by Evelyn Glass
Jazz put her down again, and turned back to the food, dialing quickly and tucking the phone under his ear as he had done earlier.
“Who are you calling?”
“The cops,” he replied absently. “Just going to let them know that we’ll help out any way we can. Anything to get that…”
He trailed off, and glanced over at Ella, an almost comically guilty expression on his face. Of course, he couldn’t say what he really felt in front of her. Mainly because how he really felt would be riddled with curse words and insults so nasty that I wasn’t sure even I would have heard all of them. I would have argued that she’d heard way worse coming from the Marauders, but then, I saw the way they treated her—if someone cursed in front of their little mascot, I had the feeling that they would break their nose where they stood.
Jazz had hidden all this from them, at least so far—he’d still been attending meetings once in a while, just enough to keep them from questioning things too closely. But I could tell that the fear of everything Ian might do if he found us was creeping into every aspect of his life—who was he to say that Ian hadn’t got one of them on his side and was gleaning information at every turn? Not to mention the fact that they would likely hunt Ian down and tear him apart themselves if they found out what was going on. It was safer this way, although Jazz had admitted that he felt guilty about hiding something this enormous from them.
Jazz called around—the cops, the motorcycle club, everyone—to catch up on everything that had happened and let everyone know that things were going to be okay. His face seemed to open up over the course of the next hour—I hadn’t noticed the tension he’d been carrying in his forehead or his jaw until it fell away. He was all smiles, taking long strides around the kitchen as though he owned the place. I had never seen him this happy in all the time I’d known him—but then, this was the first time since we’d met that this had all been put to bed.
We were free from the horror of whatever had been pursuing us. Now it was just us, this little ramshackle family, left to put all the pieces back together at our own pace. I knew it would take a long time to bounce back from, that it would be months until I stopped checking over my shoulder every time there was a noise I didn’t recognize, but I would get there. Ian was done with. That was all that mattered.
Jazz continued with dinner while Ella and I began to pack up—it didn’t take long, but I wanted to make sure that we had everything before we left. There was no way I wanted to come back here—yes, it had been our home for a while, but it had almost been temporary, with the promise of something real and homey hanging over it.
We ate dinner together around the small table that sat against the far wall of the living room; we would usually crash in front of the TV, exhausted from another day of worry. But this time, we took our places around the table and ate together, talking about Ella’s day and what we were going to do when we returned back to the house. For the first time since the incident at Addison’s house, I felt myself relax completely. Jazz squeezed my knee under the table a couple of times, a reassurance that we were still on, that we hadn’t solely been based on the drama. I covered his hand with mine and squeezed back. This all felt so right—I had been worried that when everything fell away, we’d be left with nothing to keep us together, but I had been wrong.
Ella grabbed her coloring books from her bag and sat on the table filling them out; we helped, letting her stay up later than usual so we could finish out one of the books. I think Jazz would have happily sat there all night long with her if he could; he kept on glancing up and staring at her, as though he couldn’t truly believe that she was safe now.
Eventually, Ella let out a huge yawn and placed down her pens.
“Shall we finish packing and get off home?” Jazz suggested, and Ella nodded happily. I could see that little glimmer of excitement in her eyes—I felt it too. The two of them retreated to her room to finish up. I stayed where I was for a moment, staring off into space, and trying to recall the last time I had had a moment so small and simple and satisfying as this one. I began to clear off Ella’s stuff absentmindedly, packing it all away for the return to the house later that evening. It felt like years had passed since we’d last spent an evening there—and while I would be heading back to my own apartment soon enough, I wanted to get some time with Ella and Jazz at theirs before I did so.
With everything packed, Jazz clapped his hands together and stood in the middle of the living room. He scanned the place carefully for a moment, and then shrugged.
“Looks like we’re ready to go!” he exclaimed, and I could hear the bubbling excitement in his voice—it mirrored the joy in my head. Ella mimicked his clap and grabbed her dinosaur plush and held it tight to her chest.
“How long till we get there?” she asked seriously, and Jazz laughed and crouched down in front of her.
“Not long at all, my darling, I promise.”
We signed out of the safe house, and took my car all the way back through the city and to the house that I had first met this family in. How long had it been? Three months, four? Time had seemed to slip away, as if real life was only starting now.
Ella was asleep in the back of the car when we got there, and Jazz scooped her up and carried her towards the house while I grabbed as many bags as I could carry to take back in. As soon as we were through the door, Jazz flicked the light on and let out a satisfied sigh.
“It’s so good to be back,” he murmured, turning to smile at me, his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ella—but it had been a futile effort, as she squirmed in his arms and came to.
“Daddy?” she muttered sleepily, and he made for the stairs.
