Complementary Colors Page 6

  “The coffee will take a couple of min—” Roy stood on the edge of the linoleum staring at me. The coffeepot percolated behind him on the counter.

  I propped my head on my hand. “I think I’m cold, Roy.”

  “I’ll turn up the heat.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and join me instead?”

  “The coffee.”

  “It will keep.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “No, what I need is your cock in my ass.” I bent my knees and spread my legs.

  Roy closed his eyes for a moment. The microwave beeped, and he returned to the kitchen. When he came back out, he carried a bowl of soup and set it on the bedside table. His gaze stayed on the ground.

  “Here.” He stirred it with a spoon. “It’s just canned, but it will help you get warm.”

  “Look at me, Roy.” He stopped moving. “Quit playing innocent and look at me.” The hunger in his eyes turned them black. I sat up enough to pull his shirt out of his pants and slide my hands up his stomach. His skin burned my fingertips.

  Roy clasped one of my hands between his. “You’re freezing.” He tugged the comforter around my shoulders. I grabbed him by his face and slammed our mouths together.

  The surprised sound Roy made vibrated across my tongue. I forced him to open wider, to take me deeper. He resisted only for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around me, cupping the back of my head as he pushed me into the mattress.

  I locked my legs around Roy’s hips and rolled us over. He didn’t even have time to look surprised before I’d yanked his jeans open, freeing his cock. The thick length of flesh curved toward his stomach.

  “Tell me what you want,” I said.

  Roy watched me with wide eyes.

  “C’mon, Roy, you gotta have some idea.”

  His chest heaved with every breath.

  “Alright, then I’ll decide for you.” His jeans abraded my cock and balls on my way down his legs. I closed my lips over his dick and took him to the back of my throat.

  “Oh, God.” Roy put his hand on the back of my head. “God, Paris, that’s…” A tremor ran down his legs.

  I hummed around him as I pulled to the tip. Another downstroke made him tighten his grip on my hair. Every slide of my lips milked another bitter drop of precum.

  Roy pumped his hips, pulled my hair, and forced me to take him so deep it became a choice between obeying and breathing. I struggled to time my inhales with the pulls on his cock.

  I was sure I was close to passing out when he pulled me up and under him. Roy kicked off his boots, shoved his jeans down his legs, and yanked his shirt over his head so fast a couple of the buttons popped off. Then he covered me with the scorching mass of his body.

  “I want to fuck you.” A primal growl followed his words.

  I yanked his hair. “Then do it.” He attacked my neck with violent kisses. “That’s it…more.” He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. “Yesss—”

  Roy fumbled with the drawer on the bedside table. He pulled away from me long enough to pour lubricant over his cock. It dripped in silky rivulets down the length.

  He dropped the bottle and collected the excess on his fingertips.

  “Now,” I said.

  “Just let me…”

  I twisted free and flipped over on my stomach. “Fuck me.” I drew my knees up and put my ass in his face.

  “Goddamn you.” He pushed the head of his cock into my opening, then his powerful legs pummeled me with every thrust.

  I managed to pull myself up on the headboard. The change in angle tightened my body until every pump he gave me skimmed across my prostate. Electric bursts rode up my spine.

  “Harder.” I had to lock my arms to keep from being smashed against the wall.

  Flesh slapped against flesh. Sweat sprinkled my back. An inferno seared away the chill in my bones.

  “Good, so gooood—” I clenched.

  To keep his rhythm, he had to grip my hips with enough force to bruise. The glorious assault added pain to the pleasure.

  The hum growing in my balls spread until all I could feel was his cock sliding in and out, striking sparks of pleasure that threatened to burn me to ash.

  A groan ticked out of Roy’s chest, becoming a guttural roar, but he somehow kept from coming until I barked out a cry and shot all over his pillow.

  His breath on the back of my neck was almost as hot as his lips when he brushed small kisses against my skin. It bothered me how the gentle touch felt better than his cock in my ass, his hands bruising my flesh, or being pinned and made helpless.

  ********

  My ass hurt when I perched on the barstool Roy had pulled up to the counter. I wondered why we sat there instead of the table until I saw the duct tape on the rungs of the chairs.

  Roy caught me looking. “It came with the apartment. Otherwise, I’d get rid of it.”

  “Their version of furnished?”

  “Yeah. At least the bookshelf was usable.”

  “I hope the sofa and bed are yours.”

  “Salvation Army but yeah, they’re mine. Believe it or not, the mattress set still had the tags on it.”

  “I believe you.” I’d sent enough unworn shirts with Alice when she changed out my wardrobe.

  Roy took a bowl of soup from the microwave. “Here.” He sat it on the counter in front of me.

  “So why were you out in the rain?” He finished assembling two sandwiches. He put the one with the extra meat in front of me. I switched it with his. He frowned.

