Page 86 of Raven

I wouldn’t call it breaking the ice. This deal is exactly the opposite—skating on the icy surface, and if it breaks, both of us will fall through the cracks with dire consequences.

But that night, she invited me over, and we kept drinking and fucking and talking and fucking some more almost until dawn. It was probably booze that unwound us and the stress from the attack before. The only thing that threw us off that night was her heart rate emergency alert that went off on my phone at some point.

“You track me?” she asked with a snort.

“It’s for your protection.”

And then I made her get on top of me and show me how the good sweet Maddy can ride a cock.

Two weeks later, I gotta say the girl is exactly what I am—into foreplay. Who else can get off on an hour of me teasing her with only my fingertips? Get off twice, mind you.

We talk, sure. Just not when we are together. It’s mostly phone calls. Every time I’m around, I see her tension. I see her want. The craving for her grows day by day, not leaving room for anything else. And every time I leave her place, her last glance gives away her disappointment. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

When we are together, we are greedy. There is no way to hide it. It’s all physical. It’s all senses. It’s the intensity I can’t quite keep under control. And I sense it in her, too, the way she takes charge occasionally, that Russian tease.

Would she tell me if she wanted me? She never does and doesn’t initiate the meetings herself. But she can’t hide her eagerness anymore.

She still won’t let me kiss her, turns away when our lips are too close. It drives me mad, so I kiss her everywhere else with a ferocity that coaxes the most delicious orgasms out of her.

I learn her every curve, know every inch of her skin, the goosebumps, the tremors, the little sounds that escape her when I please her, that fire in her eyes when I let her please me in turn.

I want to ruin her for other men. No, scratch that. I want to make sure there’s no other man she wants.

Apparently, that’s a double-edged sword. Every day, no matter what I do, my mind goes back to her bungalow, the four hundred square feet filled with her, the delicious filthy things I do to her.

Our meetings become almost nightly, unless the little dude is there.

Sonny interrupted our meeting exactly three times. But no one says no to a kid. Not me, and certainly not Maddy, both of us getting dressed and pretending like we are having a conversation when she opens the door for him.

And then it’s food.

One night, I stay for a movie.

Sonny asks me, “Can we both stay here?”

I wish. “You have to ask Maddy. It’s her house.”

“Do you have to ask her when you want to stay?”

I flick my eyes at Maddy. She is smiling to herself, but I know she hears every word.

“Who says I stay?”

I do stay for the movie but force myself to leave before midnight.

Sonny is a good buffer to the otherwise emotional clusterfuck that Maddy is starting in me.

Patience is a virtue I never practiced as diligently as I do with this kid when he hunts me down at any given point of any day.

Sure enough, today I’m ready to start my bike after lunch with Bishop and Ortiz when he runs up to me in the parking lot and gives me that googly-eyed stare like I’m supposed to read his mind.

“What now?” I ask casually though I start enjoying spending time with this little trickster.

“You promised.”

“Did I?” I mount my bike, no idea what he’s talking about. But I expect him to talk.

“The whales.”

---