Reclaim Me

by A. O. Peart

“Admit it, sister. You dig it.” He laughed.

  I snorted and started to peel the paper wrapper off my chopsticks. They were the wooden kind, stuck together, and so they had to be pulled apart. “I bet one’s gonna break.” I pointed with my chin to the chopsticks in my hands.” Sure enough, a piece of one chopstick broke off and fell onto the floor. I groaned and picked it up.

  “Because you have no finesse,” Jack teased.

  “Hah. Then you do it,” I challenged.

  He arched a sly brow and melodramatically picked up his chopsticks. With a flourish, he tore the wrapper off and pulled them apart. They separated in an even messier way than mine, leaving him with one thick chopstick and a skinny one with long slivers sticking out of it.

  I chortled and he grinned, pointing at me with one of the deformed chopsticks, “And that’s why I keep real chopsticks in my kitchen.” He stood up, walked to one of the cabinets, and retrieved two pairs of etched, lacquered chopsticks. He passed one pair to me and kept the other.

  I examined the set and nodded in appreciation. “Much better, thank you.”

  “The food will taste the same no matter which damned chopsticks we use. And if someone tells you otherwise, they are snobs.”

  That made me laugh. It was so much fun to be around Jack. I had no idea he had such a great sense of humor. It must’ve developed in the last few years, because I didn’t remember him being so easy-going and cracking jokes so readily. I liked it though. It allowed me to relax around him.

  “I’m starving, no kidding. When did I eat last?” Jack mused.

  “At Rita’s, not so long ago. You forgot already?”

  “Yep, I certainly did.” Jack collected a little bit from each container onto his plate and motioned for me to do the same.

  There were eight containers of various sizes. I took small pieces from every one and started to eat.

  Jack was making satisfying noises and smacking his lips. “This is the best one,” he said around a mouthful, pointing to some chicken and snow peas with his chopsticks. “I always get it. Love it. Did you try?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s good.” I nodded.

  After we each had our fill, I said, “Thank you for inviting me stay here with you, Jack. I was honestly surprised that you offered.”

  He stopped chewing and lifted his gaze to me. His eyes met mine. There was only anticipation and gentleness in them, nothing else—no hidden agenda or regret.

  I was nervous because I was still a little bit unsure about the decision I made to accept Jack’s offer. But I had no other option, except to maybe stay at a hotel. Although, with my bruised, swollen face that would be embarrassing.

  “Any decent man should offer such help,” he said. “Why did that surprise you exactly?”

  I gave him the only answer I had—an honest one, “Because of our past. I thought you might hold a grudge against me after I broke up with you. But I’m honestly relieved to see that’s not the case. I really am.”

  His expression slowly transformed from that of expectation to delight to relief. It was captivating to see such a range of feelings from Jack, because the Jack I knew in the past had never seemed so candid.

  “How about you, Jack?” I asked. It wasn’t a trick question, although it sounded like one.

  He gave me a curious glance. “You wanna know what my motives are?”

  Jack put the fork down and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, his expression changing again—he became introspective.

  His biceps bulged, bunching against the fabric of his t-shirt’s short sleeves. On his left arm was a tattoo that I’d only caught small glimpses of before. Now it was fully visible: beautifully stylized letters that read SEMPER FIDELIS enclosed in a thin, long banner-like flag. It started somewhere on top of his shoulder and wrapped itself around his bicep, ending on the underside of it. As his muscles moved, the flag seemed to float in places. It was a fascinating, meticulously inked image.

  I stared at it, mesmerized, knowing what it meant: ALWAYS FAITHFUL, the Marine Corps motto.

  There was so much about this Jack that seemed different from the Jack I’d known. I started to realize that I wanted to understand who he’d become over the years. I wanted to know the person who sat in front of me. But in order to do that, I had to stop thinking of him as a violent and unpredictable teenager. Those years were long gone, and I had a strong feeling that that unfortunate part of his personality had been eradicated for good. The only way to be sure was to keep my mind open, to observe, and investigate; and I wanted to do that—to find out who he truly was.

  Jack watched me while I stared at his tattoo, engrossed in my thoughts.

  “Willow?” his gentle voice brought me back to reality. He put his arms down and leaned over the table with his elbows propped on each side of his plate.

  “I’m sorry. I got lost in my thoughts,” I said sheepishly.

  He nodded. “I noticed. But you asked me a question, and I would like to answer it.”

  This time it was me who put my fork down to fully concentrate on what I was about to hear.

  “I’m not good with words, Willow, so it might be difficult for me to express what I want you to know. If there is anything you would like me to elaborate on, let me know.”

  I started to feel anxious all over again. Maybe I feared what I was about to learn.

  “I don’t want to let my past mistakes influence my future. And God knows how many mistakes I’ve made. The key is to learn from them, not to dwell on them, and definitely not to repeat them.” Jack expression was earnest, his brows knitted together, his bright-blue eyes focused on me. “Does that make sense?”

  “So, you’re trying to get back on track.” I nodded.

  “The truth is, I’ve never been on any right track in the past. Quite the opposite—there has never been a right track to get back on, so I had to invent one and own it. I think I’ve got it, now.” I could tell that, to him, these weren’t just words; that he was speaking from his heart.

