Falling Away

by Penelope Douglas

  I wasn’t worried about the computers. They weren’t important to me. The information I could use them to gain was. This room, and its contents, gave me the ability to protect myself and my family, make a living, and be aware of every stumble in the road before I even turned the corner.

  When I was thirteen, and my father had been sentenced to prison time, I’d been sent to live with a family that had two computers. One of them was old, so they had let me tinker and explore with it. Once I discovered how to use it and the leverage that’s at a person’s fingertips if you’re clever and diligent enough, I was hooked. I wanted to know everything.

  She strolled down the wall, studying the six flat-screen monitors I had mounted in two rows of three each. Two were shut off, two had updates and installations running, and the other two had accounts I was trying to crack. Not that she’d know what she was looking at.

  There was a seventh flat-screen I had supported on a tripod that controlled the others. The room wasn’t decorative. Instead of portraits or wall decals, I had bulletin boards and whiteboards with my scribble all over them, and desks lining the walls with electronics and computers sitting around.

  In this room I was a god. I watched, and I swirled the paint every so often with no one the wiser.

  K.C. passed each monitor and table, stopping to study a few things and swaying ever so slightly to the music coming from downstairs. Her thumbnail was in her mouth, but she looked relaxed.

  “This is how you make your money, isn’t it?” she said, turning away from my notes on the whiteboard to look at me. “Are you doing illegal things, Jax?”

  I licked my lips, taunting her. “Would it get you hot if I said yes?”

  “No,” she grumbled, looking away again. “It gets me hot when you touch me.”

  My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I felt as if I were falling.

  What the hell did she just say?

  She spun back around, her mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe I just said that. Oh, my God.”

  I didn’t blink, and her chest wasn’t moving any oxygen.

  I swallowed, standing up and stalking toward her. “Say it again.”

  “Damn wine coolers,” she bit out, looking to the floor and retreating. “I never usually feel anything. How did you know they were my favorite?”

  I smirked. How cute she was. I tipped my chin down, inching toward her and loving every backward step she took. Why did I like her being afraid of me?

  “I didn’t know they were your favorite,” I lied. “And it’s not the wine coolers you’re feeling. It’s me.”

  Her back hit the wall, and I came in front of her, bearing down on her. Her hair tickled my cheek.

  “Say it again,” I breathed into her ear.

  Her hands went to my chest, trying to keep me away. “No.”

  “Coward.”

  She peered up at me, narrowing her eyes. “Now I’m a coward.” She nodded sarcastically, pressing her hands into my chest with more force. “Gutless, helpless, and coward all because I won’t sleep with you. Next, my girly pink wine coolers and peach nail polish will be under attack. Let me help you with some more names: princess, self-absorbed, weak, wimp, arrogant, snotty, sellout, conceited—”

  Grabbing hold of the backs of her thighs, I heard her yelp as I hauled her off her feet and pressed her into the wall, forcing her legs around my waist. I cut her off, bringing us nose to nose. “I like your pink wine coolers, and I think your pretty toenails are sexy as hell.”

  Her chest rose and fell in silence, up and down, up and down, and the heat of her mouth was right on my lips as she stared at me, shocked.

  Her soft lips.

  Her fucking soft lips were panting and moist, and I stared at them, wanting to bite. Her hot cunt warmed my stomach, setting me on fire, and I loved how easy her body was to handle. “You’re a pretty little thing, K. C. Carter,” I whispered into her mouth, “and I like looking at you.”

  “Oh, G—,” she moaned, but I cut her off, slamming my lips down on hers.

  Three fucking years.

  Three fucking years of desire for this girl, and I wanted that shit I claimed I didn’t want days ago. I still wanted to pin her against the lockers at school. I still wanted her riding the shit out of me with her tits in my mouth.

  And I still wanted to wipe the sneer off her face and see her smile.

  K.C.’s full lips moved against mine, kissing me back, and while her mouth felt soft and moved fluidly like water, it also nipped and nibbled, bit and sucked.

