In the Bad Boy's Bed (9 page)

After he disappeared into the building, I was alone. Everyone else was in class. The silence felt thick and eerie but welcoming. I trudged toward class, feeling lonely and empty and sorry for myself. It had been way too long since I'd laid in Nick's arms, bathed in his love. And now that he'd seen me with Sean, I'd probably be waiting a lot longer. If only I could see him, talk to him, I could make him understand. I know I—

The thoughts had barely materialized when Nick came out of the English building, backpack slung over one wide shoulder, head down. I stopped. Stared. Willed him to look at me. As if he'd heard me, his gaze moved up, found mine, then skittered away as he passed me, as if I no longer existed to him.

Pockets of pain exploded inside me at the brush off, sending shrapnel into my heart and lungs and stomach. Was this how he felt all the times I'd ignored him in the halls, at our lockers, across campus? I couldn't breathe from the hurt.

"Nick." The sound, rough and dry as winter leaves, barely counted as a word, but it snagged his attention.

He stopped, turned to face me, his eyes boring into mine accusingly, but he didn't speak and he didn't make a move toward me. He was stone. If we were to be fixed, all the connecting, the apologizing, the pleading would have to come from me.

Now that I had his attention, I didn't know what to do with it.

"Hi."

One corner of his mouth twitched his silent response. Poor guy was probably too shocked that I'd openly speak to him at school to do anything else. Taking that tiny response as a welcome sign, I gave him a small smile and stepped closer. He smelled really good, like rain and soap. I wanted to curl up next to him and bury my nose in his skin.

"I thought you had a class," I asked.

"Cancelled." A one-word response was better than none; definitely better than his walking away.

"Hey, can we go somewhere? Talk."

"We are talking."

Wow. A whole sentence. I smiled, moved closer, slid my fingers down his arm. It was warm, smooth, like hot metal.

"Maybe I want to do more than talk."

Shyness dropped my gaze from his. I saw his pulse jumping at the base of his throat. His tongue snake out to wet his lips. Yeah, he knew what I meant. He knew what I wanted. He swallowed, and I could see him trying to gather words.

I looked into his face, eager to see the 'yes' in his eyes, to hear the word leave his mouth. Instead I got a half grunt half snort sound.

"Not happening."

The 'no' stunned like a slap, shifting me back half a step. He spun on his heel and continued on toward his bike.

"Nick." I caught up with him. He didn't respond, just kept walking, long strides that I found difficult to match.

I grabbed his arm. "Nick, wait."

"What do you want, Angela?" The anger flashing in his eyes and in his tone surprised me, hurt me. I felt tears forming.

"You."

Though pitiful and small, the word made an impression. His eyes opened wide for a split second then lowered half way. Then he shook his head, as if he didn't believe me.

He took a step closer, touched my face. "Be honest, Angel. If not with me, then with yourself. You don't want me. Not really."

I grabbed his hand, pressed a kiss into his palm. "Yes I do. I want you, Nick. I need you."

I felt a charge pass between us, the same feeling that always sparked into being whenever we came together. He wanted me, too; I heard it in his pulse at his wrist. Saw it in his gaze. Felt it in his breath on my cheek.

"Ask your boyfriend to take care of your needs."

He made a motion to leave, but I pulled his face to mine and kissed him. For the first time, I wasn't thinking about whether anyone from school saw me. I was thinking only of making sure he understood.

At first he remained stone cold, but soon his lips warmed and moved against mine, and his body molded into my curves. The feeling of having him attached to me again pushed out the sadness and loneliness that filled me for days and replaced it with joy and happiness. My soul strummed with satisfaction.

He broke off the kiss but took my hands in his. "Angel, are you back with Sean?"

"No," I shook my head. "Never."

"His arm around you on your ice cream date said something else."

"It's a long story, but my parents and his found out we broke up, so they forced us to go get ice cream to 'work out our issues.' I don't know why he put his arm around me; I mean, I'd made it perfectly clear how I felt. And if you'd stayed to watch what happened next, you'd have seen me immediately move away from him, throw my ice cream into the trash, and storm off to the car."

He smiled. "You threw away your ice cream?"

I shrugged. "Too upset."

