He came inside her, loving the feel of her on his bare skin, loving the feeling of being completely connected and part of her sweet little body without any barriers between them. She collapsed onto his lap, her arms tight around his shoulders, his dick buried deep in her cunt.
Wolfe closed his eyes and held her like the precious gift she was. Knowing he couldn’t fight it any longer. Not knowing what the answer was.
She opened one eye. “Still friends?”
He laughed, kissing her shoulder. “Definitely. Friends with benefits?”
“Yes. I don’t want to fight it. How about this? We take it day by day. If we want to have sex, we do. No questions asked.”
“I don’t want us to date or sleep with anyone else.”
She smiled and kissed him gently. “That’s a requirement. Let’s see how it goes. When you move out, maybe that will be a signal for us to go back to being platonic. But why deny ourselves this?”
His fingers caressed her buttocks, catching her shiver. “You’re right. Because this is extraordinary.”
“We don’t have to end up like a stupid movie. We can play this on our terms.”
“You’re right. Our friendship is strong enough to handle great, mind-blowing sex. It will be good for us.”
“Definitely. Now take me to bed,” she demanded.
He lifted her up and stalked into the bedroom. Amazing how clear everything suddenly seemed. Maybe seeing that movie was a sign. A good sign. They’d handle it together. In the meantime, they wouldn’t have to fight their attraction. Taking it day by day was sheer genius.
What could possibly go wrong?
He ignored the warning voice and concentrated on the woman in his arms.
VINCENT SOLDANO STEPPED INTO the makeshift bedroom, pushed away the cheap Harry Potter poster he’d gotten when he was young, and put the rest of the money into the hole in the wall. He felt like the prisoner from the Shawshank movie, hiding his escape route behind some lame-assed wall hanging. But it worked. None of the men or his mom had found it since he’d needed to move his stash.
He was getting the hell out.
He had money. The knife. Clothes. Backpack. A few personal items. Food and water. He’d grown larger over the last year, and held more of a presence. He was less of a scrawny kid, on the verge of being a man, and he figured it gave him a better shot in the world. No foster care or crap for him. Just him, his wits, and his survival.
The shouts grew louder and he cursed under his breath. Wished he’d left yesterday, but he wanted one more day to make sure his escape was well planned. Better to have his mother completely drugged up and wasted so she didn’t think to look for him awhile. The more distractions the better, and last night had been way too quiet. But now it seemed a full-fledged party was going on. After the sex and the drugs, he’d be able to stroll out the door without a glance back.
It was finally done.
He spent the next hour distracting himself, listening to the night grow more rowdy. The knock on the door surprised him. He tensed.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, kid, come on out here. Your mom needs you.”
He rarely listened, but something about this being the last time seeing his mom made him a bit soft. His knife was in his pocket, but this time he’d gotten much more adept at using it. He was pretty deadly, practicing constantly and giving himself drills in order to protect himself. Next time, he’d be ready.
He stepped out with a scowl. “What?”
His mother leaned against the wall, eyes bloodshot, mouth half open with ecstasy. Seeing things that weren’t there or didn’t exist. He hoped they were good things rather than bad. “Hey, baby!” A thin trickle of saliva ran from her lips and dripped on her torn tank. One bare breast hung out and he deftly avoided looking at her body, concentrating on her face. The paraphernalia was laid out carefully. Weed. Crack. Empty bottles of whiskey and vodka. Beer cans. Someone was screwing in the back room, but the asshole who had knocked had a funny look in his eyes. Like he was excited about something.
“Your mom is toasted,” the squat, muscular pimp announced. “She’s not gonna be much help for me tonight. So we need you.”
His gut twisted. Adrenaline began to pump through his veins, a reaction to the dangerous aura in the air. The dealer called himself Scott. Been around awhile, taking care of his mother when she was strung out, pushing her to work harder being a whore. Vincent didn’t get the same creepy kind of vibe he got from the last few, and Scott seemed to leave him alone. Didn’t seem like he was into males.
And that’s where Vincent realized he’d made his major mistake.
“Yeah, well, can’t help you out.” He acted casual, sneering, the knife comfortable in his pocket. He headed toward the door, but the dealer blocked him. A tiny smirk came across his lips.