Jagged cm-5

by Kristen Ashley

  But the invisible chasm that separated me from my roomie was still there. I felt it even if he didn’t and I didn’t like it.

  He was my friend who did me a solid. He was a guy with, as he put it, “basic needs” so he was going to see to those and I needed to get over it because it was none of my business. And he’d been a dick but he’d explained and kind of apologized, meeting the issue head on and guiding us around it.

  I needed to sort my shit out.

  At least I’d sorted out Maybelle, Wanda, Arlene, and Cotton (I hoped). I’d spent some time with each of them over the past few weeks and when we’d sat down, I’d told them in no uncertain terms to back off. I also told them my new lease on life and that I need them to accept the fact that I was finding my way off the dark path and into the light.

  And last, I’d been brutally honest about the fact that I was working through being hung up on Ham, but it was mine to do, I was determined to do it, and I didn’t need their help. I also shared that it was no help, them getting in the face of a guy I was tight with who had my back. If they didn’t trust him, they should trust me so they needed to back off.

  Wanda seemed contrite. Maybelle was noncommittal but I thought I got through to her. Arlene stated, “I’ll do what I do,” but she’d been a frequent visitor to The Dog and she hadn’t been in Ham’s or my business once since we had our chat.

  Cotton said nothing except, “Find a day. I need an assistant. Feelin’ the urge comin’ on to take me some pictures. And you’re luggin’ my stuff.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was Cotton’s way of giving me what I wanted without telling me he was going to give me what I wanted or vice versa. I just knew he didn’t come back to The Dog.

  I was sure I was looking forward to “luggin’ his stuff” while he worked. He’d never asked me to do that. He was famous, his photos more so because they were the freaking bomb, and there were likely not many people who had the privilege of working with him.

  So all that was good… I hoped.

  I stopped nearly to the mouth of the hall that led into the living room when I heard Ham’s voice talking quiet.

  And jagged.

  I sucked in a silent breath.

  “Yeah, darlin’, dyin’ down. That’s good, Feb.”

  Feb.

  February Owens. The woman he cared about who was the obsession of an ax murderer.

  After the finale to that grisly debacle, it was impossible to miss the aftermath news reports about it, but even so, I didn’t try.

  I was curious. Curious about February Owens.

  Eventually, my curiosity was assuaged. They showed pictures of her and her boyfriend, and she was gorgeous. Older than me, probably closer to Ham’s age. But she looked a little like me. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Her man, who apparently had been her man way back in the day and they’d hooked up again, was phenomenal. Definitely on par in hotness to Ham, if leaner and not quite as tall.

  “No, probably won’t go away. But it will come further between,” Ham went on and I suspected he was talking about the situation with Dennis Lowe, the resulting media onslaught and continued morbid fascination of the public when stuff like that happened.

  “No, nothin’ this way. I’m a footnote, babe. And way good with that,” Ham told her.

  I started to slink back when he continued.

  “You good? Happy?”

  At that, I stopped. Mostly because he sounded like he wanted that for her even if her being that way meant she was that way with another guy.

  Which was, apparently, Ham’s way.

  “Good, beautiful,” he whispered.

  He wasn’t saying something was beautiful.

  He was calling February Owens “beautiful.”

  And that hurt. A lot.

  Why did that hurt so much?

  She was “beautiful.” February Owens, who had to be one of the women he had when he also had me, was “beautiful.”

  I was “cookie.”

  She was closer to his age and she was inarguably beautiful. I wasn’t jailbait but I was a lot younger than him so I got “cookie.”

  That had to be why it hurt so much.

  What hurt more was I’d always loved him calling me cookie. No one had ever given me a nickname. Not even my sister, Xenia. We were tight and she messed around with me all the time, definitely the kind of person to give me a nickname. And I thought “cookie” was cute, it was sweet and it was mine.

  “Right, yeah, got the day off,” Ham carried on. “No clue. Relax, do nothin’…”

  His voice trailed off as I finally moved back to my room. Once there, I stayed there, gave it time, and as I did, I blanked my mind.

