Purple Haze (Blue Dream Book 2) Page 7

  “So nothing,” she mumbles. “Presley, you can't just pick up where you left off. You're an adult now. You're a different person-”

  “I know.”

  “He's a different person. Hell, he was a different person when you walked away from him, remember?”

  The memory of saying goodbye to a stranger who held the face of someone I loved too deeply for my own sanity begins to creep back into my thoughts.

  “Before you two repeat last night, you really should spend some time talking. Confronting past emotions. Confronting the unspoken difficulties losing him gave to you. Take hold of this situation. Set up boundaries and perimeters.”

  I nod. “You're right. Of course you're right. I know you're right. At dinner tonight we'll talk. About everything.”

  “Good,” she says strongly. “Ten years is a long time. Keep in mind he may look like the Ryder you once knew, he may make you feel like the Ryder you once loved, but there's a high probability with what he's been through, that Ryder doesn't exist anymore.”

  And that's what scares the hell out of me. His letter gave me a whisper of hope my Ryder, the Ryder who has my initials tattooed on his back, the Ryder who planned to have a huge family with me, might exist somewhere in the world, but the reality is we've both changed. We've both grown up and while our bodies, our chemistry, our souls seek out shelter in the other, it doesn't mean it's healthy. It doesn't mean we're going to be together. It doesn't mean we should be together. However, I can't deny I believe the words he said yesterday. He belongs here with me. I belong with him.

  Ryder

  “Would you stop smiling?” Big Mike, my boss complains from the doorway. “It's creeping me out.”

  I don't even attempt to give him what he wants. The expression seems permanent. Maybe not deserved. Maybe not even fucking earned, but fucking unbreakable. Hell, even I feel unstoppable. It's the high from one hit of Pres. I either feel like I'm king of the goddamn world or my mind is completely at peace.

  He continues to bother me. “Did you get laid or something?”

  Instead of answering I reach for the broom.

  “Did you pay for it?” Big Mike scratches his over-sized belly. “Was it cheap?”

  The bell, which rings when a customer enters the front of the shop chimes and I toss my head that direction. “Shouldn't you get that?”

  “Shouldn't you have answered at least one of my questions?”

  “No.”

  He grumbles something under his breath, turns around, and heads for whoever chose to ignore the closed sign on the door. Not even the simple ignorance of an idiot incapable of elementary school reading can yank me off this high.

  Today has been the longest shift of my entire life. I should be exhausted. I should be ready to go home and pass the hell out, yet I have more energy whirring through my system than logically makes sense. It's similar to having a perfect hit of blow bounce around your bloodstream. You're excited. You feel invincible. You feel like you can conquer anything and everything the world wants to fucking throw at you with no real concern for consequence. How could there be a down side to having Presley Morrison, the original drug, back in my system? Hell, being inside her took me to the level of high you get on the borderline of overdosing. The one you get from touching the tail end of the dragon. It should scare the hell out of me, but I meant what I said yesterday. I've never been more fucking sure of anything in my life. I belong with her. Whatever that means.

  The voice from the other room sounds familiar and prompts me to lean the broom against the wall to check. My face appears around the door giving me a view of my favorite drug in a loose black skirt and white button up top. She looks stronger than the slightly nerdy girl I fell in love with. There's a hardened edge to the softness. Guilt grabs my vocal chords as I realize it's probably from me.

  “You sure Ryder is who you're looking for?” Mike says with a hint of flirtation in his voice.

  “I'm sure,” she giggles, eyes spotting me seconds after. “I'm...absolutely sure.”

  Such certainty in declaration swells my chest to the brink of bursting. Everything about her does this to me. One look. One touch. One smile. One word. I've never been in a room with anything else this life altering.

  I clear my throat, which makes Mike glance over his shoulder. “This must be the reason you can't get that shit eating grin off your face.”

  Presley smiles brighter.

  Refusing to humor him with an answer, I say to her, “I've gotta finish sweeping up the garage before I can go. You wanna wait with me?”

  “Yeah.” She pushes up her glasses. “Why not?”

  Big Mike's eyes oscillate between us before he states to me, “I've got plans in ten minutes. Set the alarm when you're finished.”

  “You got it Big Mike,” I reply and tilt my head the direction of the garage. “Come on, baby. This way.”

  The natural term of endearment slips her bottom lip between her teeth. I know I have no right to glide back into this pattern. Not after what I did. Not after what my addiction to her caused, but I can't seem to stop myself. It's an instinctive response engraved in every molecule of my DNA. I feel it with every goddamn breath I take.

  Big Mike disappears out the front door just as Presley heads over, crossing the threshold into the part of the shop where we do the actual work.

  I grab the broom and begin to sweep quicker. “Sorry you have to wait. I figured I would be done by now. Couple of late customers threw a wrench in that.”

