In the Mix Read online

  “Do me a favor?”

  “Huh?” I snap my attention back.

  “Make sure to tell me how awful I am at this . . . don’t hold back, ok?” His tone is still slightly playful but the look in his eyes grows serious, almost predatory like. I nod. “I can’t wait to find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of CiCi’s tootsie pop.” All I can do is pant while I watch him lower his attention to my Golden Ticket.

  I think I may have pegged Kyle out all wrong. Or . . . I’ve created a monster who wants to do nothing more than show me just how bad he can be.

  Fuck, I love the way her pussy tastes . . .

  I should stop and tell her. I’m pretty sure, under normal circumstances, she’d love for me to tell her that; talk dirty to her in general. But she’s all over the place tonight. Funny thing with CiCi is that her “all over the place” is everybody else’s “normal.”

  She almost comes to a seated position and pulls at my hair, grinding harder into my face, “Oh God, right there!” she cries out, her pussy pulsating into my face. “Do you have any idea,” she starts after coming down, “how many times I’ve imagined you doing this to me? How hard you’ve fucked me?” Her voice is so soft and seductive, causing me to mentally talk the “big guy” down. I swear if I get any fucking harder right now, I won’t even make it to the unzipping of my pants. “Just the slightest thought of you,” she pants, “and my pussy is dripping, aching for you.”

  “Faaaaccccckkk!” I growl, whipping her legs over my shoulders and rising to my knees, sending her back and on to her upper back—almost upside down.

  And . . .

  I fuck her hard with my tongue, my fingers working their magic at her clit. The sounds coming from her are bringing me closer to the edge than I’ve ever been. “Come, CiCi! Come!” I snap out of pure need to get her there again so I can bury myself in her. I have never commanded a woman to come before. I didn’t even think about it—I just did it. And you know what? She is fucking coming like a champ.

  Yes, I’m smirking.

  I lay her body back down and attack her lips, unzipping and yanking my pants down before wrapping her legs around my waist. I break away from her mouth and stare into her eyes for a beat. “Please . . .” she whispers. I slam into her and soak in the sound of her whimper.

  She feels so fucking good.

  My left hand palms her face, my mouth claiming hers as I roll into her over and over again. I let go and reach down to hook her leg, allowing myself to thrust deeper; I can’t get close enough. Her whimperish cries hypnotize me like some fucking spell I’m under. I can’t stop.

  It’s intense.

  I feel like I’m on a high.

  I don’t want to come down.

  Deeper . . .

  “Oh. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me!” CiCi bellows out through another orgasm. She clenches tightly around my cock, causing a long low groan from me.

  “Ceese! Stop! Fuck—I gotta pull out!”

  “No! Don’t stop!” She holds me to her and grinds her hips, finishing off.

  “Shit! Shit! God . . . damn!” Yup . . . Like a teenage boy, having his first go at things. I pump into her a few last times, unable to close my gaping mouth until I collapse on top of her.

  We lay still for some time, trying to steady our breathing.

  “Ceese?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I’m not on birth control,” she says quietly.

  “Oh. Wow . . . ok.”

  “I’m sorry.” She turns her head when I lift mine up to look at her.

  “Me, too. I just couldn’t hold back anymore.” I try to explain.

  “As far as pregnancy, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m due within the next day or two.”

  “But?” I move a strand of her hair off of her left cheek.

  “Are you,” she hesitates, “are you clean?”

  “Of course I am!” I bite, making her jump a bit. “Sorry.” I shake my head, trying to control the spark of anger that shot out of nowhere. I had better control over my anger before CiCi came along. It’s not even true anger, more like some sort of anxiety. I never know what to expect with this woman. All I know is that no matter what . . . for some reason . . . I can’t walk away. “I always protect myself and get regular check-ups. I can usually control myself enough to not go too far without a condom.”

  “Usually?”

