There were black and white photos of random people in their rawest, realest forms, all traveling on different paths. Some were homeless people around in the heart of the city. There were photos of stoic business people in power suits, barking into cell phones. Pictures of women cradling babies, lips pressed to chubby cheeks. Portraits of children playing, laughing freely without a single care in their world. Shades of happiness, anger, sadness, desperation and love were all displayed on her walls. It was honest. It was life.
“There were a lot. More than I had space to cover. So I placed them in a folder for you.” I stepped beside her and handed her a glass of wine.
“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. “This is incredible, Dom. I just . . .” She paused to collect herself, taking a breath. “I kept telling myself that one day . . . one day I’d do it, and I’d get to relive all those special moments frozen in time. And then maybe their beauty would erase all the ugliness in my past. They would rewrite my history.”
I slipped the glass from her hand, placing it on an end table nearby. Then I pulled her into my arms. “If I could replace every hurt you’ve ever felt, I would. I would take it all and bottle them up forever so you would never suffer again. But then we wouldn’t be standing here. I wouldn’t feel for you the way that I do. And you wouldn’t be looking up at me with the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. So while I would erase your past if I could, I want to keep it too. Because without it, we would never have this present. And we’d have nothing to hope for in the future.”
She smiled at me, and I felt my insides heat. “When did you get so poetic?”
“I don’t know. I think a girl had something to do with it. She’s the artsy fartsy type.”
When she laughed, eyes closed and head dipped back, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. Because I had made her happy, if only for a little while.
“Sometimes I think I know you, Dominic Trevino,” she whispered. “And then I realize that I was wrong.”
“Not as bad as you thought, huh?”
A Cheshire grin crept onto her lips. “No. You’re much worse.”
Her mouth was soft and warm against mine, her hands delicately firm as they slid up my neck and into my hair. I could taste the longing on her tongue, sweet yet tart from the wine, and I drank it in like an elixir. She intoxicated me. Beguiled by the beauty of her soul. I felt like I had just woken up from a lifetime of detachment, and now I lived to feel everything.
I could have kissed her forever—and I wanted to—but I forced myself to pull away in an act of selflessness. There was something she needed to see. Something she needed to know about me.
“Come with me,” I said, my voice husky.
I took her hand and led her over to where that framed photo of her and Toby sat. I had paid special attention to this section, decorating it with some of the oldest photos I’d had developed. The pictures that her mother had taken. I didn’t want to upset her, so I put most of them in a folder for her to look at later. I only showcased a few shots of her and her brother, ones that would only evoke happiness in her when they called on a lost memory. She gasped aloud as she touched each one, remembering birthday parties, bike rides and forts made of blankets in the family room. I wanted her to see that not all past was pain.
When she came to a more recent photo, I awaited her reaction without breathing.
“How did you get this?”
“Last weekend after dinner . . . you let me take a few photos.”
“You said you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I didn’t. You did it all for me.”
Her back was to me in the photo, her arms outstretched and head to the sky as she stood at the cliff’s edge. She was unguarded and completely uninhibited. In that moment, she was as free as a bird.
“Turn it over,” I told her.
When she read the inscription, the words I had fashioned just for her in my scrawl, an undefined feeling filled my chest. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was lust. Maybe it was fear.
All the beauty in the world has been captured in your eyes.
Raven, you reflect life.
Then she looked at me, and I realized, it was none of those things at all. Not even close.
I DIDN’T HAVE THE words to say thank you. There was nothing in the English language that could verbally define what I was feeling at that exact moment. So I didn’t say a word. Instead, I showed him. With every single part of me, I surrendered myself to what I felt for Dominic Trevino and kissed him like my dying breath lay on his lips. And everything I had felt before—before pain and abandonment and humiliation ever played a part in our story—was resurrected. All those emotions rose up within me and took flight. And in his arms, I was soaring.
As if it were choreographed, we began to shuffle towards the hall, towards the bedroom. I wasn’t even sure who initiated the move, but I knew I wanted to. I knew I wanted him. And judging by the feel of his body against mine, hard and hot in every place my fingers touched, he wanted me too.
He wanted me.
After everything that had happened . . . all the rejection, the disgust . . . now he wanted me.
I don’t know how I was supposed to feel about that. I had changed so much since then, and so did he. We were different people now. And this Raven had never known what it felt like to have this Dom kiss her with so much passion that her knees nearly collapsed under her. She had never had every stitch of clothing peeled off her body so agonizingly slow by him. And this Dom had never let his hands worship every single solitary inch of her frame with the barest of caresses.
For this Dom and this Raven, it would be the first time. There would be no memories to overshadow it.
His hands touched me everywhere, his lips and tongue following their path. He was a blind man that could only see me through physical contact, and he needed to learn every freckle, curve and dimple. I shuddered when he dipped his head and wrapped his mouth around my nipple. I arched my back into the sensation of his gentle sucking, needing each wet, greedy draw. He gripped me around the waist, pulling me closer into the reverence of his tongue and teeth, moaning with gratitude. When I felt the sheets hit my back, he moved down further, reacquainting himself with the jeweled barbell in my navel. His short fingernails gently scraped up and down my rib cage as he kissed every bit of my torso, sending tingling warmth to my core.
