He vanishes into my bathroom—I hear the faucet turn on, off. He returns with a wet washcloth, and he cleans me with it. Tosses it into the bathroom sink, and then sits on the edge of my bed beside me.
“Now listen to me.” He doesn’t give me space to interrupt, which I don’t attempt to. “I don’t know the first thing about your ex, and it’s not my business. But—whoever he is, he’s a fuckin’ piece of shit. He’s a useless goddamned twat. You?” He brushes a thumb over my cheek and cups the side of my neck in a rough grip. “You’re worth touching. You’re worth looking at. You wanna play? We can play. But you play my way. I gave you this, tonight, and it’s all I’ve got to give. You wanna play with me, Myka? I’m gonna take, and you’re gonna give.”
He pauses, to give me space to speak, but I don’t.
“When you’re done playing around with me, you’ll leave, and you’ll find someone worth your time. Worth who you are.” Now I open my mouth to speak, but he runs over me. “That’s how it goes. You’re done with gentle and nice? Fine. I can show you what the other side feels like.”
“Rev—”
His eyes are deep, piercing, full of emotion I can’t fathom or interpret. “You think you’re broken, Myka?”
“I am.”
“You don’t know the firstgoddamnthing about broken.” He’s suddenly intense, violent emotion scudding out of him in palpable waves, black eyes slicing me to shreds; his voice is dark and low and jagged. “Not the first goddamn thing. And thank whatever you believe in for that.”
And then he’s gone, out the door. Slamming it behind him. I snatch the flat sheet off the bed and wrap it around me and scurry to the door, yank it open.
He’s gone. Vapor. No car, no engine sounds. Nothing. Just…gone.
I close and lock my door, collapse into the bed.
Sleep is a long, long time in coming, because all I can think about is Rev.
His body. His voice. His words.
The pain hiding behind his mile-high, mile-thick walls. How he responds so intensely to the simplest affection, yet holds himself away, refuses to allow himself to let go when I’m trying to give him pleasure. He talked about taking, but tonight, all he did was give.
My gosh, he’s complicated.
8Got It Bad
Rev
Chance is waiting for me when I get back. “Where you been, man?”
“Out.”
“No shit, brother.” He follows me into my room and fills the space. “You went to see Myka.”
I know better than to bullshit Chance. He knows me better than any human on the planet, and aside from that, he just has a radar for bullshit.
“Yeah.”
“You fuck her?”
I twist to face him, unable to stop my temper from flaring. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Chance.”
“You did.”
“Didn’t. Went to her, messed around, didn’t fuck her.”
“Then why do I gotta watch my mouth?” He’s leaning against the door, a cocktail straw in his huge hands, twisting it.
“She’s…” I huff, turn away. “Forget it.”
“Rev.” He claps my shoulder; anyone else, that clap would have sent them to the ground. “It’sme, man. Talk to me.”
I rip my shirt off, toss it into the hamper in my bathroom. Sit on my bed. “She’s not the girl you just show up and fuck, Chance. I had every intention of that. But she—I…” I shake my head. “I dunno. I can’t go there with her.”