  “It was either the rain or my sister. I chose the rain. If I’d known you were wandering out there, I would have bolted a lot sooner.”

  The blush in his cheeks was dark under his caramel skin. He ate part of his sandwich, and I chased the letter-shaped pasta around the bowl with my spoon.

  “If you dislike her so much, why not make her leave?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do as I say, Paris, or I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in this hellhole.” I traced the vein in the back of his hand. There was a scar between his first two fingers, at the base of his thumb, another near his wrist. I touched each of them.

  “I do construction in the summer and get cut up a lot.”

  “What about this one?” There was an inch long, raised bit of flesh just under his middle knuckle. Roy flexed his hand and put it in his lap.

  I propped my chin on my fist while he concentrated on finishing his sandwich.

  “So tell me, what does the great Roy Callahan do on his days off?”

  He caught a piece of tomato trying to escape. “Not much time off.” He ate it. “But when there is, I usually sleep or watch a little TV.”

  Was the relic sitting on the opposite counter even color? “It works?”

  “Mostly.”

  “A few more years and it will be an antique.”

  He chuckled.

  “How much do you pay for this place?”

  “Seven hundred dollars too much.” He shrugged. “But it’s dry and people leave me alone.”

  I had a hard time believing someone as imposing as him ever had to worry about being bothered. But he did stick out like a sore thumb in his blue jeans and flannel shirts.

  “Where are you from, originally? Not from here, I know.” While he talked with a Southern accent, it didn’t have the same twang as the natives.

  “Arkansas.” He nodded at the bowl of soup. “That’s going to get cold.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “There was nothing left to make me stay.” He finished off his sandwich.

  I pushed mine over to him. “I ate lunch before I ran into you.”

  He gave me a look that said he suspected I was lying.

  “Promise.” I gave him a slow smile.

  He took a bite of the sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed. “Where are you from?”

  “Here.”

  “You don’t have an accent.”
>
  “My family was transplanted from a few states up north. But I was born here.”

  He nodded. “Have you always done art for a living?”

  I took a bite of the soup. It was still warm, but barely. “Not always.”

  “How old were you when you started?”

  “You realize you can get answers to all these question with a quick search on the internet or any number of art magazines.”

  “I’d rather talk to you than read about you.”

  “Reading about me would be safer.”

  For me. For him. For my heart.

  “How do you figure that?”

  I petted his hand. “Because you’re a good person and I would ruin you.”

  “Why would you ruin me?”

  “I ruin everyone, Roy. I’m a disease.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  I shrugged. “Why not? It’s true.”

  “According to who? Your sister?”

  “Por favor, señor, ¿ha visto a mi hijo?”

  I pressed my fingers against the pain stabbing my temple.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Me llamo…”

  Roy made me look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing?”

  “You’re pale.”

  I laughed and pulled away. “Lots of time indoors will do that.” The spoon tumbled from my hand.

  Roy went to turn up the heat.

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “A drink would be far more effective than heat.”

  “Please eat.” He sat.

  I ate a few bites of soup, hoping he’d quit staring at me. He didn’t until half the bowl was empty.

  Roy went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of orange juice.

  “You forgot the vodka.”

  “I’m all out.”

  The juice tasted weird without the alcohol. “See, you’re so wholesome you don’t even keep booze in the place.”

  He finished pouring himself a glass. Roy capped the jug and stood there rubbing the scar on the back of his hand. “My cellmate tried to get a little too friendly and didn’t want to take no for an answer. Neither did the guy in the shower. Or the meal hall. After that, I wasn’t very popular. I learned really fast it was better when people were afraid of you.”

  “You went to jail?”

  “Prison.” He took the OJ back to the fridge.

  “There’s a difference?”

  “County and Federal. So yeah, here’s a big difference.”

  People like Roy didn’t do things bad enough to wind up behind bars. It was impossible.

  “Why were you in prison?”

  He stayed on the other side of the counter. “I killed a man.” For a moment, I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but it disappeared behind the glass he drank from.

  “What happened?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” Because there had to be a very good reason for someone like him to hurt anyone.

  He put the empty glass in the sink. “I was in a bar fight, and a man died.”

  “And the reason for the fight?”

  “It was just a fight.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Then we’re even.”

  “Even? How.”

  “You lied about eating.”

  So he did know. “Big difference. Tell me. Please.”

  Roy scrubbed his hands over his face, then folded his arms over his chest. He stared with no expression on his face but somehow looked destroyed.

  He cleared his throat. “The crowds were really bad on Fridays. Construction workers, truck drivers, guys from the college. It was pretty normal for things to get rowdy. I was in the back by the pool tables with a bunch of other men on my crew.” The tick returned to his jaw.

  “Keep going.”

