by J. L. Mac
Chapter Eleven
Safe
Zander
April 23, 2013
My brakes creak as I stop and engage the parking brake. I kill the engine and get out. I want to run to her, but I use the short walk around the Jeep as an opportunity to watch her, to gauge her expression. She looks like she’s on the fucking verge of tears and it’s my fault. She’s upset about what she thinks she saw. I swear I could go back right now, find those motherfuckers, and rip out their windpipes for coming around to spook her and fucking snoop.
I get to her and want nothing more than to bring her close to me. I want to press her body to mine until whatever hurt is somehow expunged from her and transferred to me.
I refrain from being too forward. I lift her worrying hands from her lap and help her out. I enfold her small hand in mine and try hard to keep myself together. “Sadie, what’s wrong?”
“I-I just—it’s nothing. Really.” Her eyes flit from me then to the ground then to the side.
I look at her disbelievingly and wait, hoping that she’ll open up a little, that she’ll trust me enough with her pain. I hope she’ll share some of it with me and trust that I won’t judge her or hurt her and think any less of who she is. I make it a point to convey what I’m thinking with my eyes. I keep them on her. I focus on her. “Tell me. Please.”
“I was just thinking that you’re here alone. And…if something happened to you… Who takes care of you?” she asks as she takes my hand and steps out of the Jeep.
She has no idea that her words have caused my gut to flip. A feeling of optimism fills my chest, reminding me just how long it’s been since I’ve had anything worth looking forward to or worth being hopeful for. In the time span of just one week, Sadie has changed everything for me. She gives me hope. She gives me something to go after. She gives my lonely life reason. From the very minute that her email showed up in my inbox, my interest was piqued. An urge deep inside of me was born and it has no off switch.
“Well…you’re here,” I whisper, bringing her closer to me and battling my urge to take her to my room and drown that sadness in her eyes with everything that I’ve got to give. There’s so much that I want to do to her, say to her, give to her, but I’m afraid of spooking her. She’s like a scared animal. She needs small moves.
I’m not sure what to say other than that. She’s here. If I had it my way, I’d have her here every day. All the time. I wish I could tell her more, but I can’t.
I can’t tell her that she’s the first person in two years that I’ve wanted to be around, much less invite into my home. I can’t tell her that I ran away from my life back in Atlanta because of what happened. I can’t tell her who I am. I can’t tell her that when I came out of the bathroom yesterday to find that she’d left already, my first instinct was to panic, that I had to force myself to wait a few hours before taking her room key back to her.
I had thought about her walking alone back to Miss Dawn’s place and I flew down my steps three separate times, stopping myself each time. I was worried about someone following her. I was worried that if there was a reporter waiting for an opportunity to catch a picture or two, that my presence with her would only throw her to the wolves. She’s running from life back home just like I am. I can’t drag her into my nightmare. I don’t know how I expect to do it, but I’ll protect her from my life back in Atlanta and hers too.
When she left yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to find a way to get her back to my house, and it wasn’t just because of my cock. I don’t fully understand it, but I want her here. I want her safe. I can’t lie and say that I don’t have selfish motives too. I do. She’d left yesterday and after I decided on staying put for a few hours, I found myself sitting at my computer and googling “Sadie Parker + Atlanta.”
Multiple search results popped up. Newspaper articles about her and her husband, the fallen police officer. I skipped over those articles, deciding that my nerves were way to fucking frayed to read about what happened to her. The thought of her being hurt in any way made my blood boil. I found a link to her social media page and clicked on that. I was routed to a page that was obviously abandoned. The privacy settings let me scroll through everything freely. Condolence after condolence cluttered her page. It took me a while but I finally found her last post.
Starla Winters has flown the coop again. Crazy cat! If any of you in the neighborhood see Her Majesty out and about please call or just swing by. Thanks, friends!