  She was good, and I gripped her ass in both hands, pressing her into my body so hard I could feel her heat through her clothes.

  Her hands pressed into my chest again, and chills fanned against my skin as she pulled away. “Stop,” she gasped.

  Fuck no.

  I gritted my teeth and slammed my ass down in the desk chair with her straddling me. Grabbing her wrists, I held them behind her back and jerked her chest into mine, forcing her fierce green eyes down on me.

  “Say it,” I ordered.

  Her teeth were bared. “No.”

  Tough little shit.

  I smiled, my lips threatening hers. “Your breath is shaking. You’re scared to look at me.” I sucked in air through my teeth. “And I know you feel me between your legs, don’t you?”

  Her eyebrows arched together, making her look even more vulnerable.

  I jerked her into me again. “Don’t you?”

  And then she looked down, nodding quickly.

  I swallowed, licking my dry lips. Old K.C. would never have been that brave.

  She raised her timid eyes, speaking low and husky. “I liked your mouth on me in the weight room. And in the car.”

  My fucking head was floating, and I couldn’t remember when I had wanted something so badly. Releasing her arms, I brought her hands in between us and then cupped her cheek, trying to get her to look at me.

  My dick wanted me to bend her over every desk in this room, but my head liked her in my lap. I wanted her to be comfortable, so I let her ease into me.

  Her throat moved up and down, and I saw that she was rubbing her thumb over the scar on her wrist.

  “You think I tried to kill myself, don’t you?” she asked, and I blinked. She’d changed the subject pretty damn fast.

  “You noticed the scar at some point and assumed.” Her eyes met mine, and she lifted her chin. “Well, I didn’t, okay? I wouldn’t try to hurt myself.”

  I narrowed my eyes on her. I had definitely referred to her wrist the other night when I said she’d been desperate to get out of her own skin, and even though I had no idea why she was bringing that up now, I sat back and let her talk.

  “How did it happen?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t that. I hate when people make assumptions about me.”

  I held her thighs. “Okay. Tell me what K.C. stands for, then.”

  She smiled, gesturing around the room. “I’m sure you have the capability to figure that out, don’t you, Jax?”

  Moving my hands up to her hips, I gripped her tight and eased her into me. Nipping at her lips in short, soft kisses, I glided my tongue along her top lip. “Tell me,” I whispered, hearing her breath quicken again. “Or I’m going to lay you on my bed.” I dug my fingers into her skin. “And eat your pussy so hard the whole damn house will hear you screaming.”

  I kissed through her excited little breaths.

  “Katherina Chase.” She pulled back, breathing hard. “It was my sister’s name.”

  “Why do you have your sister’s initials?” I asked quickly, trying to take my mind off her hands on my stomach.

  “Because,” she started, looking as if she didn’t know where to begin. “Because she’s dead.”

  I leveled my gaze on her, waiting, even though her weight on my cock was getting me so hard I could barely pay attention.

  She swallowed, meeting my eyes. “My sister died be
fore I was born. I was conceived shortly after. From what I remember, things seemed fine for a while, but then when I was four my dad was sent away to a hospital. A mental hospital.”

  I ran my hands down her thighs and up again, letting her know that I was listening. Truth was I cared more that she was opening up than about what she was telling me.

  I already knew it all anyway.

  She continued. “He’d been battling with coming to terms with my sister’s death, and he finally started to lose his grip. He stayed in there for years. Winter of senior year, I went to visit him the same way I did every month. He freaked out, grabbed a pair of scissors, and slashed me.” She ran her thumb down the long, diagonal scar on the inside of her wrist.

  I stilled. “Why?” I asked, not remembering her wearing any bandages then. But it was winter, so long sleeves would’ve covered up the injury.

  She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  I sat up straight, pulling her closer to me. “So, why do you go by your sister’s initials?”

  “Well, that’s how we knew my dad was wigging out.” She nodded. “He started calling me K.C., thinking I was my sister. We tried to correct him, but it was more trouble than it was worth. So my mother called me K.C. in his presence to avoid his outbursts.”