  “I really don’t…” He sighed. “Like I said, it was crowded. Some of the other guys got too friendly with this girl, a waitress. At some point, one of them made a pass. She turned him down, and he didn’t want to take no for an answer. By the time I saw what they were doing, they already had her shirt off. There had to be fifteen other men standing around, and none of them did a damn thing to stop it.”

  “So you did.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Could have turned your back like everyone else in the bar.”

  He dropped his gaze. “I went to break it up, and they came after me.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just wanted to know the odds.”

  “Five to one.”

  “Not a very fair fight.” I sipped my juice while Roy scuffed his feet against the faded linoleum. “And what happened next?”

  “After I broke a few noses, they backed off. Except for one. He pulled a knife. He lunged. I grabbed him and snapped his neck. It just happened.”

  “Self defense,” I said.

  “Yes and no.”

  “It was five on one. Not to mention they were trying to rape a woman. Tell me how a jury could possibly find you guilty of anything else?”

  “I pled out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because seven years was better than twenty.”

  “No one would have convicted you.”

  “It was a small town. I killed someone’s son, husband, brother. He’d grown up there, I didn’t. He had friends, I was an out of towner just running a construction job. The lawyer said there was a good chance they’d find me guilty on principle alone.”

  “Should have fired him and gotten a different attorney.”

  “Public defender. I didn’t have any money to hire one in the first place.”

  So Roy went to prison when he should have been given a medal. “Seven years for saving a woman from being raped and maybe even killed?”

  “I got out on parole after three for good behavior.”

  “Doesn’t make it all right.” My spoon clanked against the bottom of the bowl.

  “Want some more?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  If only he would. “Is that why you left Arkansas?”

  “That was the divorce.” I have no idea what he saw on my face to make him add, “I didn’t always live in a rat hole and work for money under the table. I used to have a really good business.”

  “Building houses?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly commercial buildings.”

  “And you didn’t have money for a lawyer?”

  “The ex got the business, the house, plus alimony. There wasn’t much left to live on, let alone hire a lawyer. I took the out-of-state jobs to pay the bills.”

  “If you ran a building company, why are you fixing air conditioners?”

  “Constuction companies don’t hire felons.”

  “But you still get work.”

  “Because I’m willing to work for less than anyone else and there are always folks looking to cut corners.”

  I didn’t know whether to be worried or grateful.

  Roy watched me with a kind of longing seen on the faces of people who are about to say good-bye for the last time.

  “I guess I was wrong about you,” I said.

  His smile was tight. I hated the fact he wouldn’t even try to defend himself.

  “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

  “Why? Do you want me to leave?”

  “I figured…”

  “I’d be scared of you?”

  “Like you said, you were wrong about me.”

  “Yeah, I was. You’re far more than just a good person. Someone should nominate you for sainthood.”

  Somehow his expression became even more broken.

  “That was a compliment.”

  “One I don’t deserve.”

  “Why not?”

  He went to the cabinet. “I’m out of vegetable, but I have some chicken noodle.” />
  I slid off my stool and cornered him near the stove. Surviving prison with his virtue intact was the proof his wide shoulders, thick arms, powerful body were capable of delivering everything his presence led me to believe.

  Yet there he was, crushed against the counter in an attempt to get away, his pulse jumping in his neck, eyes wide, lips parted, sucking in short, panicked breaths, just because I stood close to him.

  “Are you still scared of me?” I rubbed the crotch of his blue jeans. The hard length of his cock rode across his thigh in search of escape. “Nope. Definitely not scared.”

  Roy’s incredible green eyes searched my face. He touched my cheek, ran his fingers to my jaw, followed my chin to my lips. I waited for him to kiss me. But he only stared, and touched, and stared some more. The weight of it all became too much, and I stepped away. He followed me until I was the one pinned against the counter.

  Roy slid his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, then back up to hold my face. “Stay here tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?” His chest and his thighs pressed against mine.

  “Will you fuck me again if I do?” The smile I tried to pull fell flat. Roy leaned closer. Instead of hungering for his mouth on mine, I feared it. I turned my head, and he brushed his lips against my jaw.

  “Stay the night with me, Paris.” I trembled. “Shhh—” His heated touch danced over the back of my neck.

  “Why?”

  “I want to feel you next to me. I want to know your body.”

  “You already know the important parts.” I hated that my voice cracked.

  “No, I don’t.” He put his hand on my left pectoral.

  “Julia will have a fit if I don’t come home.” And that wasn’t a lie.

  He made some space between us, and I was able to regain my composure. “Why do you do what she wants?”

  “It’s difficult to explain.” How did you tell someone you had no rights? You’d been made into property? You’d long ago had the fight stripped from your core?

  And there was no such thing as parole from Julia’s prison.

  “Try.” Close again, his exhale warmed the shell of my ear.

  I found myself leaning into him, searching for the warmth of his body, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex from his skin. What would it be like to be held as I fell asleep and to wake up in those same arms? I wanted to know. I needed to know.