  “It's fine.” Her body leans against the edge of the tool bench. My eyes take a gulp of the display, temptation tickling my tongue. “So...mechanic huh?”

  Trying to shake off the urge to pin her against it and our tongues back together, I look down at my task. “Better than flipping burgers.”

  “True. Then again, I don't think that should matter either. Important thing is you have a job, ya know?”

  My eyes glance her direction. “Yeah. I do.”

  The sound of the broom collecting the last evidence of the day fills the room. It's a poor distraction for the chaotic energy building. How can the need to have another dose of her be this strong when I was just floating from the last one?

  I do my best to keep my attention on the job at hand and not the shaking hunger. “You look beautiful dressed like that. What do you do for a living?”

  Suddenly her feet start to move, following me to the other end of the shop. “Wait? You don't know?”

  “No.” The answer is proceeded by me grabbing the dust pan. “Why would I?”

  A perplexed expression pins itself on her face. “Because I'm the owner of the private school your niece attends.”

  The same look joins mine. “What?”

  “Didn't Noah tell you?” she questions now too close for the starvation of her taste to be denied another time.

  I gently lean the broom against the mirror of the maroon Honda Civic we're beside. “No.”

  “Oh,” the shock in her voice appears again. “I figured he had. I figured...I mean...I don't know. I guess I thought maybe it was something he said in passing. Casual comment over dinner type of thing.”

  He didn't even fucking clue me in that he had even heard she was still in town. For that I might end up taking a swing at him. At the very least shred apart the whole brotherly facade he's been trying to build because if he really cared, if he really gave a fuck about me, it would've been one of the first things he said to me when I got out of rehab. If he knew more than the addict he tried to blame on stealing things from him, he might have. He may have all the markings of a changed sibling, but it's his suspicious choices like that, that make me skeptical.

  My body enters auto pilot as it cruises over to hers. “If he had, I would've been outside the front doors of your school every night waiting for you. Trying to talk to you. Trying to fight to have you back in my life.” Our hips scrape against one another but I restrain the rest of my body from touching hers. “Pres...”

  Wi
th each breath she takes her full tits brush against my chest. “Yes?”

  I stifle the growing groan. “I know we need to talk-”

  “We do.”

  “And I know there's so much shit I need to say-”

  “Me too...”

  “But can I just...” the end of the sentence drifts one direction while my fingers sweep the hair out of her face.

  Gently I fuse our mouths together with a pull on the back of her neck. Lust lurches my tongue against her with audacious consumption. Presley grips the edge of my shirt in what feels like fear. Hoping it's because she's afraid to lose the connection as much as I am, I cradle her in my arms, turning our bodies during the frantic movements of our kiss.

  By the time her body hits the hood of the car, I've completely lost all self-control. Carelessly I'm yanking open her blouse, trailing my teeth along her neck and jaw bone, greedily devouring all of the sweet flesh I manage to touch. Underneath me, she purrs at every stroke spurring the monster I've turned into to continue the thoughtless rampage.

  Presley's hand softly lands on my cheek. Her simple action stops mine. The blinding sexual madness from being with her easily transcends all drug combinations. My hand, which has a forceful grip on her thong loosens.

  Immediately her brown eyes fill with a panic that pains me. “What's wrong?”

  I glance over her swollen lips from my kiss. Her heaving breathing from desperation for me. It's an intoxicating sight. But I have to focus. I have to...think. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

  For a moment our eyes linger. An almost forgotten clashing begins to occur inside. Logic battles against instinct. Selfishness swings at selflessness. The emotional war waging I'm accustomed to begins to return on the horizon.

  She leans up slowly and begins to unbuckle the belt on my jeans with a wicked smirk. Pouncing her tongue again, I toss away the worries that this isn't what she wants. That this isn't what we need. Swiftly, I remove her underwear, drop my jeans, and slide myself through the sweltering heat. Every piston of my hips creates a new form of a junkie from the ashes of an old one. Brazen with fervor, I harshly latch her onto my cock, and my mouth onto the crook of her neck, anxious to hear the sounds she's making for me.

  Moans of satisfaction mix with my name, tempting me to come before I should. “God, Ryder...”

  That's my name. This is my girl. My life. My everything. Gratitude pushes another kiss onto her neck.

  “More,” she begs and I change the tempo from mellow to sharp. There's a shift of her weight followed by her nails digging into my skin. “God, yes...”

  Relentless in my pursuit to make her come, I thrust harshly, doing everything I can to prove my dedication to pleasing her. With hope that fact will transfer out of sex I continue groaning softly, balls threatening an upcoming betrayal.

  “Coming,” Presley howls.

  I lift my head to see hers thrown back with abandonment. Lost in the elation of her pussy milking me and the priceless vision of her trembling in pleasure from something I did, it almost doesn't register that I'm coming too. However the intensity of my release buckles my knees. The woman I've never stopped loving tosses her arms around my neck to save me from collapsing. To protect me.