  His smile was genuine and gentle, but there were strong emotions in his eyes. I saw anguish and regret. He looked away for a moment as if to compose himself; and, when our eyes met again, there was also pain and a flicker of embarrassment in them.

  That, in turn, triggered a deluge of my own feelings: sadness about our long lost love, an uncertainty for the future, and confusion about what I really felt and wanted now. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t eager to explore them at this very moment. I required time to fully understand and prepare for what I might need.

  I smiled at him. “For someone who’s not good with words, you explained it pretty well.”

  “I certainly tried.” Jack picked up his fork and stabbed at a piece of a broccoli smothered in delicious sauce. “This,” he said around a mouthful of food, “is good stuff.”

  I burst out in laughter and leaned back in my seat, watching him.

  He raised his brows in question and stuffed a cube of beef in his mouth. Looking at me, he motioned with his fork to the containers with various dishes in them and said, “Eat. I can’t polish it off all by myself.”

  “You don’t have to. Ever heard of leftovers?”

  “Smart ass.” He snorted.

  “Look who’s talking.” I picked up my fork and moved some chicken and snow peas around on my plate. I wasn’t hungry, but I enjoyed sitting at the table with Jack, while talking and watching him eat.

  “Do you want to watch a movie, maybe? I’m not sure what you like to do in the evenings,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure what he liked to do with his time, either. Strange, how just a few years made us practically strangers all over again.

  “That actually sounds great.” It did. I wanted to stay in and veg out. Now, agreeing what we should watch together was a whole different story—or at least it had always been a challenge in the past. I didn’t really care, as long as he was fine with choosing, I would humor him.

  “A comedy? Action film? Some sappy c
hick flick? What’s your poison these days?” Jack raised his eyebrows at me, leaning forward to spoon more food onto his plate.

  I fiddled with my plastic fork. “I’m easy. Pick something.”

  “Let’s pick it together. Netflix, baby. We’ll scroll around and see what sounds good.”

  I chuckled lightly. “No more driving to a video store to get a DVD, right? Remember how we used to do that?”

  “There is something nostalgic about that, maybe because the Blockbuster store where we had a membership at closed down a long time ago. No more video stores in the area, except for the grocery store and the Redbox, but that’s not the same.”

  My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the screen. It was my mother. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. It’s my mom.” I stood up from the table and walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. “Hi, Mom,” I said in a cheerful voice.

  “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I lied. “Glad to hear from you. Is everything okay?”

  “Of course, darling. Of course. I just thought I would give you a call and see if you wanted to come over this Sunday for a dinner. My friend Dottie gave me this absolutely fantastic recipe for apple-cinnamon cake. It’s best with vanilla ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream. We could have it for dessert with some coffee. What do you say?” Her voice was gentle and caring, just like her.

  I missed her, even though I just saw her last weekend. There was no way I could let her see me like this: badly beaten and practically homeless. I couldn’t do that to her. She might be disappointed that I wouldn’t take her up on her offer, but I had no other choice.

  “I can’t this weekend, Mom. I have a lot of work to catch upon— papers to grade and lesson plans to create,” I lied again. I was miserable. I never lied to my mom. There was something fundamentally wrong with it, especially because I didn’t even bat an eye. I felt disgusted with myself.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” she sounded wounded. I hated myself.

  “But I want to take rain check. May I?”

  “Yes, of course, honey. You don’t have to ask. Maybe next weekend?” There was so much unconcealed hope in her voice.

  “It’s a date.” I laughed nervously, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on my evasion.

  But she only acknowledged my response and said, “Wonderful. I’m looking forward to it. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” More than you know.

  The call ended. I stood, limply, thinking of her in her petite house in Seal Rock, with its cute porch overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

  Mom owned Nana’s Beach Bakery and Espresso, which was a short walking distance from her house. During my second year of college, Mom decided to leave Portland and settle in the coastal town of Seal Rock.

  She left her corporate accounting career behind, which, at first, was a huge surprise. She’d had that job for over thirty years, but I knew she was burnt-out and badly needed a change; so I fully supported her idea of buying the bakery and becoming a small business owner. The tiny town of Seal Rock became my favorite place on the planet, because that’s where the only person I loved unconditionally and never second-guessed was.

  My idea of a perfect weekend would be spent helping her at the bakery during the day, and staying both evenings with her, either at home or out visiting with her new friends.

  But that had to wait until my face returned to normal, which I prayed would be by next weekend. If the bruises didn’t completely fade, I had some makeup that would probably conceal their remnants. I was sure I would have a huge amount of work to catch up on after several days out of my classroom, but I would have to fit that into my schedule without postponing the promised visit.

  Jack walked up to me. “Is everything okay?”

  I turned to him and tried to manage a smile, but, judging from his expression, I wasn’t quite successful. I just couldn’t shake off the unease I felt after lying to my mom, even though it was to save her the shock of learning what happened to me.

  I took a shaky breath and said, “Everything’s fine. It was Mom. She was hoping I’d come over this weekend.”

