The Story Of Carnage: The Complete Carnage Collection: Books 1-5

by Lesley Jones

  He’s sitting at my desk with his back to the room, a stack of Sean’s letters to the side of him, two sheets of paper in one hand, and a crystal whiskey tumbler in the other.

  It’s three in the morning. My husband is sitting in my office, reading the words of love, Sean, my now dead husband had written for me, whilst sipping on whiskey.

  For me? Is that really the right term? He’d written them to me, but I’m not sure he ever planned for me to see all of them. Some, maybe. But there were a few I think he may have removed before letting me have a read.

  I guess I’ll never know.

  Cam takes a sip of his drink and lets out a long sigh.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him quietly.

  The glass he has in his hand jerks in surprise at the sound of my voice, and I watch as the amber liquid sloshes from side to side. As the light from my desk lamp catches it, I can’t help but to compare the colour to Sean’s eyes. His were brown, with little flecks of gold, whiskey coloured. Cam’s are a rich, warm brown, looking almost black when he’s turned on or angry.

  Tallulah is the only one of our children to get my blue eyes. The other three have dark eyes like their dad.

  I wonder what colour eyes Baby M and Beau would’ve had?

  “Shit, Kitten you made me jump.”

  And it’s those kinds of thoughts that are tearing me apart. Two of my children had to die in order for the other three to exist. Is that how it works? I am not a believer in God, but surely if he did exist, he wouldn’t force us to make choices like that?

  “Georgia?” Cam interrupts my theological musings.

  “Wha?”

  “I said get your arse over here, woman.”

  I blink a few times before stepping fully into the room and making my way over to him.

  I climb sideways into his lap. He wraps one big arm around my back and one across my hips, sliding his hand up my T-shirt so he can cup my bare arse and pull me into him.

  He rubs his nose into my hair, over my ear, and down my neck. I tilt my head to the side, allowing him better access. Enjoying the sensation of goose bumps spreading across my skin from each point of contact his nose and warm breath make.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I turn myself to face him. He’s biting down on his bottom lip and his eyes are searching my face, looking sexy as fuck while he does it.

  “Georgia, would you tell me if I ever weren’t enough for you?”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  I open my mouth, but he speaks again before I can.

  “I know I don’t get the whole music thing and your love of it. I can’t paint, or draw, or design clothes and furniture. I’m not always good with words. I can’t write songs for or about you like he did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you any less than he did. I just …”

  My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even attempt to stop them from falling as I interrupt him.

  “No. No, Cam. Please stop. Of course you’re enough. You’re everything. Too much sometimes.”

  I hold his face in both my hands and kiss him repeatedly, speaking through my tears.

  “I love you, Cam. You’re my whole world. You and the kids are the reason I exist. You’re my everything. Every-fucking-thing. Please don’t ever doubt that. These last few days, yesterday especially, have been horrible. I really thought I’d pushed you away. That you were finally sick enough of my bullshit to leave me.”

  “I’d never leave you, Kitten. Never, and it pisses me the fuck off that you’d think for a moment that I would.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel about you thinking you’re not enough. Why would you ever think that? You’re more man than most women could ever handle.”

  Cameron King is the most confident—almost to the point of being arrogant—man I’ve ever met, and I absolutely hate that I’ve made him doubt himself.

  He tilts his hips up and makes small circular movements, grinding his dick into my arse.

  “I’m not talking about the size of my dick and the ability I have to fuck you into multiple orgasms with it.”

  There he is. That right there is my Cam. My TDH.

  “Then what, Tiger?”

  “I can’t write you love songs or send you love letters telling you the way I feel.”

  So, that’s what this is all about? I might just set a torch to those bloody letters and never read another word.

  “But he didn’t have a nine-and-a-half-inch dick.” My attempt at humour fails miserably.

  His face remains blank as he blinks his eyes whilst staring at me for a few seconds.