The sounds I was making were indecent, raw and unbelievably erotic, but they didn’t compare to the gruff moans and growls that rumbled in his throat as he savored my body. He seemed to take pleasure in making me squirm under his touch, as if it were enough for him. As if all he wanted was to make me pant his name as he spread my thighs, my flesh, and tasted me.
I held onto his hair, because not holding onto something wasn’t an option. I knew he had experience—much more than me—but I never imagined he would be this good. Then I began to wonder if he made every woman feel this way . . . this alive. I wondered if he made their knees quiver like this while propped up on his shoulders. But as the roughness of his tongue stroked the softness in me, I couldn’t find the strength to care.
I was so ready for him, and when he moved onto his knees, I could clearly see that he was just as ready for me. He was still fully dressed, and I felt a pang of guilt for not giving his body the attention it deserved. Against the tremble in my joints, I sat up and kneeled in front of him on the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked as I began to unbutton his shirt.
“What does it look like?”
I frowned a bit, but it didn’t deter me. “I wanted this to be about you tonight. I want to take care of you.”
I fumbled with the last button then slipped the garment over his shoulders. “You do. You have. But now it’s my turn. I’ve waited too long for this chance, and I’m not going to waste it.”
His chest and abs were spectacular, as I knew they would be. Deep cuts of muscle under smooth, bronze skin were like marble underneath my fingertips. A short d
usting of black hair ran from his belly button and disappeared into the waistband of his slacks. I leaned forward and kissed his chest, the skin like heated silk under my lips, and went for the clasp of his pants. I kissed him again, this time wetting a small, brown nipple with the flick of my tongue. He groaned and gripped the back of my head, spurring me on. I licked the other one, then raked my teeth down to his abs. I wanted more of him. I needed every glorious inch of the man I’d longed for since I was just a girl.
“Lie down,” I demanded, guiding him onto the bed.
Once he was flat on his back, I crawled up his body, resuming my tour of his torso. I laved each nipple thoroughly. I kissed every mound of muscle on his abs. Then I followed the little trail of dark hair with my tongue.
I worked on the buttons of his pants and moved them down his legs. His boxers were next to go, and he was only too eager to ease the strain that jumped and pulsed in my palm when I took hold. I put him to my lips, tasted the slickened skin from root to tip. His whole body trembled, and his breaths were reduced to short, jerky pants.
I had power over him. I was controlling his pleasure. And that revelation within itself was nearly enough to send me over the edge.
I worked him with my mouth and hands until he begged me to stop. And even then I tortured him a bit more. We laughed when he pulled me up from between his legs and flipped me over.
“You’re asking for trouble, aren’t you?” he grinned lazily, tousled hair falling into his eyes.
“If your name is Trouble, then yes. Yes, I am.”
He kissed me deep and long and so thoroughly that it was like being fucked. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t want to. I had surrendered to his sensual asphyxiation, had offered my life in exchange for his passion. It scared me how badly I wanted this—how desperately I needed him. He was my greatest fear and my most erotic fantasy, stripped raw and melded into one.
He was Trouble. And I wasn’t asking for him. I was begging.
I’D LOST MY VIRGINITY before I could read.
By the time I finished high school, I’d slept with more than half of the entire female student body, earning the moniker Dirty Dom.
In college, I had lived up to it, and then some.
But in this moment, with Raven’s body under me, all over me, I felt like I had been born again. I was renewed by a feeling so foreign and overwhelming, that I knew I would never be the same. Not after tonight.
I died inside her. I died and came back to life, only so I could live for her.
Every stroke was a gasp of air. Every kiss was a heartbeat. And every touch was seeing for the very first time.
I’d had wet. I’d had warm. But I’d never had this. Not with anyone. There was something undoubtedly innocent about her, although she obviously knew what she was doing. She touched me like she wanted every caress to count. Like she wanted her body—her soul—imprinted to mine. No one had ever wanted me like that. There were women that wanted to covet my body, my attention, my cock, but no one had ever made me feel like they wanted me.
She touched my face and looked at me as I surged inside her. My first instinct was to close my eyes or look away, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t let me. There was a peace in her glassy eyed-gaze, as if she could see the ugly inside me . . . could see the shame and regret and pain . . . and find beauty in it. Find life worth saving in all the rot and decay. She saw me in that ruin. And with her hands grasping my shoulders, her back arching to its peak, she saved me.
And I was there.
Every second, every minute. Every sigh and gasp and groan, I was there with Raven. I felt her touch and kiss. I felt her softness surrounding me, sucking me deeper into bliss. I didn’t have to block it out—I didn’t want to. I was there because I wanted to be. I was there because I loved her.
