Page 49 of The Rebel of Raleigh High
“At the Salton Ash Park?”
“You missed a word out of the title, Silver,” he says ruefully. “The Salton AshTrailerPark. I’m not ashamed. No need to skirt around it.”
A prickle of shame bites at me, making my cheeks burn, because that's precisely what Ididdo. “Sorry. I don’t even know why I did that.”
He gives me a slow, almost sad smile. “Sure you do. You live in a big house with a wraparound porch and a manicured lawn out front. You have both your parents. You get to scream at your brother every morning because his bedroom is the room next to yours and he's annoying the shit out of you. WhereasIlive alone in a doublewide on a gravel plot, and I have to fight for the chance to spend enough time with my brother that he might get the chance to annoy me.”
I slump against the cushion, feeling like a grade-A asshole. “You’re right,” I murmur. “I’m s—”
“Don't apologize. I'm not sorry. I have freedom now. I can go where I want. Do what I want. Be who I want. And believe me, my place right now is a dramatic step up from Gary's basement. Which brings me back to my morose story. I always planned to pay Gary a visit, to let him know how much I appreciated his care and attention one last time, but I got caught up working for Monty and trying to settle back in at Bellingham, and time kinda got away from me. And then, one morning, Monty chucks the newspaper at me, and there it is on the front page.” He holds up his hands, framing the imaginary headline. “'Officer Feldman, dedicated civil servant of Grays Harbor County, killed following denied parole appeal hearing.' He'd been escorting someone from the courthouse when a group of guys in ski masks jumped out of a van and shot him in the chest. Killed instantly. They were rescuing their buddy. As far as I know, they got away with it, too. Ironically, Gary was buried in the cemetery on the far side of this lake. When he got out of hospital after the beating I gave him, the fucker went to the detention center where I was being held and told them I'd stolen a piece of his jewelry. They let him rifle through my shit, and he took the only thing he knew mattered to me.”
“Which was?”
He tugs down the neck of his t-shirt, closing his hand around the small golden medallion hanging around his throat. “My mom’s St. Christopher. Gary knew I never took it off, but that I would have had to surrender it at the center, so he took it to hurt me. Then he died, and I was determined to get it back. I went to his place and tossed it, but it wasn’t there. I knew the asshole wouldn’t have sold it or given it away. It was the one thing he had over me, and I knew for afactthe sick fuck would have coveted it because of what it meant to me. So I went and dug him up. And low and behold, there it was, clasped tight in his greedy, dead little hand. A cop found me pissing on him and Tazed me. Andthatis how I ended up at Raleigh, hanging onto my freedom by the skin of my teeth.”
“Jesus, Alex.” Hesitantly, I touch my fingers to the fine chain where it falls across the back of his neck. I’ve noticed him toying with it many times since he started at Raleigh, but I haven’t realized how significant it is until now. How important. “I don’t blame you for doing any of that,” I tell him. “I would have done the same thing.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. The light from the fire dances across his face, and I can’t help myself: I release the chain, my hand rising up the back of his neck, a wild shiver of nerves and anticipation flying up and down my back as I brush my fingers over the closely cropped hair at the base of his skull. High, and a little higher still, and then my hand is buried in longer, wavy hair. I wind my fingers through it, curling the length of it around them, almost massaging his head, and slowly Alex closes his eyes.
“Dolcezza,” he whispers “Non fermarti.”
My heart trips over itself, stuttering frantically to find its lost rhythm. “You called me that earlier. What does it mean,Dolcezza?”
Alex’s voice is rough-edged and low. “Sweetness,” he murmurs.
A rush of adrenalin slams into me, pooling in the pit of my stomach. Sweetness. I am his sweetness.Fuck. “And…the other part?” I ask.
His eyes still closed, his face in profile, his features cast in gold by the fire, Alex looks like some of kind of mythical god. His chest rises abruptly, and he lets out a pained groan. “It means don’t stop.”
He moves so quickly, I barely have time to yelp as his eyes fly open and he twists, grabbing me by the waist, lifting me from the sofa in a swift, effortless maneuver that makes me feel as though I weigh nothing at all. His hands are firm, guiding me, and all of a sudden I’m exactly where I wanted to be five minutes ago, legs either side of him, straddling him, my chest crushed up against him as his hands press urgently against my back. He shifts down a little, sliding down the sofa, and I feel him between my legs—his dick, rock solid and hard enough to dig into the underside of my thigh. For one long, paralyzing moment, I think I’m going to punch him in the throat in an attempt to flee the situation. My head… fuck, my mind is roaring. I can’t…I can’t fucking…
Alex takes my hands and places them on either side of his throat, holding his own hands over mine, drawing me down closer to him. I can feel his pulse hammering frantically beneath my palms. “Ssshhhh. It’s fine. It’s okay, Silver. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even gonna touch you. Relax.”
“Okay. Okay.” I nod up and down, breathing in through my nose. “Okay.” By the third okay, the surge of panic that rose up and closed around my throat is dissipating.
“I’m never going to do anything without your permission,” he says, in that low, ragged voice. “I just wanted you here, against me, your body against mine. I wanted you fucking closer, Silver. Your hands in my hair like that…” He doesn’t finish. I don’t think he can.
Taking my time, along with a second to catch my breath, I slide my hands out from under his and gingerly brush the tips of my fingers down the side of his face. “It felt good?” I whisper.
His eyes are bottomless and fierce in the almost dark room. “Beyond good,” he grinds out. “Your handsanywhereon me feel good. But that…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his addled mind. “No one’s touched me like that before.”
I see the truth in his eyes. I’m no fucking fool. Alex doesn’t carry himself like a guy who’s inexperienced with women. I’ve heard of The Rockwell, and I know of its unsavory reputation. There’s no doubt in my mind that Alex hasn’t been a virgin for a very, very long time, but to have him tell me that I’m the first person to touch him in such a simple, intimate way like that, rubbing his head? I had no idea I could be any sort of first for him, and that feels fucking incredible.
With one hand, I tentatively begin to repeat the motion, weaving my fingers into the thickness of his hair, pressing the tips of my fingers into his scalp, biting my bottom lip between my teeth when he shudders beneath me. He rests his hands at my hips, but I’m unafraid of the contact. I’m fascinated by the way he’s looking up at me, eyes burning, jaw set, head angled back a little, exposing the column of his throat as he leans into my touch.
“Stop biting your lip,” he grinds out roughly.
“Why?” God, my own voice has its own uneven step to it, too.
“Because it’s driving me fucking crazy,” he says.
“Now, now, Mr. Moretti. Patience is king.”
“I’m patient. For you, I’ll be eternally patient. Doesn’t mean watching you bite that lip isn’t the most torturous thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”
I’m pleased, though I try not to be. Being pleased means I’m enjoying the fact that I can turn him on so easily. And that? That’s dangerous.
When Alex shifts underneath me again, my reaction is immediate and unintentional, though. I press my hips down, rolling them once against him, and Alex goes absolutely, utterly, terrifyingly still. No sound comes out of his mouth, but I can read the word he mouths perfectly well on his lips. “Fuck.” A tendon strains in his neck, the muscles in his chest tensed beneath his t-shirt as he tightens beneath me.