“Starla?” I muttered to myself. What the fuck kind of name is that for a cat? Sounds like a stripper that I fucked in the VIP room once. I scrunched up my eyebrows trying to remember her name. “Starla? Sharla? Scarla? Scarlet? Charlotte? Fuck.” They all sounded familiar, if I was being honest. I’d seen my fair share of bare asses and legs spread wide to accommodate me.
I clicked on her profile picture and her face filled my computer screen. My breath caught up in my throat at the sight of a woman smiling wide for the camera. Her chocolate brown eyes were lit up like I had imagined they would. The Sadie Parker that I met on the beach was a distant cousin to the woman on my screen. Both of them were stunning, but somehow Sadie’s grief made her even more gorgeous to me.
Growing warmth dragged my eyes from admiring the woman on my screen. I glanced down at myself feeling like a much bigger piece of shit for having a hard on while looking at her picture. My cock twitched and throbbed in my shorts. The sensation was hard to ignore.
I stood from my desk, taking one more look back at Sadie on my screen and made my way to my bathroom. It had been so long since I’d done it. Even longer since I’d been buried in the hot, tight wetness of a woman.
I grabbed what I needed from the bathroom without looking at myself in the mirror. I still felt like a bag of dicks for doing it, but I couldn’t resist. I needed that release. I dropped my shorts and sat on the edge of my bed. My cock was rock hard and jolted subtly in sync with my pulse. I put the lubricant in the palm of my hand and curled my fingers around myself. My eyes slipped shut and I shuddered. I took one tentative stroke from the tip of my cock all the way down to my balls, where my other hand was massaging them. My next breath came as a hiss. My hand was hot, but not nearly as hot as the inside of a woman. My grip tightened around my cock. Strokes became faster and shorter. My jaw clenched shut. I could feel my cock get harder and swell. My shoulders quaked. My abdomen flexed tightly and my hips thrust forward, looking for a woman.
Looking for Sadie.
Hot spurts of cum jetted from the tip of my cock. I jolted and quivered then sunk down onto my bed, trying hard to catch my breath.
I had expected that getting myself off would be what I wanted, what I needed, but the second that I came down from the momentary high of release, I felt even needier than before. I wanted so badly to see her there with me. It’s Sadie that I wanted to be buried in, not my fucking hand. I wanted to see her beneath me, safe and cared for. I wanted to care for her body like I want to care for her heart. Careful, devoted, focused, undivided. I wanted to watch her fall apart beneath me in hopes that maybe I can help her feel a little more together. I wanted to watch her watching me as I spilled into her.
I had only made myself even hungrier for the one widow that is the most wrong to want.
I want her body. I want her mind. I want her heart. In many ways, I feel like it’s already mine to claim. In my sick fucking head I feel like Sadie Parker has always been mine for the taking, like she was made for me, intended for me.
The realization that I want her, all of her, only makes my guilt grow exponentially. I’ll just have to find a way to get the hell over that. I don’t want anything standing in the way of me claiming Sadie. Not my family. Not my past. Not her past. Not the reporters or tabloids. Not the string of scorned women that I’ve left behind me. Not even morals and values. The entire world can go right to hell. As long as I have Sadie, I don’t give a shit.
***
We’ve been on my balcony looking out over th
e ocean for hours now. With a makeshift picnic for us to pick at, we haven’t had to go very far except for to get a drink or use the bathroom. Sadie seems to like it most right where she’s at. She’s sitting beside me in one of my wicker chairs with a fleece throw draped around her shoulders and a glass of wine in her hand.
She’s spent most of our time out here looking out at the water. I’ve spent most of it looking at her. She’s been slowly offering up little details about her life the more relaxed she gets. The wine may be to thank for that. I wish I could reciprocate, but I can’t. I can’t even think about all of my secrets much less speak them out loud to Sadie. She’d run and I wouldn’t blame her. They’re my goddamn secrets and even I run from them.
“Jake wrote a letter for me to read,” she says with a sigh. “Before he died, he wrote this letter and I’m too afraid to read it so it stays in my purse.”