"Obviously. And what about when you got home? Did you sit on his lap and kiss his neck in front of mommy and daddy and act like ice cream had magically worked everything out between you two?"

I giggled at the ridiculous thought. "I locked myself in my room."

"Ah. The spoiled-child-throwing-a-fit routine . . . bet it works well for you," he teased.

"Whatever," I said and playfully twisted his nipple.

He jerked back, making a big show of wincing in pain. "Damn, woman, I think you twisted it off." He looked down between us. "Do you see it on the ground?"

I laughed. "Poor baby. Tell you what," I slipped my arms around his waist, "get me out of here, and I'll give you some really fine first aid for that nipple."

He sighed. "Hmmm. Guess I'd better do what you say. No telling what body part you'll pull off next."

"You got that right."

* * * * *

"Hurry up," I urged Nick, my arms around his waist, one hand crawling under his shirt, the other grabbing at the bulge behind his zipper. His house key was in the lock, but it wasn't turning.

He growled in frustration. "Move back," he said. "I'm going to kick this damn door down."

I giggled. "Move aside." I pushed him aside, pulled out the key, fitted it in again, grabbed the door handle and pulled it toward me, and turned the key. The lock unclicked easily, and I opened the door. I handed him his keys, a big know-it-all smile on my face.

"OK, smart ass. Get in here." He pulled me into the house.

The door had barely slammed shut behind us before we were in his room. His mouth was on mine at the same time his arms slipped around me. His hands splayed across my butt and pressed me closer to the hardness held in by his zipper.

The fire that had burned low in my stomach since we'd left school now flared to life, consuming everything until only desire controlled my body. It ground my pelvis into his, showing him how I wanted him. I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, pulled it up his chest and over his head, and let it drop to the floor.

My mouth brushed over his twisted nipple teasingly, lovingly, then the other one.

My jealous tongue joined in the fun, licking the tiny puckered nibs until Nick groaned in pleasure.

"That's some first aid you got there, doc."

"There's more."

My mouth wandered downward, across the valleys and peaks of his ribs, over his tight, muscled stomach, around his belly-button, to the waistband of his jeans guarding the treasures below. I moved my way back up over familiar territory to his mouth. I kissed him, stroking his tongue with mine, while my hands moved to his belt buckle.

Expertly unfastening it, I pulled it from its loops and dropped it to the floor, then attacked the button, prying it from its tight hole. Carefully, slowly tugging the zipper tab down, I was rewarded with the sight of a dark blue mountain of cotton. To get a better view and greater access, I pushed his jeans down over his hips; they pooled onto the floor.

With both hands, I held him, stroked him, tugged him. He cupped my face in his large hands, brushed his thumb against my jaw. I looked into his face. His eyes were alight with love and passion.

"I want you, Nick. I need you. Never forget that."

"Never."

Unable to wait any longer to feel his hands on my skin, I yanked off my shirt. His hands went to work undoing my bra. My breasts spilled out, full and heavy, my nipples hard and ready for his mouth. He palmed them, and dropped his head to fit them one at a time into his mouth.

His mouth taking care of my breasts, his hands moved to my skirt. With barely a flick of his thumb, it was unbuttoned and sliding down my legs. He slipped his hand inside my panties and slid a finger along my wet seam. I was so ready for him, for his touch, that he was able to easily slide one, long finger inside me. At the rush of it, I grabbed hold of him inside his underwear.

The feeling of him beating in my hands, of his fingers inside me melted the bones in my body, but I managed to raise one leg and wrap it around him, giving him all the room he needed. As his finger slid in and out of me, and his knuckle rubbed my button into a frenzy of white-hot desire, his mouth consumed mine. We would burn up if we didn't find a way to extinguish this inferno soon.

"Ah, Nick. I've wanted you for so long. Don't make me wait any more."

"Tell me what you want me to do, Angel."

"Make love to me. Fill me with your body."

The last scrap of clothes gone from our bodies, he laid me on his bed, and filled me completely.

* * * * *

Contentment and sexually satisfaction has a way of making a body sleepy.

Sometime after our third time, we fell asleep in each other's arms, nothing covering our bodies but cooling sweat and the smell of each other's juices.

