by C. R. Ellis
She shrugged. “Maybe. I’m just trying to figure you two out.”
You and me both, sis.
“I don’t know, J,” I told her, scratching my head. It was the truth. I seriously had no fucking idea where Jasmine and I stood. Aside from the fact that there was a mutual attraction between us, I couldn’t begin to guess where we’d go from here.
I knew where I wanted things to go, but I could tell Jasmine needed time to process everything I’d told her. I didn’t expect it to fix all our issues, but I hoped she’d take it as an olive branch. At the very least, I hoped we could put everything behind us and move forward as friends. The problem was, I couldn’t stop picturing what it would be like to pull her into my arms and crush my lips to hers, among other things. And the last time I checked, that wasn’t exactly friendly behavior.
After a week and a half of radio silence from Jasmine, I was on the verge of staging some kind of run-in when she texted me to meet her tonight after work.
I turned into the driveway and realized why it seemed familiar—it was her childhood home. Jasmine’s parents had lived about ten minutes from my parents’ house, and I recognized the property immediately. As I pulled up to the two-story, red brick house, images of Jade and Jasmine running around as kids brought a smile to my face.
Jasmine was sitting in a chair on the porch, looking off somewhere in the distance. She looked deep in thought, and I almost hated to get out of my car and pull her away from whatever she was thinking about, but my desire to talk to her won out.
I walked slowly to appreciate the sight of her. She’d changed into a dress that she couldn’t have worn to work; it was bright orange with some kind of pattern in blue. I didn’t spend much time registering the pattern though, thanks to the way it was short enough to reveal her mile-long legs. Technically it was still spring, but she was the embodiment of summer with subtle tan lines and shampoo that made her smell like pineapple and coconuts. She hid behind mirrored aviator sunglasses that concealed what I knew to be the most captivating eyes I’d ever seen. Her face was shrouded with something I couldn’t read—apprehension maybe.
Jasmine stood up when I got close, smoothing out her dress. She’d taken her heels off, so she had to tilt her head back more than usual to meet my gaze. The motion gave me a clear view down her dress, but I somehow managed to keep my eyes from roaming. Someone should give me a fucking Gentleman of the Year Award.
“You showed me yours, so I’m showing you mine,” she said with a small, nervous smile as she pulled off her sunglasses.
I smiled back, wanting to make some kind of joke, but she cut me off with an eye roll.
“You know what I mean. You took me to your place, so I thought I’d bring you to mine. This is where I come to think and be alone. The view isn’t nearly as good as yours, but it’s always nice for a peaceful, unplugged escape.”
“I don’t know about that, the view’s pretty incredible from where I’m standing,” I argued, not taking my eyes off her.
Never one to shy away from a compliment, she let her eyes travel down my body and back up. “Yeah, it’s all right, I guess.”
She flashed me a cute-as-fuck smirk, and I’d never wanted to kiss her more.
The smirk vanished, and she got serious in a flash. “Dean, I wanted to bring you here so we could finish talking things out.” She paused so she could walk out into the yard, toward an old wooden swing that hung from a nearby tree. I followed her lead, but stayed silent. “The thing is, there’s no denying that I’m just as responsible for what happened as you are. I should’ve talked to you, instead of jumping to conclusions and instantly pushing you out of my life. Jade says I have a habit of keeping people at arm’s length, which is probably why I didn’t even try to figure things out back then.”
Jas and I hadn’t been close for a long time, but I still knew her well enough to see the truth in the words she spoke. I also knew between losing her mom and the hurt and pain I’d caused her, she had very valid reasons for holding people at arm’s length.
“We both made mistakes, Jasmine. I’ll always regret the way I handled things back then. I should’ve fought for you.”
“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if things had worked out differently?” she asked, tugging her dress back down her thighs after angling her body on to the swing.
