He flicked the stack of papers so they scattered over the floor.
"So yes, you made a good decision to turn up your nose at me, Jasmine. I'm not always a happy man. Not a peaceful person. Good instincts. I commend you. But very good for a fuck. I give them lovely fucks. I'm glad I can do that for you. Now I'm going to do that for you. Lie down."
"Oh, my God," she whispered.
"Too late, sweetheart. No regrets, I hope. It must be fairly grotesque to think about. I think it's sordid, personally. So really, don't. Eight to midnight. It's Challenge time."
"Don't do this, Matt."
"Won't you let me? Of course you'll let me. I won't rape you. You're hot for it. You said so. I'm good-looking. Sexually experienced. What more could you want?"
"Shut up. What's wrong with you? This isn't you."
His jaw twitched, but went on adamantly. "Oh, this is definitely me. Not a part of me I really wanted you to know, but what can it hurt? Do me a favor, though. If I do something you don't want, take those claws and let 'er rip. Just have at me. It'll be good for me."
"Goddammit, stop it, Matt! I'm sorry. What you went through—my family's the Brady Bunch compared to yours. But I don't know what I did. Tell me what I did."
You know. You lied to protect yourself from hurt, and he was being real, and you weren't, she answered herself, then dismissed the thought. Her love wasn't a big deal to anyone but her.
"Jasmine, my love. You don't hurt people. You're a sweetheart. Sara assures me of that at least once a week. Guess you don't have claws for her. What I'm trying to understand, though, is why you are cruel. Why you cut me to shreds when you don't even give a—"
"To shreds? You?" Jasmine's reaction to the guilt, shock, and her own weakness was knee-jerk. "You're the one who torments and makes fun of me and generally makes my life hell any opportunity he gets."
"But it doesn't hurt you. Remember? You just want this." He crammed a finger up her vagina. Then his breath drew in sharply and he jerked back, shot off the bed. "Fuck you, Jasmine," he whispered. "I've never hurt a woman in my life, but I'm this close to raping you. Go away. Go a fucking way."
She stood up and crowded him for once. "I hurt you? You're telling me I hurt you? Well, you hurt me, too. You tease me all the time. So go fuck yourself. Friend."
He swallowed. Face blank. A hand passed over his eyes.
"I'll go," he said distantly. "It's what I should have done before. Sometimes I'm stupid that way."
Where he intended to go became clear after he was halfway dressed. He'd stopped interacting with her altogether, and she almost did leave because he was acting like she was in danger of raping him.
She didn't understand any of this. He was hurt; she was hurt. It was like some kind of old black and white movie, where the hero and heroine found out they both loved each other, and suddenly Jasmine laughed.
He did glance at her then.
"No, I'm not hysterical," she said.
Just bitter. There's hurt…and then there's hurt. She didn't kid herself she and Matt were talking about the same thing.
She went to the dresser and tore through it. Found something with a drawstring. No tops. "Where are your shirts?"
"Laundry. What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm going on a run with you." She went to get underwear from the living room and didn't look at him again until she was dressed in something that would stay on and keep her warm.
"Do you stretch?" she asked conversationally.
"Afterward."
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."
He blinked.
"You don't run, Jasmine. You don't even breathe hard unless you want an orgasm."
She lifted her chin. "I know the motions."
He shook his head.
Wet and windy and cold, the air cleaned out her lungs even before they started. She felt a bit like a poodle trying to catch up to a greyhound as he set off even before his feet hit the path. Then it was a matter of not losing sight of him in the dark. Luckily there were few other people here at this hour.
Initially he made no effort to pace himself to Jasmine's lag; she never saw him look back. But after putting some distance between them, he did slow down enough to allow her to come within shouting distance, which said he at least was aware of her on some level.
Jasmine found running to be a surreal experience. Unlike when she practiced Tai Chi, her mind emptied itself of regular thoughts and for a while her focus was on survival.
The first half of the circuit was the worst. Aerobically fit she was not. After that, she seemed to catch her second wind and her breathing smoothed out.
Most oddly of all, when thoughts did come to her, they were random—some from long ago, growing up with her parents.
What kinds of grades are you going to get if you keep doing that?
Jasmine, when will you learn? They don't have to like you. They just have to buy what you're selling.
Not now, Jasmine. This is important.
It's not like I'm in love with you or anything.
Matt's fist in the wall.
Why you are cruel…I'm this close to raping you.
When the muscles in her legs started to scream, she considered walking the rest of the way around and waiting for him. But the endorphins came through then. The high hit her and the pain in her calves and thighs disappeared. So she kept going.
It was only when she noticed she'd completely lost sight of him that she saw him again, coming toward her in the other direction now, having circled around. He passed, then a minute later was coming up on her flank. "Can't you pick it up a little?" he asked, dawdling.
"Just—go—ahead," she managed.
"And leave you running in the park late at night?"
"No—need—shining armor," she gasped.
"Here's the stretch. I'll take it and then come back."
