Page 60 of Honeyed

As soon as we’re inside the door, I’m shedding my clothes, making sure to catch his eye as I fling my tank top over my head. Push my leggings past my feet as I toe off my sneakers and discard my bra and underwear. The front hallway of the house is swathed in sunlight, and anyone walking close enough to our windows could probably make out what we’re doing, but I can’t care right now.

When I’m fully undressed, Warren not having taken his eyes off me the entire time, I walk to him and pick up his hand, setting it on my heart.

“Use me to forget. Don’t feel a thing but me,” I tell him, giving him permission to lose himself in us.

Those skilled lips crash violently onto mine, not taking another second before he shuts his brain off. Hands cup my breasts, my sex, fingers pushing in as he uses his other hand to tear at his clothes.

His boxers and athletic shorts are at his ankles, pooling around the sneakers he doesn’t bother taking off as he hoists me against the front door. My legs fall open and around his waist, my core lining up perfectly with his rock-hard dick sliding against my wet opening.

And when he pushes inside me in one deep, long, harsh stroke, I hold on to his shoulders for dear life, hoping I can erase some of his pain.

24

ALANA

We’re in a heap on the floor in front of the front door, our breath coming in pants as we come down from our climaxes.

“Thank you.” Warren brushes my closed eyelids with his lips, and I knew he needed that before he even did.

Even though we’re naked as newborn babes with all the windows open on the first floor on a weekend morning, I don’t move.

“Has he written you before?” I ask, not knowing if he’ll tell me the truth.

Warren picks me up like I weigh nothing, and even with the heaviness in the air, I can’t help the giggle that escapes. “What are you doing?”

“We both could use a shower. Call it aftercare for fucking you against the front door.” His voice is deep and sounds clear, so I hope that alleviated some stress for him.

“You owe me pastries, too.” I try to keep the lightness of the mood going, even if he hasn’t answered my question.

“After the shower. We’ll go eat there.” He promises.

When we’re both standing under the spray, his gorgeous lean form towering over me as we hold each other in the warm water, he finally speaks.

“Yes, he’s written, but not in years. Or maybe because I moved around a lot, he never knew where to send it. Either way, this is the first time in probably seven or eight years.”

Shock squeezes my lungs because that means he was writing to Warren in high school and even college, and he never told me.

“Why don’t you talk about it? I mean, I know why. But it’s me. If you need it, you can always vent to me.” My voice is small, like I’m unsure of our connection, even though he’s naked in my shower after an afternoon of exploring my body.

He palms my cheek. “It’s ugly. And horrible. I’ve never wanted to stain you with that, much less recall it. But with this fucking scum, Mason, coming around, dredging it all up, I just can’t stop thinking about it. What kills me is that I know exactly what he looks like. I can’t avoid the pictures that pop up every once in a while when I’m scrolling the Internet. But … I can’t remember her face. I don’t remember what her voice sounds like or what she smelled like. It’s been so long, and I don’t have a scrap of anything that belonged to her. People love to talk about how insane my father is, what a crazy murderer he is, but I only ever focus on my mother. Ultimately, I lost the one woman who was biologically disposed to love me. I think she did, I think we had good times. It’s so hard to remember back to that, to before he began beating her down, spirit or otherwise. She hid a lot of it from me, but my God, I wish I saw more. Maybe I would have reported it, gotten her help. Before he did anything …”

“You were a little boy, Warren. You did all you could. And I’m sure she hid it because she loved you so much, she didn’t want any of that touching you.” My voice breaks as I eliminate any space between us.

Inside, my heart is breaking for the little boy he was. Breaking for the mother who deserved to live, to see him how he is now.

“She’s gone, and I have no one to turn to now. They’re all gone, every parent, and the only one surviving writes me letters out of some sort of nightmare. It’s hard to reconcile that you don’t deserve a life like this when it’s all you’ve ever known. I know you don’t understand that, but for a very long time, I thought I wasn’t worthy of any kind of love. These crime junkies or news personalities think that all I’m good for is their yearly updates on what the son of a psychopath is up to. Everything I am is tied to him, whether I like it or not.”

“That’s not true.” My words come out harsh, but only because I can’t believe he truly believes that. “You don’t have no one, first of all. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. So would my family. You are one of us. And you’re everything to me.”

Those three little words still evade me, and I can’t reason why, but right now isn’t the time to think about myself.

“As for deserving any of it, or being tied to him, that’s so wrong, I feel like hitting it out of you. If anyone can’t realize, within seconds of meeting you, that you’re made of pure, unfiltered good, they’re an absolute idiot. Warren, you are the kindest, most gentle person I know. Every inch of you radiates goodness, to the point that it gets annoying when you won’t talk shit with me sometimes. You are not your parents, any of them. You have always been your own person, to me and to anyone who knows you. Fuck whatever the outside world thinks. You know who you are, even in moments of doubt. And if you forget, I’m right here to remind you.”

He sighs into me, neither of us making a move to actually shower.

“Will you read it?” I ask the question that’s been burning inside me since Mason handed it to me.

Warren answers immediately. “No. I never do. Nothing he says will ever change my mind. I will never go see him or want to make amends. The day he killed her was the day he ceased to be in my life. There is nothing I want from him, to say to him, nothing. I have no lingering thoughts or regrets, no questions. I’m living for me, in the present.”

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