Carmen Jenner - Welcome to Sugartown

“I’m kinda surprised you let that stop you.”

“You gotta know when to pick your battles, Son. Sometimes you gotta let your kids sort out their own shit.”

“Like choosing who they date?”

He guffaws, “You’re a good kid, Cade. I like having you around the shop. But not around my daughter.” Bob takes a long swig of beer. “’Course, it’s not up to me who Ana dates, and she rarely takes notice of anything her old man tells her these days. But know this: you take her down that road you’ve been on, drag her down, you hurt her in any way and I’m gonna finish you. I don’t care if I have to follow you to the back of beyond. You hurt my little girl and I’ll put you to ground quicker than you can fucking blink. Are we clear, Cade?”

“I’m not gonna hurt her, Sir. Ana’s about the best thing to happen to me in the last ten years.”

He swigs the remainder of his beer and leans in to set it down on the table behind me. “Just make sure you’re the best thing to happen to her, too. Ana doesn’t need you to be another decision she’ll regret.” He gives me a long hard look and strides away, over to his wife.

Fuck. He’s right. I’m not the best thing for Ana. I’m not even close. I’m just a kid who made some pretty fucked up decisions, who turned into a man who made even more fucked up decisions. The worst of which I did time for. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every waking minute since I got out working my arse off and trying to keep my tarnished record clean. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every second of my life since trying to be nothing like my father. I’m his flesh and blood and that alone makes me not good enough for her.

She deserves a man that went to uni to get a degree, someone who makes a killing and wears a monkey suit and comes home every night to their big fuck off house full of riches, not some dick who didn’t finish high school, works a job “the man” tells him to because his stupid-as-fuck decisions took away all his other options, and who can fit all his worldly possessions on the back of a motorbike, like me. Which then begs the question—what the fuck am I doing here?

I chug the remainder of my stubby and set it down alongside Bob’s. I’m outta here, I think, and head around to the alley where I left my bike. I don’t get much further than the side of the house before I hear Ana behind me. “Elijah, wait. Where are you going?”

“Home,” I reply without turning around, and then I laugh to myself, because the motel room where I sleep and store my overnight bag while I work is hardly a place to call home.

“Without saying goodbye?” It’s impossible to ignore the hurt in her voice. Fuck. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Which means?”

I stop walking, but stand with my back to her. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away. I’m drunk and acting like a complete tool and I can’t seem to make myself stop. “Forget it, Ana. Just go back to the party.”

“No! I want to know what he said to you.”

I whirl around and pin her to the brick wall. She startles, but doesn’t try to escape when my arms pen her in on either side. Her chest is heaving, those gorgeous tits are just inches from my hands, from my mouth, and suddenly all I can think about is rolling my tongue around her nipple and teasing it with my teeth. My cock jerks inside my jeans and I’m instantly hard.

“What is this?” I demand.

“What’s what?” Obviously Ana has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m guessing she has no idea why I’m so fucking mad about it either, but I don’t care. I want an answer to this question so badly that I feel it like an anvil on my chest. I’ve never been this tied in knots over a girl before and I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit.

“This shit between us, what the fuck is going on here?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re drunk.”

“Answer me.” I snap.

A crease forms between her brows. Fuck she’s hot when she’s mad. “Give me your keys. I’m not letting you drive home like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No. You’re drunk and being an arsehole,” she says, holding out her hand. “Give them to me, or I’ll go searching for them.”

“Knock yourself out,” I say leaning back to allow her to frisk me.

She’s got this determined look on her face as she plunges her hand inside my pocket. I’m not wearing boxers on account of skipping my laundry tonight and the heat from her fingers on my cock as she skims my thin pocket lining is so hot I want more. She gasps when she realises that her hand is on my dick with only a thin piece of cotton separating us. “See what you do to me, Ana?”

“Sorry!” she blurts out, all high and breathy, and yanks her hand away like the damn thing just bit her. The pink in her cheeks is so delicious it makes me want to kiss her. So I do. I push her back against the wall and lean into her, claiming her mouth with my own, my hard on pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’,” I whisper as I break away and trail kisses down her neck. “Just don’t stop touching it.”

