by Jewel E. Ann
“Bullshit,” AJ mumbled.
“Excuse me?” She paused for a moment.
“It would take a helluva lot more than that to hurt your feelings. Try again.”
“You make me sound like a cold bitch.” She shoved her thumb into the back of his neck, her nail making claim to his skin.
“Watch it,” he warned. “I’m sure you have a warm and fuzzy part to your heart … I think I’ve caught the occasional glimpse, but I don’t see you sharing it with Jackson. You two beat the crap out of each other for no reason at all. He must have said something you’re not telling me.”
“And since when do you care? I thought we were going by the don’t-ask-don’t-tell motto for our relationship.”
“I don’t care. I’m just trying to keep you awake so I can escape to the floor without a physical confrontation.”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I …” She closed her eyes.
AJ rolled over with her still straddling his waist. “You?”
A sad smile was the best she could manage. “I don’t like that person. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but when I look at the scars that bear my name…” she feathered her fingertips over one of the bite marks on his shoulder “…I don’t recognize them. I don’t recognize the person who made them. I’m not her … yet she’s me.”
Jillian scooted down, resting her cheek against his chest. “But I wish she weren’t.”
*
Did Jillian sound ridiculous? Someone with their sanity fully intact would have said, yes. AJ was not that someone. Her words struck a chord that vibrated to his soul and that said a lot for a man who contemplated its existence.
“Do you think I’m an asshole for not asking?”
He felt her body relax into his. “About my past?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why? Don’t women want men to care?”
“I don’t know … if you see one you should ask her.”
AJ chuckled. He found himself doing that often with Jillian. “Don’t fall asleep. The sheets are white and my nose bleeds red.”
“I won’t,” Jillian mumbled in an already-half-asleep voice.
And then she did just that. He dared not move or even breathe. She may have fallen asleep as Jillian Knight but she would wake as someone else … a frightened, dangerous animal. AJ closed his eyes and focused on the unforgiving pulse in his head until the pain nearly broke him and he deemed having his nose broken a welcome distraction from the assault on his brain.
He had to be quicker than her, not an easy task but a necessary one for self-preservation. All at once he wrapped his legs around hers, one arm around her body including both arms and his other arm over her head. Then he rolled like they were on fire, pinning her entire body to the mattress under his.
In an instant she fought with her whole body. “Dammit, Jones!”
“Shh … it’s me. You’re fine.” He covered her mouth.
Her eyes opened into saucers as she fought with life-threatening intensity to escape.
“If I release you will you calm down?” he whispered.
She nodded. AJ could almost hear her lungs screaming for air as her heart sprinted out of control. He rolled off her.
“What the fuck?” she whispered with the intensity of a yell as she sat up to catch her breath.
AJ gripped his pounding head, as if he could physically keep it from exploding. “I’m sorry … I didn’t want to startle you.”
“Well then, I’d call that an epic fail on your part.”
He rolled his head from side to side, searching for any position that would relieve the ache, even just a fraction. “Fine, then I didn’t want to see the guilt on your face as blood squirted from mine.”
She sighed. He didn’t have to open his eyes to see the regret on her face. It happened too slowly to remember an exact moment, but none the less it had happened—at some point he started caring about her feelings.
“Let’s get in the shower,” she whispered, clasping his hand.
Nausea. Blurred vision. An angry pulsing. None of it compared to the painful feeling that he didn’t deserve to have anyone treat him with such compassion. Jillian guided him, undressed him, and helped him in the shower until the sweet relief from the heavy stream of hot water pelting his head dulled the sharp edge of agony.
He stopped the massaging motion of her hands on his scalp by covering them with his. “Why?” he whispered.
She planted soft kisses all over his face, stopping at his ear. “Because everybody needs somebody.”
*
A knock on the bedroom door brought AJ from his sleep. Total disorientation. He wasn’t able to remember much after getting out of the shower.
“Breakfast,” his mom said with a soft voice.
He sat up in bed with caution, praying his heart would only beat in his chest and not in his head.
“Feeling better?”
AJ blinked the sleep from his eyes, searching for a body to go with the voice. “You slept on the floor?” He looked at Jillian curled in a ball on her side. There had been a time when seeing her sleeping on a hard floor would have brought a feeling of revenge or satisfaction to him. That time had passed leaving him with guilt. The whole caring-about-her-feelings thing had softened, tainted his hardened attitude.
“So it would appear.” She grinned, eyes wide.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t.” She climbed on the bed, straddling his lap. “You look like you’re feeling better.” Her hips wiggled with all kinds of suggestive seduction.
He ran his hands up her legs and under his T-shirt she’d worn. Her bare ass greeted him. A deep groan of appreciation vibrated from his throat. “Yes, I’m feeling better.”
“How much better?” She slid her hand into his briefs.
With a thick swallow he closed his eyes. “My mom’s—”
“Aric James, so help me … if you ever say the word ‘mom’ again while I have your cock in my hand, I’ll break it off. Condoms?”
“B-bag.” His lungs seemed to be controlled by her grip on his dick.
She started to move off him. He grabbed her waist.