We lay tangled in sheets damp with sweat, our bodies still glistening in afterglow. Everything felt different now, maybe because I felt different now. This would have been the part when I’d grab my pants, kiss the chick on the forehead and get the hell outta there. If I was feeling romantic, I’d bring her a washcloth. If I was hungry, I’d offer her a meal. It was always on my terms, always about what I wanted. And now, my needs were the furthest thing from my mind. No, that wasn’t true. My needs were wrapped up in pleasing Raven.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered, her voice raspy with exhaustion and strain. I liked that she wasn’t afraid to be vocal, yet she didn’t feel the need to be dramatic about it, in an attempt to stroke my ego. Most women I’d been with were like that. They thought that if they screamed the loudest or came the hardest, I’d somehow be encouraged to stay.
I rolled onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow so I could look at her. “Nothing. Everything.”
“That’s awfully vague.”
“Well, would you believe me if I said I was thinking about you?”
“And that’s awfully corny.”
She laughed, and I realized what a great laugh it was. It was the throaty kind that made her voice sound super sexy. And now that it was tinged with a touch of hoarseness, it was even more erotic. Damn, I could feel myself getting hard again.
“Seriously. I am. I’m thinking about you, and how that was beyond anything my imagination could have come up with.”
“Well, what did you think? That I had a third boob like that alien broad in Total Recall?”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “No, but if you did . . .”
“Don’t even say it,” she shook her head. “Because if you say tri-boobs gets your rocks off, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
I let my fingers trail up her belly to caress the underside of her breast before pinching the nipple. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh yeah? What makes you think I won’t?”
I guided a pebbled bud into my mouth while simultaneously moving between her legs. “Because I’ve got a few good reasons why you’d want me to stay.”
Saturday was Raven, and so was Sunday.
In truth, I wanted her to be everyday ending with Y.
But Monday . . .
Monday would not be claimed. She was a bitch that relented for no one. And even though I was still high off Saturday night, plus three times on Sunday, that internal solitude would not last. It wasn’t mine to keep. I should have known better.
Raven had picked up an evening shift at Dive, so I offered to drive Toby over after work. I could see he had something on his mind. The kid wasn’t stupid; he knew what his sister and I had been up to. And while he seemed okay with it, I needed him to know that my intentions were pure.
“So, you know I really care about your sister,” I said to him on the drive over to Dive. He cut his eyes at me and shrugged. “And you know that I would never do anything to hurt her or you.” A single nod. “I guess I just want you to know that I’m serious about her, and I want to be in both your lives. But if you’re not cool with it, just let me know. Okay?”
He nodded again, and then went for his pen and pad a minute later. When I was stopped at a red light, he passed me the note.
I smiled and nodded my head. It wasn’t the most traditional blessing, but it told me everything I needed to know. Toby approved. And that was all that mattered.
The usual Dive Happy Hour crowd was in full swing, and it felt good walking in that evening. It felt like I was coming home, as corny as it sounded. It wasn’t the place; it was the fact that everyone that I loved was under one roof. Raven, Toby, Angel, Kami and yeah, Blaine. Hell, even CJ was part of this dysfunctional group that had become my family. And considering he was still seeing Victoria—a record for him—maybe she would be too.
I swear it was like we were a support group for the hopeless and dejected. Orphaned? Abused? Abandoned? Rejected? Molested? Misunderstood? We’ll take you in!
That was how it was, and how it should be. Even the broken needed a place to belong.
“’Sup, Dirty . . . little dude,” CJ said to us in greeting. “Catch the game last night?
”
“Please, stop with the Dirty crap,” I muttered, bypassing him to give both Kami and Angel a peck on the cheek. “And no. I was busy.”
“Busy, eh?” His brows danced suggestively, to which I pretended to ignore. “Oh, come on! Don’t leave me hanging!”
“Will you shut up?” Blaine chimed in after filling a drink order. I gave him a head nod in thanks. “Hey, Toby. Mr. Bradley, our cook, has got steak nachos on special tonight. I’m sure I could snag an order if you’re interested. Sound good?”
Toby nodded eagerly before scribbling down,
“Cool. I’ll have your sister bring ’em over when she gets a sec. Sprite, too?”
Toby nodded again, even allowing a small smile to break through. Blaine grabbed a glass for his soda then looked over to me. “Beer?”
“Definitely. Thanks, man.”
“What kinda guy brings a kid to a bar?” a familiar voice said from behind me.
When I turned around, I didn’t bother hiding my smile. There was no way I could. Hearing her voice, seeing her face . . . it was if someone had hooked me up to a defibrillator and brought me back to life. I didn’t care who saw, I had to feel her body against mine. I hopped down from the stool and scooped Raven into my arms, spinning her around. She squealed out a laugh, which I hungrily swallowed with a kiss.
“Missed you,” I said against her lips.
“You just saw me. Less than 24 hours ago.”
“I know, but still . . .” I released her for only a split second to lean over and grab a bag I had brought in from the car. “I have something for you.”