Something, a soft sound, the feeling of a presence, jolted me from my dozing. I lifted my head from Nick's shoulder for a better listen. A boy, about twelve years old, with blond hair and dark eyes, stood in the doorway, his eyes and mouth comically wide. The soft sound that had pricked holes in my slumber had been his labored breathing.

"Ah, shit," I whispered. "Nick. Nick, get up. We've got company."

Nick's eyes popped open. "Hmmm?"

His gaze followed my nod toward the door. He bolted up, trying to find the sheet and cover us. "Simon, get the hell out of here."

"I'm telling Mom. Mom!" Simon disappeared from the doorway and ran down the hall. I heard him talking but I couldn't hear the words. I also heard a response, in a female voice.

"Oh, shit. My mom's home, too? What time is it?" He leaned over me to look at the alarm clock sitting on the table between the twin bed. "Oh, fuck. It's 4:00. I'm supposed to be at work."

He jumped out of bed and shut and locked the door. He grabbed our discarded clothes from the floor and dropped them in a pile on the bed. We dressed as fast as we could. Pounding on the door sped us up even more.

"Steven Nickolas Donnelly! Open this door. Simon said you're in there with a naked girl." More pounding, followed by more shouting. "Get your butt out here right this minute or I will break down this door."

Ah, so that's where he got it.

He grinned. "Sorry, Angel. This is going to be fucking awkward."

I grinned back, as if to say, we're in it together. "I'll get you back for this, Steven Nickolas Donnelly."

He rolled his eyes as he slid his arms into his black T-shirt and pulled it over his head. He took my hand.

"Ready for the firing squad?"

"No. But let's get it over with."

He opened the door. I half expected his mother to attack us right then and there, but she didn't. She wasn't even there. Hand in hand we walked out the door, down the hallway, into the living room. His mother sat in the rocker, rocking furiously.

She was a handsome woman, with long, dark hair, like Nick's, and dark eyes that snapped with anger and disappointment. Her unflattering clothes did nothing to accentuate her slim figure.

"Mom, this is Angel. Angel, my mom, Catanna Donnelly."

"Mrs. Donnelly, it's nice to meet you."

She jumped in. "First of all, I'm not a Mrs., so don't call me that. Second, I'm sure you'd agree that we're not meeting in the best of circumstances, and if you won't judge me by our first meeting, I won't judge you either. Third, I have family business to discuss with my son, so I think it's best you leave. Now."

I turned to Nick. "See you later."I headed toward the door, my purse and shoes in my hand, when Nick grabbed my wrist.

"Mom, I'm her ride home."

"Nick, it's OK," I said. "I'll walk, or try to call Gena for a ride."

"No. Mom, I'm not going to let her walk home from this neighborhood. It's at least five miles. Besides, I need to get to work."

"Nick, I—"

"Mom, I promise. We'll talk when I get home. But right now, I have to go." He grabbed his shoes and his jacket and his helmet and ushered me out the door ahead of him.

He stuffed his socks into his pockets and pulled on his shoes, slipped on his jacket and helmet, and climbed on the bike to start it.

I slipped into my sandals and put the strap of my purse around me, then climbed on the bike behind him. His mother's face stared out through the living room window at us as we zoomed away.

He dropped me at my driveway, dropped a quick kiss on my mouth, and left.

I didn't envy Nick the scene he'd be coming home to tonight. I couldn't help but feel a little responsible for it. I was the one who tempted him into going to his house to make love. Not that he took all that much convincing. I smiled, remembering how we'd loved each other today.

When I no longer saw Nick's bike on the road, I turned to go in. In comparison to Nick's old, small, brown house, mine was grand, new, and white. But there was one key feature that they shared: a concerned mother staring out the living room window at her child, revealing in her frowning face all the anger and disappointment that filled her soul.

I walked in, grizzlies duking it out in my stomach.

My mother started crying when she saw me.

"You can't be with that boy, Angela. You just can't."

"Mom, I . . . ." I thought about lying to her, denying our relationship, but I couldn't do it. "I care about him. He makes me happy. I want to be with him."

"I don't care what you want," she shouted. Her anger scorched her tears but there were too many for it to dry them all. "Your father and I won't let you throw away your future on this boy."