The smell of sweaty feet wafts through the farmhouse, bowl upon bowl of curried vegetables filling up the kitchen. I gag once and inhale through my mouth. Raven puts our containers of store-bought salad beside something that looks regurgitated. Her long hair meets the top of her blue dress, the girly look not my first choice on her. I like Raven dark and edgy, exactly how she is. But those buttons on the front catch the light—winking at me, teasing me—and her black bra is visible below the fabric.
Tonight can’t come soon enough.
Back at the motel, we dropped our bags, both of us eyeing the queen bed in the middle of our room. I ached to fling her on the mattress and show her just how much I’ve missed her since Aspen. But making love to Raven won’t be quick business. It will be slow and intense and deep. And as tough as she’s being, this still has to be hard for her. Her sarcasm doesn’t hide the way she’s picked her cuticles raw since leaving earlier, the way she studies every woman she sees.
She bends forward now to move bowls around, her dress shifting over her round ass, and I grab her waist. It’s more than this piercing attraction, though. I want her close. Want her to know she can lean on me.
She straightens and falls against my chest.
“As soon as we talk to this Clara woman,” I whisper, “we’re getting out of here.”
She presses the curve of her ass into my groin. “I couldn’t agree more.”
I grunt and push her forward, unable to handle the contact. These free-loving hippies might not bat an eye at two people going at it in the kitchen, but I want Raven all to myself. No prying eyes. No interruptions. Just her and me and a lot less clothing.
I grab her hand to keep her close as we weave through the twenty-odd people in the house. This place looks like a rainbow puked on it. So do the guests. Unfortunately, so do I. I can’t stop scratching at the wig, the hat is ugly as sin, and I’ll be burning this Hawaiian shirt the second it leaves my body. Raven doesn’t seem to mind. She keeps glancing at me, her eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them, like I’m in nothing but my boxer briefs.
The briefs barely containing me.
She was smart, though. If I were in my black T-shirt and aviator glasses, I doubt Lake would have given us the time of day. I spot him in the same beanbag chair as earlier, same guitar in his hands, probably still plucking out the same damn tune. I stop beside him, and he doesn’t glance up. Raising my voice over the crowd and music won’t win me any favors, so I fall into the beanbag chair beside him, all arms and legs. Sawyer and Kolton would have a field day with me in these clothes, in this chair, my knees bent up to my ears. When I stop shifting around, Raven sits between my legs and tucks her knees to her chest. Suddenly, this stupid excuse for a piece of furniture doesn’t seem so bad.
I wrap my arms around her. “Lake,” I call, but the dude doesn’t budge.
Raven leans forward and taps his thigh. When he doesn’t twitch, she smacks him harder.
His lids flutter open. “Oh, hey.” His pupils dilate like a cartoon character. A stoned, dreadlocked cartoon character. He sways toward us then pulls back. “Spirit, right?”
Yep, the guys would kill themselves laughing. “Yeah. You mentioned Clara would be here tonight. Has she arrived?”
He glances around the room, but I’d bet all he sees is a blurred rainbow. “Yeah. Probably.” Then he closes his eyes, his fingers strum, and he returns to his corner of the world.
Fucking hippies.
Raven sighs. She leans heavier into my chest, tilts her head, and brushes her nose against my neck. A bolt of heat strikes my groin. She kisses me, a slow taste with her tongue that has me crushing her to my chest. If she had any doubt what effect she has on me, my hard-on against her back should reassure her. Needing a taste, too, I nuzzle my face into her hair until I have her ear between my teeth. Her replying whimper is all the reward I need.
“Like I said, Petal, let’s find Clara and get out of here.”
“You sure, Spirit? Because I’m pretty comfortable.”
“I’m sure. My plan for your petal doesn’t involve a room full of people.”
She laughs. “I like it when your inner hippie talks dirty.” She grinds backward, but I still her hips.
Slow, intense, deep, I remind myself.