  Fucking four-year-old little girl having to go through that. She must’ve been so confused.

  “And then so did the rest of the family,” she continued. “And eventually it started happening at home as well. My father would get a little better, come home for short spells, and we’d carry on the charade there. The practice eventually just became habit.”

  I ground my teeth together.

  K. C. Carter was a dead little girl, and the woman in my lap was still living that lie. It pissed me off. She could’ve been someone different. Someone who knew herself and didn’t follow what her boyfriend or her parents wanted. Instead K.C. was fearful, timid, and unsure. Until recently, anyway.

  “What’s your real name?” I pressed.

  She grinned. “You’re going to laugh.”

  The corner of my lips tipped up. “I won’t ever laugh at you,” I assured her. “Ever again, I mean.”

  She rolled her eyes and then let out a tired sigh. “Juliet.” She winced, looking at me through embarrassed eyes. “Juliet Adrian Carter. My father liked Shakespeare, so he named my sister after the heroine in The Taming of the Shrew and me after … well, you know.”

  I dipped my head into her neck. “Juliet.”

  I felt her body shake with a shiver, and I threaded my fingers into her hair, nibbling her skin and eating up her scent.

  “Jax, I can’t,” she breathed, placing her hands on my chest. “I … ,” she stammered, “I don’t exactly dislike you anymore, but this isn’t a good idea. As much as I’d like to give in, I can’t be that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  She stared at me. “A one-night stand.”

  My fists tightened around her shirt. So that was what she thought I wanted?

  My voice hardened. “What makes you think you’d be a one-night stand?”

  “Because you’re Jared Trent’s brother. Because you’re young. Why would you want more?” she asked, her tone light. “I’m not trying to be prissy, okay? You get to me. I like the way you feel. I’m just not ready for this.” Her lips pursed, and she started to rise, but I pulled her back down.

  “Ready for what?” I bit out, getting seriously fucking annoyed at her assumptions and the fact that she compared me to Jared. Two minutes ago she’d had her arms and legs wrapped around me.

  Her eyebrows shot up, challenging me. “This,” she spat out, and dug into my pocket, pulling out my knife. “It’s been digging into the back of my thigh since I sat down. Why do you have so many computers? Why do the cops let you get away with anything? What do you do to make a living? And why do you carry a knife, Jax?”

  My chest filled with delight at her anger. She was getting ballsier by the minute.

  I shot her a smirk. “Because it’s quiet.”

  And I almost laughed at her arched eyebrow. She was asking why I carried a knife, and I just answered why I carried a knife instead of a gun.

  She averted her eyes, but I caught the annoyed expression as she raised the knife up to her face, studying it. She hit the button, and the blade shot out right between us.

  I had only a moment to wonder what the hell she was doing before I reared back, seeing her jab the knife into my space.

  “You think you scare me, don’t you?” she taunted, holding the blade to my neck, playing with me.

  I sucked in a few quick breaths and let out a startled laugh as my heart slammed against my ribs. Well, this was new.

  I swallowed, meeting her triumphant little smile and leaning into the blade, feeling the sharp, cool steel bite into my neck. “You want to play? You don’t know how to play my games, Juliet.”

  And I snatched the knife out of her scared hand and brought it down to the hem of her shirt, slicing it up the middle.

  “Jax!” she screamed, fumbling with her now useless T-shirt as I threw the blade onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

  Grabbing her around the waist, I stood up, whipped her around, and planted her in front of the window looking down onto the backyard full of partiers.

  I wrapped my arms around her shaking body and growled into her ear from behind her, “God, Juliet. You think I just wanna fuck? You think I wanna keep myself hidden and mysterious, because it’s my play to get women into bed? Huh?” I pressed. “No, baby. I could fuck ten different girls tonight if I wanted to. I don’t want to do that.”

  Her chest shook, and she squirmed against me, probably scared that we could be seen out the window.

  “So, what do you want?” she cried. “If not a one-night stand?”

