Jesse

by Jo Raven

  I break the kiss and scramble back, struggling to get my breathing under control.

  “Dammit. I didn’t mean to do that.” Liar. Fucking liar. I’ve been dying to do this since I first laid eyes on her.

  Her fingertips trail over her reddened lips, her eyes wide. Sprawled on my ratty blankets, one strap of her blouse hanging off her shoulder, she looks like a dream come true.

  But a dream, still, and I shouldn’t. Not with her. Because she matters to me, I realize with a jolt. She matters like no other girl before.

  I’m so fucked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If she doesn’t hate me now, she will, and then…

  “JJ.” And how can I push her away when she calls me this, when she looks at me like I’m something I’m not?

  “Just checking you were okay,” I say gruffly, getting off the bed and running a hand over my shorn hair.

  “You were checking.” Her voice drops to a mere whisper, and if I was hoping for sarcasm, I never get it. She only sounds… disappointed.

  Then again, that’s what I do. I disappoint people I care for, and what I feel for her is too big for words.

  “You seem okay now,” I say and go to stand by the window, looking out at a sliver of cloudy sky and the gray building across the street. “I should get going soon. Don’t wanna be late for work.”

  She makes a small sound, and I turn toward her. She’s sitting up, smoothing down her blouse, lifting the strap back into place, and I can’t stop staring at her. She’s so sexy, and she doesn’t seem to even know it. “You don’t start at the café until four.”

  Forcing my gaze away, I turn back to the window. I should be irritated that she calls me out on my bluff. But I’m not.

  “Still have to go.” I need to do something else first… something that has been bugging me ever since I told her what happened on that street and how I got my scars.

  “Where?” She walks without a sound to stand beside me.

  “Is that your second question?”

  She shakes her head, glares, and I can breathe again. “You’re a bastard.”

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure.” I shrug and brace one arm on the wall by the window. “Don’t know who my parents are. It’s possible, I guess.”

  “Not funny, JJ.” Back to being pissy. The pressure in my chest releases, and I grin at her. I don’t have to run away. Somehow I’m not ready to give her up—yet—even if I barely have her at all.

  “Never said it was.”

  Neither of us seems willing to talk about the elephant in the room. Kissing her was heaven. Now I’m shooting down the rabbit hole faster than a bullet.

  She walks a few steps away and comes to a halt in front of my drawings. I’ve got some taped to the wall. Easier for me to tell if they are good crap or bad crap this way, rather than having them inside my drawing pad.

  “Did you make these?” she asks.

  “No, I rent them with the room,” I say before I can get control of my mouth. “It came furnished.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I drew them.” I want to walk to where she is and put my arms around her, bury my nose in the crook of her pale neck. But of course I don’t.

  “Love the portraits.” She drifts further away, scrutinizing my art, then returns to the window.

  “I also draw monsters and flowers. Monsters are my specialty.” It’s the truth. From demons to dragons to strange hybrids.

  “Monsters, huh?”

  She’s so close. Again. Her faint coconut scent wafts up to me, makes me think of sun-kissed beaches and palm trees. She’s wearing small silver hoops in her ears, tiny beads threaded in them, green, and red, and white, and blue.

  “What about you? Did you make the earrings you’re wearing, or are you renting them with the dress?” I want to touch them, tug on them, bite the shell of her small ear, make her moan again like before…

  She laughs, reaches up to touch one hoop, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a groan. Fuck, I’ve never wanted a chick so much in my life. What is it about her that’s so intoxicating?

  “Yeah, I made them. I’m thinking of selling them. I want to open an online store.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” I lick my lips and regret it instantly. Her sweet taste lingers, and the hard-on I’ve been trying to lose returns with a vengeance. Fuck.

  How on Earth am I going to manage this? How can I stop myself from kissing her again, touching her, thrusting into her when she’s here, right here with me? Hell.

  My gaze is drawn back to the curve of her tits under the thin fabric of her blouse. She’s not wearing a bra, I think, and damn if my dick’s not back to drilling a hole through my pants.

  “That might mean I’ll stay,” she says, and the words take a minute to sink into my brain.

  “Stay?”

  “I came here for the summer, to see if I like it. If this place doesn’t make me run away in a panic. You know. Bad memories.”

  I know all about bad memories, but the thought of her leaving has my stomach in a knot. “And if your online store works out, you think you’d like it here?”

  “Maybe. I like Kayla, and Ev is here, too. I haven’t had anything trigger my panic so far.”

  “Except Travis. My roommate?”

  She snorts softly. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  Yeah, right. Few times have I wanted to punch someone so badly. Damn roomies. “I thought you were here to go to college.”

  “I might. I’m thinking of transferring here, to the art department.”

  “Do you draw?”

  She shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing. I want to grab it, wrap her silky hair around my hand to hold her still while I fuck her mouth with my tongue.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “I want to draw you.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain connects. “If you’d like.”

  “Now?” Her eyes are round, and I want to kick myself. She’s kept her cool so far, but I bet she’s about to run out of here and never come back.

  The thought hurts too much. Much more than I ever thought.