  “Yes. You’re the exception. I can’t seem to control any part of me around you.” I pull out and roll onto my back. Letting out a big sigh, I continue, “At some point, I should probably quit trying.” I turn my head in her direction and bring my hand up to her cheek, grazing it with the back of my fingers. She lies in silence, her breathing hypnotizing me. I stare at her for several minutes just wondering. Wondering what’s going through her head, what’s going on with her? Something is not right. She’s not herself. I’m not going to lie; my anxiety is starting to go through the roof. I can’t help but think that’s she’s planning an exit strategy. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, unable to believe I’m about to assist her with this. “Do you want me to go?”

  Her head whips my way to face me, her eyes open wide. “Do you want to leave?!” she asks in an almost accusatory tone.

  I shake my head and give her a half smile (of relief, really). “No. I, most definitely, do not want to leave you right now.”

  “Why would you ask me that then?” She turns on her side and props up on her elbow.

  “Ceese, why wouldn’t I ask that?” I prop up as well. “This . . . tonight, was completely out of character for you. You have to understand that while part of me is thrilled that this just happened, another part of me is waiting for you to pull your crap. Wait . . .” I trail off shaking my head.

  “What?” She rises up more.

  “I’m sorry.” I palm her left cheek. “We should be basking in the afterglow, not talking about this shit. I’m screwing this up for us. I analyze everything like a damn robot.”

  “Yes, Mr. Spock, you should knock that off.” Her tone . . . a teasing one. I stare into her eyes. It’s not long before she shifts them away, giving my tattoo attention. “Can you tell me about this?” she asks as her fingers trace over the different patterns. I don’t think I have to tell you what her touch is stirring deep inside of me. My eyes fall to the area she is circling. She lies back, seemingly waiting for me to explain it all. Although, something tells me she knows what all of these different symbols mean.

  “I take it you’re familiar with Polynesian tribal tattoos?” I question.

  “A little bit. I know some of the meanings but I’d love to hear about them from you and your interpretation of them for your tattoo. Tattoos are very personal. Two people could have the same one—completely identical—yet, have two different meanings. What’s the story behind yours?”

  “Very true. Well, these right here,” I trace the pattern of heads, “are enatas, representing my family. The turtles here and there are about family also, but longevity and wellness, too, since I like to live a healthy lifestyle. The fish are for prosperity and life. The shark teeth represent the warrior in me,” I chuckle. “I’m a 10th- dan black belt in Karate, so I wanted to incorporate that. I also have spearheads to do the same. The suns represent leadership. The ocean; my persistence.”

  “You persistent? No kidding,” she teases.

  “Shocking, I know.” I bite back my smile. “What about yours?” I glide the back of my hand down the length of hers.

  “Birkita?” She glances down, smiling slightly.

  “Birkita?” I laugh.

  “Yes. Birkita. It’s Celtic. It means strong,” she says shyly. “I decided on the horned dragon because I loved the idea behind the symbolism. Being mighty with words and actions,” she adds.

  “Birkita . . . the horned dragon . . . with green eyes and purple eyelids. Perfect. Absolutely. Perfect.” I plant several kisses on her lips.

  “I like purple.”

&
nbsp; “I like you.” I smile against her mouth.

  “I like you, too, Spock.”

  “I’m glad, Birkita.” I slowly climb on top of her.

  “The horny dragon?”

  “My favorite kind.” I eskimo kiss her. She growls at me before threading her hands into my hair and bringing my mouth to slam hard against hers. Her hips rock up against me, causing my cock to slide up and down her wetness. Our wetness. Fuck, that’s hot.

  “Kyle . . . please,” she begs, ripping her mouth from mine. Just as I’m about to enter her, there’s a knock on the door. CiCi’s eyes widen in panic.

  “Ceese? Are you alright? I wanted to check on you before I went to bed.” Charlotte calls through the door.

  She opens her mouth, about to answer. “I’ve got this,” I say before giving her nose a quick peck. She knits her brows slightly. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to say. What she doesn’t know is that I’m not going to say anything—she is. I slam inside of her quickly, causing her to scream out my name and a prayer or two to God. I pound into her relentlessly. She claws at my back, yelling out things that would only make sense if you were fluent in CiCi Speak.