Matt did two laps around the lake in total. So did Jasmine. He switched directions a few more times to keep her mostly in sight. In the end, she was walking, her legs pumping forward automatically, the muscles so bouncy she thought it must be what flying felt like. Finally she managed to suck in enough air that it seemed safe to let herself slow down.
At the concession stand, he eased to a walk. She was pretty sure he'd have gone on to do another lap if she weren't there.
"We'll cool down to the Bathhouse and then come back." She noticed his respiration was hardly quicker than normal.
As for Jasmine, her breaths came sharp and fast, her heart not having gotten the memo about no longer needing to duct all that blood to keep her oxygenated. Sweat was pouring down her face. Her body was on fire.
And her mood had done a one-eighty.
Walking at his side, she smelled his sweat, fresh and pungent. A sweaty guy fresh from a workout was her last idea of a turn-on, but her senses didn't know that. Every whiff of his scent fed the liquid heat in its course through her veins. By the time they'd reached the street, she'd grabbed his hand. It was hot and strong and squeezed her back, though he refused to glance at her as they crossed.
He's angry. Still so angry. And maybe even still hurt.
If he shared her physical state, he didn't give any sign. He didn't say anything; he'd been absolutely silent for the last twenty minutes. But he also didn't lash out at her about going back to her own place. He pulled her inside with him and shut the door.
His eyes were smoky, his chest surging. His hands went to her waist, yanking her against him as he slammed himself back against the door, his erection blatant.
With the lower-body contact, though, he seemed to re-think and pushed her away. He was going to reject her. No. She couldn't tolerate that.
I need you. I hate that you're hurting. I'm not afraid now. Let me love you.
They were of a height; she whimpered, opened her mouth, leaned forward, and kissed him, tasting the salt and him. After an almost imperceptible hesitation, his mouth opened. Jasmine's tongue immediately sought him,
and she pressed in and shoved up his shirt and hers and pried her bra off her breasts and tried to smash herself into his skin.
Their sweat was sticky and animal. Her need nearly made her scream. The waistband of his sweatpants didn't resist her hands at all; it went down and so, to her knees, did she.
Oh, God. Matt. Man. Sweat. Sex. She cradled his swollen cock, her sex answering with a burst of juice and flame.
"Jas—"
He was going to be cruel. "Please don't. I need you like this. Please."
Her name terminated in a harsh curse. Heart thundering, she went ahead and took his cock. Its silken skin caressed her tongue, the roof of her mouth. She dragged away only to say, "I need you to come just like this, Matt. You must."
It was a fever. She'd never dreamed of saying such things to anyone, ever.
He didn't answer. But the gripping of her head and the cocking of his hips, signs that he accepted what she was doing, made her drunk with relief. As far as she was concerned, it was license to love him.
Everything she wanted to do, everything she could think of to make him feel good, she did, kneeling there and kissing him in a way that might reveal how vulnerable she was, but for once she didn't care.
It never occurred to her that he didn't want it. Not then.
Jasmine wasn't wild about oral sex in general; it made her gag and usually failed to turn her on. None of that seemed relevant now. He was so deeply inside her mouth that when he exploded, his seed flooded her throat without her tasting a drop, except at the end, on the slow way out. Her mouth lapped at him, sipping it up.
And then she still didn't let him go. Brazenly, she wrapped her arms around his hips and rubbed her cheek on his indrawn belly, which she'd never noticed before was soft, maybe the softest part of him. Her body trembled with need.
His hands stroked her hair for a few seconds. Then he picked her up. His expression gave her zero clue as to what he was thinking as he carried her into his room and put her down on the bed. But it was obvious what he was going to do.
"You don't have to," she said huskily. "I've got to be filthy. It's not exactly the same thing."
"But you need it," he said. And his mouth was there, lapping, and she couldn't bring herself to stop him. He brought her quickly and with painful efficiency to a climax, then gave her the necessary additional in quick succession.
And that was it. He stood up and looked at her impassively, his tongue licking the side of his mouth, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was aroused again, but she didn't fool herself he was going to take her. Because that's when it hit her that she'd not only failed to reach him, but he hated her for what she'd just done.
"It's midnight," he said.
And that said it all.
"Midnight," she echoed. "You told me to leave before. But I wouldn't. And now it's midnight. I should have gone. I should have gone before."
"Yeah. It's all over."
It was the most painful thing he'd ever said to her. A few moments passed before Jasmine could move, breathe again. Because she didn't fool herself that he was talking about the Challenge night.
It didn't work. None of it worked. You gave him all you had, and he's throwing it back.
"All right." Her consent was hardly audible. She cleared her throat. "Just give me three minutes."
She was gone in two.
Awake for hours.
GHOST LIGHT
From: Jasmine Frazier
To: Matt Berne
Subject: Last Friday
Matt,
I can take a hint.
I was just calling to tell you that night after the run, I realize now you didn't want any of that. I don't know why you let me do it. But whatever. I'm sorry.
And I'm sorry you were hurt before that. I guess I was just there at the wrong time.
Now I'll leave you alone.
