“I thought we’d try here. Maybe she stumbled her way back home.” He pulls the door to the apartment open and holds it open for me as I follow him up the narrow steps.
“What’s been going on with her since I’ve been gone?”
“I haven’t heard from her much. I tried asking her about Gregory since she kind of remembers we saw her that day, but she doesn’t remember all of it. I don’t know if she still sees him or not, and I haven’t said shit to Johnny or K about what we saw. I don’t want them bringing her in. It’s possible she was too damn high to remember anything, and I don’t want them getting trigger happy because they think she’s holding back on them.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. I would hope they wouldn’t do that. Johnny wouldn’t. I know that from the very depths of my heart, but K is soulless.
He opens the door at the top of the stairs. He’s cleaned the place a bit since the last time I was here. I wait just inside as he walks around the apartment, checking everywhere. When he comes out of his mom’s room, he punches the wall.
I walk up to him. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
His hands turn to fists. “It’s just so fucked up.” He turns ravenous eyes on me. “Everything is fucked up in this hell hole, but you.”
The intensity of his words strike me. I crack a smile. “I don’t know. I’m kind of fucked up too.”
“Not like me. Not like the rest of the Heights. I don’t even deserve to touch you.”
My head snaps back as if he’s punched me. “Don’t do that.”
His jaw ticks. “It’s fucking true, and you know it. Out of all the guys you’ve chosen, I’m the one you went slumming for. I’m a piece of shit thug who hits someone for accidentally spitting in his face right after I told him his friend died. My mom’s a whore and a drug addict. I’m no one, Kyla.”
Shit’s real when he uses my actual name.
“You need a lobotomy if you think that’s true.”
He watches me like a man starved. He’s barely holding it together. His chest rises and lowers with the ferocity of his breaths.
“You’re no one? You don’t deserve to touch me?” I start to strip. I pull my shirt off, dropping it at our feet. My breasts jiggle as I stand upright before him, and he takes his eyeful. I kick off my shoes and then shimmy out of my skinny jeans, kicking them to the side as well until I’m standing in front of him in my bra and panties. “Do you want to hear how many times I’ve thought about your cock sliding inside me?” I arch a brow. “When I was away at Greenlawn, I had a lot of time on my hands.” I stalk toward him, wiggling my fingers. “These fingers have gotten a workout, but I’m done with that. I want you to touch me.”
Oscar’s gaze zeroes in on my cleavage. I have to say, this bra is doing a banging job. No wonder he’s looking at me like he could jump me right now. He swallows. “You’d let me do that. A street rat?”
I back him up into his room. “Let you do that? I’d beg you.”
Oscar groans. I don’t know what shit other bitches did to him, but he’s no one’s slut to keep around only when it suits them.
“You’re not my dirty little secret, Oscar.”
A spark fires in Oscar’s gaze, and he moves forward, hands cupping my ass as he grinds his erection into me. I’ve worked myself up for this moment. Dreamed about it in a fitful sleep. Daydreamed about it with my fingers coaxing my clit into submission.
Oscar drops to his knees, nose nuzzling my pussy, but we’re not going there this time. This isn’t about me, it’s about us.
I lift him with one finger under his chin and order him to the bed. “You’re too dressed,” I tell him.
I watch like a greedy bitch as he whips his shirt off, throwing it to the other side of the room. His abs ripple in front of me. His darker skin pulled taut over the dips, signaling every last football workout he’s ever done.
The remnants of his road rash pain me, but he starts on his belt next, and I help him, pulling at it while he works on his zipper. I take a handful of his jeans in my fists and tug down, revealing his tented black boxers.
He kicks his jeans off, and I don’t give him time to stop me. I push him to the bed and crawl over him, arching my body into him until his cock rubs against the apex of my thighs. “Fucking Christ, Kyla.”
I reach under the band of his boxers, running my fingers down his hard shaft. He pumps his dick into my hand at the same time. My panties are soaked, and my core throbs, aching for me to feel him.
I move down his body, kissing his taut stomach. I remove his boxers as I kiss the angle of his Adonis belt, licking up and down the curved surface. I could eat my next meal off here and be one happy lady. The glistening pre-cum on his dick is too much to bear. I reach out, running the tip of my tongue over his slit. He watches everything I do with heightened anticipation. “Now look who’s wearing too much.”
I reach around, unclasping my bra until my breasts fall heavily in front of me. They always feel like they weigh more when I’m turned on, and right now, I’m turned right the fuck on and they’re as heavy as boulders.
Oscar moves his hand lower, cupping my mound. He moves the fabric of my panties aside, fingers trailing over my slit. “Wet for me.”
I’m mesmerized by his touch. I keep still as his fingers play over my clit until he gives me a quick pinch. A startled cry pushes past my lips.
He locks gazes with me. “Are you wet for me?”
“Fuck yes,” I breathe.
He pulls me toward him, and at the last minute when I should be collapsing on top of him, he twists until he’s hovering over me. He grabs the back of my panties with one hand and pulls them down. I lift my hips, so he can drag them down over my ass and past my thighs and calves. His cock bobs between us while he traces his gaze over my skin.
“Touch me,” I pant.
He reaches out, agile fingers plucking at my nipples and smoothing over the swell of my breasts. He leans over, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking on it until my core burns with need.
“Get inside me,” I plead. He reaches for a drawer at the side of the bed, but I wrap my legs around his hips. “Now.”
Oscar drops his forehead to mine, breathing heavily. “Kyla.”
“I want to feel you,” I tell him.
He groans, the tip of his dick pressing against my entrance. I angle my hips, taking just the tip in, rocking up into him over and over.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He slams into me, and I cry out.
My walls close around every last hard ridge. He presses his lips together, staring down at me in awe. “Please move,” I gasp.
He doesn’t need another invitation. He pulls out, sliding back into me, grinding his hips. I press my fingertips into his ass, holding on while he starts a panty-melting rhythm that has me spasming around him in no time.
He rides my climax out and then retreats. Intense pleasure ripples through me as Oscar get a condom out of the drawer, rips the package open, and slides it over his cock. “As much as I loved every second of that, I care about you more.”
He gets back into position, pushing into me with ease, filling me up again as my head falls back onto his pillows. With stroke after stroke, he fucks me into oblivion. I swear the neighbors can hear our loud pants and guttural moans, but I’m unashamed of Oscar Drego. Or who I am when I’m with him. I want every last part of him. The jagged edges. The strong masks. The vulnerable side.