  “What the fuck has that got to do with anything? My dicks bigger than most blokes.”

  “And most blokes can’t write songs or a love letter like Sean McCarthy.”

  “I’m well aware of that; I’m one of them.”

  “But I don’t need you to, Cam. That was his thing. That’s what I had with him, and it’s irrelevant to you and me. That’s not what I have with you.”

  “No, all you get with me is a big dick and multiple orgasms.”

  “And four beautiful children and the confidence to know that I’m loved, worshiped, and adored every single day of my life.”

  “I didn’t give you that yesterday. Yesterday you thought I was leaving you.”

  I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling in frustration. I can just make out the mural of a unicorn standing on a cloud and farting a stardust-sprinkled rainbow out of its arse that’s on my ceiling.

  I had it painted to remind me that life isn’t always perfect. My life most certainly hasn’t been and wasn’t now but it was perfect for me, for us.

  Sometimes in life, bad things happen just because. It’s not “meant to be” and it’s not “God’s will”. It just is. My life isn’t about fluffy clouds, stardust, and rainbow-farting unicorns. It’s about everything that’s on the walls beneath the hand-painted sky above our heads. It’s family photos of kisses, cuddles, and laughing smiling faces, pure happiness and joy. It’s hand prints filled with our family rules and inspirational quotes, the pencil-marked walls showing the kid’s heights since the day they could stand. It’s love, warmth, temper tantrums, loud music, and chaos. Barking, bum-sniffing dogs, muddy football boots, and shit-covered riding boots left in the hallway. It’s Harry, George, Lula, and Kiks. It’s Cam and his rules and lack of technological know-how. It’s me and my terrible cooking. It’s everything that I thought I’d never have and everything he gave to me.

  Him. Cameron King.

  “That’s because of my own stupid insecurities, not because of anything you did.”

  “If I were doing my job properly, you wouldn’t have any insecurities.”

  I raise my eyebrows and look at him, giving him my best “You’ve got to be shitting me” look.

  He rolls his eyes, knowing full well I have him. We both know nothing will put a stop to my insecurities. I’m a woman, they come with the job description. I give him my best smile, telling him, “You look like Lula when you do that.”

  “Lu’s my daughter, it’s her that looks like me.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Now you sound like Harry. Anyway, Lu’s all you. I swear she’s a combination of you and Ash. I don’t think there’s anything of me in there.”

  He looks into my eyes without saying a word for a few long moments.

  “Our babies,” he says very quietly.

  I nod my head, unable to speak around the big knotty ball of emotion that’s lodged in my throat.

  “We’re so fucking lucky. I’ve got daughters, George. You gave me girls.” He says it like he’s realising this for the very first time.

  “Never in my life did I imagine myself with girls. Boys, yeah, I always expected boys, but never girls.” I can’t help but laugh at the astonishment in his voice.

  “For a while, I never thought I’d have either,” I confess. He holds my face in his big right hand and brushes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.

  �
��And here we are with four,” he whispers.

  “And all because of you.”

  He shakes his head, leans in, and kisses me oh so gently on the mouth.

  “Because of us.”

  “And that’s what you’ve given me. That’s why you’ll always be enough. When you’re not busy being too much that is. You gave me back my life, and then you gave me a life. One that I could never have imagined, hoped, or dreamed of ever living.”

  He stands up, holding me tight in his arms. I feel safe and secure as he carries me upstairs to our bedroom. I make sure to lock the door behind us.

  As soon as he lays me down on the bed, I pull my T-shirt off. Cam manages to get naked in the few seconds that it’s taken me to undress.

  I lean back on my elbows and watch him as he watches me from the end of our bed.

  “Bend your knees and open your legs. I wanna see you,” he orders.

  I do as I’m told, never taking my eyes from his.

  “Are you wet?” He stares between my legs as he asks.

  Is he serious right now?

  He’s Cameron King. Of course I’m fucking wet, but I won’t be telling him that. I nod my head.