“I can’t …” The words were there and he didn’t regret them, but he wasn’t sure how she would react.
Jillian looked between them at the head of his erection peeking out above his waist band. “I think you can.”
He shook his head. “I can’t get you pregnant.”
“O-kay …” Her brows knitted in confusion.
“I’ve had a vasectomy.”
She nodded. Her face a blank page. AJ wasn’t going to apologize, even if she had happily-ever-after dreams of marriage and a gaggle of babies. He was forty-two, irreversibly fucked-up, and done with that part of his life.
Jillian pushed down the front of his briefs and stroked him a few times. “I can’t make you bleed anymore.” Her eyes shifted from her hand to his eyes.
It was an odd statement or maybe it was the way she said it with such agony and regret.
She rose on her knees and positioned him at her entrance. “But you have to look at me the whole time. And … I know this is going to be hard for you, but I need to feel some sort of adoration, safety, contentment. Okay?”
His hands slid up to her breasts. “Okay.” He stripped the shirt off her body, the impulse to taste her was too unbearable. Sucking a nipple into his mouth he looked up at her, surprising himself—the look, the feeling—it was automatic. He did adore her.
She sank onto him one slow inch at a time. The warm pressure made it hard to keep his eyes open and on her.
“Aric James …” she whispered, “look at me.”
He opened his leaden eyelids and bit her nipple. Their bodies rocked together in a slow rhythm. She swallowed over and over again. Her body reacted in pleasure while her eyes bled the pain as she fought to keep her need at bay. How long could he continue to ignore her pain? The questio
ns grew louder in his mind every day.
“Aric Jam—”
Thwarting her effort to announce their morning activity to his parents, he crashed his mouth to her. Their tongues explored and probed, heavy, labored breaths desperate to escape. Jillian’s nails dug into his shoulders so he grabbed her fingers and interlaced them with his, keeping his gaze locked to hers the entire time.
Control began to slip as their movements became more erratic. “Find it,” he gritted through his teeth as he thickened and spilled into her.
She circled her hips—grinding, rocking, searching.
“Aric—” She spasmed around him and moaned into his mouth as he massaged her clitoris with the pad of his thumb, drawing every last bit of pleasure from her.
He dropped his head to her shoulder. “Good?” he mumbled into her neck as he licked and nipped at her salty skin.
She nodded. He looked at her again, flinching at the glassy tears in her eyes.
“What’s—”
“Don’t … just don’t ask.” Jillian shook her head. “You’ll ruin it…” she kissed his shoulder then rested her cheek on it “…and it was too good. Words will spoil it.”
He hugged her to him, not wanting to break their connection. Of course he couldn’t love her—not yet, maybe never—but he loved that she pushed him for less and not more. He loved that she used her compassion as her greatest strength, and he loved the way her acceptance made him feel normal. Was it possible to love so much about her and not actually love her?
“Your mom’s probably wondering where we are.”
He teased his teeth over her shoulder and up her neck. “If you ever mention my mom again while my dick is lodged inside you, I’m certain it will fall off.”
She laughed. “Touché.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day
Luke never forgot the feeling of rescuing someone from a fire. He also never forgot the feeling of being a few seconds too late. Some days he could feel Jessica in his arms, just seconds from that breath of air. Then there were the moments he felt like he had her by the hand but she was slipping … falling … fading into the darkness—the point of no return.
“Luke?”
He searched her eyes for something, maybe a clue to why she was doing this to herself.
“Luke?” she whispered. “Say something.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What … I-I did.”
He rubbed his lips together. “No. Edwin Harvey committed suicide.”
Jessica shook her head. “What are you talking about? Who’s Edwin Harvey?”
“The man who killed your friend.”
“He’s Four … that was his name because he cut my best friend forty-four times!” She yanked her hands from his and scooted back on the bed. “Don’t you dare call him that! Four. His name was Four. He wasn’t human. He was a goddamn piece of shit without a heart or soul. He didn’t deserve one single breath of oxygen, let alone a name to make him sound like a person with feelings and parents and a fucking life!”
Luke surrendered with his hands up. “You’re right. He didn’t deserve any of it, and he deserved to die…” his face winced into a pleading expression of pain as his chest tightened “…but you didn’t kill him, Jessica. It wasn’t your fault.”
She looked at him with a vacant stare, lips slightly parted, knees hugged to her chest. “Who told you that?” Her voice was flat and eerily calm.
“A friend of mine did some research. It was on the news, in the papers, viral online. His parents are very wealthy. I’m sure that’s why he was out on bail. The police report ruled it a suicide. He left a note before he drove off the bridge. They never found his body. Why would you think you killed him?”
“Because I did and I need you to believe me.”
“Jess—”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Do you believe me?”
Luke moved toward her and she jumped off the bed like a frightened animal, easing toward the door.
“Stop.”
She shook her head. “I trusted you …” She turned and ran down the stairs then out the front door.
Luke followed her, calling her name. She hopped along grabbing one sandal and then the other, tossing them into the ditch before surging forward in an all-out sprint. His casual loafers were no match for her insane determination. Eventually, she disappeared, fading into the darkness. He slowed in breathless defeat, bending over with his hands propped on his knees. He tried to save her, but instead she slipped from his grasp.
