Redneck Romeo (The Culture Blind Book 1) Page 13

  Knowing it sounds easier than it’s done, I merely nod my compliance. He hooks his free arm around my waist and sways us around the dance floor. Periodically, he steps back, twirls me twice, and then smoothly pulls me back into him, making the entire thing look effortless. We continue switching styles each time the DJ switches songs, and the entire room seems to melt away.

  By the time we’re overheated, out of breath, and very turned on, we’re being flagged down by my big brother, who is sitting at a table near the bar with his boyfriend.

  We make our way to them after I slide my heels back on.

  Dusty whispers in my ear, “Whenever you’re ready for me to take you home, baby, jus’ let me know. I’m ready to unwrap you like the gift you are.”

  A soft moan slips out as my eyes meet his. “Soon. Very, very soon.”

  We drop down into the empty chairs, and I’m immediately offered a huge slice of chocolate cake with strawberries on top.

  Helplessly, I coo at Dusty, “You remembered my favorite.”

  “There’s not a damn thing I don’t remember about you, baby.” He smiles brightly and grabs a fork. “But you are gonna share that cake. I’m starvin’.”

  “Shoot, I would be too,” Dennis snickers and scoots closer to his boyfriend. His porcelain skin seems to glow in a beautiful contrast to my brother’s. “If I’d spent all night spinning Art around like a ballerina, I’m sure I’d be famished.”

  Art casually shrugs. “But you didn’t, and you’re still trying to steal my cake.”

  “God, you are the worst at sharing!” Dennis scolds.

  “Must be a family thing,” Dusty sells me out between bites. He motions his head at me. “This one hates to do it, too. Or at least she does with food.”

  “It’s my food,” I whine, which makes Art nod.

  “Yeah. If you’re hungry, get your own,” my big brother agrees. “You have legs. They work. Use them to get up and grab your own serving rather than being lazy and picking from my plate.”

  Dennis crosses his legs and leans back into his seat. “Weren’t you two taught to share with the people you love?”

  The accusation has me and Art locking eyes.

  Neither of us were taught what to do with the people you love so much as who was acceptable to love and who wasn’t. Both of us are committing cardinal sins in the eyes of our parents. However, they aren’t aware I am yet. Saving that little surprise for my birthday dinner tomorrow night. Dusty is hard not to love, but the idea of him alone would stop him from even being given the chance to be introduced. It’s a harsh reality to deal with. It’s hard enough having your family divided because your parents disowned their gay son at Christmas, nonetheless, but even harder when you know you’re going to have a “Guess Who” moment without the comedic reprieve the movie was fortunate enough to provide.

  Art wipes his mouth and cautiously asks, “Are you um….Are you two going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tomorrow?”

  I slowly nod.

  “Think they’ll like me as much as you do?” The amount of hope in Dusty’s voice is overwhelming.

  He has no idea….How do you even tell your boyfriend, the man you really do see yourself marrying someday, that there’s a high probability the people who raised you are going to hate him simply for having a different shade of skin? Hate him for ancestral faults and racial entitlement he doesn’t possess.

  My big brother sidesteps the question. “What gives you the impression I like you?”

  His playful accusatory tone grabs a laugh from all of us.

  Before the conversation can continue, two couples stop at our table, clearly ready to leave for the night.

  “Hate to bail already,” Jaye Cox sighs, “but our babysitter gets a little mouthy if we’re home even five minutes late.”

  Archer, her husband, links their fingers together. “She acts like she’s doing us a favor rather than a job we pay her for.”

  “And we rarely go out like this,” Jaye adds, anger increasing, her brown-skinned complexion changing in color. “This is why I prefer to have my parents watch her.” She tilts her head at me apologetically. “Sorry, again, to have to go so soon.”

  “It’s fine!” I insist, springing to my feet to hug them both. “Get home. Kiss Rainne for me.”

  “We will,” she promises.

  “We’re gonna head out too,” Presley Collins informs. “Totally having that parent separation anxiety thing.”

