Knowing Jack

by Rachel Curtis

There’s blood on his shirt. Once I notice it, I can’t see anything else.

  So it feels like slow motion as my eyes move to the sidewalk, where Kent is lying in a messy heap of limbs and khakis and backpack.

  There’s more blood on him.

  “What the hell—” I choke, running over to Jack. “What are you doing?”

  “He punched me!” Kent bursts out in outrage. He’s trying to pick himself up. “He just came storming over here and hit me.”

  Jack must have hit him pretty hard, if Kent ended up on the ground with blood on his face.

  “I’m going to do more than that to you,” Jack mutters, striding over, reaching down, and pulling Kent up like a rag-doll.

  Kent is not a small guy, and he’s in pretty good shape, but it doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to confronting Jack.

  I stare, absolutely astonished, as Kent makes like he’s going to go on the offensive but then Jack levels a punch at Kent’s gut.

  It’s so strange. I’m just not used to being around violence, and it’s vaguely sickening and so disorienting I’m not even sure how to react. On Friday night, I was drunk and it was dark, so the violence didn’t seem so vivid and graphic and real.

  But this is. All of those things.

  The others around are all students, and they’re either in the same state of disorientation or simply waiting to see what will happen.

  “Jack, stop,” I manage to say, running over and grabbing his arm before he can drag Kent up off the ground again.

  Jack is briefly distracted by me and turns to face me, looking fierce, wild, primitive.

  I hope you won’t think I’m kind of sick when I say that seeing him this way excites me. Just a little.

  Kent, evidently thinking this is the time to strike, manages to get up and lunge for Jack, but Jack backhands him, sending him to the ground again.

  It’s not really even a fight.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, still clinging to Jack’s arm.

  “It was him,” Jack growls, glaring down at Kent. “It was him. He did the Tumblr.”

  I freeze, too surprised to even gasp. I can barely even register what this means.

  “His brother owns an IT company, which is how he was able to hide the accounts. He’s the one who’s been sending the threats too. He’s been doing this to you the whole time. I’m sure he’s been trying to get some footage of you to post, which is why he’s been making moves on you.”

  Oh God, this is horrible. Kent, whom I trusted, doing all these vicious things to me. The idea of video of him and me—doing something—posted online for everyone to see. The whole thing is absolutely horrible. Surreal. Like something out of a bad movie.

  I finally manage to gasp some air into my lungs. I feel like my face has gone white.

  “He’s the one who has done this to you, and he’s not going to get away with it.” Jack looks from Kent to me and is as dangerous as I’ve ever seen him.

  “Jack,” I begin, not even sure of what I might say.

  Jack doesn’t wait for me to finish the thought. “No one gets to hurt you and stay standing. Not in this world. Not while I’m alive.”

  I’m trying to breathe, trying to think, not doing a good job with either. I desperately want to kiss Jack just now, but I have enough remaining sense to realize the timing would be woefully inappropriate.

  When Jack moves back toward Kent, I grab his arm, sure of this at least. “No! Don’t, Jack. I don’t want you to beat him up.”

  Jack turns around, panting, evidently primed for battle. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it’s my thing, not yours. I get to decide what to do.”

  There’s a strange, tense moment that feels really important—for no particular reason.

  I have no idea how Jack will respond. He’s never been particularly inclined to restrain his impulse toward control, even when I ask him to.

  Finally, he unclenches his fist, his expression changing. “Okay. Okay.” It seems hard for him to say, but he’s saying it anyway. “What do you want to do?”

  I look at Kent, trying to decide what I want to happen to this bastard who has made a mission of ruining my life for the last two months.

  I don’t even know why he did it.

  Then I look around and see that this whole encounter is being recorded on numerous phones.

  After all, something like this isn’t a regular occurrence and evidence needs to be kept for posterity. Or just to post online.

  I almost laugh at the irony.