  “Not now. I have to go. And you don’t have to do this,” I say, feeling like ten kinds of idiot for suggesting it.

  “I don’t mind.”

  She doesn’t? I’m staring at her open-mouthed, and I don’t know what to say. I can see uncertainty in her eyes, in the quiver of her jaw. She’s fighting something, and I’m not sure what it is, but that feeling that she reminds me of someone is back, stronger than ever.

  Speak, J. Say something.

  “Awesome, then,” I mumble. “How about tomorrow morning, here?”

  She nods quickly, too quickly. Nervously. She glances at my leather bracelet as though she wants to ask something, but she doesn’t.

  “Tomorrow,” she says and leaves me alone, hard and aching for her, and confused like never before in my life.

  ***

  A walk into my dark past serves to clear my mind from any doubts about the future. Down the same dirty streets where I slept, passing from the park gate where Zane found me trying to tattoo the demon on my chest after losing Helen to the place where I got my scars.

  I stare at the dumpster and the graffiti that are part of my nightmares, not sure what I’m doing, what I expect to find, and how to fix the hole in my chest that opens every time I remember it all.

  What I don’t expect is to find Jason, an old buddy from those days. Haven’t seen him in months. In combat boots, tight jeans and a black tank top, his blond hair gelled up in a fauxhawk, he’s leaning on a wall at the corner to the avenue, trying to look cool and nonchalant. Like he has no worries in the world, and just happened to stop by for a second to rest and observe the passersby.

  Oldest profession in the world.

  He turns when he hears my footsteps crunching on broken glass—so much broken glass, it makes my scars itch—and his eyes go comically wide.

  “Pinch me now,” he says and grins rakishly. “Jesse Lee, as I li
ve and breathe. I heard you moved up the social ladder, buddy. What the fuck are you doing back here in the gutter? Came to take photos of your past?”

  His words hit too close to home, and I turn my head to hide a wince. Schooling my face into a neutral mask, I bump fists with Jason and shake hands.

  “How’s it hanging, man?”

  “You know how it is.” He tsks and nods at the busy avenue. “Work, work, work. You should be the one to tell me tales now. You said you were going to work at a tattoo shop in the center of town. How did that work out for you?”

  “It’s great,” I say and mean it. So great in fact that I often feel guilty for everyone I used to know, like Jason, who didn’t get that opportunity. “You should come visit me one day.”

  “Yeah, of course.” But I know he won’t. He doesn’t feel he can wash the stench of the street off him. It’s like he has a brand on his forehead marking him as homeless and a hooker and is convinced everyone can see it.

  I feel that way sometimes, too, although it’s not as bad as it used to be.

  “Are you seeing the others? Mayleen, Adam, Josie? They still around?”

  “I see them. Where would they go, man? We’re stuck here.”

  Except me. Familiar guilt washes through me. I’ve tried giving them my money, but they won’t take it. They’re proud people, and I know how they feel about charity.

  “They okay? No trouble?”

  “You talking about something specific now, aren’t you, J?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Jason nods. He knows, and normally he’d tell me to chill, and that everything’s calm.

  This time, though, he remains silent, and I don’t like it. He glances down the street, then behind him. On edge.

  “Come on, Jason, spill.” I want to shake him, rattle any information out of him, so I ball my hands into fists and wait him out.

  “There’s this new guy,” he finally says, shuffling his feet, uncomfortable as hell. “Mikey. Sixteen or seventeen. Pretty face, though no comparison to you, J.”

  I huff. Jason has hit on me a couple of times. I’m used to men hitting on me, as much as chicks, but I hope Jason has taken the hint. I just don’t swing that way.

  In fact, I managed, against all odds, to only service women. Jason helped me with that, and I owe him big time, taking on the guys who’d hit on me and putting out the word about me to lady friends.

  “Go on,” I say when it becomes clear he’d rather not. “What happened?”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh, checks the street again. “He won’t say, but we found him beaten up pretty badly. Not far from here, in fact.”

  A chill runs up my spine despite the warm day. “You think it’s the same guy? Simon?”

  Pimp and leader of a MC gang, he arrived to take this city under his “protection.” Simon Gomez.

  “Could well be. Kid mumbled something about turf wars and ran. Never heard where he ended up.”

  I swallow sourness. “Has Simon ever threatened you?”

  Just his name makes me feel sick.

  “Kaia keeps tabs on him.” The local pimp. “But she’s getting sicker by the day. If she passes on, I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Yeah.” I jam my hands into my pockets. “Me neither.”

  “You could press charges, J.”

  He’s told me this before. Jason is the one who found me and patched me up. He found a doctor to sew my arm up for free—or if he paid in kind, he never told me.

  “I can’t. He’ll find out I ratted him out. Too risky. Besides, it’s been years and it’s not like I had any witnesses.”

  “If nobody accuses him, he’ll never fucking stop. You’re safe in your castle in the clouds, J, but what about us?”

  Holy shit.

  “Take care of yourself,” I tell Jason and turn to go, the jab hurting like a punch to the gut. No idea what I expected to find, why I thought coming here might calm my frazzled nerves. With guilt added to the mix, I’m worse off than before.

