you what?”

“What you like… sex wise, I mean. How you like things done and what turns you on.”

My cock throbbed against her leg, and all I could do was nod because I couldn’t speak. My voice was somewhere closer to my balls than my throat, or maybe that was my cum, because f*ck, her words got to me.

“Good,” she said, returning my nod, her hands pressing on the back of my head until my mouth found her nipple again.

For a few minutes, the room filled with the sounds of her pleasure, of my mouth as it explored every inch of her tits. And then she said, “Nate?” so I stopped and looked up at her, eyebrow quirked, cock in my hand ready to go again.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened today, are you?”

I released my cock, as well as a frustrated breath. “No.”

“Why?”

I sighed. “Because it’s better this way. The less you know, the less you’ll be accountable for if anything happens.”

“Was it about me?” she asked, her hands slowing in my hair.

I looked down at her breasts, at the perfect shade of pink surrounding her tight, perky nipples and I drew in a breath. Released it. And then drew in another.

“Nate?” Bailey said, my eyes drifted shut, my jaw tense because I knew I had no right to be as angry as I was getting, especially with her.

She sat up, pushing me back onto my heels, my hard-on sticking up in front of me. “I think I’m ready,” she said, and I mumbled a “huh?” confusion clear in my tone.

She chuckled lightly as she got on her knees and elbows in front of me, her ass in the air as if waiting for me to take her from behind. Then she reached for my cock and lowered her head at the same time, and with the tip of my dick less than in inch from her mouth, she licked her lips, drew her eyes away from my cock and looked up at me. “Teach me. Show me how you like it.”

*

It’s strange how something like sex, or the euphoria of an orgasm, can pull you away from the things that lay at the forefront of your mind. It’s as if it has the power to erase all memories, all thought process, but only for a while. And when you come down from the high, from the pure physical bliss, all you’re left with is your forgotten thoughts. And as Bailey lay with her head on my chest, her soft slumbered breaths doing nothing to lull my demons, I reached for my discarded jeans on the floor next to the bed and pulled out the tiny bag of cocaine. Then I looked at Bailey, my fingers stroking her hair, and then back at the drugs.

One hit.

I’d just need one hit to clear my head.

To clear the memories.

To clear my conscience.





28




Nate

Three hours earlier


A kid had overdosed. Not just any kid. The kid whose congratulations-on-being-a-perfect-f*cking-poster-child party I’d just been to had overdosed. His parents had found him dead in his bed, apparently, and because of his last name, and the wealth and social standards linked to that name, the media was already all over it. Not just the media, but the cops, the users, and the pushers. Fuck, everybody knew about it. And because of that, we had to act fast. We had to cover our bases, and we had to make sure that none of it led back to us and our supply.

For months, everything had been fine—no deaths caused by drugs (at least from what we were supplying). So I thought the last altercation we had with the Francos had sent the message that we weren’t to be f*cked with. I’d wanted to find a new supplier, but Uncle Benny had been dealing with the Francos since before I was born and he wouldn’t even consider it. So I put up with the shitty supply and made it clear to Louis Franco that we were close, and we were watching every single f*cking thing he did, waiting for him to f*ck up so I could cut ties.