  “Nothing,” I say, taking Jack’s arm and trying to drag him away. “I don’t want to do anything. He’s not worth it. Justice sometimes just catches up.”

  Jack must be following my train of thought because he stops resisting and walks with me, away from Kent, away from everyone. “All right. If you say so. I guess you’ll no longer be the focus of this damned school’s social media for a while.”

  “Right.” Then I think of something and head back.

  Kent is trying to stand up and regain his dignity and not being successful at either. Mostly, he looks mad.

  “If you ever do it again,” I say, “and if you try to cause any trouble for Jack, I’m going to cause big trouble for you. I don’t know if we have enough proof for legal action, but I can sure as hell get you expelled. My dad is friends with the college president, you know.”

  He’s not exactly friends, but they’ve talked from time to time, and I have no doubt that Kent’s actions can get him expelled.

  Then I turn back around and walk away with Jack.

  I felt different this morning. Like the universe had shifted. Transformed into something new, better.

  I know exactly why I felt that way now.

  It’s not that the universe ever really changes.

  But you do. Sometimes.

  Twelve

  The next afternoon, I’m leaving Dr. Harwood’s class—she’s never going to be my favorite person but she’s stopped being Professor Bitch in my mind since our conversation the day before—when a voice behind me calls out.

  It’s Dana, who is also an Art History major and has been in most of my classes since sophomore year. I stop, surprised that she wants to talk to me.

  She’s never been mean. In fact, the first day of school, she sent me the text because she felt bad about what was happening with the Tumblr page. But no one all semester has gone out of their way to talk to me…except Kent.

  “Hey, I saw that whole mess with Kent. Can you believe it?” she says, falling in step beside me as though it were normal to have a conversation with me.

  “Not really. I have no idea why he had it in for me so much.”

  “Well, I think he was pissed last year because he was into you and you hooked up with…” Dana looks slightly awkward, like she’s not sure what’s going to offend or upset me.

  I give a dry laugh. “I hooked up with someone else. Yeah. But it still seems pretty extreme, just because he’s mad that I rejected him.”

  “It was probably mostly for fun. He and his friends are all assholes.”

  “They got a lot of people to participate.” I don’t mind Dana being nice to me. I’ll be really happy if people start to treat me like normal again. But the irony doesn’t escape me.

  “It’s not as many as you’re thinking. It was really just Kent and his friends who did the Tumblr. It’s all people are talking about in the dorms now, so all the details have come out. Most of the rest of us had no idea where it was coming from.”

  “But everyone still gave me the silent treatment.”

  “Well, some people were mad at you because of Dr. Ames. And the rest of us…well, you didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.”

  I suddenly realize that’s probably true. I made it very clear for the last two months that I was alone. I didn’t give anyone the chance to reach out to me, even if they wanted to.

  Jack wasn’t wrong when he said I was punishing myself. I just wasn’t conscious of do
ing so.

  “I’m really sorry,” Dana says now. Her faces matches her expression, and I’m sure she’s genuine. “I didn’t mean to imply it was your fault. You must have had a terrible time. I should have done better.”

  Dana and I have never been close friends. She had no obligation to stand up for me. But it’s really nice that she’s saying this now. I smile at her.

  “What are you doing for Fall Break?” she asks. “Anything fun?”

  “I’m going to see my parents for a few days. They’ve been worried about me, so they’ll have hurt feelings if I don’t come home for part of the time. But the rest of the week I’m just going to hang out here.” Ridiculously, I feel myself blushing. “I have a new boyfriend.”

  Dana grins. “Yes. I’ve seen your new boyfriend. The video of him beating up Kent is everywhere.” She sighs. “All of us are so jealous.”

  I laugh out loud. “What are you doing?”

  “Not much.”

  “If you’re around, maybe we can go shopping or something.”

  I can’t even tell you how wonderful that sounds—just going shopping on a normal afternoon with another girl.

  I haven’t had a day like that for way too long.

  ***

  Much later that day, I’m clawing at Jack’s clothes, trying to get him as naked as I am.