  I knew about the other women, and anyway, that was then. This was now. She had a man and Ham was just my roommate.

  And roommates didn’t get in their roomies’ business about past lovers.

  Also, roommates did shit together. Like go to movies.

  When I thought it would be safe, I again left my room and went down the hall.

  I hit the living room to see Ham stretched out on Mindy’s couch, his superior quality flat-screen TV on and his eyes to it.

  When I came in, they came to me.

  “Hey, I’m goin’ shopping and to a movie. Wanna come?” I asked, pleased as all hell my voice sounded normal, friendly, inviting.

  His eyes moved over my face before he replied, “I’m gonna sit back, relax, do nothin’ but eat and watch TV. Wanna join me?”

  I shook my head. “I’m in the mood to spend money on nothing I need and something I want for the first time in what seems like decades. Then I’m going to go see Hollywood movie stars drill fake holes in each other and crash cars. Your day sounds fun but mine sounds more fun.”

  “Limit the shopping and that’s agreed,” Ham returned.

  I tipped my head to the side. “Changing your mind?”

  “You gonna limit the shopping?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Then, yeah.”

  I smiled at him. “Get your boots, bruiser.”

  He gave me a full-on grin when he passed me to go to get his boots.

  I waited, wondering if this was a good idea.

  But he was just my friend, my roomie, and anything was more fun with company.

  So I told myself it was a good idea.

  Even though I knew it was a lie.

  “Venice,” I stated and Ham’s brows went up.

  “No shit?” he asked.

  I grinned and nodded.

  We’d gone shopping and I’d bought nothing I needed but two killer tops that I loved. Then we’d gone to a movie and watched movie stars crashing cars. After the movie we’d had dinner together, chatted, and laughed. After that we moved to a bar and had drinks but left before we got tipsy.

  So now, we were continuing drinking, chatting, and laughing, just doing it in the safety of our living room.

  Ham had just asked me where I would go if I could go anywhere.

  I was on my back on the couch, my legs thrown over the back, my head to the armrest. Ham was at the opposite end, his body twisted so his feet were crossed at the ankles on the coffee table.

  I had a bottle of beer in my hand resting on my belly. He had one resting on his thigh.

  “Italy?” he asked.

  “Not Italy, so much as Venice. I’ve seen pictures. It looks beautiful. And I like water and boats.” I lifted my beer, took a drag, and replaced it on my belly. “What about you? Where would you go?”

  “Anywhere with a beach.”

  I grinned again as I noted, “You don’t strike me as a sand man.”

  “Babe, was on St. John once, walked out in the water up to my neck, looked down, could see my feet clear as if I was standin’ on land. Water warm but cool, fuckin’ sweet. Sun hot and bright. Beauty all around me. Those clear blue waters, tranquil. Nothin’ like it.”

  “So, not a beach but St. John,” I suggested.

  “Yeah. Go back there in a second.”
r />   I felt my grin fade and my face get soft. “Hope you get back there, Ham.”

  It was then I watched his face get soft. “I will, darlin’.”

  He took another drag so I took one and when I was done, I queried, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, cookie.”

  “Didn’t think about it at the time, except later…” I paused. “How did you know where I lived? Both times?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “When you came to my house and again to the studio apartment. You didn’t ask me and I didn’t tell you, so how did you know?”

  “Asked Jake.”

  Right. He asked Jake. No surprise.

  “Okay, this brings me to question two,” I went on. “When did you and Jake get so tight?”

  “When my girl told me she was movin’ on and didn’t want to adjust what we had so I could stay in her life as she did that. Jake and I got tight so I could keep my finger on her pulse, make sure she was all right.”

  He stopped talking but I’d stopped breathing.

  He took my nonresponse the wrong way. “Didn’t require monthly reports, babe. I wasn’t in your business. Just keepin’ a finger on the pulse.”