  I closed my burning eyes, and buried my lips in her hair. “I want to terrorize you,” I confessed. “I want to cut you without drawing blood. I want to break you.” I pulled her into me. “And then I want to fuck you.”

  From the moment I laid eyes on her, I had wanted to break her out of her shell. I wanted to see her undone, and I wanted to take her over. For how long, I didn’t know, but I knew it would be for more than one night.

  I also knew it wouldn’t be forever.

  Her breathing slowed, and she stilled, staring out the window. I straightened behind her and peeled off the T-shirt she was holding closed.

  “Jax,” she whimpered, turning her face to me. “They can see us.”

  Reaching around, I turned her chin back toward the window. “They can’t see you. The window’s tinted.” The shirt, sliced up the front, fell down her arms and spilled to the floor. “But you can see them, Juliet,” I pointed out, gently running my hands up her bare arms. “They drink. They laugh. They have meaningless conversations about what’s trending on Twitter.” I paused and dug my fingers into her hips, pulling her ass into me and breathing into her ear, “And I’m so jacked up I want you so bad.”

  My cock grew and swelled with the feel of her. The silk of her skin in my hands, the shape of her ass pressed to my cock, and the reflection of her hands covering her tits. She was so sweet and timid.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a virgin.

  And she couldn’t take it any more than I could. Dropping her hands, she turned her head to nuzzle into my chest, and I was tempted to slice off her shorts, too.

  But I didn’t. Instead I skimmed down her tight stomach and slid my hand into her bottoms, finding her hot, wet center.

  I closed my eyes. She was fucking soaked. Her panties were wet, too. How long had she been like this? Since we got into the room?

  Swirling my fingers around, I rubbed over her clit, feeling her body squirm against mine.

  Slipping a finger inside her folds, I rubbed her small entrance in circles, alternating between that and massaging her clit.

  “Jax,” she gasped, crashing the palms of her hands against the glass and breathing hard. Sh
e leaned forward, and I bit down, clenching my jaw with the pressure in my jeans as she stuck her hips back at me, inviting me in.

  Jesus. “That’s it,” I encouraged, taking my hand out of the front of her shorts and slipping in at the back instead.

  I rubbed her pussy, stroking my hand forward and backward, forward and backward, my groans mixing with hers.

  So wet. And so smooth.

  She was clean-shaven. Or maybe waxed, because she was softer than any other girl I’d ever touched. And with her wetness it was as if my finger was touching silk.

  But if she’d broken up with her asswipe boyfriend more than two weeks ago, why was she still keeping that area waxed? I didn’t like the idea that she might be hooking up with someone else at all.

  Arching her back, she moaned, “Yes.”

  And I closed my eyes as I bent down to kiss her naked back, my teeth grazing her skin. Reaching around with my other hand, I cupped and massaged her breasts, smiling through my kisses as she squirmed against me. I rolled her clit between my fingers, and her back jerked against my mouth.

  “Fuck, Juliet,” I breathed out. “No fucking way would you be a one-night stand.”

  Circling my arm around her, I pulled her back up against my chest and growled into her ear, “I’d need a lot more than one night to do everything I want to do to you.”

  I stuck my middle finger into her wet heat and held her tight as she gasped in sweet pain. Withdrawing it, I swirled her come over her clit and then dived back into her again, plunging the tip of my finger inside her.

  Damn, she was tight. My finger wouldn’t slide out easily, and the friction of her folds and skin along with her wetness had my dick jerking with need. I reached down and adjusted myself, feeling too fucking uncomfortable right now. She had to be able to feel me pressed against her back.

  But I couldn’t take her to bed now. Not with my house full of people.

  We faced the window and saw everyone milling about the party, and it was such a turn-on to have Juliet reach behind and snake an arm around my neck and move her ass into my hand. She wanted this. She might even let me fuck her right now, but I couldn’t take the chance. Not yet.

  It would be in a bed. And in a fucking empty house where she could make as much noise as she wanted. Not tonight, but it was definitely going to be soon. Real fucking soon.