  A single tear ran down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away; but not fast enough, because Jack noticed. He drew me into his arms and tenderly locked me against his muscled chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my forehead to him.

  We remained in this quiet embrace for a long time. He rested his chin on top of my head and slowly rubbed my back with his hand. I started to relax into his gentle caress. My hand moved up and down his back—feebly, at first, then with more purpose.

  His heart thudded in his chest, and I tuned into it. That, paired with Jack’s masculine scent, stirred something long-forgotten inside me. My body started to awaken, and I found myself leaning even closer to Jack’s torso. He didn’t pull back, but kept his hips angled away from me.

  I felt his lips trail kisses from the top of my head all the way to the tip of my ear. His fingers slid into my hair, gently tilting my head to one side, allowing his mouth better access. When his tongue darted out and outlined my ear, a jolt of electricity ran through me, and I inhaled sharply. I didn’t pull away though. I wanted to stay exactly where I was.

  Jack’s lips and tongue became to wander, exploring of the folds of my ear. His hand cupped my butt and squeezed, pressing me forward, straight into his growing erection. I felt it against my stomach and welcomed the arousing sensation.

  Nothing felt familiar about Jack. It was as if we’d never been together. Maybe we were complete strangers after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I prayed she didn’t pull away from me. I wanted her badly, and not on just physical level, but emotionally. The curves of her body, her scent, the softness of her hair—it was all coming back to me. This was the Willow I knew from the past. This was my Willow. I’d never forgotten her, no matter whom I held in my arms over the last six years. She’d always been in my heart.

  I wanted to tell her that, but I was afraid it would freak her out, so I kept my mouth busy by placing tiny butterfly kisses across her face and neck. I nibbled her earlobe and was rewarded with a gasp and the tremor of her body against mine. I was aroused and ready to take her, but this wasn’t about me. This was all about her. I wasn’t the one who needed convincing—she was. My priority was to prove to her that we belonged together, that the years spent apart meant nothing; and that I was a different man, now, and we could really make our relationship work.

  She tightened her grip on me and tilted her head back, exposing her throat. I lowered my mouth and ran my tongue from the bottom of her chin all the way to the small hollow of her throat, swirling my tongue in lazy circles.

  “Jack,” she whispered.

  “Yes, baby?”

  Even though she didn’t say anything else, I knew what she meant: to be gentle, not to pressure her until she was ready, and to be patient, without being disappointed if she pulled away. She wasn’t completely ready. I could feel it. I was still attuned to her, no matter all the years we’d lived apart.

  “Whatever you want. One word and I’ll stop,” I assured her.

  She needed to hear that; to know I wouldn’t completely take control—at least not yet.

  She arched her back, giving me unobstructed access to her breasts. My mouth closed over the left one, and I gently bit her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra. She moaned softly and pressed her fingers into the back of my head, holding me even closer to her chest.

  I lifted her shirt and pushed down her thin bra, freeing her perfectly rounded breasts. My lips sucked on her turgid, pink nipple. She moaned again. I gently bit.

  “Jack!”

  I swirled my tongue around, running it over the sensitive nipple, soothing it and then softly biting again. I wanted to make sure she remembered how I used to make her feel. How she’d pleaded for release, and how I always prolonged it to make the reward that much more satisfying for her. Did she r
emember, or would I have to teach her all over again? Either way, I would give her whatever she wanted.

  My hand slid between us and down in between her legs. I rubbed, and she demanded. Slowly, I unzipped her jeans and pushed them open, then slipped my fingers under the elastic of her panties, but not any further. I caressed the coarse hair that covered her mound. I knew she wanted me to discover how wet she was for me, but that would be too fast. I wanted her desperate and begging.

  She tilted her hips upwards, trying to get my hand go lower, but I quickly grabbed the waistband of her jeans with both hands and yanked them down. I kneeled in front of her and licked her through her panties in one long, demanding swipe.

  “Jack, please,” she moaned. “Please,” she repeated with more force.

  I looked up at her and grinned, running my tongue over my upper lip. “Soon, baby. I promise.”

  She was beautiful, her true nature was finally showing through the carefully constructed shell she wore for the others to see. But I knew what lived under that shell. I knew the real Willow, my Willow—my wild girl.

  I pushed her legs farther apart and positioned myself directly below her cleft. She put her hands on the wall for support and braced one bent knee on my shoulder. I swiped my tongue over the fabric in a slow, long stroke back and forth and then back up again. Her legs shook from pleasure and need. Her hand slipped under her underwear, and she threw her head back, sliding two fingers lower.

  I intercepted them and rasped, “That’s my job.”

  “Then finish it,” she demanded.

  There she was—the real Willow. I grinned at her again, grasping her hips with my hands and bringing her forward onto my open mouth. I took the edge of the fabric between my teeth and pulled it to the side. Her scent was intoxicating. My cock was uncomfortably hard and demanded to be set free. I undulated my hips, rubbing my shaft against the material of my jeans to relieve the worst of the ache. My mouth ascended onto Willow, completely engulfing her pussy. I sucked and pulled on it by turns. My tongue darted in and out of her slit, mercilessly spreading her sweet juices over her clit and drinking her in.