  “Honestly surprised you made it this long,” Ryder pokes the situation. “Swore we weren’t even going to be able to leave the house.”

  She gives him a stern stare.

  From the anxious way her mocha fingers are wiggling and her foot has been tapping the floor, it’s easy to see she’s very uneasy about being away from her baby.

  “Get home safe,” I encourage before hugging them goodbye as well.

  Dusty politely waves while adding it was nice meeting everyone.

  Both couples exit at the same time I settle back in my seat.

  Dennis almost immediately states, “I want that to be us someday, Art.”

  My brother tries to hide his anxiety.

  Can’t blame him with the way the two of them are constantly making up and breaking up. They’ve been together more or less since that Christmas three years ago, but have a hard time dealing with their problems directly. They’ve made a nasty habit out of trying to drag others into the situation, which is actually how I ended up meeting Gabe, Presley’s brother who eventually introduced me to his sister and her husband. Our friendship, much like the one I have with Jaye, is more casual and occasional. We’re friends who became that way through those we associated with. However, they are both incredible women, and I’m thankful for the few moments we do get to enjoy together.

  Dennis drops his hand onto Art’s thigh. “What about you two? Are you thinking about kids?”

  “They’ve barely been dating,” Art grunts. “Fuck, they don’t even live in the same state yet. Of course they’re not thinking about kids.”

  Dusty decides to answer on our behalf. “We’ll absolutely have a family someday. A big one. With lots of kids and the need for all their uncles to come spend lots of time with ‘em.”

  Excitement appears in Dennis’ expression, yet Art is clearly less amused. “We’ll see if you feel that way after you meet our parents.”

  My boyfriend uncomfortably shifts beside me. “You think they’re gonna have an issue with me?”

  I swiftly say, “I think I’m ready to go home and enjoy what’s left of my birthday.”

  Dusty’s eyes dart to mine, completely prepared to argue until he spots my tongue wetting my lips.

  The change in his demeanor is immediate. “Whatever you want, baby.”

  “Brat,” Art teases.

  “She’s allowed on her birthday,” my boyfriend insists.

  Parting from them only takes a couple more minutes, but making our way around to tell everyone else goodbye adds at least another half an hour. Thankfully, the walk back to my apartment is brisk and filled with salacious touches as opposed to more uncomfortable questions about my parents.

  I’ve barely finished locking the door behind us when Dusty’s mouth drops to the crook of my neck. His tongue languorously drags itself up to my earlobe where it lingers while one hand locates to my nipple.

  He gives it a small tug, yanking an eager moan out of me. “Been waitin’ all night to hear that sound again.” He repeats the action on the other side. “Damn sure don’t think we’re makin’ it to the bed, baby.”

  I press my ass firmly against his hard cock. “Then take me to the couch.”

  Dusty growls, swoops me into his arms, and marches us over to my gray L couch. He drops me onto the end and blankets my body with his. Our tongues frantically crash together and even more friction begins burning me from the inside out. I push at the jacket on his shoulders, anxious to shred the clothing constraints. He breaks our kiss to exile it and rip the shirt off hi
s torso. Sounds of buttons bouncing across my hardwood floor only further soaks my panties. Dusty doesn’t stop undressing himself after his top half is bare. He hastily lowers his pants to allow his dick the freedom it deserves. The moment for me to appreciate the gorgeous vision is instantly stolen. He slips his hands under my skirt, rips the fabric in his way, and slides himself home.

  A carnal cry claws its way out of my throat at the same time my nails cling to his biceps. “Dusty!”

  He groans as my pussy clenches tightly around him. “You were fuckin’ made for me, baby.”

  I wind my legs around him and lift my hips to meet each tender thrust. His head lightly presses against mine, breath already ragged. Face already strained. He slowly draws out every stroke, continuously smothering his cock from root to tip. The deliberate action is torturous, yet tantalizing. Sweet, yet sexually agonizing. My muscles savagely attempt to suck him inside, to settle him at the hilt where they want him most. Our mouths hover over one another, both desiring to let our tongues tangle, both too delirious to let them. One hand drifts to curl around the back of the couch and he uses his new stability to stretch out the delicious torment even more.