“Honestly? I thought about that every single day for a while after you left. I used to torture myself, playing out various possibilities. Eventually, though, I realized I had to let you go. You’d made your decision. I didn’t think I was worthy, and I didn’t even know what I’d say to convince you otherwise.”
Her emotions were written plainly across her beautiful face. Pain. Regret. Shame. “Dean, you were always worthy to me. I think we were two lost souls though, both struggling to deal with the scars from our pasts. The timing wasn’t right for either of us.”
She was purposefully avoiding my eyes, and it was torture.
It took every ounce of my restraint to resist the urge to reach out and touch her.
I swallowed hard and absorbed her words. She was right. At the time, I pegged Jasmine as my salvation from whatever demons still haunted me. But I knew it wasn’t fair for me to expect that from anyone, even her.
It still wasn’t fair, but I was determined not to repeat the mistakes of my past when it came to Jasmine.
After a few minutes of unsettling silence, I finally took in the sight in front of me, of the creaking, aged wooden block that served as a swing because it was attached to pieces of rope on each side that wrapped around tree branches. The swing looked like it was hanging on to life by a thread. I had no doubt it wouldn’t hold me, and I wasn’t even comfortable with Jasmine sitting on it. “Are you sure that’s safe? When was this thing built?”
She laughed. “Yes, it’s fine. I come out here often, remember? I rarely go inside the house. I usually sit on the porch or come out here,” she said, gesturing at the tree house behind us.
I looked up and groaned. The thing had to be twenty years old, and probably hadn’t been repaired since its construction. As far as tree houses go, though, it was the White House of tree houses. In its prime, it would’ve been a kid’s dream. It was bigger than my first apartment, and it had a porch of its own that looked perfect for star gazing.
Jasmine watched me eye the tree house skeptically. “Oh my god, is Dean Preston afraid of heights?” she asked, taking note of my unease. “Is that even possible for someone as tall as you?”
“Ooh, someone’s got jokes,” I replied, dropping my eyes back to her. “It’s not heights I’m afraid of, smart ass; it’s plummeting to my death when I fall through the floor that scares me. That thing looks like it’s seen better days.”
“It’s not that bad. I was just up there the other day. Wanna go up and check it out?” Her tone was playful; she was teasing me.
“Not even a little.” I reached out to push her on the swing. The push caught her off guard and she had to tighten her grip to maintain her position.
She laughed. For the first time in what felt like ages, it was a genuine laugh. The sight of Jasmine laughing, her hair flying wildly around her as she swung, sucked the air from my lungs. She was breathtaking, and not just because of her exterior beauty.
She kept people out, but I saw past her walls and knew the real Jasmine. The Jasmine who went out of her way to help the elderly lady that lived on the first floor of our building. The Jasmine who poured her heart and soul into making her clients’ dream weddings come to life. The Jasmine who volunteered at a local youth center, helping kids who were dealing with the loss of a parent. The Jasmine who made me believe in fairytales.
Chapter 14
Jasmine
What cons? All men might be created equally, but their bedroom skills are definitely not.
Jasmine Winters, discussing the pros and cons of premarital sex
“What now?” Dean asked, his green eyes searing into me.
It was the mi
llion-dollar question, and one I hadn’t stopped wondering about since leaving the house. My body screamed, you know what now, idiot, but my head knew better than to think having sex with Dean was anything but a disaster waiting to happen.
We both stood against our cars, neither of us making an effort to go up to our respective apartments. I desperately needed to put some space between us, but my feet refused to move. He stepped toward me, and I forced myself to hold his gaze instead of letting it fall to his lips. Not that his eyes were any less crippling.
What the fuck do we do now?
I couldn’t look at the man without wanting to throw myself on top of him to find out if he was as well-hung as I imagined him to be.
“Wanna come up and think it over?” he prompted when I didn’t answer.
I immediately shook my head and ignored the very specific part of my anatomy already screaming yes to his question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean. I don’t know how to handle this—the new us. Normally, I’d throw caution to the wind, but I think we can both agree that’s probably not the best decision in our case.”