When Raven admitted she’s never felt this close to anyone before, my heart nearly busted through my ribs. All my nerve endings shot to life—being near her hurt, swallowing hurt, looking at her hurt. This morning it was a relief hearing she’d never done hard drugs. I didn’t like learning she’d lied to cops to cover for some punk, but that was years ago. I won’t second-guess her. If she says that part of her life is done, it’s done. All I want now is to make up for the months I’ve wasted since Aspen. The time I’ve wasted the past couple weeks.
Starting with making love to her tonight.
“My inner hippie plans to get you nice and high, naturally. But not here.” I grab her hips to lift her up and give myself a minute to avoid embarrassment. Then I push to my feet and search for the only other person we know. Hopefully Wispy’s breast is tucked away tonight. Nikki used to do that in the house, breastfeed on a whim. I get it. I approve of it. But damn, if it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.
Sixties music comes from a nearby stereo, guests swaying, some with their hands in the air. The smell of pot is unmistakable. I smoked once in high school, but it wasn’t my thing. I prefer my mind sharp, in control. Occasionally I drink too much, but I’ve never been face-first in a toilet like Sawyer and Kolton. I never let things go that far.
When I spot Wispy, her flowing dress is intact. She’s with a couple of women, their eyes closed and heads swaying to the music. I move in behind them and tap her shoulder.
Without pausing, she opens her eyes. A lazy grin sweeps across her face. “Spirit, hi.”
Raven snorts, and I ignore her. The sooner we get the information we need, the sooner we get back to the motel. “Lake mentioned a girl named Clara would be here tonight. You know her?”
She nods and sways, and nods and sways. She nudges the redhead beside her. “Clara, these folks wanna talk to you.”
That was surprisingly easy. Unlike Wispy, Clara stops dancing and studies us warily, eyes lingering on my wig and beret. “Do I know you?”
Her red hair is in two braids, like a doll my sister had. She tugs one, bites her lip, and swallows, everything about her shifty. I’m about to speak when Raven pushes in front of me. “I’m looking for my sister. Rose Hunt? Lake said you might know where she’s living.”
Clara stops fiddling with her braid and settles her weight on one hip. “I didn’t know Rose had a sister.”
Raven sags forward. Hurt maybe? Upset Rose doesn’t talk about her? I move closer, pressing my chest to her back. “They haven’t seen each other in a long time,” I say. “Any chance you know where we can find her?”
More swallowing and braid spinning, and worry snakes up my spine. I’ve been around enough skittish criminals and degenerates to sense when someone has something to hide. After she’s twirled her hair umpteen times, she says, “Last I heard she was crashing at a friend’s in Vancouver. A guy by the name of Russ Adams. Around East Hastings, I think.”
Raven’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of Hastings. She’s been there. She knows the types that live in the area. As do I. I’ve been so focused on helping her and getting my mind right, I didn’t stop to consider the implications. Sure, emotionally, this was bound to be tough, but connecting with her sister could mean learning truths better left ignored. The bad elements I worried about might still shove their way into Raven’s life.
Lead settles in my gut, but this isn’t about me. I owe Raven my trust, and she has so much riding on this. She’s built Rose up in her mind for seventeen years. That comes with expectations, hopes that could go up in smoke.
I school my features. “You have an address?”
Clara shakes her head as a waft of curry hits my nose. I fight the urge to gag. Once we say our thanks, I pull Raven after me, inhaling the damp air outside like I’ve been drowning. My gym bag smells better than that.
“Indian food is amazing. I bet if you tried it, the smell wouldn’t bother you so much.”
“How about I take your word for it.” Give me meat and potatoes any day. I scratch my wig and suck in a few more breaths. “Looks like our search continues.”
She’s back to picking her cuticles, her shoulders nearing her ears. “We’re getting closer, though. Can you find the address? Or I can look it up back home.”
“I got this, babe. Don’t worry about a thing.” I press my lips to hers, and she hums against me. Two gentle kisses later, her posture relaxes, but I’m still leery. I pull my phone from my back pocket. “I’ll send Alessi the name. Get him to put it in the system and see if we get any hits.”