  It started out as an innocent movie on my couch, but we never actually finish the movie. At first, it was gentle and playful kisses. But soon the kisses move to other places on my body, places that require the removal of clothing. Then I end up straddling his lap, kissing him so deeply my ears throb.

  I have no objection to fucking on the couch, but he groans, moves me aside, heaves himself to his feet, and then leans down to pick me up.

  I wrap my legs around him and kiss him again. He grumbles about dropping me if I keep doing that, but I’m too into it to care.

  He doesn’t drop me. Not until we reach my bed.

  That’s when I start clawing at his clothes.

  He makes it very difficult for me, because he won’t stop kissing and caressing my body. He’s got one breast in his mouth now, and he’s stroking the back of my thigh. It feels so good I keep lifting my leg to give him access to even better parts.

  I remember again that I want his shirt off, so I tug on it until he groans in frustration and lets my nipple slip from his mouth. He helps me with the shirt until I’m able to throw it over the side of the bed and run my hands up and down his chest.

  That doesn’t last long, though, because he lowers his head again, working me up with his mouth and hands until I’m writhing and making helpless little whimpers.

  Finally, I manage to say, “Okay, Jack! I’m dying here. It’s time to fuck me.”

  He lifts his head, a hot smile in his eyes. “You mean you’re not enjoying the foreplay?”

  “I’ve enjoyed it enough. It’s time for the main event.”

  “You’ve got it, princess.”

  He rolls over on his back, pulling me on top of him so my legs bend on either side of his hips. Then he pulls me down to kiss him.

  This is a very nice arrangement, since I can rub my pussy against his middle as we kiss, and my motion grows more and more eager.

  “Are you planning to come before we even get started?” he asks, breaking the kiss and arching his eyebrows at me.

  “I might. You’re just too damned slow.”

  He laughs out loud, and I can feel it ripple through his whole body. “I thought I showed you before how much better it is when we go slow.”

  There is absolutely no arguing with that fact. Before Jack, I had no idea that a man could put aside his own needs for long enough to make sure I’m fully satisfied. “Yeah, but sometimes it’s hard to remember.”

  He laughs again and pulls me down into another kiss. Then, by mutual agreement, we reposition ourselves so that his cock can slide into me as I lower myself over him.

  It feels just as tight and full and amazing as usual. I sigh with pleasure and shift slightly as my body relaxes around the penetration.

  “How is it, princess?”

  “Are you ever going to stop calling me ‘princess’?” I don’t know where the question comes from. It’s not exactly a predictable topic of conversation with a man’s cock is buried inside you.

  His eyes widened, obviously surprised. “I will if you want me to. I didn’t think you really minded.”

  Then I realize I don’t want him to stop. It feels special, intimate, just between us. “I don’t mind,” I say, stroking his rippling muscles and the scattering of coarse hair on his chest with both hands. “I don’t want you to stop. I like it.”

  “Good. I like it too.” He lifts his hands to cup my face. “There’s nothing about you I don’t like.”

  Okay, the tension in my heart is currently beating out the tension in my body. But what I say is, “Are you sure? You’ve been annoyed with me a time or two before.”

  “Well, you can sometimes be infuriating.” When I suck in a breath, he adds with his hiding-a-smile expression, “But those infuriating parts of you are my favorites.”

  So I should really do better with the banter, but I’m too overwhelmed with affection to manage it. I lean down to kiss him, and it reminds me that he’s currently inside me and we haven’t done anything about it.

  I pull out of the kiss, straighten up, and start to rock over him. It feels really good, and the momentum of my arousal earlier has leveled off a little so I can keep my motion controlled and even.

  He lifts his hands to my breasts and cups them. “I love to watch you move like this.”

  “Yeah. I kind of suspected that was why you put me in this position. You get to lie back and relax and take in the show, while I have to do all the work.”