Jasmine
From: Matt Berne
To: Jasmine Frazier
Subject: Re: Last Friday
Jasmine,
Don't stress it.
-M
EPISODE 5
INTERMISSION
At 6:44 p.m. on Friday, shortly before the next designated Challenge time, when his head was in a safe place where there was no collapsing universe, no gut-clawing need, no regrets or hopelessness, just technical specifications and product analysis, a knock sounded outside Matt's bedroom door.
His fingers froze on the keyboard. He stared at the monitor screen uncomprehendingly. That moment when text morphed into unintelligible scratchings always left him confused and unbalanced. Reluctantly, he rubbed his eyes and brought himself back to the world outside of words.
It was an unfriendly world at the moment. In the days since he'd kicked Jasmine out of his room, he'd existed in a state of semi-fantasy with the aid of any non-chemical diversion he could find, from music to movies to gaming. Anything left over was for sleeping and running.
He stayed away from her assiduously. When she called, he brushed her off. But even with all that, she wouldn't stay out of his head.
So, distractions.
Mental and physical.
Except sex.
That was the one diversion currently lost to him. Ironic.
Matt went to open the door.
"You look like total shit," Harrison said, himself looking unsettled. "Got a minute?"
"The girls?" Matt guessed, giving no sign of the dread he felt.
"Yeah," Harrison said grimly.
Something's wrong. Jasmine's hurt. She was offended by your rebuffs and did something careless, like picked up some asshole who left her abandoned on the side of the road and….
Stupid, he told himself immediately. Not Jas. She wasn't a victim.
Warrior princess, not the fairy kind.
One day it would sink in, he thought, that his function in life wasn't to rescue the people close to him. His family had tried to teach him otherwise, but that was their problem. No longer his.
He swung wide the door and took a seat on the floor. Harrison took the office chair, hunching in a classic Thinker pose.
"So what's up?" he asked, keeping it casual.
"Sara was just here. I'm not sure how to say this, so I guess I'll just say it. Jasmine gave her notice with the apartment manager. She's moving out of their apartment. She'll cover the gap until Sara can find a new roommate, but she'll be gone by next month."
Even before the words were done, an image flashed through Matt's mind. Tiger on a cliff. Over the edge. Into the sky. Bye-bye tiger.
Bye-bye, Jasmine.
So that was it. The payoff. No surprise, he thought. You tell a woman to get lost, and that's what she does.
Harrison was still talking. Matt made himself concentrate.
"…get involved. But since this is a little more than the usual kind of situation, I'm just going to say it. You remember the second Challenge night? When you walked in on Jasmine and me, uh, in puris naturalibus?"
Living room.
Breasts.
Stupefaction. Gut slice.
My woman giving another what she pointedly denied me.
No, not yours. Not now, not then, not ever. Remember, Berne.
"Yup," he said.
"Sara seems to think it's an issue. So, I guess I should tell you nothing happened. Crazy as it seems, it was entirely uneventful."
"Consider me told."
"Good." Harrison hesitated. "Sara was pretty messed up. Over Jasmine's leaving, I mean."
"Yeah, I'll bet."
She's leaving.
Don't think about it.
Forcing water down his drunken throat. Unfurling her legs and arms, granting him total ownership. Leaving fragrant remnants of herself around to ambush his senses….
Not doing a good job of not thinking about it.
"I have to say, it's going to be different around here without Jasmine around," Harrison said.
"Will it?" Matt said neutrally.
Harrison looked
straight at him. "Different for all of us."
Matt avoided his gaze. Sometimes Harrison was an oblivious lugnut. Now wasn't one. He closed his eyes.
Big mistake. No escaping her in his mind's eye.
That lush mouth. His mouth. Created to be kissed by him, to spoil him. Like a baby on a teat, the moment he'd first seen that mouth, he'd known it was his, known she was his.
All of her was his. Those skeptical eyes. Those knobby knees. Everything.
Matt had seen Jasmine that day, slender, erect, and vulnerable, and in an instant, he'd known she was there to open her legs, open her mouth, suck his balls, suckle his babies, slash his demons, feed his hungers, give him whatever he wanted. With that revelation came a sudden sense of his own purpose: he was here simply to give this woman anything she wanted or needed.
All he had to do was ask, and she'd be his.
But she sensed the threat and launched a mighty defense. For a while he'd tried. Hoped. Believed. But every advance was met with sparring and skepticism, and soon he came to realize that was for the best. Because ultimately, she was really just a woman. Not his savior. Not his protector. Not in need of his care or resources. Just a woman, slightly bitchy, prickly as hell, and resentful of him.
And it had all been tolerable. Even the compromise of her friendship, which he teased himself with because that's what life was about—living on the edge of stability and waiting for your chance. It wasn't like he'd had anyone before, anyway….
Until last summer, when his mother had ended her life and he'd launched himself on a fucking spree to end all fucking sprees, going through women faster than the revolving door could turn. Until the day Jasmine had found the pills, the day he'd decided he was not going to let his life go to shit after all….
Leakage: A Friends-to-Lovers Romance Page 20