  “Rub your clit for me, baby. Lemme watch.”

  I slide my middle finger into my mouth and suck on it, hard. Pulling it out, I twirl my tongue around the tip before dragging it down my throat and through my cleavage.

  “Fuck, Kitten,” he whispers, taking his cock in his hand and stroking.

  “Dim,” Cam orders, and like most other things in this world, our voice controlled lights obey him, leaving the perfect amount of lighting for us to be able to see each other but not the room around us.

  He winks at me.

  And I melt.

  Fuck, my husband is hot.

  I watch him bite his lip as he watches me drag my finger down my belly and past my belly button, until I reach my clit.

  I let out a breathy uhh sound as I press on the little button of nerves.

  “Wider, George. Open your legs wider. I wanna see how wet you are. Slide your fingers down lower, I wanna hear your juices.”

  I do as he orders. The noise that action makes would leave even the hard of hearing with no doubt as to how turned I am.

  “Fuck,” he groans before climbing onto the bed and burying his head between my legs.

  He assaults me with that big, wide tongue of his and I love it. He bites the inside of the top of first one thigh and then the other as I moan. I haven’t even come yet, and I already feel boneless.

  Then he pulls what we call his “master stroke” on me, scissoring his fingers, he presses his thumb onto my clit and flicks his tongue around it. His index and middle fingers slide inside where I’m wet and so desperately waiting for him and his ring and little finger sink slowly into my arse. When he works the whole lot together, I see stars.

  The groan that escapes me is so much louder than I intend and I cringe in case it wakes any of the kids. Cameron chuckles.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “Yes, fuck yes.”

  He kisses up my belly, making me shudder as he sucks my right nipple into his mouth. My fingers rake through and grip his hair, pushing his head down into my chest harder.

  He kisses a path across to my left nipple. Capturing it between his teeth, he looks up at me with soulful, dark eyes. I witness my whole world reflected back at me.

  “I love you Tige—” His mouth is on mine before I even finish getting the ‘r’ sound out of it.

  His lips are soft but so demanding, forcing my mouth to open for him. His tongue darts inside, and I gladly welcome the assault, giving back as good as I get the whole time. He rains kisses down on my face and then moves his lips to my neck and behind my ear, where he licks, sucks, and drags his teeth, making me groan and rake my nails down his back.

  I tilt my hips, trying to gain friction, or better still, access to that big dick of his so I can guide it inside me.

  “You want me, Kitten?”

  “Yeah.” Is all that I have.

  “Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby.”

  “You, T. I want you.”

  “Where, baby. Where’d ya want me?”

  “Inside. I want you inside me, over me, on me. I want you everywhere, Cam. Fuck me, please.”

  He slides inside me, joining us together. United.

  He stops moving his hips and pushes himself onto his elbows so he can look at me.

  “I love the fuck outta you, Kitten.”

  Overwhelmed by the moment, the emotions, our conversation, and admissions, I can’t stop the tears that roll from my eyes and down towards my ears.

  He moves his soft lips to mine, but this time, he’s gentle. His tongue flicks along the seam of my mouth as he moves his hips, pushing himself deeper inside of me. It isn’t enough. I dig my fingers into his tight arse cheeks and pull him, closer, harder, tighter towards me.

  He’s buried to the hilt, and I’m only too beautifully aware of it.

  Cam does this thing. He has this way of moving that I love. He rolls his hips, pulling his dick out of me, dragging it first up and then down over my clit before burying himself back inside of me. Over and over he repeats the move. I can’t even make a sound. I just lie there and take what he gives me until he switches it up and continuously grinds himself inside and against me. I move to meet his movements, and soon, I’m seeing solar systems, not just stars.

  “Ahh,” The only communication I am now apparently capable of.

  “Fuck, baby. Fuck,” he whisper shouts into my ear.