She grabs her skirt and swings from side to side. “That’s awful kind of you, Spirit.”
Raven keeps hamming it up, swaying her shoulders and giving me bedroom eyes. Likely masking the turmoil still brewing in her mind. Hopefully we’re both overacting. Clara’s shifty behavior was probably because of my ridiculous outfit, this wig enough to put anyone on edge.
Either way, Raven needs a distraction. I could use one, too. One that doesn’t involve the virginal role she’s playing. I spent a night with her in Aspen—her nails left marks on my neck, and memories of her sexy moans kept me up nights afterward. She may have been too drunk to remember much of what we did, but I wasn’t. I remember it all.
“I need us back at that hotel,” I say, my voice gruff.
She licks her lips. “Yes, please.”
I rip off my hat and wig and drive faster than an off-duty cop should.
* * *
She’s out her side of the car before I come to a complete stop, her door slamming as I pull my keys from the ignition. If she thinks she’s as desperate as I am to get naked, she doesn’t have a clue. She races up the steps to the motel’s second story, teasing me by turning twice. Each time a new button on her dress has been undone, and I quicken my strides. Her key is in the lock when I reach her.
She swings the door wide, but I grab her hips from behind and pull her against me. “I want you so fucking bad.” Her dress is soft, the fabric sliding over her curves as she rubs against me, her ass pressed to my thighs. I can’t get close enough. I cup her breast and bite her neck and walk us forward into the room. Kicking the door shut, I spin her around, latch an arm around her waist, and haul her to me. My lips are on hers in seconds. She grips my neck, the flat of our tongues connecting as our kiss deepens. Moans trade, teeth bump. I’m hungry for her. Starving. Like nothing I’ve ever felt.
She comes up for air and sucks a trail down my neck. “I’m so wet,” she says against my pulse.
The throbbing point nearly tears through my neck.
I grab her ass and lift her up. Sensing what I’m after, she latches her legs around my waist. Her heels dig into my hips, her thin dress riding up, her underwear nothing but air between us. Grunting, I push her back into the wall and grind into her. A picture frame rattles.
“Jesus, you’re hard.” She rolls her hips into my growing cock, my zipper ready to bust. Another hip rotation, and I see double.
“That’s all you.” I rub against her. “That’s what you do to me.” I bite her neck.
She wiggles around, dropping her pelvis to get me exactly where she wants me, my confined erection hitting her sweet spot. All I want is for her to feel good, better than good. For her to get off on me, like this, her legs and arms around my body, my mouth on hers. Watch her fall apart before I strip every item of clothing off her and start again.
We move in time, her riding me, me grinding against her. Kissing gets messy—just lips and tongue and a lot of groaning. Needing to touch her, I slip my hand between us. Her underwear is drenched, the tender flesh below soft. Wet. Glorious. I sink one then two fingers inside her, using my thumb to coil her tighter and push her further and give her what she needs.
What I crave.
“God, I’m…” Her words are muffled against my neck. “I’m so…” Again they slip down my skin, but I think she says she’s close.
I roll my hips once, twice, as if we’re having sex, and my hand mirrors the movement, rocking into her. She rocks back. Raven isn’t a woman who gives herself freely. Growing up with her parents’ negligence must have been like marinating in bitterness. Her sister’s abandonment toughened her skin. With me, she’s thawing, letting me glimpse the girl beneath the attitude. It lights a fire low in my gut.
She squeezes her knees into my ribs, her nails raking my neck. “God, Nico. I’m so…” She cries out then, high-pitched and animal, her teeth clamping my shoulder as her legs tremble around me. I hold her up. I always will. When she’s spent, her body still, she sinks her full weight on my hips.
I keep her pressed to the wall, my balls aching and my dick rock hard. I kiss her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her neck, the tender spot below her ear as I ease my fingers out. “You’re sexy as hell when you come.”
She reaches between us and runs her hand over my cock. “If that’s what you can do with our clothes on, I’m dying to know what happens when the beast is unleashed.”
I kiss her mouth hard. “Soon. First we play a game.”
