The kiss is that of a starving man; hungry and voracious as he feasts, stealing my will and my breath. I go limp in his arms at the overwhelming onslaught of emotion and sensation, but his bruising grip on me holds me in place.
The next moment I’m suddenly released, panting as I reach for the counter behind me for stability when Gray takes a sudden step back, his hand running through his hair.
“I’m…did I hurt you?”
He sounds tortured and I instinctively reach for him, grabbing onto his arm.
“No. No, not at all. You just…that was intense,” I ramble, much like my thoughts.
“It’s just…” He seems to be no better off forming coherent sentences, which makes me feel a little better. Until I almost see a firm resolve slide into place as his features smooth into an impassive mask. “I should go. Dinner was wonderful. Thank you.”
His back ramrod straight, he stalks in the direction of the front door and I scramble to keep up with him.
“Gray…” I start when he’s already pulling the front door open.
“Thanks again,” he says, before he slips outside and pulls the door firmly closed behind him.
I’m not sure how long I’m standing there with my mouth open, wondering what the fuck just happened. Then I move, locking the door and turning off lights. I head straight for bed where I lie awake for hours, more than a little confused and—frankly—hurt.
Gray
“Late night?” Jimmy asks when he catches me yawning again.
More like an early morning for the third time in a row, but who’s counting?
Fuck, with every night since I almost mauled Robin in her kitchen my anxiety has gone up. I lost control, something I cannot afford to do. God, the feel of her soft body pressed up against me, willing and pliant. If I hadn’t pulled away when I did, she would’ve ended up on the floor with me ripping at her clothes.
There’s a reason I haven’t looked for easy pussy since I got out a little over three months ago. A reason after eighteen years, with just my hand for company, that’s still the only way to relief I allow myself. The reason I landed in there was my out of control rage. It cost a life. Hell, it cost me most of my life.
I’m afraid of the damage I could do if I’m unable to rein in my emotions. Afraid to hurt, and maybe be hurt.
Something happens when you spend most of your days with pain, fears, needs, and regrets as your only company. You push them down and a thin layer of veneer forms, like a film of dust, growing as time passes. You welcome each layer of reinforcement until it becomes an impenetrable shield, protecting not just you, but everyone around you.
Until I met Robin.
From the first time I laid eyes on her, she managed to rub my resistance thin without even trying. Then when she kissed me, stroked her fingers through my hair as her tongue demanded entry, she broke right through.
I can’t let that happen again.
“Yeah,” I finally answer Jimmy. “Just restless.”
“Mmm,” he hums, eyeing me carefully. “Maybe you need a little distraction? Snow is expected for next week so the guys and I are going for a ride up to Lake Huron Beach this weekend. Staying over for a night and then back home the next day.”
I hung out with him and his biker buddies in Kalamazoo a couple of weeks ago. I like them. Pretty much straightforward guys I didn’t mind spending time with. There’s only one problem.
“Bike’s not done.”
“I know,” Jimmy acknowledges. “But Rooster has a second bike I’m sure he’d lend you.”
Rooster was the big, bald-headed guy, and pretty much the leader of their small motorcycle club. He’d mentioned doing some time decades ago for armed robbery, but had avoided getting into trouble since. That’s how he got the name for the MC, the Converts. He said he stopped being an ex-convict years ago and considered himself a convert instead. Interesting viewpoint, I guess, but one I’m not quite ready to adopt.
Maybe getting away for a couple of days will help me stop thinking about Robin.
“Sure. Yeah, if he’s okay me riding his bike. It’s been a while.”
“He ain’t gonna mind. I’ll call him.” He gives my shoulder a shove when I yawn again. “Go upstairs, get some fucking sleep. I’ll finish up.” He indicates the Nissan I’m just finishing an oil change on. “Fucking go,” he repeats when I hesitate.
I pull the rag from my back pocket and wipe my hands, mumbling, “Thanks,” as I walk away.
Upstairs I hit the shower, scrubbing at the grease and oil on my hands. It’s a never-ending battle, the dirt always clinging in the creases and crevices. Symbolic, somehow.
With only a towel around my waist, I pad out of the bathroom and flop back on the bed, my arm covering my eyes. I’m exhausted, but still sleep won’t come. My thoughts immediately go to Robin and the confused, almost hurt look on her face when I hightailed it out of her house the other day.
Guilt. It’s a feeling I recognize. I wonder if that is what’s been keeping me restless and awake; guilt.
I reach blindly for the cell phone I dropped on my nightstand when I walked in. I had copied her number from the blotter on Jimmy’s desk,
