“Don’t, Artie.”
He groaned. “You obviously paid good money for those things. Let me see them.”
“Excuse me?” She turned more fully on her side, her back to him, letting her indignation pass. She had spent good money on them.
“Sage, come on. Please don’t push me out like this. I just want to see all of you.”
He began to harden against her cheeks, so she did what she usually did in situations such as this: pressed into him so he’d lose focus and leave her alone about her shirt.
She was thankful every day that passed that he hadn’t yet noticed the scars on her inner thighs, sides, or forearms. An illicit affair with the hot school nurse was one thing; screwing a scarred and broken shell of a woman would probably lose its luster fast.
“Mmm, I’ll play with this instead. For now.” He slid down lower until his face was closer to her ass—a difficult feat while in a car, even with the seats laid flat—then began massaging her cheeks with both hands. “I think I love you, Miss Shepard.”
“No. You don’t.”
His hands stilled, but only briefly. “Maybe not, but I still wish I could take you to prom. I’d dance with you, make all the other guys sick with jealousy, then sneak you off before the night was over and surprise you with a hotel room. Then I’d make love to you in a real bed, like you deserve.”
She heard him unwrapping another condom, the sound usually able to trigger a response in her, but this time….
He scooted back up to her, sliding one hand down the back of her leg and urging it forward so he could maneuver himself almost on top of her. He slid inside her once again, the coolness of the condom dragging against her inner walls.
His words had reached deep down into her, past the wall she’d erected with meaningless sex, gripping her soul with hard, icy fingers of realization…and shocking familiarity.
She was Artie’s dirty little secret.
She’d managed to do this to herself a second time in her life, and the thought sickened her.
The brown door was harmless, sure, but as Sage gazed up the stairs, that closed apartment door was damn near ominous. She urged her feet to move, but they refused, locked into place like cement boots held them stationary.
Not a bad metaphor for the drowning panic that surged within her.
What was she even doing here? She couldn’t remember driving to Brand’s house, yet here she was, staring up at his ominous front door, willing it to open. Maybe if he happened to find her out here, she wouldn’t have to make the next move.
But what would she say if he did come outside?
I’m sorry had lost so much meaning between them. How many times could one person utter those words before they became hollow? How many times could two people?
“This is ridiculous.” She took a step forward. Her stomach hit the ground.
Baby steps.
What was the big deal, anyway? They’d both messed up, hadn’t they? It was…what they did. How they worked. Their mistakes had always been something they came together on, something they overcame as a team, a unit.
“How dysfunctional.” Sage shook her head, then looked around, debating. This had been a terrible idea. She’d made too many mistakes. Even someone as forgiving as Brand wouldn’t forgive her this time.
But, God, how she needed a friend right now. She needed him.
She turned to go, freezing as the click of the door sounded behind her at the top of the stairs. Shit!
She swallowed hard, then chanced a quick look behind her.
Rosie Sanchez. Tiggs.
Sage bolted before she could see anything else, having all the information she needed. Rosie had just exited Brand’s apartment. They were working things out.
Good. Sage didn’t want to break up a happy home. She wouldn’t be that woman. This was okay. She’d be okay.
The tears streaming down her cheeks by the time she reached her car begged to differ.
Sage strolled into the bar—aptly named “The Bar” judging by the out-of-place neon sign hanging above the door—with one thing on her mind: forgetting.
About secrets and students, about Artie…and Brandon Tiggs. Tonight, she would forget about Brand once and for all.
She’d come a long distance to do so, too, since the last time she tried to forget, she ended up with one of Brand’s students—a mistake she wouldn’t repeat.
Or, well…again. She wouldn’t repeat that mistake again.
She was done sneaking around with Artie. It was wrong, so wrong, and she had to put a stop to it.
Inhaling a deep breath of stale cigarette smoke and old booze, she squared her shoulders, smoothed her short skirt, and located a half-moon booth with a near-perfect panorama of the entire bar. As she slipped into the worn, wooden seat, she scanned the dimly lit room, checking out each patron and searching for someone to help her on her way to oblivion.
She hadn’t just lost Brand again, she’d destroyed him, destroyed the possibility of ever getting him back, and, worse than any of it, she’d pushed him back to Rosie.
And in all of it, Sage destroyed herself. Losing Brand to Rosie—again—was one thing, but sleeping with Artie even after she knew the truth about who he was?
Unforgivable.
She deserved every stab of misery her heart endured.
Sage waved a young waitress over.
“Waiting for someone, Ma’am?”
Sage tried not to cringe at the use of ma’am, but then let it slide—the server was probably not even old enough for slinging cocktails and, frankly, Sage felt like the last few months had added decades to her twenty-six years—she wouldn’t be shocked if the wear and tear showed on her face the way it marred her heart.
Sage mustered a smile. “Gin martini. Dry. Shaken. Two olives. Skewered, not just tossed into the glass.”
The waitress raised her manicured, blonde eyebrows, but Sage held her gaze, smile unwavering, until the girl finally turned and scurried away.
Across the room, bent over a slightly off-kilter pool table, stood the guy she’d go home with tonight.