  “Sounds like you’re alright to me . . . or working really hard on being so!” Charlotte calls out again. “Make sure to pound her in the ass real good, Kyle, just how she likes it,” she adds. I stop and stare at CiCi.

  “Oh my God! Don’t listen to her! Keep going!” she snaps and smacks my ass. Slowly, I lower my face to hers and caress her lips with mine before biting her bottom one. She gasps as I roll my hips confidently. Her hands grasp my ass, her hips grinding into me at a rushed pace. I grab her hip to stop her. “Ugh!” she groans in frustration. My eyes find hers. They study her as I continue at the pace I want. She tries to look everywhere but straight at me. Look, I know I’m going to sound like a pussy when I say this, but this not looking at me shit is kind of bothering me. I can’t put my finger on the reason why, but it is. I decide to stop trying and just give her what she wants.

  “Is this what you want?!” I yell through my teeth as I slam into her repeatedly.

  “Yes . . . oh God, yes!” she pants.

  “You just want to fuck hard and not feel anything else?” I pound harder only to get the same answer from her. I rip myself from her and get off the bed.

  “Kyle?” She tries to grab my arm as I walk away and towards the bathroom, slamming it open before going in, slamming it closed, and locking it. I turn to the sink and hold on the edges as I try to steady my breathing. Finally, I look up to face myself in the mirror. Sweat is trickling down my temples, my cheeks puff in and out, and my neck vein is pulsating as I continue trying to control my breaths. The truth hits me like a Mack truck.

  She’s fucking using me.

  Some shit is going on with her and she’s using me to escape from it for a while. She’s been off all night. I’m a distraction. It’s the only logical reason for her sudden change of behavior towards me. Fuck, I really am like Mr. Spock. I let out a deep sigh and head into the tiny shower. I need to calm down and get my thoughts together before I head back out there.

  Everyone warned me.

  Okay, maybe it was just Mitch, but for one man, he can seem like a damn crowd sometimes.

  I can do this, though. I can reach her. I make a living (a very good one) solving massive problems, figuring shit out that no one else knows where to begin with.

  I don’t know where to begin with her . . .

  I thought I did. I thought it was working. My mom was right. I should’ve just stopped for a moment and gone a different direction. But, at the end of the day, I’m still just a guy. And, being a guy, I totally fucked up tonight and gave in to her vulnerability. I wasn’t going to let this happen. I knew it was wrong. Damn it, though; she felt so good, her response to my touch, clouding my judgment. Great. Could I have been any more of a dick to her just now? What’s even better is that I’m about to walk out there—soaking wet—in the buff to do my back paddling. Note to self: Next time you angry “I need to clear my head” shower, make sure you have a fucking towel waiting for you afterwards!

  With one final deep inhale, I open the door only to have a towel thrown at my head. At least it wasn’t something hard! I wipe my face and drag the towel down my body before wrapping it around my waist. I glance up at her. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed in a long t-shirt-like nightgown. Her long hair pushed behind her ears. Puffy, reddened eyes stare at me, breaking my heart. I can tell you right now, I never want to see this look on her face again—it’s crushing me to the core.

  “Ceese,” I start.

  “No!” she snaps. “Just leave. I don’t want to hear it—whatever it is. Just go.”

  I sit next to her, ignoring her demands. “I fucked up tonight.” I shake my head. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

  “God, Kyle . . . please just go.” She closes her eyes tightly.

  “Fuck, that came out wrong.” I run my hands through my hair. “I don’t mean this. Well, I do, but I mean it shouldn’t have happened tonight. Not like this. Not while you’re dealing with whatever it is you’re dealing with.” I grab her right hand, placing it in my palm. My fingers doodle patterns on the back of it as I continue, “I was weak tonight. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve spent this time getting you to tell me what was wrong so I could help you.”

  “To fix the problem?” she asks quietly.

  “Yes.” I squeeze her hand and nudge her shoulder slightly with mine.

  “That’s what I am to you.” She breathes with slight scary humor. “You see me as a problem to fucking solve!” She stands up. “That’s why you’ve been chasing me these past few months. You want to be the one who figures out what makes CiCi O’Brien tick!”

