The Not-Outcast

Page 9

I gasped as he slid in two fingers right off the bat, sliding all the way in and up and up and up. He was almost lifting me off the ground because of how deep he was, and I wasn’t mad at all. His mouth dipped to my throat, he was already panting, and a second later, as I was breathing loud, a third finger joined in, but he didn’t kiss me. Not on the lips.

Those fingers were working me.

In. Out.

Sliding. Thrusting.


Tweaking me.

Caressing me.

I was going blind.

I was going mad.

I was going to scream and then he grated out, “Up.”

I jumped and he caught me, so easily, as if I weighed nothing. My legs went around his waist, and he held me against the door, still pumping into me.

My head hit the back of the door, but I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling anything except him, except those fingers inside of me as they continued to move in and out. Pleasuring me first.

He was working me like a professional.

Good God.

I was going to combust.

It was coming.



A scream left me and I arched against him, feeling his mouth on my throat again as I surged over the edge.

There’d been no help from me, it was all him, all his fingers as he literally held me in place.

Holy shit.

I was so out of my comfort zone.

I wasn’t even thinking normally.

I was like a regular person. That’s how scrambled he’d made my brain.

Then a soft chuckle as he held me in his arms, and I trembled as I came down from a volcano.

“Good. Now we got that out of the way.” He lifted his head, leaning me and trapping me against the door with his hips. His free hand went to my chin and he tipped me back so I could see those eyes of his blazing at me.

Like diamonds.

“Dude,” I whispered, a ball unfolding inside of me.

He narrowed his eyes. “Dude?”

“You made me think normal.” No one did that. Ever. Like ever ever, but I was me again. I was back and he was about to get a glimpse of how weirdo Cheyenne I could be. “Dude. It’s a rightio dealio with me. It’s stupendous. I was normal.”

He frowned at me, stiffening.

He mouthed my words back to me. Rightio dealio. Stupendous. Then asked, “Normal?”

I grinned at him, slow and sated because I saw stars. I was still seeing stars. “Junkie mom. Dead now. Messed up all my life. That means I don’t think or talk like regular bros and hoes. I’m a different calendar.” But I could pull it together, like for meetings at work or grant writing. I was an ace typist. “Stars. You made me meet them.”

I was still seeing them. His eyes. So smoldering.

He continued to stare at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

I tensed.

Maybe he was regretting this? Was my one-night stand a one-night finger bang instead?

I tried to stem the disappointment, but… Okay.

A girl had coping mechanisms. I could pull mine up, if I needed to.

I was hoping I didn’t need to. I didn’t know how I’d handle that either.

Then he must’ve made his decision.

He readjusted his hold on me, standing back from the door and his mouth twitched. “One rule.”


I was about to see stars again.

“Don’t call me dude again.”

Dude. But I grinned. “Deal.”



I woke, and the night flooded back over me as if I were watching an erotic sci-fi film backwards. By the end of it, alarms were blaring in my head and all I could think about was retreat, retreat, retreat…so I did the first thing I thought of.

Now, as I’m completing this roll, one might think I’m crazy.

I am, kinda.

One might also think this is ridiculous. I’ve loved Cut since I saw him in high school, but that was in high school. High school was a long time ago. It’s been four years since I graduated. Four years since college. And add in another two years of high school, one of which I was only around him for a few months and he was only at Silvard for one year.

For a girl like me, this was all a bit much.

Like a lot of a much.

Like a lot a lot a lot, and I’m digressing.

When my body says retreat, I’ve learned to listen. I’ll usually figure out why later, but until then—I grabbed my phone on the way and I army-crawled to the bathroom.

I didn’t know a lot of things at that moment.

I didn’t look at my phone. One would also think I should look at my screen, but nope. My brain wasn’t hardwired to be thinking logically that morning, or well… Digressing. Once more.

I called Sasha, not knowing the day, the time, if I was alone or not, but I pulled myself over the heated (nice!) tile floor, and then Sasha picked up from the other end.

“What is it?” Her voice was groggy still.

I’d woken her up.

“Sasha,” I whispered and hissed at the same time, but maneuvered around, my stomach still on the floor, and toed the door shut with a soft click. (I was so proud of myself.) I jackknifed up to hit the lights, then scooted back against whatever was behind me. I had no clue.

My phone was glued to my face. “I need help.”

I’d heard her grumbling before that, and then total silence.

A second later, “What do you need?”

There’s my girl.

She was alert, calm, and locked in. She may run a strip club, but I was sure she’d been a secret agent at one point in her life. Maybe that’s where her Russian persona came from.

“I need an extraction. I need my clothes. And I’m pretty sure I need ice for the vajajay.”

There was rustling on her end and then, “Dear God, not the vag.”

“The vag.”

“No, not the vag.”

I repeated, “The vag.”

More rustling. She was moving and talking at the same time. Atta girl. “Was it good, at least? Tell me it was good?”

“The vag needs icing. If it was bad, I’d be calling the cops.”

Dead silence again. Then, “So, it was good?”

“It was fucking phenomenal.”

“Fucking phenomenal?” She was awed. I took Melanie’s word.

“Fucking phenomenal.”


“I know.”


“I know.”

Another pause. We both digested that, then back to business.

“But you need an extraction?”


“I’m moving. Don’t think I’m questioning you, but I’m curious. Why the extraction?”

I had to pause at how to answer that one.

Too fast? Too much? Too scared?

All the above.

I went with, “I don’t remember his name.”

It was lame.

She called me on it. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying.”

“You’re scared.”

She so got me. I nodded to no one in the bathroom. “If I was on the toilet, I’d be pissing.” Though that was redundant. If I was on the toilet, I’d be doing that anyways. Who wouldn’t?

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