  The room spins. Dots dance in front of my eyes. My legs twitch as I try to back away from the orgasm that’s sending tremors through my entire body. It’s too much but not enough. I need to get away, but I crawl towards it, begging for more. I give up the fight and let it claim. Then I let it own me.

  I can’t even hold on to Cam as he comes. I feel him throb, pulse, and explode inside me, but I can’t move my arms to hold him to me like I want to.

  He eventually still his movements. The only sound in the room is our heavy breathing as he rests his forehead against mine.

  “I love you, Kitten. Please, don’t ever be in any doubt about that. Not even for a second.”

  He holds onto my arse cheeks and rolls over onto his back, bringing me to lie on top of him.

  Without another word, we go to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Georgia

  The week that followed the best make-up sex ever had by anyone in the history of the world was a pretty good one.

  The kids are busy but behaving. Now that Cam has all of his security issues sorted out at the clubs, he is happier and not on the phone as much. This means that he has time to help me with a few of the arrangements for this year’s Triple M concert. The event has grown too big for his London club and now, we now hold it in a football stadium instead. KLUB still hosts the Sydney event, and Cam supplies the venue and all of the staff to us free of charge.

  I really do have the best husband.

  Who, coincidentally, just left this morning for a golfing weekend with my brothers, so Jimmie and Ash were coming over to stay. My twins are away on a four-day residential in the New Forest with the school and both the boys have sleepovers tonight.

  I’ve managed to separate a pile of lyrics from all of Sean’s stuff for my brother to go through when the boys got back on Sunday afternoon. Some are whole songs, some a few verses, some just a line but there could be something amongst it all that Marley can use.

  I’ve put Sean’s diaries into a separate box to look at another time. I just don’t have it in me right now to read them. Maybe I never will. His letters are hard enough, the thoughts and feelings that he wanted me to know. I’m not sure that I’ll ever want to know or read the ones that are private and were never meant for me or anyone else to see. His private thoughts should probably remain that, private.

  On my desk sits the last pile of letters addressed to me, a pile of miscell
aneous stuff that I’ve yet to sort through and a few video tapes, one of which I was now about to start watching.

  Marian has loaned us an ancient portable television that must’ve been about twenty years old. It has a video player built into it and I’ve just pressed play when Harry knocks, then walks into the room.

  He leans over my shoulder and looks at the screen, which is still just displaying white noise.

  “What is that?”

  I pause the tape. I have no clue what’s on it and don’t want anything inappropriate popping up and surprising me.

  “It’s a video clip of Carnage.”

  “No, I meant that, the telly. Why’s it so big?”

  I laugh. Harry’s generation only know flat screens, curved screens, 3D, LCD and plasma. They would have no concept of the huge back part televisions used to have on them or of having to actually get up and turn it over.

  “That’s a little one, a portable that you would have in the bedroom or kitchen,” I explain.

  “Why’s it blue?”

  I look over the very nineties bluey silver colour of the telly.

  “I’ve no clue. You could get them in all colours to suit your room, back in the day.”

  I watch him as he walks across the room to get the spare chair that’s sitting in the corner. He moves exactly like his dad. Long confident strides. He pushes the front of his dark hair back before lifting the chair with ease and putting it down next to mine. He picks up a Polaroid photo that I’d found amongst everything else. It was of a hot and sweaty Sean and Marley. Their guitar straps pulled tight across their chests, their guitars resting across their backs. They each have a beer in their hands and Marley’s arm is slung over Sean’s shoulders. They’d obviously just finished a show somewhere.

  They look so young. Twenty at the most. So it was probably at a time that we weren’t together. I’d kept it out to give to Marley. I have a couple of photos of the pair of them in my office, and I even keep a photo of me and Sean in here. It was my favourite one of the two of us that was taken on my birthday. I’m around five or six months pregnant with Beau, Sean has his hand on my pregnant belly, my hand is on top of his. Both of us were looking down at our hands at the moment the image was captured.