Three men surrounded the table; two of them way too low on the standards ladder, but the other…Sage raked her gaze up and down his long, muscular frame. Boots, dark jeans snug in all the right places, tight faded t-shirt that looked soft and worn, tightly wrapped around a slightly too-big upper torso, but Sage didn’t mind. Sometimes muscles like that could be fun to trace.
Her gaze reached his chiseled jaw, settled briefly on full lips, then met with a piercing blue gaze that caused her to suck in a quick breath.
Is it hot in here? She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then reached for the martini as the waitress set it down on the table, her eyes still locked with the stranger’s across the bar.
“What can you tell me about him?”
The waitress turned, then looked back at Sage, so she finally broke the staring contest to meet the girl’s gaze. Red cheeks. Awkward smile.
Did she have a crush on him?
“Who do you mean?” the girl asked.
“I think you know exactly who I mean. Tall, gorgeous, and deadly over there.”
“Oh, that’s Jake Johnson. He’s lived here all his life.”
“Jake Johnson.”
“Yes, Ma’am. He’s the—”
Sage raised her hand. “I’ll stop you right there. Married?”
“No, Ma’am, but—”
“Thank you. I’ll need another of these in about ten minutes, please.”
She looked back over at the pool table, her eyes meeting his almost instantly. So, Jake Johnson who’s lived here all his life, what are you going to do with me? He leaned against the wall, hands gripping the pool cue in front of him. His gaze was too intense for his own good, and Sage wondered if he had any idea what he was about to get himself into.
Only one way to find out.
Sage sipped the rest of her martini, quickly scowled at the poor quality, then cocked one eyebrow.
<
br /> She nodded to the seat in the booth across from her and looked away, then uncrossed her legs beneath the table—short skirts could be so fun sometimes!—hoping that from his position in the corner of the room, he’d seen enough to entice his curiosity. Though she already knew he was interested, what with the heady gaze she could almost feel caressing her skin like honey.
She set her drink down, then fingered the condensation on the glass, looking up only when the booth creaked and the table shifted beneath the weight of his massive arms. Slowly, she met his gaze, sucking in another breath when she realized just how striking his eyes really were. “Took you long enough.”
He licked his lips, a slow smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve only been here ten minutes.”
“You noticed.”
“The air shifted when you walked in.”
Sage tilted her head. Not the worst pick up line ever.
“I’m Jake.”
“Johnson. I know. Sage.”
“Just Sage?”
“Yep.” She toyed with the next button of her blouse. “May I steal you away from your game for ten minutes?”
He smiled, exposing slightly crooked teeth. His nose was a bit off-center as well—the tell-tale sign of a fight or two. She looked down at his hands, big, strong, scarred.
Mmm, she thought, a bad boy. Yes, please. She licked her lips and met his gaze once more. He’d be perfect for the quick, wild romp she’d come here in search of.
“Ten minutes?” He shook his head, then stood, extending his hand. “I have all the time in the world.”
And I have nothing left to lose.
Sage frowned, pushing the thought aside. She took his hand, then allowed him to pull her from the booth. She eyed the waitress, who’d paused halfway across the floor, martini in hand, mouth agape.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Sage whispered, releasing his hand. She strolled across the floor, grabbed the cocktail, then downed it. As she set it back on the girl’s tray, she leaned forward, bringing her mouth just shy of the girl’s ear. “There’s a difference between vodka and gin, honey.” She turned to leave, then glanced back at the girl once more. “Close your mouth; you look like a tourist.”
She met him at the door, then stepped outside, her handsome stranger trailing behind her with his hand on her lower back.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Anywhere’s fine.”
He slid his hand into her palm, then laced his fingers through hers, tugging gently so she’d follow him into the darkness behind the building. He quickly whipped her around, then pushed her back against the wall of the bar, startling her until her breath caught in her throat.
Not exactly the anywhere she’d meant, but whatever.
He stared down into her eyes, the bright blue of his irises glinting in the moonlight, then pressed up against her, his hand still wrapped in hers behind her back, holding the two of them together against the wall almost uncomfortably.
With his free hand, he slid his fingers into her hair, then ran his calloused thumb across her cheek. “Where’d you come from?”
Sage shook her head. No talk. Just action. Just oblivion. She needed to silence the nagging voice in her head, the one that kept telling her what a screw-up she was. The one that reminded her time and time again that she’d lost Brand. That she’d never find anyone else like him. That she wasn’t worthy of him. That she—
Sage pushed up on her tiptoes and found the guy’s mouth, sliding her lips over his. He opened up, gently at first, tenderly taking his sweet damn time—but that wouldn’t work. Not tonight. Not with this girl.
She plunged her tongue between his lips, parting his mouth further, as she reached down between them to find the growing bulge in his pants. Palming him, she made her intent clear—as if it hadn’t been before—she wasn’t wasting time, wasn’t here for small talk.
No strings. No words. No thoughts.
He released her hand from behind her, then grabbed her ass, gripping her tightly to him and making it increasingly difficult for her fingers to undo his button-fly. He stopped, pulling back, blue eyes smoldering and lips swollen from the intensity of their kiss. He held her gaze, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths, then pulled a foil packet out of his back pocket. Not one for wasting time. Perfect. He placed the package between his teeth, then hurriedly undid his pants and let them fall to the ground.