“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed,” he reassured her, his tone gentle. I watched as he carried her towards her room, and wondered how desperately he’d longed for this moment. It was what had attracted me to him in the first place—the clear indications that he was an amazing father, a compassionate man, and a strong leader. I went out to the car to carry in the rest of the bags—I knew I should have been thinking about heading back to my place, but now that Jazz and I were alone again and free from all the stresses of the last month, I wanted to take advantage of the situation.
Jazz put Ella to bed and came back through to take a seat next to me on the couch. I turned to him with a smile, and he leaned forward to plant a kiss on my lips.
“Mmm, minty,” I murmured, keeping my eyes shut for a moment so I could enjoy the feel and the taste of him on my lips.
“Ella wanted me to brush my teeth with her. Can’t exactly say no.”
“Well, you taste good.” I laid my head against the side of the couch and fluttered my lashes up at him. I hadn’t much felt like hooking up since that day more than a month ago, and, while Jazz and I had shared a bed, it hadn’t gone much further than cuddling in the mornings for a while. But now, my libido was back with a vengeance—now that everything else was out of the way, I finally had space to get horny over this gorgeous guy once again.
“Not so bad yourself,” he retorted, shifting closer to me. He placed a hand on my waist, his fingers inching up the fabric of my shirt a little so he could trace his thumb across my bare skin. The feeling was exquisite; sometimes, it was the small touches that turned me to jelly more than the big gestures.
He leaned over and kissed me again, and this time, it was with more intent. His mouth moved slowly against mine, and I inhaled deeply as our tongues met. Even now, the smell of him was enough to send shivers down my spine, enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. It was as though his scent was enveloping me, and I couldn’t get over how good it felt. Being this close to him…I had wondered if we’d ever do this again, if the pain of what had happened was too heavy for us to carry. But, as he slid his hand further around my back and pulled me closer, I knew I had been a fool to think it at all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jazz pulled me onto his lap, and I was reminded of the second time we’d
made love, that night at the safe house—how good and new and obvious it had seemed them. Well, third time was the charm—I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back. His hands felt strong around my waist, his body hard and comforting against mine. I could have sat there and just kissed him for the rest of the night, like a pair of horny teenagers with nothing better to do—but I knew he had other ideas as his hands roamed downwards to cup my ass. I arched my back forward so I could press against him, and our kiss deepened, promising more.
“Is Ella asleep?” I murmured, and he nodded.
“Out for the count when I dropped her off upstairs.”
I leaned down to kiss his neck, running my lips up the muscle at the side of his throat that seemed to call out to me. He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan—God, knowing that I was getting him off so much was getting me wet already. I moved down, planting kisses across his neck and towards his chest. He was clad in a t-shirt, and, even though it was cold in the house from the month of no inhabitants, he stripped it off quickly so I could continue my journey downwards. I didn’t know why, but I just wanted to please him—just wanted him to know how much I still wanted him, and how nothing that could happen would change that. I slipped further and further down, running my lips over his chest, then his stomach, then the sharp lines that led down towards his hips.
I hooked my fingers over the hem of his jeans and pulled them down—he lifted his hips to facilitate me, and I looked up at him as his jeans pooled around his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. That look in his eyes—both hungry and helpless—sent a sharp shock of shivers down my spine. I trailed my fingernails down his cock, the fabric not concealing his rock-solid hard-on. I gripped it as best I could through his boxers and squeezed lightly, enjoying the power I had over him in that moment. And fuck, did he look good like this—his mouth slightly open, as though mimicking what he wanted me to do. And how could I not oblige?
I pulled his boxers down and wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock, holding him steady. He drew in a sharp breath at my touch, and I smiled up at him—I remembered how he had teased me the first time we had hooked up, and intended to return the favor. I let my mouth hover above his cock for a moment, then flicked my tongue out a couple of times so I could lap up the drop of pre-cum that had oozed out of the tip. He half-groaned, half-growled in pleasure, and let his head fall back as I sealed my lips around his cock and went to work.
I had always enjoyed giving head—there was just something innately powerful about it, something that put me in control. And Jazz was all too happy to let me take the wheel for this, his hands behind his head as I began to slide smoothly up and down the length of his cock. I mean, how was I meant to resist? He tasted so good, filling my mouth, stretching my lips to accommodate him. I flickered my tongue against the underside of him over and over again, matching it to the steady pace of my lips over his erection. He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes, and I looked up at him—his brow furrowed slightly as we made eye contact, and his lips parted as though he was about to say something.
I took him as far as I could, meeting my lips with the top of my hand so I could consume every inch of him. His entire cock was slick with saliva, making it hard to tell where my mouth ended and my hand began; I just wanted more, wanted to feel every inch of him in my mouth.
Eventually, I pulled my mouth from his cock and shifted further down, taking each one of his balls between my lips; he moaned, a little louder this time, and I took that as a go-ahead. I traced the wrinkles with my tongue playfully, cupping them in my hand and massaging them lightly as I kissed my way around the base of his dick. I loved the reactions I got from him at every touch, every new movement—as though it was just what he had been waiting for.