  My stomach lodged under my ribs like a damn stone, I make my way back to my new life, knowing full well that my old one will haunt me forever.

  ***

  After a night spent tossing and turning, caught in nightmares and twisted in my sheets, I finally catch some shuteye with the sunrise, a pillow jammed over my head to keep out the light. I slip in and out of dreams, or memories, dark places with the stench of piss and vomit, yelling ringing in my ears as I cower, small and powerless, trying to hide.

  But the hands always find me and drag me, kicking and screaming, back into the fear and pain.

  The knock-knock seems to come out of the blue. It comes again, smashing into my sleep, shattering the dreams.

  Thank God.

  I open bleary eyes and squint as the door cracks open. A shaggy dark head pops inside.

  Alex, I think, my brain hurting as it tries to come awake. My roommate. Important to clarify this, even as my body still shakes with remembered fear.

  “What?” I croak, hugging my pillow, wincing at the sunrays spearing through the window and straight through my head.

  “Someone here for you. A girl. Says you told her to come this morning.”

  A girl? Who…?

  Amber.

  Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Throwing off the sheet, I shoot to my feet and stagger sideways. My head hurts as if I’ve been drinking.

  Have I? My memories of last night are somewhat disjointed, but I may have joined Travis and Gage in a few glasses of whiskey after returning home from my second job of the day.

  Ow.

  “Don’t let her in. I mean, not yet. Give me five minutes, okay?”

  Alex looks at me as if I’m speaking Klingon. Was he drinking with us? Fuck if I remember. Maybe. Important thing is, he closes the door, leaving me to scrub the sleep out of my eyes and put some order to my room.

  Not an easy feat after such a night—or in general. I stumble a couple of times, my feet caught in dirty clothes. I don’t have many, but apparently last night I thought it was a good idea to drop them all on the floor. What the hell?

  Oh, they aren’t dirty clothes. They’re the new clothes I bought with Amber. So last night I was angry—at her? At the clothes?

  Shit.

  I tidy up as best I can, pull the sheet and comforter up on the bed, then crack the door open, check the hallway and make a mad dash for the shower.

  The thought of her right outside, in the living room, turns my morning wood into a nuclear warhead, and I’d have jacked off if I wasn’t running so damn late. If I wasn’t worried I won’t be able to keep quiet and she’d hear me.

  And damn, right on the heels of that thought comes an image of her opening the bathroom door and joining me under the spray, curling her hand around my hard-on and pumping.

  Damn, I can’t help myself. I grab my cock and jerk off quickly, desperately. I imagine her breasts, her long legs wrapped around me, her face flushed with pleasure, and I come with a strangled moan, shooting my load on the tiled wall.

  I lean back with a groan. Christ.

  Turning off the water, I dry myself and drag on my jeans, not bothering with underwear or anything else. Okay, ready to face Amber like a human being, or almost.

  That’s when I remember what I invited her over for.

  “I want to draw you.”

  Oh hell.

  ***

  She walks into my room, her hair caught up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her small face, making her eyes look huge. Her low-cut black top has my pulse racing, and she hasn’t even sat down yet.

  Disaster alert. Everyone abandon stations. I repeat, abandon stations.

  She hesitates in the middle of my room and chews on her lip. “Good morning. I… I think maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

  I push off the wall, where I’ve been pretending to lean all cool and shit, and lurch after her. “Wait!”

  She stops with a hand on the door fra
me. Her purse slips from her shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud, but she doesn’t turn around.

  I reach her, refusing to acknowledge the relief flooding me, and skim up her arm with my fingertips, tangle them in a loose curl. I love how she shivers. How she feels, like silk and feathers.

  Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “Please stay.”

  Fighting the urge to press my mouth to her neck, I suck in a deep breath, try to control my body. Scary how much I want her. How easily I’d forget Zane’s warnings, forget I shouldn’t be doing this.

  Forget that she deserves better, forget everything but my need for her, a need that goes deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to meld myself with her, merge, make her…

  Make her mine.

  Fuck.

  “Okay,” she says. “What should I do?”

  I gesture at my bed. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll sit over here,” I point at the only chair I have in my room, “and draw you. That’s all.”

  I step away and go grab my drawing pad from a box in the corner, grab my charcoal pencil and eraser, and sink into the seat.

  When I look up, my mouth goes dry.

  She’s sitting on my mattress, her hair loose on her shoulders, and she’s leaning forward, her blouse dipping low, giving me a glimpse of black lace and the pale mounds of her tits.

  Tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my hard-on pushing frantically against the seam of my jeans, I stare and stare.

  “JJ?” Her uncertain voice is like a splash of cold water. She’s staring right back, frozen in place, one hand planted on top of my blanket.

  “Perfect,” I rasp, coming down to earth and clutching the drawing pad over my crotch to hide how excited my dick is to see her. “That’s perfect. Stay… stay like that.”

  Swallowing hard, attempting to bring some moisture back into my mouth, I start sketching quickly, broad lines, bold strokes to capture the posture, the curves of her body, the wild tangle of her dark hair, her wide eyes.