Dean’s jaw clenched as he blinked slowly, an indiscernible emotion passing over his face. Before I could analyze it, a lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, producing dimples in its wake.
I stifled a sigh. Why couldn’t he have an under bite? Or a weird snaggletooth? Or at least an average, doesn’t-make-me-wanna-bang-him smile?
“For curiosity’s sake, what exactly would ‘throwing caution to the wind’ entail, Jas?” he asked, hovering inches from me.
I’d teased him earlier, now he was paying me back. Except, Dean never played fair. His cologne swirled around us, beckoning me closer to him. I studied his chest as if I had only seconds to memorize its every curve and swell. If I moved my gaze up to his face, I knew his flawless features would all fight for my attention. I should probably just blindfold myself any time I’m around Dean.
Mmm. Blindfold. Blindfold in bed.
I bit my lip. Suddenly the blindfold thing wasn’t such a good idea. Scratch that.
I bolted for the stairs, only turning back when I’d had time to suck in some deep breaths. “The possibilities are endless. Use your imagination, Dean.”
Thanks to his insanely long legs, Dean caught up to me before I could safely make it into my apartment.
“Jasmine, I don’t know how to handle us either, but that doesn’t mean we won’t figure something out eventually. You should know…I always find a way to get what I want.” He smirked, and if smirks could talk, I swear to God this one would’ve just said, “Game on, babe.”
“Uh, good to…uh huh, good. Yep, good talk.”
Dean’s chuckle was the last thing I heard before our doors closed.
I spent the next several hours cleaning my entire apartment in hopes it would distract me from wondering about Dean’s parting words. It didn’t. I kept replaying our recent conversations and searching for answers.
I always find a way to get what I want.
What did Dean want?
I pulled out random ingredients to bake what I liked to call ‘everything cookies,’ totally negating my efforts to clean. Only after mixing everything together did I realize I hadn’t even measured anything, nor had I followed any kind of recipe. Oddly enough, I couldn’t decide if the gooey blob in front of me looked delicious or disgusting. I swiped a finger into the mixture and plopped a generous amount into my mouth. Salt overwhelmed and assaulted my tongue, and I immediately gagged and ran to the trash can.
Son of a bitch.
I couldn’t even make cookies without thoughts of Dean creeping into my mind and screwing everything up. I can’t live like this. I ripped off my apron and threw it somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. Was it a good idea to storm over to his apartment at midnight and demand answers? Probably not.
Definitely not. Especially without witnesses around to keep my hands in check.
But then again…
Fuck it.
I yanked my door open, prepared to march across the hall and bang on Dean’s door to wake him up if necessary.
But it wouldn’t be necessary.
He stood directly in front of my door with his fist raised to knock.
Our eyes locked, and seconds crawled by before I managed to speak.
“What exactly do you want, Dean?”
He stepped forward, breaking the threshold into my apartment. I instinctively backed up. We continued the pattern until my back came to a stop against the entryway wall, trapped by Dean’s large, imposing body. The heat in his eyes was dangerous, predatory, even. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be prey—to be Dean Preston’s prey. And I loved it.
“You,” he said simply.
“Couldn’t just use your imagination?” I taunted, though my breathing was already shallow. Teasing Dean right now was asking for trouble, but I couldn’t resist.
“Nah. Not when the real thing is right across the hall.” His voice was an elixir for my soul; it was strained and sexy and held the promise of more things to come.
I opened my mouth, fully prepared to rattle off a witty response, but nothing came out. I snapped it shut, realizing, for the first time I didn’t want to contradict him.
“What? Not gonna try to bullshit your way out of this?” he asked.
The shake of my head was the only green light Dean needed. His hands flew up to hold me in place while his mouth crushed mine in the kind of kiss I’d been waiting six years to experience again.
It was frantic and chaotic and everything I remembered kissing Dean to be. His tongue pushed into my mouth without hesitation—he was demanding possession of my mouth, not asking for it.