  “I wanna come,” my complaint, breathless.

  His grin becomes devilish though his movements remain even. “That what you need, birthday girl?”

  “Yes….”

  “You need to come on my cock?”

  The redundant question causes me to groan my disapproval.

  Dustin dives his dick deeper, each push now teasing my aching clit. “Tell me you need me, baby.”

  There’s no reluctance to repeat the words, “I need you.”

  A guttural grunt reverberates around the room. “Again.”

  My pending climax has me shutting my eyes and purring, “I need you, Dusty….”

  The growl he makes sounds more animalistic than the first, and his hips follow suit in the severity of their rocking.

  Like I’ve discovered a hidden orgasmic secret, I repeat the words with more intensity. “I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life.”

  His cock throbs at the proclamation and my pussy swells in anticipation.

  I barely make it another minute before I’m whimpering, “I’m coming, Dusty. I’m coming….”

  My body bows off the couch, and he barbarically buries himself to the brink. Pounds his essence. Pumps his entire reason for living inside of me. Screams get smothered against his chest while my nails bite unforgivingly into his skin. He hisses, yet never stops thrusting. Never stops serving. The slick muscles mercilessly squeeze, devoted to fusing our orgasms the way we fuse the rest of our existence.

  All of a sudden his breathing turns erratic presenting me with the only warning I need.

  Scorching spurts splash inside of me stealing another sigh of satisfaction from my lips.

  Thoughtlessly, I whisper out his name again, “Dusty….”

  He moans, smashes his mouth against mine, and spirals towards the pinnacle euphoria with me.

  There’s not a single doubt in my mind that we were made for each other. Neither my words nor his were just sweet nothings. I do need him, in ways I never imagined I would need anyone else. That thought would terrify me if I didn’t truly believe he felt the same way. Regardless of what tragedy most likely lies ahead tomorrow, I know everything will be alright in the end because we have each other. For me? That’s honestly enough.

  Chapter Eight

  Dustin

  This has been the most awkward ten minutes of my entire life. The previous record had been held by a small stint in the back of a cop car. Cody and I were both naked, hands doin’ their best to keep our junk tucked out of sight while we endured a lecture turned threat by the deputy about what would happen if we were ever caught with his daughters again. I was only seventeen but swore on my life I would never be in such an uncomfortable situation again. Unfortunately, I was very fuckin’ wrong.

  “If you insist on him staying,” Helen, Carly’s mother, sighs from the wicker chair on the other side of the coffee table.

  “Could you please stop acting as if he’s not sitting right here in the room?”

  Since I walked through the door no one other than my girlfriend has spoken to me. Both of her parents have spoken about me, around me, and ignored all attempts I’ve made to acknowledge them.

  Should’ve predicted this wasn’t gonna be all sunshine and picnics when Carly kept changin’ the subject about her folks last night. Too bad, for me gettin’ her naked and makin’ her birthday wishes come true was my primary focus.

  Helen purses her lips together and narrows her eyes at me. “Dustin, is it?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She hums her disgust. “Are you aware of the origins of your name?”

  The strange question stuns me into confusion.

  Helen releases another annoyed huff. “As in why your parents, assuming you have parents and weren’t raised in the back of the barn by horses-”

  “Mother!”

  “-named you Dustin. Is there a story there? Does it have relevance or character?”

  I fold my hands onto my jean-covered lap and politely reply, “I’ve never asked.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” she sneers, snatching her wine glass. “Because, to people like you, a name is just a name, but to people like us,” the racial inflection emphasized with a wave towards her daughter, “it has to be so much more. We have to represent what we’ve lost and hope to gain. We use our names to honor those who have come before us and fought like hell for to us have what it is we do. For instance, Carly is named after Elijah’s grandfather, Carl. Which means free man.”

  Her explanation and accusations expand the knot in my throat.

  “As in we expect her to be free in spirit. Free in life to fulfill all of her dreams, not someone else’s.”