  He chuckles and his hands slide very gently, slowly, down to my hips. Then he’s suddenly holding them, keeping me from moving.

  “Hey! What’s going on? I was just getting going.”

  “It seems to me that you need a little encouragement to enjoy this position more. So hold still for a minute and let me do a little work.”

  I frown down on him. His eyes are hot and fond and possessive, but also a little too pleased with himself. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Nothing you won’t enjoy.”

  “Tell me what it is before I agree.”

  “I’m just going to give you some encouragement to enjoy the position.”

  “By?”

  “Showing you some of the advantages.” His hands skate up my sides to span my ribcage. Then he moves his thumbs to tweak my nipples.

  I gasp at the jolt of pleasure. “Okay. Sounds like…God! ...a very reasonable plan.”

  He laughs again and starts to caress my breasts with more attention, using the pads of his thumbs in the way I like the most.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m moaning and fighting not to wriggle my hips.

  “That’s right,” Jack murmurs, in that low, thick voice that turns me on as much as his touch. “Try not to move. Try to just enjoy it.”

  I drop my head back, my hair falling messily down my bare back. “Oh, God, Jack, it feels so good.”

  “I know it does. Your pussy is getting tighter and tighter around me.”

  I can feel that too, and I make a little sobbing sound as he suddenly gives both nipples little pinches simultaneously.

  ‘That’s so good, baby,” he says. “Arch your back a little more.”

  I do as he says, and it shifts the penetration in a way that makes me jerk with the aching need to move.

  He slides his hands back down to my hips until I grow still again. “You’re so gorgeous like this,” he says. “Every part of your hot little body stretched out for me to see. For me to touch.” His hands follow his words, caressing from my breasts down past my belly and to my hips and even lower to my thighs.

  Then he reaches behind me to cup my bottom, squeezing it possessively. My arousal is pulsing in my clit, in my bloo
d, in my ears. It’s all I can do to keep myself still.

  But I can’t resist saying, “You missed a spot.”

  “I’ll get there soon enough.” He moves his hands back to my ribs. “Arch your back again, but this time try not to move your hips.”

  I stretch my spine, trying to focus on the motion so the corresponding pleasure won’t compel me to jerk my pelvis.

  “Perfect,” he breathes thickly. “Perfect. Now hold it there.”

  I do as he says, and he moves his thumbs back to my breasts. I start to groan because it’s the only way to channel the surge of my arousal as he caresses me.

  “So good, princess. You’re so good.”

  My groaning gets louder and louder until I’m finally muttering, “Please, oh, please, oh, please.” That seems to be his cue, because he slides a hand down to press two fingers into my clit.

  I cry out as the wave of my pleasure crashes. As I come, my body moves of its own accord.

  “That’s right,” Jack says. “Let go now. Ride me as hard as you want. Just let go.”

  I can’t help myself. I’m bouncing over him as the spasms of the climax sustain themselves, and then it doesn’t seem to be over. I want more. Need more. Keep riding him with wild abandon.

  He’s started to buck his hips up into mine, meeting my motion with hard thrusts. It just intensifies the sensations, and I brace myself on his shoulders for better leverage.

  My thighs are getting tired, but that’s hardly what I care about now. I’m making soft little grunts that sound almost childish as I work up toward another orgasm, more powerful than the last. “Oh, fuck, Jack,” I gasp. “Gonna come again.”

  “That’s right. Take what you want. Don’t hold anything back. Fuck, you feel so good.”

  Then I’m coming again, loudly, uninhibitedly. And, even as the pleasure slices through me, I’m aware of him trying to hold his own release back.

  “No,” I gasp, when I’m capable of forming words again. “You come too. You let go too.”

  “I was going to—”

  “No. You come too.”

  I see something flicker briefly on his face before he says, “Can I flip us over?”

  “Oh, yeah. Please. Please.”

  So he flips us over, and he unleashes his own need. He takes me hard, fast, primitive, grunting and holding one of legs bent up toward my chest.