  “It’s not… that isn’t…” I swallowed and my voice was soft when I said, “That was sweet of you to do, Ham.”

  I watched his body relax and I hadn’t noticed it got tight.

  “You matter,” was all he said in reply.

  “If I had a Jake, I would have kept tabs on you, too. Just so you know,” I informed him and gave him a teasing smile. “Though I would have required monthly reports.”

  Ham smiled back but his intelligent eyes were intense and didn’t leave me and I didn’t know what that meant. I just knew it felt nice.

  The mood was right and it seemed we were back on track. Lastly, we’d always been honest.

  So I kept to that and shared, “I missed you when you were gone, Ham.”

  “Right back at you, cookie,” he replied, voice jagged.

  To lighten the mood, I asked, “Are we going to get mushy? Because mushy requires vodka.”

  He lifted his feet off the coffee table and leaned toward me. “No mushy. Don’t do mushy. But do need shut-eye, so even though this was a great day, babe, you and I got work tomorrow and I need to hit the sack.”

  “It was a great day, Ham,” I agreed. “Thanks for comin’ with me.”

  “Thanks for askin’,” he replied, pushed to his feet, moved down the couch, and stopped at me.

  He leaned down, touching his lips to the top of my hair before pulling back.

  I tipped my head to catch his eyes and saw his were warm.

  “Sleep tight, cookie.”

  “You too, darlin’.”

  He grinned and I steeled myself against the beauty of it when he tucked my hair behind my ear, traced it, drifted his fingers down my neck, then straightened and sauntered away.

  I sat in the living room, alone and silent, sipping my beer until it was gone.

  Then I went to bed.

  * * *

  “Ham.”

  “Fuck yeah. Love that, Zara. Love you, baby.”

  My eyes opened, my pulse spiked, my nipples ached, my sex throbbed, and my skin was damp.

  I’d had another freaking dream.

  “God, this sucks. This fucking sucks,” I whispered into the dark.

  I turned, trying to beat it back, finding it difficult at night, the dream so fresh, so real, and Ham in bed down the freaking hall.

  I tossed, considered getting out my toy and taking care of business but Ham was down the hall. He slept like me, hard and deep. I didn’t know him to wake up in the middle of the night but, with my luck, I wasn’t taking chances.

  Nina suggested I be quiet while I took care of business but that was impossible because my toy was not quiet and, well, I wasn’t either. I wasn’t loud but I made noises. Who didn’t?

  I didn’t know if I could squelch them and I was too afraid to try.

  I turned then tossed and it didn’t leave me.

  Basic needs.

  Ham’s words hit me at the same time it hit me I had them, too.

  Basic needs.

  Oh yes. I had them, too.

  “Damn,” I whispered.

  It was then Nina’s words came to me.

  Roll the dice.

  “Oh God,” I moaned.

  Except for that disastrous night at The Dog, Ham had not once spent the night somewhere else.

  And, if memory served (and I knew it did), he had a high libido. When we were together, we would go out and do stuff, chat, cuddle, goof around.

  But we had a lot of sex.

  Even knowing my mind forced by my desires, my need, was leading me through a ludicrous rationalization, I threw the covers back and got out of bed.

  Then I sat back down on the bed.

  “What am I doing?” I asked the dark.

  Roll the dice, Nina urged.

  I could roll the dice. Just that. Roll the dice.

  Ham could say no. He could turn me away. That would be mortifying but I was already dealing with tough crap with regards to Ham on a day-to-day basis. I could live with that.

  Or, if I rolled the dice, we both could understand we knew what this was and we could give each other something.

  I pushed up from the bed and headed to the door.

  “This is crazy, stupid, scary,” I whispered.

  I still opened the door and walked down the hall to Ham’s room.

  I stopped at his door.

  Was I going to do this?

  I opened his door.

  I guessed I was.