  Relief her instincts still match mine, I softly smile. “Only thing I've wanted all day.”

  She teases, “To come inside me?”

  A lightly laugh escapes. “To be back in your arms.” When her smile transitions to a heartfelt one I question, “We should probably get cleaned up and talk, huh?”

  To my surprise, Pres shakes her head. “What do you say we post pone talking one more night?”

  Knowing it's not the best idea, but thankful all the same, I playfully ask, “And dinner? You're gonna get hungry for more than me...eventually.”

  My cockiness causes a snicker. “There's always drive-thrus.”

  We laugh this time together seconds before we reconnect our anxious lips.

  After an extended sentence in the most treacherous, desolate prison, it's hard to deny my sanity it's first real crumb of serenity. The sparks to what most would consider an arbitrary addiction have been rekindled. If we don't handle this with better care there will be much more than scorch marks left on my soul. I honestly don't think I could learn to survive without her again. I damn sure don't want to.

  Presley

  I fold my hands together and let out another deep exhale. I can do this. I can talk to Ryder. I can listen to him. I can do more than find a way to get naked and on top of him. But God do I love to do both of those frequently...

  After a polite thanks to the waitress for delivering my glass of water, I look out the local diner window at the passing cars.

  We should've talked last night. He offered. There was a perfect opportunity, but what did I do instead? Jump into bed with him like some deprived virgin getting her first taste of sex. Even after hours of orgasms, there were moments it felt like it was my first time. The intensity. The tenderness. The uncontrollable enchantment. It's impeccable as much as it is horrifying the hold he still has on me.

  Suddenly, Ryder slides into the booth seat across from me wearing a large smile and his uniform shirt. “Good afternoon, baby.”

  Memory lane has managed to merge with the highway of my future. He says that word and I'm incapable of denying it. Denying that I'm his. That I've always been his and always will be.

  I offer him a soft one in return. “Good afternoon.”

  His eyes dip down to the button up dark purple shirt I had to change into after he tore the buttons off the black one. The memory alone pushes my thighs together and heats my cheeks.

  Sensing my arousal he lowers his voice. “We should talk but...”

  Desire to continue to overwork my muscles flickers through me. Letting him consume the crumbs of what's left of me from our morning session has ran through my mind multiple times today, but so has a river of questions. Quickly I push it away and say, “No buts this time, Ryder. I've got a 2 o'clock meeting.”

  He nods and backs off. His body slinks down against the booth seat demonstrating the egg shells he's willing to walk on to keep me here. The action is better than any impressively articulated speech. “I got it. No love making.”

  His perfectly chosen phrase chokes the question from me. “That seems a little fast, doesn't it?”

  “Ten years?” Ryder's eyebrows furrow. “Pandas mate faster than we have.”

  Laughter breaks out momentarily between us. Our waitress grabs his drink request and the appetizer I order for us to split since neither of us have long, but both need the fuel.

  “I meant calling it that.”

  A serious look takes a hold of him. “I've never stopped loving you, Pres.”

  My lips press tightly together.

  “Never. And I'll always love you. And yeah, I know how trite all that sounds, but it doesn't make it any less true. You are my soul mate, Pres. You're the embodiment of my biggest hopes, fears, dreams, wishes and regrets coated in the world's most gorgeous, mocha skin.”

  The compliment tugs the corner of my lip upward. “I'm not...I'm not the same girl I was when we were in school.”

  “Maybe not.” He shrugs casually. “But there's nothing in this world that compares to the way I feel when I think about you or when I'm around you. You're home, Pres. When I'm with you none of the other bullshit in the world seems to matter. So, yeah, you may be older now, with a high paying job, tits that won't quit, and heavily guarded fifty foot wall around you, but I know every time I look in your eyes, I'm exactly where I belong.”

  My folded hands twitch as I whisper, “I know exactly what you mean.” Cautiously he extends his hand until our fingers are intertwined. “But that doesn't mean we shouldn't get to know each other with our clothes on sometimes.”

  “I like that you said sometimes,” he flirts. After giggling away the comment he questions, “Tell me about your job. You mentioned something about an important meeting yesterday. Did it go well?�
�

  Impressed he was listening, I answer, “It did. Just a routine licensing inspection.”

  “You're the owner, right?”

  “I am,” I proudly acknowledge. “It's one of the best in the country. Best in state.”

  “It's day care?”

  His comment gets a pass. Unlike others who make the remark, it's not spoken with disdain or a backhanded effort to belittle my choice of career. Clearing my throat, I explain, “No. It's a licensed and accredited private education center for children. My teachers are certified. Most come with specialty backgrounds, which are used to enhance the learning experience. It's basically a private elementary school for those not old enough to be in actual elementary school. To put it simply, it's like kid college.”