Madness. That’s the only way to describe our kiss.
I wove my fingers through the soft strands of his hair and pushed my body into his. He groaned into my mouth and moved his hands to just below my ass, lifting me up to match his height.
“Dean,” I begged on a breathy moan, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him so close I didn’t know where my body ended and his began.
Having Dean’s mouth on mine and feeling his hard body beneath mine lit a fire of urgency within me that I’d never experienced before. I was used to sex being nothing more than a highly pleasurable physical activity. A means to an end, for the most part. This was already so much more, and we were both still fully clothed.
“Too many clothes,” I mumbled, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt. After a few seconds of torturous maneuvering, his shirt sailed to the ground, and I finally got a good look at his absurdly toned body. “Fuck. Is it weird that I kinda wanna lick every square inch of your torso?”
“Uh. I’m not sure.” His laugh turned into a groan as my tongue traced a path along the space between his neck and shoulder. Shifting my weight to one arm, he tugged the zipper of my dress down with the other, and I shimmied out of the material while still clinging to Dean’s body like a vine to a tree.
I nipped his ear and dragged my nails down his back as he walked us toward my kitchen island. His groan was the hottest sound I’d ever heard, and I wanted to record it on a loop so I could use it to get me through my next dry spell.
My hands went wild, touching every part of him they could reach, desperate to make up for lost time. He nearly tripped when I reached between our bodies and shoved one hand down his shorts. God, I was right, he’s definitely proportionate. Perfectly proportionate, in fact. My mouth watered as I immediately tried to undo the button and zipper of his shorts to strip away the last traces of clothing on his body.
“Christ, Jasmine,” he growled, just before shoving the forgotten cookie ingredients and mixing bowls across the island. The materials and metal clattered harshly against the floor, but the sound barely registered.
He dropped me on the counter and quickly took advantage of the freedom my new position allowed by letting his hands roam everywhere on my body while I finished shoving his shorts and boxers to the ground. Hol
y fucking shit. Has anyone ever reached orgasm just from looking at a penis? Because I think I could.
Dean interrupted my staring contest with his dick by ripping my bra off and tossing it somewhere behind me. Apparently the urgency I felt was a two-way street.
There was no room for tenderness right now, which suited the occasion perfectly.
I didn’t want gentle from Dean. I wanted him wild and untamed. I wanted six years’ worth of passion crammed into one night—one single moment of mutual weakness. I wanted him to fuck me hard enough to silence the regret I knew would come tomorrow.
“Six fuckin’ years, Jas,” he mumbled into my cleavage, flashing me a look before peppering my chest with tiny nips that felt way too erotic. “You got any idea how frustrating the last few months have been?”
He pushed past my panties and plunged two fingers into me when I didn’t answer.
“Show me,” I whimpered on a nod, squirming and digging my heels into his ass. “Fuck me, Dean. Fuck out all of your frustration.”
He pulled back, seeking my eyes after hearing my plea. Something changed in the depths of his gaze, like a different part of him had awakened.
“I didn’t fuck Amelia that night,” he offered suddenly.
“I didn’t meet Paul that night.”
My word choice brought a fleeting smile to his lips.
“Condom, Dean. Now,” I ordered. My eyes scanned over the ridges of his carved abdominals and followed the small happy trail leading to the most glorious cock I’d ever seen. “Or I’m going to slide off this island and drop to my knees so my new favorite part of you can get on a first name basis with my mouth.”
His cock twitched, and I reached for it.
“Jesus. You can’t say shit like that, Jasmine,” he said, bending to grab his shorts and fish out a condom. I pulled my panties down until they slid all the way off my feet.
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because I’m already harder than steel. And now I’m really fucking tempted to let your smart mouth suck me off.” He rolled the condom on, watching me while I watched him in complete fascination. There was something undeniably sexy about Dean’s movements.