  I moved to his bed. He was on his side, facing me. He had the blinds open and a hand shoved under his pillow. The covers were to his waist and he had nothing on up top. Not unusual. If it was cold, Ham would put on pajama bottoms but mostly he slept nude.

  Even in the dark, he was hot.

  I sat on the side of his bed and he jerked awake, sitting up, his hand flashing out and curling, hard and tight, around the back of my neck as I gasped.

  He came fully awake. His hand didn’t leave me but it relaxed and he growled sleepily, “Jesus, fuck, you scared the fuckin’ shit outta me.”

  And I would. I hadn’t thought about it but the last time someone snuck into his room while he was sleeping, they’d been wielding an ax.

  “God, Ham, I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” I whispered, lifting a hand and putting it on his chest, feeling the crisp hair there, wanting to slide my fingers through so badly, my mouth watered with the need.

  His hand slid to the side of my neck.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered.

  “You sick?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered.

  “What’s up, baby?”

  Before I lost my courage, I blew on the dice and let fly.

  In other words, I leaned into him, aiming fortunately accurately, and my mouth hit his.

  His body stilled.

  I touched my tongue to his lips.

  His mouth opened.

  My tongue slid inside.

  Then I was on my back in his bed, his arms around me.

  Way back when, we could get heated. Especially after a period of absence, the first time was fast and rough and wonderful.

  This was different.

  It was fast. It was rough.

  And it was desperate.

  Ham took over the kiss even as he yanked up my nightgown. I lifted my arms over my head. He broke the kiss and the nightgown was gone.

  He came back, mouth to mine, kissing me, hungry. No, greedy. Devouring. Amazing. And I kissed him back the same way, my hands moving on him, roaming, pressing, nails scratching, just as greedy as our mouths.

  Ham broke the kiss to shift down, lifting one of my breasts. His lips closed around my nipple and he pulled hard.

  My back arched. My leg forced its way out from under his and curled around his thigh as I
drove my hands into his hair.

  He came back to my mouth, drinking, consuming, his thumb now at my nipple, pressing deep and circling, rubbing, pulling. I moaned into his mouth, unwrapped my leg from his thigh, planted my foot in his bed, and rolled him.

  Then I took from him. Everything. My mouth, tongue, and teeth at his neck, his chest, his nipples, down, down, he opened his legs, cocking his knees, and I saw his cock, hard and thick, resting on his stomach.

  And I wanted that. Badly.

  So I ran my tongue up the underside from base to tip.

  He grunted, one hand plunging in my hair, fisting. I wrapped his cock in my hand, shifted, moved my hand away, and took him deep.

  “Jesus,” he growled, his hips thrusting up, his other hand coming to my face, palm to my cheek, thumb out and resting along my lower lip so he could feel it two ways as I worked his cock.

  I was giving it to him, God, finally giving it to him and loving it.

  Head was not my favorite thing to give. I’d do it, I liked it all right, but I’d pick other things to do above that.

  With Ham, I couldn’t get enough. I never could. I loved his reaction. I loved how I could make him lose control. I loved the taste of him. The feel of him in my mouth.

  I loved everything about it.

  As it would turn out, I loved it too much.

  So much, I had to shove a hand between my legs and touch myself because just taking him there was making me hot. So hot, I was close to exploding.

  But I had him so I should have him.

  And I was going to take him.

  I slid him out of my mouth, dropped to a hip, tugged off my panties, threw them to the side, and crawled over him.

  “Zara—” he called, his deep voice guttural.

  I didn’t reply.

  I wrapped my hand around his cock again, guided him to me, and, with a rough, desperate downward plunge, I impaled myself on him.

  His groan shook the room, his hips thrust up, and his hands went to my hips. My hands went to me, one finger to my clit, one hand to my breast, fingers closing around my nipple as, head back, mindless, I rode him and I did it hard.

  “Babe—” he called again but I didn’t respond because I was there.

  Crying out, moving with abandon, I came, the fire of it exploding between my legs and shooting through me, splitting me open, ripping me wide, and I loved every second.