“Don’t you think you should read it?” I’m quick to reply. “I mean, it’s been two years, right?”
“Well—yeah—I guess I should, but it’s easier said than done, Zander.”
“No. I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I—shit, Sadie. I’m an asshole. Sorry.”
She stays quiet for a long time. She’s thinking about her beloved husband and I’m thinking about the fact that I’m a fucking asshole.
“I just think that maybe it’s time to read the letter. Maybe it would help, you know?” I add, sounding desperate.
“My parents brought me and my sister here when we were kids.” She finally breaks the silence and I’m relieved to hear her change the topic. “I remember building things in the sand and searching all over the beach for sand dollars. I looked and looked and never found one. I was so devastated. Thought it was the end of the world that I wouldn’t have one to show Jake when we got home. Seems dumb now, right?” she asks, bringing her deep brown eyes up to meet mine, a wry smile tilting up one side of her mouth.
“It’s not dumb,” I answer, never breaking eye contact. I hate that she’s so broken. Every territorial, protective male instinct in my body is screaming at me to guard her. To make her better. To help her. Somehow.
“I’ve known Jake since kindergarten. We grew up together.”
I say nothing, hoping that she’ll go on.
“When Jake would hug me, he used to twirl my hair at the nape of my neck with one hand. The other would rub up and down my spine. It was light. Barely there.” She sighs breathily. “I think it was more for him than it was for me. It was his thing, something that made him feel safe. He never told me that, but I knew that’s what it was.” She laughs ruefully, staring out at the water, so broken and so beautiful at the same time.
“What makes you feel safe?” I ask.
She seems perplexed by my question. Her brows draw up, creating that little wrinkle that I always want to smooth away. “I haven’t felt safe in a long time, Zander.” The way she makes her admission tugs at my heart. She looks so ashamed and sad. “But…I kind of feel safe here.” She shrugs and looks toward the lighthouse. A little stain of pink colors her cheeks and I feel like I’ve just won the goddamn PGA.
“If you could have anything in the world right now, at this very second, what would it be?” I ask, knowing that I’d give just about everything right now to know what would make her happy. If it’s something I can do, I will. I owe her that.
“To turn back the hands of time,” she says, looking at me with one eye squinted in the setting sunlight. “Even if I was told that it was just temporary, that for sixty seconds I could go back, I would. I’d go back.” She nods again, sure of her answer.
“What would you do?” I pry a little, hoping that she’ll open up to me just a little.
“I’d let Jake hold me. I’d let him kiss me and I’d soak it in so that when I had to lose him again, I’d be able to do it knowing that I soaked up everything that I could. Just to feel him again…”
It hurts. Fuck, that hurts, but what hurts more is seeing Sadie with that much sadness in her eyes. I want to help her. I want to fix it all for her. I can’t. I know that, but I can think of one thing that might give her some peace. Even if it’s only temporary, it’s worth it. She’s worth swallowing my pride for now.
I get to my feet and ease up to her. Her lost brown eyes peer up at me. There’s fear and trepidation in her eyes and I’m careful not to make her more uncomfortable than she already is. I hold out my hand and wait for her to take it.
Her soft palm glides across mine and I tug lightly so that she stands.
“Close your eyes, Sadie,” I demand softly, careful not to scare her.
“Zan— ” A wild look begins to fill her eyes and I know I have to shut that down.
“Shh. It’s okay,” I try soothing her. “Close your eyes.”
She looks at me carefully. Testing me. Pleading with me to make sure that she doesn’t regret doing as I say. Warning me to not hurt her.
Her eyes shut and I take a deep breath as quietly as I can. I’m so fucking nervous, but I know she needs this. As much as it sucks for me, I know she needs this. How I feel is irrelevant.