Suddenly, he tucked his hands under my arms and pulled me back onto his lap. I was still fully dressed, but I could feel his cock pressing at me even through my pants.
“Can I fuck you yet?” he asked, murmuring the words into my ear as he slid his hands all over my back and down my legs. I nodded, rendered speechless by the feel of his fingers against me.
Without any further encouragement, he flipped me over, so that I was leaning over the edge of the couch, my ass in the air. He pulled down my pants and my panties, and landed a sharp slap on my butt; I wriggled with excitement as I heard him pull out a condom and sheath himself quickly. I was already wet, and made a mental note that the quickest way for me to go from zero to sixty seemed to involve blowing him till he couldn’t resist me anymore.
He positioned his cock at the entrance to my pussy, and eased himself inside of me; even though he could have just started to fuck me there and then, he seemed intent on taking his time, and I was hardly going to complain. I let my head fall forward as I bit my lip to keep from crying out, and then he began to move inside of me.
I had forgotten just how good he felt—in fact, in that moment, all I remember thinking was how on Earth we’d lasted so long without doing this again. He moved his hips in shallow circular motions, his cock hitting every inch of my pussy as he moved—it was as though he was reminding himself how I felt. I shuddered with pleasure, my fingers digging in to the arm of the couch, and I arched my back and pulled myself up so I could grind back against him.
“You look amazing like this,” he murmured into my ear, leaning down so he could grope at my tits through his shirt. It wasn’t making love, like before—no, it was about as far removed from that as it could possibly be. He began to move faster, harder, pushing himself deeper inside of me and stretching my pussy lips out around his cock. This was cathartic—after the build-up of all that stress, all that anger, all that confusion, here we were, fucking over the side of the couch like nothing else mattered but getting off. I slid my hand between my legs, using the other one to prop me up, and began to play with my pussy. My teeth were clenched, my muscles tense, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Going from having zero libido to a full-on horniness left me teetering on the brink of orgasm pretty much right away, it turned out.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he sighed, as though reminding himself as much as me. He moved slower but went deeper, as though he could see how close I was and wanted nothing more than to make me come there and then. He wrapped my hair around his hand and tugged lightly, tipping my head back, so he could watch me—and the mix of pleasure and pain that coursed through my body was enough to tip me over the edge.
“Ah!” I cried, trying my best to keep my voice down so as not to wake Ella. My pussy milked his cock hard, the intensity of my climax causing spackles at the edge of my vision. I slumped down on to the couch, unable to hold myself up any longer, and Jazz moved his hands to my hips to hold my steady while he thrust into me with more purpose before. I could picture his face, even though I couldn’t see it. The tension in his jaw, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips tight.
He came hard, thrusting into me one last time and holding himself there while his cock twitched. He didn’t make a sound, but his fingers dug into me hard and I knew he was holding back peals of pleasure. He slowly withdrew, and I turned over—he leaned down and kissed my cheek lightly as he pulled off the condom, then got off the couch to dispose of it properly. I readjusted myself, and straightaway felt my eyes growing heavy as I lay back on the couch. I yawned widely as he returned, and held his hand out to me.
“Bed?”
I nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. He tugged me against him, wrapping his arms around me. He was still naked, and his cool skin against mine felt so satisfying. I ran my hands up his bare back, and looked up at him.
“I love you,” I blurted out, and my eyes widened as soon as the words passed my lips. It had just felt so right—so obvious. But I wished at once that I could take them back. They were true, but now wasn’t the time to say it, not after—
“I love you too,” he replied, and kissed me again—this was a chaste kiss, one that simply confirmed the words that we had exchanged. He
looked down at me for a moment, and then let go, reaching for his clothes where they lay next to the couch. I stared down at him, wondering how the hell I had just pulled that off. I supposed after everything that had happened, there wasn’t much room to hold back on the important stuff any longer.
We made our way upstairs and headed to bed—I peeled off my clothes, with Jazz watching me from the bed appreciatively—I could feel his eyes on me, and had to admit it was pretty damn good having this sexy-as-fuck guy view me the same way. A sexy-as-fuck guy who I was in love with, and who loved me back. I crawled into bed next to him, and he held out his arm so I could curl up against his chest. He turned to press his nose into my hair and inhaled deeply, and then let out a satisfied sigh.
“I’m so happy right now,” I murmured, and it was the truth. I had never felt anything as good as that moment—maybe it was because we’d had to work through so much to get there, but in that second, I couldn’t imagine anything or anyone better suited to me. I let my eyes drift shut, and sleep came over me; and I knew I wouldn’t be kept awake by nightmares or fear or the panic of seeing Ian again. No, this was it—it was over, and there was nothing more anyone could do to fuck things up.