  “No!” I jump up.

  “Yes! That’s exactly what you see!” She pokes at my chest angrily. “Well, I’m not a fucking problem for you to solve, Kyle!”

  “Knock it off—that’s not true! I didn’t say that you were a problem I wanted to fix or that I see you that way. All I said is that I want to help you figure out whatever it is you’re going through right now.” I try to keep my cool. I have to say, though, it’s pretty fucking difficult to be accused of something you are not guilty of and trying to keep your cool about it.

  “I don’t need your help figuring shit out! My problems should be no concern of yours. I. Am. Nothing. To. You!” she bites out.

  “That is your choice!” I scream in her face before grabbing at my clothes. I take a deep breath, trying to collect myself again. I turn back to her. “If I had my way,” I say calmly, “you’d be everything to me.”

  I can see the fight all over her face. Her nose is flaring, chin quivering, and her eyes sit in a pool of tears.

  I wait.

  She looks away.

  Shaking my head, I throw my clothes on and head to the door.

  “Don’t mistake my leaving tonight as me giving up. I never quit, Birkita.” And with that, I leave. I could almost swear that I felt the heat from a fire hit my back as I closed the door. I definitely did hear a shoe or something hit it.

  I go down the stairs and back the way we came earlier only to run into Mitch in the kitchen. “Dude, are you drinking a Capri Sun?” I chuckle at him.

  He breaks away from the tiny yellow straw, “Shut-up, man, I’m thirsty. Besides . . . I like this flavor.” He shrugs.

  “You have another one?”

  “Yeah.” He opens the fridge. “Here. Hurry up before Charlotte catches us,” he says with a bit of urgency.

  “Why, is she the juice box police?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “So . . . this has become a problem with you, has it?” Yes, I’m smirking.

  “I guess so. Why don’t they make this shit for adults? Kids get everything.” He shakes his head before slurping the rest up.

  “Dude . . . I think you got it all.” I laugh again as I put my straw in. Yup . . . I forgot to not squeeze the
container while doing so. “I’m glad I’m providing entertainment for you,” I say as he laughs and grabs me a towel.

  “Here.” He throws it at me. “What are you still doing here anyway?”

  “Uh, safe to say, screwing things up with CiCi.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that she’s putting in most of that effort.”

  “No, man, I fucked up tonight.” I put the juice down and rinse off my hands. “Do you, by chance, know what’s going on with her? I mean, other than what she mentioned earlier?”

  “No, can’t say that I do. I’d ask Charlotte for you but I’ve put myself in the dog house, as well.”

  “You two going to be ok?” I turn and lean against the counter, drying my hands.

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “We’ll be real good once I get cured from this ‘foot in mouth’ syndrome I seem to suffer from.”

  “Did you start seeing a therapist?”

  “Nah. My first appointment is next week.”

  “Make sure to mention the whole surrogacy thing. I know that’s weighing heavy on your mind,” I remind him. A few months back, just when he and Charlotte had come to grips with their feelings, she had informed him that she was going to be the surrogate for Ava and Trent’s baby. It didn’t go over too well, but in the interest of not losing her, Mitch conceded.

  “Shhh!” He puts a finger up to his lips and peaks out of the kitchen. “Don’t talk so loud. Especially, about that shit.”

  “Sorry.”

  He leans back against the counter next to me. “It took,” he says quietly.

  “Shit, man,” is all I say. I don’t know what else to say. I know he doesn’t really want this and while this is a wonderful thing Charlotte is doing for her friend, I can totally see and agree with his side of things.

  “I know.” He blows out a big breath through pursed lips.

  “So . . . now what?” I sip my juice.

  “Now,” he opens the fridge and grabs another one, “we sit back, wait, and watch her have someone else’s baby with a supportive smile on our faces.” He pops the straw in. We both stand there, leaning against the counter . . . sucking on tiny yellow straws, contemplating life. Within seconds, we’re slurping the rest of our juice down. I throw my shrunken, twisted juice pack out and get my car keys out of my pocket.