“What are you doing?” I ask just as his lips graze my already too-sensitive sex, I buck my hips at the contact.
He licks between my folds and mutters. “I’m drinking you.” He closes his mouth over my clit and rolls his tongue and holy shit of all shits I decide that this is most definitely torture because I don’t know how much more I can take.
This time, I don’t give a shit about not having a parachute because I want to fall, and as fucked up as it is, I want him to be the one to catch me.
His tongue circles my clit over and over. Faster and faster, and I’m coming undone once again, screaming his name into the night.
This time it takes even longer for me to come back to reality, and when I do, I sit up and open my eyes only to look around and find that I’m completely alone.
The door slams.
Nine’s gone.
Chapter Eighteen
NINE
When two hurricanes collide, either the weaker storm is absorbed by the stronger one or they fuse together to become a much stronger, super storm. Nobody knows which until it happens.
The way I see it, is that either way it’s still a fucking hurricane, and damage will still be done. Shit will still be torn apart.
People will probably die.
Which is why I couldn’t stay in that RV for one more second.
Lenny and I are both hurricanes, on a course for collision, and who the fuck knows what’s going to happen when or if the skies clear.
The more I look at her, the more I touch her, the more my fucked-up heart cracks. It took everything I have not fuck her into oblivion. She was right there. Ready. Willing. Wet.
Fucking perfect. Better than any dream I’ve ever had. Better than any porn I’ve ever watched. I thought I was broken before, but the more time I spend with Poe, the more I realize that I have no idea what broken is.
Because when all of this is over, I know without a doubt that one way or another, she’ll be the one who truly breaks me.
My skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, but deep inside, I’m chilled to the bone. My spine is a rod of ice.
I walk to the center of the field and look around. I spot my brother on the far side and head toward him.
Preppy inhales the air deeply, then proceeds to light a one-hitter shaped like a unicorn and inhales even deeper. He blows the smoke out through his nose and mouth then passes it to me.
“Seriously? This is your one-hitter?” I ask, turning over the white and pink sparkling unicorn in my hand. Its back is carved out and has a small metal bowl perfectly packed with Preppy’s best weed. Or OUR best weed, I should say.
“Are you being judgy, brother? ‘Cause if you don’t like that one, I’ve got one shaped like a pink elephant, an eggplant, or…” he rummages around in his pocket and pulls out what looks like a pack of gum. “Or this,” he says, pulling on the silver foil which turns out to be the bowl you pack the weed in.
“Dude, where did you get this?” I take it from his hands. “It’s genius.”
“I made it,” he says with a shrug.
“You can sell these, you know,” I say. “I can make it happen. Find a factory, distribution, and sell it on our website.”
He shrugs again. “If you want to, go ahead, but brother, it’s small change compared to what we are doing here,” he says, looking out lovingly over the field. It’s about halfway to harvest time, and we’ve got all of the medical dispensaries ready to take first delivery the second the first plants are ready. “You gotta look at the big picture.”
“I see it, Preppy. I do.”
“Good,” he says.
I go to hand him back his gum pack one-hitter, but he holds up his hand. “Keep it. Recreational still isn’t legal so I need you to be careful. Cops around here aren’t as bribable as they used to be, and I can’t afford to be springing another person from jail.”
“Another person?”
Preppy smiles. “My boy, Grim. Long story. Starts with a phone call saying he needs my help. Ends in a small explosion, a rescue, and scratching the fuck out of King’s truck.” He scratches his head. “Actually, that’s the whole story.”
On the other side of the field, a man walks through the clearing and waves to Preppy. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit. As he approaches, he takes off his jacket and drapes it around his arm.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Someone who’s going to take Clearwater Cannabis to the top,” Preppy answers through his teeth so that our guest can’t read his lips.
“Mr. Clearwater, nice to see you again,” the red-faced man says, sounding out of breath. “I didn’t realize how far out this place was. I would have worn something different if I knew I had to track through half a mile of woods in 90 degree heat.”