I run my hand down the side of her hip and lift her leg until I’m pressed firmly against her and she has no other choice but to wrap her leg around my own. The space between our kisses is taken up with Ana’s breathy moans and my grunts as I thrust between her thighs.

My jeans are in the way and her dress is all crushed up between us. There’s too much material between my skin and hers, and yet neither of us seeks to move it out of the way. I just keep grinding into her as she moans my name and tilts her neck so my lips have easier access to her flesh. I know she must be uncomfortable in that position, thrust up against a brick wall with so much of her back exposed in that little sundress, my pelvis smashing into her so hard I can feel the folds of her pussy moulding to my cock, despite the fact that our clothes are in the way.

I know I must be hurting her with how hard I’m pushing, but I’m too selfish to stop. Instead, I run my hand along the back of her thigh and my fingers slip beneath her dress, beneath the barely there lace underwear and slide into her wet heat. She inhales sharply and exhales on a moan. Fuck. She’s so hot against me I feel like my skin might catch fire. I slide the pad of my thumb down into her wetness and circle it over her clit, smiling as I feel her body tremor. She’s so responsive to my touch. I flick my thumb back and forth, move my fingers faster once I hear her breath catch and her hips rock into the rhythm. She’s trembling and panting, so close to coming. The need to take her over the edge consumes me. I feel it like a kick to the gut, this desire to please her, own her, and be good enough for her.

It scares the shit outta me.

“Jesus, Ana, you’re so damn hot, I wanna bury myself inside you and live there,” I murmur against her ear and I feel her go instantly still. Seriously, she went from being seconds away from orgasm to being so still she’s not even breathing. My hand freezes. I look at her face. Her eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong? Where’d you go?”

“Uh … sorry, I think that beer kinda went to my head a bit.”

“So then, let it take you over the edge,” I say as I continue my assault with both my hands and mouth, but I know the second she puts her palms against my chest that the moment is gone.

“Just … give me a second? I haven’t …” she whispers, and I gently remove my hands from her body and take a step back. No fucking way. That’s not possible … Is it?

Is that why Holly warned me away? Because this walking wet dream of a woman is still a virgin? And here I am, dry humping her up against the side of her father’s house. Fuck! Ten minutes ago I was walking away from Ana Belle because I’m no good for her; now, that’s even truer than before, and yet I’d willingly give my left nut to be balls deep inside her.

“I gotta go.” I gotta get outta here before I fuck this up worse than I already have.

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, Ana, just like that.” I take off toward the alley again.

“Elijah.” I can hear the hurt in her voice but I block it out. She doesn’t follow me and I’m glad. I don’t know how many times I can stand to walk away from this girl before I crack.

“To being single.” Holly taps her plastic cup off of mine in a toast and downs the rest of her peach-flavoured wine cooler. I sit my cup back on the table without tasting it and sigh. Her toast would have been much more effectual if she didn’t immediately turn around and suck face with Red Hot Rob.

I’m not even sure why we call him that. I mean, his body is kinda nice to look at, but he has this long greasy hair that falls below his shoulder blades and the colouring of a ginger on an emo kick. Now that I think about it, it’s like Alice Cooper and Bon Jovi had a love child. Either that or some terrible nineties rock clip threw up on him.

Wow, when did I turn into such a judgemental bitch?

The truth is, I know why I’m cataloguing all Red Hot Rob’s faults and staring daggers at my best friend, who is so drunk she’s having a hard time keeping Rob’s tongue in her mouth. The two are swapping spit outside their mouths and I think I may have just vomited a little bit in mine.

I mean, who does that?

And while I’m thinking of things that people don’t usually do—who the hell throws you up against a brick wall and kisses you senseless, not to mention the things he did with his hands, and then just walks away like it never happened? I should show up on his doorstep and demand he tell me what the hell he thought he was doing.