A few heads turn my way as I emerge from the back hallway, some people looking curious and some looking lascivious, but I ignore all of them and make a beeline for the front door.
The night air of Los Angeles feels cool on my heated skin, and the sheen of sweat at the nape of my neck tickles as it dries slowly.
Now that I’m outside the bar and away from prying eyes, I allow my footsteps to slow a little, giving my wobbly legs time to adjust. My whole body is still buzzing, and I try to cling to the feeling of weightless euphoria that flooded me as I came—but it’s already slipping away.
“Fuck,” I mutter, coming to a stop as I press a hand over my chest.
Then I let out a startled yelp as a large body collides with mine from behind, thick arms wrapping around my waist.
“It’s not enough.” Gray’s voice is a deep rumble in my ear. “I’m not fucking finished.”
My body goes lax in his arms as something almost like relief floods me.
Maybe I should be scared that a man I don’t even know can elicit that kind of immediate reaction in me, but the thought is banished from my mind as his spicy scent envelops me. Keeping his arms firmly wrapped around me, he steers me into an alley to our left, kicking away a discarded beer bottle before I trip over it.
One hand leaves my waist to sweep the hair away from my neck, and then his mouth is on me again. He presses me against the wall, and my hands come up, palms scraping against the rough brick as he grinds his cock against my ass.
He’s hard again, his dick straining against the confines of his jeans like a steel rod.
I groan when he flicks open the button of my jeans and shoves his hand into my pants for the second time tonight, his fingers moving unerringly to my clit like the first time was just the fucking practice round. Like he’s memorized every inch of me already.
“You thought you could just throw your fucking panties in the trash and walk out of that room with your hot little pussy covered by nothing but your jeans?” he growls, sliding a finger through my folds.
I’m already wet—still wet—and he drags my slick arousal up to my clit, using the wetness to glide the pads of his fingers over my nub.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, nipping and kissing my shoulder as he plays with my clit like it’s a toy he’ll never give up.
His hips are pulsing against mine, his cock demanding and hot, and this time, I can’t fucking wait for him to finish teasing me. Taking my hands off the wall, I let my cheek and torso rest against it as I reach for my zipper and yank it down, then shove my pants over my hips.
He lets out a tortured sound and pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a choked cry from my lips. I don’t know if it’s meant as a punishment or a reward, but I don’t have time to consider it.
The sharp snick of a zipper fills the air as Gray undoes his own pants, and before I can even gather a full breath into my lungs to prepare myself, he’s sliding inside me again.
My body is better prepared for him this time, already acquainted with the length and girth of his cock, and we both groan as he bottoms out inside me.
“Hands on the wall,” he orders, and I do it without a single thought.
His hands fall to my hips, fingers digging into the flesh there as he tugs me backward a little, forcing me to hinge at the waist. My face and breasts leave the wall, and my fingernails practically claw at the brick as I work to keep my balance.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his hips slapping against my ass as he begins to drive into me hard and fast. “What are you doing to me?”
I moan in response, arching my back more in invitation as my mouth falls open slightly.
His hunger is like a living thing. I can feel it radiating from him, feel the force of it in every thrust, every shift of his grip on my hips as our bodies collide over and over.
It’s hard.
Fast.
Brutal.
He fucks me like a death row inmate eating his last meal—vicious and ravenous, determined to leave nothing behind.
And when he comes, he wraps an arm around my torso and hauls me upright, pressing my back to his chest as his other hand finds my clit. All it takes is a few circles of his fingertips and I’m fucking done for, falling over the edge with him as he throbs inside me.
We both collapse forward a little, and I put my hands on the wall again to catch us, wondering dazedly if his legs are as wrecked as mine are. I can feel his heart slamming against my back, and I miss the steady rhythm of it as he pulls away.
His fingertips ghost over my back, and I realize he’s tracing the outline of the tattoo on my shoulder.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
Then he slides out of me and turns me around, pressing my back to the rough brick before fixing our clothes. This time, there’s nothing to wipe up his cum with, but I can’t even pretend I fucking care.
When we’re somewhat put back together again, he takes my face in his hands, threading his fingers through my hair. And then he kisses me.
It’s not as heated or frantic as any of our other kisses. Instead, it’s just deep.
Bone deep.
Soul deep.
Bottom of the fucking ocean deep.
My hands come up to cling to his, and I’m practically up on my tiptoes as my body strains to take the kiss just a little, impossibly, deeper.
When our lips finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine for a second, and for the first time since I caught sight of him in the bar, I don’t sense the heavy cloud of pain that I recognized so well in him.
And in this moment, I don’t feel it in myself either.
I feel… peaceful.
Gray lets out a deep breath. His lips press to mine in a kiss that could almost be called chaste if he hadn’t just fucked me raw next to a dumpster.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Then he backs away, shooting me one last lingering glance before leaving the alley.
4
Three Months Later
I don’t think about the day Jared died often.
At least, not when I’m careful.
I don’t think about my visit to the Medical Examiner’s Office or the encounter with the gorgeous stranger in the bar either.
But as I pack the last of my scant belongings into a duffel bag, it’s hard not to remember that day. It’s been months since I was called in to ID Jared, then called back a few days later to collect his ashes since he had no burial plans—and even if he did, who would’ve paid anyway?
I took his ashes up into the foothills and scattered them. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to dump them where I did, but I don’t really give a fuck.
Generally speaking, I don’t let myself dwell on that day, or on missing my friend at all. But today, I really wish he was here.
Today’s my last day in foster care, and even though I’m glad as hell to be getting out, I feel... I don’t know.
Unsettled. Rudderless.
I’ll spend a couple days in a halfway house for “youths in transition” until the meeting with my caseworker solidifies my future. If I’m lucky, I’ll get approved for a work-study program at a community college.
I don’t bank on being lucky.
As I sit on the duffel to wedge it closed, Brody McAllister appears in the doorway, a looming shape I can just see out of the corner of my eye.