Pouting, she releases her legs from my waist and slides down my body. I’m aching to be inside her, but this is about more than sex for me. Nikki tells me I care too much, that I’m always trying to be the hero. Maybe I am. But learning more about Raven means I can be here for her when it counts. Pick her up when she falls. And I need to know, without a doubt, she’s willing to do this with me. Not close down when I pry.
I brush her bangs aside and tilt her chin up. Her well-kissed lips are red and swollen. “I planned on us getting naked slowly.”
Her quiet “Okay” is the perfect amount breathless.
I leave her at the wall and glance around the room. The curtains and comforter are red and gold, the brownish carpet a little worse for wear. A couple of sailboat paintings hang on the cream walls, my mind instantly on the pirate ship sailing across Raven’s tailbone. An interrogation is what we need. Two chairs flank a small table, so I drag them to the foot of the bed and face them toward each other.
I nod to the far one. “Have a seat.”
She adjusts her twisted dress and pats down her flyaway hairs, eyes narrowed as she follows my instructions. “Are we playing spin the bottle?”
I turn off the main light and switch on a lamp, then I sit opposite her, my legs wide and arms crossed, my dick throbbing. “I’m curious about your ink. For every answer I get, I’ll remove a piece of clothing. Same goes for you. Think you can play this game with me?”
“Sure, big guy. I’ll play your silly reindeer games.” Her tone is playful, but she’s tracing her rose tattoo, something she does when she’s uneasy.
Eyes locked, I ask, “The skull at the top of your left arm, how it dissolves into a flock of birds. What’s the significance?” It’s a sick tattoo, the mass of wings flapping down to her wrist.
She glances at it and smiles. Must be an easy one. “I had Lily and Shay each design something for the piece. Shay did the skull, said it was badass like me, and Lily did the ravens—an homage to my name.” Pleased with herself and how little she had to share, she sits taller. “Pass over your shirt.”
My fucking pleasure. I yank the offensive blue-and-orange-flowered top over the back of my head and toss it at her. She eyes my chest and bites her lip. I get harder. “Your turn.”
She tilts her head, her dark gaze practically drawing lines over my body. Over both tribal sleeves and the large area inked on my left pec, down to my baggy pants, zeroing in on the bulge I can’t hide, and up to my neck. “The phoenix,” she says, motioning to the tail that hangs in the middle of my chest. The bird’s body curls over my trap and up the back of my neck, flames licking at its wings. “Tell me about it.”
“Typical symbolism. The phoenix burns and rises from the ashes, reborn. I decided on it when I was thirteen but didn’t get it ’til I was older.” The day comes back, the emotions less potent but there. Always there. “They’d arrested my father the year before. He was high on something that day and grabbed me by my shirt and told me I was a worthless piece of shit. A year later he was paroled. My mom had baked a cake, like she did the previous two times. She was excited to see him, but I was dreading it. Wished he hadn’t been released. He never came home, and I imagined that as the start of my life—reborn like the phoenix. Next time I saw him was fifteen years later. The day I arrested him for dealing.”
It’s been a while since I’ve spoken about this, but a familiar anger flashes behind my eyes. A father is supposed to support you, not break you down. Not leave your mother a crying mess. Not force his son into a position where he has to choose between family and what’s right, even if that family deserves jail time.
Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “How old were you when you finally got the tattoo?”
“Eighteen.”
She nods, emotion brimming in her eyes. “What do you want of mine?”
Your heart, I want to say. “Your dress,” I ask for instead.
She stands and steps closer. “Mind helping me with the buttons?”
This, I like. The slow seduction. Getting pieces of her before I take what I want. “Sure.”
I stand, too, towering over her. Before I touch her dress, she traces the lines of the phoenix, and the edge of her nail drags across my skin. “You’re remarkable.”
It’s the same word I almost used to compliment her at the slums, but I don’t reply. I’ve never shared that much detail with a woman. Sawyer and Kolton know the shit I’ve dealt with, how hard it was to put my own father away. Remarkable isn’t the word I’d have used to describe myself, but from her, I’ll take it.