I step forward and gently pull her to me. I close my eyes and pretend for one second that I’m him. I pretend that I’m this good guy who fell in love with the good girl. I pretend that Sadie Parker is my wife and that I love her more than words can say. I pretend that I’m a man who’s going to die tomorrow and this is my last chance to make her feel this—me—us so that when I’m gone, she’ll have the memory of this moment and maybe it will serve as her segue from painful grief to amiable recollections.
Sadie’s body goes a little rigid when I pull her so close that her breasts press flush up to my torso. I press both palms to her back and let one hand drift lazily up to the nape of her neck while the palm of my other hand begins rubbing a light path up and down her lower spine. She relaxes almost instantly. Her body turns pliable in my grip. A weak little whine escapes her and it only motivates me.
I tighten my arms around her and start twirling a lock of hair at the nape of her neck. She wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face at my collarbone. Tremors shake her thin body but I just hold her tighter. Something warm has soaked through my shirt and when a soft sob fills my ears, I realize that it’s her tears. She seems to sway a little bit from side to side, silently telling me, teaching me how to touch her, how he touched her. I do exactly what she wants. I move side to side, almost like slow dancing without moving my feet.
“Jake,” she whimpers. “Oh, Jake.”
Chapter Twelve
Be Nice Back
Sadie
With Zander’s arms around me, I feel so close to Jake. He’s hugging me exactly like Jake used to. With the exception of a few small details as far as height and build, the hug feels painfully similar. Warmth from his body blankets mine, making it impossible for me to resist.
I turn my head to look straight at Zander. My lips brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt, making him tense. His finger stops twirling my hair to tangle in it. His hand stop drifting up and down my spine, splaying across my lower back instead.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Okay,” he breathes, his lips gliding against my forehead right at my hairline.
I gasp a little at the feel of his lips. They’re so full. Kissable. My breathing is coming out in choppy little pants now and I don’t bother trying to calm myself down.
“Tell me what you want, Sadie,” he instructs, his lips still at my hairline.
“Jake use to nip my bottom lip when he kissed me. He would kiss me for a long time, nipping my bottom lip a little. Then he’d peck me three times before he left,” I confess quietly to Zander’s shirt, feeling ashamed of what I’m asking him to do.
Zander’s breathing becomes choppy like mine. The hand in my hair comes to my chin and he tilts my head back so that I’m looking right into those sapphire eyes. “You tell me what you want, Sadie, and I’ll do it. I swear I’ll do whatever you want, but on
ce I kiss you, you can’t just expect me to stop, to not want any more of you.”
A small gasp and nod is the only response I can give. My eyes brim with tears and I know that my tearful state isn’t just from remembering Jake’s touch. I’m crying because Zander’s touch is that perfect to me. I haven’t been touched in so long and I’ve never been touched like Zander touches me. Not in my entire life. Guilt shadows the moment and I try hard to ignore it.
Both of his hands cup my face. With one last attentive look in my eyes, he leans in and brings my face to his. His mouth covers mine and everything else fades into nothingness. I can’t hear the ocean. I can’t smell the salt in the air. My senses are permeated with Zander. Whatever shadows of guilt I had before, they’re gone now. His lips coax and tease at mine, causing me to moan against his mouth. He alternates rapid fire little kisses with long, lingering kisses that leave my lips tender and swollen.
“Sadie,” he says my name like a vow and I melt a little more. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, winning a moan from me. God, he feels amazing. One light peck. Two. Three. His hips thrust forward, earning another moan, but it comes out needy and pleading.
It startles me.
I break away, panting to catch my breath and gather my bearings. “I—Zander, I can’t go any farther…” I trail off, not knowing how the hell to tell him that the hugging, even the kissing, is one thing, but the prospect of sex is an entirely different situation. I can’t do that. I swore. I swore to Jake and to myself that he would always be my one and only. Sex with Zander would ruin that and leave me resentful of him and myself for giving in to temptation like a teenager.
I watch as Zander runs his hands through his hair. He’s upset. I can’t blame him either. “It’s okay, Sadie. I would never do anything that you didn’t want.”