  With the exception of theirs of course. Pickin’ up that their dream was to have her with someone a bit more similar than I am.

  Unsure if there’s anything I can say that will provide reassurance I’m not trying to destroy her daughter, I decide to at least give it a shot. “I support whatever your daughter chooses to do with her life as long as it makes her happy, ma’am.”

  “Including leave you?”

  “Mother!” Carly cries out again.

  My hand lands warmly on her thigh. “Yes ma’am. If Carly finds someone else she feels can make her happier than I can,” the words taste like vinegar even though they’re true, “then I would want her to be with the other person. If Carly manages to find someone else who is willing to work harder every day of their life to make her smile brighter, carry her burdens, and generally bust their rear to make her life better, I won’t stand in the way. But with all due respect, Helen, no such man exists.”

  Carly’s hand lands supportively on mine.

  Elijah strolls back into the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  To my surprise, it’s evident that these are Art’s parents looks-wise. Her brother’s slimmer body type, obviously, comes from their mother, but the rest resembles their father. Carly, though? Aside from her skin tone, which is much lighter than both of theirs, she doesn’t share in their features. And from the backhanded comment Helen made in regards to the piercin’ by Carly’s lip, it’s obvious she does not approve of the mark her daughter sports like an extra middle finger to conformin’ to the somewhat conservative style they appear to be endurin’. Both Helen and Elijah are dressed in black, like they’re making a statement to the world and proudly showcasing neat to the scalp haircuts. Unlike her daughter, who is wearing a short, sleeveless floral print dress with a pair of boots, she bought specifically to drive me wild, no extra skin is bared. No makeup added to emphasize the colors on her attire. Honestly, if Carly hadn’t introduced this woman as her mother, my guess would’ve been distant aunt.

  Elijah states to his wife. “The chicken needs a few more minutes.”

  “Sometimes the pecans require
it a little longer to cook.”

  Pecans on chicken? Why the hell would you put pecans on chicken? I mean, if they allow me to eat, of course I will and swear it’s delicious whether it tastes amazin’ or like an old boot, but what’s wrong with just bakin’ chicken or usin’ good ol’ fashioned bread crumbs?

  Elijah offers his daughter the empty glass. “Would you like some wine, Carly?”

  She tilts her head in question. “Is the other glass for you or our guest?”

  “You mean intruder,” Elijah corrects.

  “He is not an intruder,” my girlfriend growls.

  “He by definition is.” The man scoffs, sitting down on the floor cushion close to his wife’s feet. “He did not have permission nor was he welcomed into our home.”

  “I welcomed him here,” Carly bites.

  “Technically, this isn’t your home. It is not your name on the deed.” Elijah pours red wine into each of the glasses. “And if you repeat this ludicrous behavior you will not be welcomed here either.”

  “You mean like Art?” She snips with vengeance. “Your openly gay son you disowned?”

  Her father delivers a cruel stare to her. “Never speak his name in this house.”

  The tension spreads like wildfire and the only thing my mind wants to do is put it out.

  I clear my throat. “Elijah-”

  “Mr. Chambers.”

  His correction causes me to momentarily stumble over my words, “Uh…pardon me. Mr. Chambers, sir, your daughter says you’re a lawyer?”

  “Knowing my daughter, you’re most likely paraphrasing and poorly at that.”

  My teeth grind together in silence.

  It’s a strange thing to me to sit here with a man who looks identical to one I sat with last night and have two completely opposite reactions. Despite the fact Art is almost a physical carbon copy of his father, he is emotionally better. Open minded. Polite. Kind, not condescendin’. Makes me wonder if that’s also a reason the two no longer get along.

  “But for the sake of continuing this ridiculous encounter, yes, I am an attorney.” Elijah announces smugly. “I have my own law firm and our clientele consists mainly of victims. Men and women who were falsely accused of a crime due to the color of their skin.” The disdain increases. “Men and women who are being failed by an unfair justice system. Men and women who the law would rather prosecute and bury than admit the judicial structure is flawed.”