She stands, shoulders square, chest up, waiting for my big fingers to fumble with the tiny buttons keeping her body and stories hidden. She took care of the top two on our way in, so I start with the third. It pops out easier than I thought. I open the neckline farther, her breasts rising faster, then I undo the next.
And the next.
It goes like this. I spread the fabric apart, release a button. My fingers graze her chest, her breasts, her ribs, then I reach her waist. I slip the straps off her shoulder, and the blue dress pools at her feet, revealing a skimpy black bra and thong. Goose bumps flare across her skin.
“You’re skilled with your fingers.” Her voice is nothing but a hum.
I almost stop this game right here, almost drag my hands all over her. Seventeen months is a long time to go without a woman. But this is Raven, and I want more. Slowly, I back up and sit. Different flowers float across her chest, waves and petals flowing down her right arm. All black-and-gray ink, like mine. All shaded beautifully. Two wild horses decorate her left side and rib cage, a tattoo that probably hurt like hell, but it’s the shitty image on her right hip that has me curious. “Is that a chicken?”
She startles as if woken up and snorts. “Actually, it’s a guitar.” When I frown, she moves between my legs and angles the piece toward me. “I had a friend who wanted to practice. He’d just started tattooing, and I was high at the time, so I let him do a guitar on my hip. It is now affectionately referred to as the choking chicken tattoo.” She doesn’t smile at the comment. Her usual sarcasm barely covers her irritation.
“You regret it?”
She blinks several times, then reaches forward and grips my shoulders. “I don’t like how stupid I was. I slept with boys when I didn’t want to. I nearly burned down a barn. There were horses inside, and I could have killed them.” Her voice drops lower. “You wouldn’t have liked me back then. I hardly liked myself.”
I run my hands up her thighs, grip the edges of her hipbones, and pull her closer. “Why did you do those things?”
“To fit in. To feel like people liked me. Why does anyone do stupid stuff?”
She answers too quickly, like there’s more to it than that, but I get it. The draw to feel wanted. Still, my whole life I’ve worked to avoid the things she regrets. If kids at school were up to no good, I’d walk the other way. When punks at the rec center stand too close to the edge, I sit them down and list every person from the neighborhood who’s dead or in jail, painting as clear a picture for them as I can.
The thought of Raven breaking laws is tough to swallow, but she didn’t have anyone to set her straight. No parents who cared enough or siblings to keep her in line. But she turned her life around, and if she hadn’t done those things, she probably wouldn’t be here right now, gripping my shoulders, telling me secrets, her body about to become mine.
I lean forward and press a kiss to the ugly tattoo. “Our past choices shape us, but our future ones define us. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Now give me your right shoe.”
She glances down. “Do shoes count as clothing?”
“In my game, they do. I still have lots of questions.”
An eye roll later, she has one shoe off and is seated again. For the next while we swap stories and shed clothing. Shed our boundaries. My feelings for her morph into something bigger than this moment. She tells me about the pirate ship on her back, how she dreamed of sailing the seas as a kid, away from home. She also wanted an eye patch and a peg leg. I tell her about the stars across my lower abdomen, the largest for my mother, then two for my siblings, the smallest two for Jack and Colin. The vines up her left leg are woven with feathers, symbols of her First Nations heritage. Telling her about the large Libra scale on my back is the hardest. Weights and measures. Choices. How easy it is to tip the balance. I got it after I sent my father to jail. It reminds me there’s no gray area. Only right and wrong.
She clams up once. When I ask about the dragonfly on her right ribs, she says, “Not yet.” Two words that I respect. The small insect has bright red eyes, and its wings are burning. I’m guessing it’s linked to her sister taking off.
After a spell, all that’s left are her thong and my boxers. Her pink nipples are tight, begging to be touched. Licked. The head of my cock pokes out of the top of my briefs, so fucking hard. The air buzzes between us, along with silence. We stare, take our fill, neither of us asking more questions. We’re both ready for what comes next.