Sage let her gaze fall as well, then gasped when she realized he was huge. Rock hard and exposed for her viewing pleasure, Sage couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Commando, eh?
Two could play that game. She smiled, biting her lower lip and raising one eyebrow, then shimmied her skirt up around her waist.
His eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
Yeah, me too.
Now fumbling, he ripped the wrapper open, spitting the piece of foil to the ground, then sliding the condom down over his length, gaze still locked on Sage’s lack of panties. He wasted no time closing the short distance between them. With his hands on her waist, he pulled her up the wall, then kissed her as his tip teased her folds, sliding over the wetness there, right there, right at the brink…so close that Sage waited with bated breath. So close, but not nearly close enough.
She wrapped her legs around him, then gripped tightly and slid down.
He groaned into her mouth.
She winced as his size filled her to the point of pain. His fingers tightened on her ass, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, finding the perfect rocking motion to ease him further inside. As she rocked backward against the building, his lips left her mouth, sliding down over her neck. She stretched, giving him more access to her throat, slowly trying to relax around him as his tongue played against her collar bone.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured bringing his mouth back to hers.
She’d say the same if she could speak. Words eluded her now. Pain and pleasure pushed her into an intoxicating stupor, right into the oblivion she’d hoped to find tonight. Silence filled her head as his cock pushed deeper, harder, further—too big—her body stretching to welcome him, wetness coating his shaft, her legs.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders, arched her back so her nub rubbed against the bone just above his erection. She flooded around him as she moved, friction bringing her quickly toward orgasm.
The wall scratched her back. Her shirt would be ruined, her skin raw. Her legs may not work tomorrow. She didn’t care. She welcomed the discomfort. She didn’t care about anything but the way they rocked together. James—Jake? Jack?—filled her to the brink, and she embraced every painful moment, every thrust.
He moved faster now, his hands kneading her full cheeks, gripping her and pushing her up and down over his hard cock. He pushed harder, deeper, and she cried out, but he silenced her with his mouth, hungrily, greedily plunging his tongue inside, taking her, tasting her, drinking her in.
She reached one hand between them, sliding her fingers down over her swollen center, sending a quiver through her body at the slightest touch of her fingertips. Then back and forth she ran her hand, back and forth in rhythm with the motion of riding him.
She moved her other hand into his hair, gripping the strands between her fingers as, one perfect thrust at a time, she moved ever closer to climax.
He leaned his head back and she did the same, her fingers sliding over herself quickly now, her other hand clenching, unclenching, kneading his hair. He gripped her ass so hard she thought he’d rip her flesh right off for a souvenir, but still he pounded into her further.
“Oh God, oh God,” she cried, her body shuddering around him. Warmth, tension, wetness, flooding him, gripping him, tightening around him. She shook from her head to her toes and he held her there, twitching inside her as he released, coming into her and filling her with more heat than she could handle.
Had he not held her there, she’d have collapsed against the wall, sliding down the rough plaster until she was a p
ool of liquid fire on the ground. Eyes closed, she fought to catch her breath. Sweat trickled down her spine, icy cold against her heated flesh.
He leaned forward, the motion causing one last convulsion to quake through her body. His lips found her throat, sliding over the sweat, his tongue darting out to taste her salty skin.
She sighed, sated, grateful, oblivious.
Just where she wanted to be.
“That was unbelievable, Sarah.”
Tig collected discarded towels from around the pool deck, in and out of his thoughts, half here, half not, as was the usual since Sage had returned to Lorimar High back in January.
She still consumed every thought, every waking moment of his life, and dreams of her caused him to toss and turn every night, stuck in that hazy, muddled state of not truly sleeping.
He was exhausted.
He was consumed.
And he was lonely as fuck.
The boys still lingered around the bleachers, talking shit to one another and peacocking as teen boys often do, but Tig wasn’t tuned in to their conversation.
“Who you taking to prom, Artemis Fowl?”
Tig’s ears perked up. He’d managed to remain professional with the kid who’d slept with the love of his life—all the while wanting to throttle him for touching her—a fact he was pretty damn proud of. Clearly, he had more self-control than she did.
As soon as he thought the words, Tig regretted them. One mistake. She’d made one mistake. If he couldn’t forgive her, how could he ever expect to get her back?
“Nah, prom’s for losers.”
Tig paused, looking across the water at Artie.
“Yeah right, guys, he’s just got too many chicks to choose from!”
Artie laughed, tossing his head back. “Yeah. That’s it. Wouldn’t want to break any hearts. Besides”—he glanced up at Tig, meeting his gaze—“my chick doesn’t go to school here.” Artie held Tig’s gaze for a few seconds longer, really driving his point home.
He was still fucking Sage.
Tig’s skin heated in response to the blood that now boiled in his veins. He fisted his hands in response to the twitch in his fingers. Rationally, he knew he could be jumping to conclusions. Rationally, he knew Sage better than that…or wanted to believe that he did.
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