Queen Never Cry novel · Chapter 9 of 32

Chapter 9: Not Careful

I did not go home.

I took the Pulaski bus to the end of the line with Desmond's sweat still printed behind my eyes.

Mercer Freight sat behind a chain-link fence, six bays of trucks asleep under yellow lights.

A stairwell ran up the side of the brick warehouse.

At the top, a door with a light behind it.

I knocked once.

Garret opened in socks and a grey sweater, with a pencil behind his ear and reading glasses pushed up into his hair.

He took them off slowly when he saw my face.

"Pippa. Did he..."

"Nobody did anything." I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. "I came on my own."

The loft was one long room, brick walls and a steel table covered with maps and ledgers.

At the far end stood a bed made with white sheets, turned down.

I looked at the bed.

I looked at him.

He saw where my eyes had gone, and he went very still.

"I told you I wouldn't take anything," he said.

"You're not taking anything. I'm giving."

"Those are the same."

"They are not, Mercer." I took off my coat and let it fall. "I haven't been touched kindly in twenty-six months.

"I've been counted, searched, and shoved.

"Tonight I'm choosing who puts his hands on me.

"It's you.

"It's mine to give, and you can't say it's a debt."

He looked at me.

"Tell me what you want," he said, hoarse.

"I want you to be not careful with me."

I crossed the floor and took his face in both hands.

I kissed him.

He made a sound low in his throat, and his arms came around me.

The whole length of him was hard and warm against my front.

His mouth was gentle for a second.

Then I bit his lower lip, and he groaned, and it was not gentle anymore.

He turned us until my back met the brick, and his hands slid under my sweater.

His palms were rough from the steering wheel, and they went over my ribs.

"God, you're thin," he said into my neck.

"Then feed me."

He laughed against my skin, and I felt it everywhere.

I pushed his sweater up over his head and threw it across the room.

His chest was lean and pale and ridged with muscle, and a line of light-brown hair ran down his stomach to his belt.

I put my mouth on his collarbone and tasted salt.

He pulled my sweater off, then my bra, and cold air hit my nipples.

His eyes went dark.

"Look at you."

"Don't look. Touch."

He cupped my breasts in both hands and took one nipple into his mouth.

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