Defeat heavy on his shoulders, Luke returned to the house. He closed the door and looked up with a heavy sigh.
“She’s in love with you,” his mom said, sitting on the bottom step in her grey terrycloth robe and slippers.
Luke blinked, staring at the floor. “She’s troubled. I’m not sure she knows how to love like that.”
Felicity stood, walking to her son. She rested her palms on his cheeks until he looked at her. “I love seeing you through her eyes. Not Dr. Jones, but my beautiful, troubled boy.” She smiled “Good night, love.” Felicity walked up a few steps and turned. “Loving you, Luke … it might be the only thing she knows how to do.”
His mother knew virtually nothing about Jessica, but somehow she felt everything. He went upstairs and waited in Jessica’s room, letting his mind battle with the fear that she was unstable, distraught, and alone in a strange place late at night. No shoes, no jacket, no phone, no Luke.
He sat in the chair by her bed for over two hours. Just as each blink struggled to recover, heavy with exhaustion, Jessica walked in the room. Without the slightest glance in his direction, she stumbled to the bathroom, pools of sweat covered her heat flushed skin. Luke stood. Leaving the door open, back to him, she turned on the shower and peeled off her clothes.
He moved toward her—regretful, conflicted, aroused.
Jessica froze as he stood a breath away from her naked body. She balled her fists, pumping them over and over.
Long dark hair veiled tan skin pulled taut over defined muscles, the kind that served a purpose far beyond what a young woman in her twenties should ever have to fathom. She was fear wrapped in strength greater than anything Luke had ever seen. He broke into a million pieces. Every piece was hers. He was ready to walk through the flames, sacrifice everything for her … one woman … the woman.
A lone drip of blood splattered on the tile at her feet. Luke’s eyes retraced its path. Several more drips pooled at her hand where her fingernails broke the skin.
“Do you believe me?” she whispered, like every last ounce of hope evaporated with her words.
He gathered her hair, pulling it off her neck. Pressing his lips to her skin he answered, “Yes.”
She turned, a stream of tears melting down her cheeks. “Luke.” Her voice cracked as her lower lip quivered.
Maybe his mom was right. Maybe the thing that he’d been holding back was the one thing Jessica needed more than anything else. It felt like the most inexplicable thing ever. Their relationship had surpassed inappropriate several lifetimes over. Yet, he swept away her tears and kissed her. It was a kiss that told all reason to fuck off.
Luke crossed his arms, grabbing the hem of his shirt.
“No,” she murmured against his lips.
He pulled back, eyes narrowed.
“I’ll have to make you bleed first.” She held up her hand, tipping her chin down in shame.
It was spelled out in front of him—in blood. All or nothing.
“Are you on birth control?”
Jessica lifted her gaze, searching for his intention. She nodded once.
Luke shrugged his shirt off and unfastened his pants, shoving them down his legs. His lips craved her … all of her. “Then make me bleed.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body as he lifted her into the shower.
“Luke—” she began to protest.
“We’re done talking.” He kissed her again, his tongue tasting her—claiming her.
Jessica’s hands tangled in his wet hair. His hands slid up to her breasts.
She broke their kiss, head falling back. “Oh … God,” she moaned, arching her back into his touch.
“Do you have any idea … how beautiful you are?” he whispered in her ear, each word accented with truth, need, and complete reckless abandon.
Her fingers curled into his back. He closed his eyes and waited, questioning whose addiction he was feeding—hers or his.
“I can’t.” Her legs buckled.
He held her to him as she sobbed into his chest.
“I’m not beautiful. I’m ugly because of him … he did this to me. He’s inside me and I hate him. I hate myself.”
“Shh … don’t say that.” He kissed her hair.
Once her sobs subsided, he wrapped them in towels and carried her to bed. Leaving the towel around her body, he covered her with blankets and kissed her forehead.
She opened her swollen eyes and he could see past everything—straight to her soul. “I love you,” she whispered then closed them again.
*
The gusty wind rattled the windows as an early morning storm rolled through. Jessica peeled open her eyes to look at the time. It was a few minutes after ten in the morning.
“Well done, Jessica,” she mumbled to herself.
Her vagina had been dreaming of Dr. Luke Jones for months. The less than zero percent chance felt like a life sentence behind a chastity belt.
Naked. They were naked in the shower, a one hundred percent chance of sex. Sex with the man who had become the pinnacle of her life’s purpose.
“Stupid!” She sat up, letting the towel and blankets fall from her body. “Jesus, Jessica! You’re so stupid!”
An internal grimace tugged at her conscience and gave an upper cut to her ego knocking it back into last week. She had cried, actually cried. Why couldn’t she have simply spread her legs and said thank you very much?
Jessica grabbed her clothes and headed to the bathroom. The opposing door was open. Luke’s bag was packed and set by the door. The quilt and pillows were neatly folded by the headboard and the dirty sheets were piled at the foot of the bed. They looked more folded than wadded. Of course Jones would fold dirty sheets. Wadding probably made him visibly cringe.