by L.H. Cosway
My voice felt louder, more pronounced in the quiet darkness, and I could just make out the shine of his eyes as he stared at me. He cupped my jaw in his hand and seemed to sigh.
“I feel it, Lille. Maybe even more than you do.”
I gripped his shirt in my hands, my mouth a hair’s breadth away from his. “So why not let it happen, then? Sometimes I lie awake at night, unable to sleep, because I can’t stop thinking of you, can’t stop fixating on how empty I feel and how I want you to fill me up.”
He groaned as the words left my lips, then swore, low and guttural. “Fuck.”
I started to plant kisses along his neck, my hands travelling down his flat torso. “I love how you feel, Jack.” Yeah, I was definitely running on alcohol-fuelled courage tonight.
“Wait,” he breathed, and caught my wrists, stopping their descent.
I shivered, my skin prickling with the nighttime cold. Jack must have noticed, because he let go of me and took off his work shirt before draping it around my shoulders. There was something about the way he did it that made me fall for him a little. How he could be so caring was completely at odds with his gruff, masculine exterior. He tugged me over to a tree and sat down, pulling me between his legs so I was sitting with my back to his front, his arms cradling me in warmth.
I moved against him, and he groaned again. “God, you’re horny tonight.”
“It’s your fault,” I said fitfully.
He growled low and his fingers danced along my thigh, tapping out a silent rhythm. It was unexpected when he began to speak. “This isn’t a pretty story, Lille. In fact, it’s going to make you feel sick beyond belief. And after you hear it, you’ll probably feel sick just to look at me.”
“That’s not possible,” I argued, and he went silent for a moment.
“I told you a little about my foster mother, Frances, though calling her a mother is being very generous. She wasn’t a nice woman, and taking young boys into her home was a money-making scheme, pure and simple.”
All of a sudden, I didn’t want to hear his story. Especially if this was him giving me a good enough answer as to why we couldn’t be together. At the same time, I needed him to tell me so that I could disprove it, counter it with all of my own reasons as to why it didn’t matter.
“Do you mean so she could get government support?” I asked, keeping my voice low and soft.
“Partly. But more so that she could pimp us out.” His stark reply made me startle, and I twisted in his arms so I could look at him. For a moment I thought he might be messing with me, but then, if I knew anything about Jack McCabe, it was that he didn’t beat around the bush. No, he was telling the truth, and I was shocked and disgusted as it all sank in.
“You’re not lying, are you?” I whispered, and he shook his head. I remembered Marina telling me about the first time she’d met Jack on the street, and how he thought she was trying to solicit him for sex. Now it all made sense. The horror of his reality struck me silent as I gripped onto his arm, too tight, almost. Then I began to move my hands to his face, touching him tenderly, like he might break any second as I murmured, “You poor, poor thing.”
For a long time we just sat there, staring into each other’s eyes. Mine said, This doesn’t change how I see you. His said, How can it not?
“I was thirteen when it all started. At night, men would come into the room I shared with two other boys. Sometimes women, though more often than not it was men. You can’t believe how small your world becomes when you depend on one person to survive and that person has no mercy. How it feels like there’s no escape but to suffer in silence. The years went by, and I started to become numb to sex. In the beginning I was aroused against my will, but by the end I felt nothing. I retreated inside my head. I didn’t even want to be with girls my own age because everything connected to my sexuality made me feel sick. I hardly ever masturbated.
“Frances used to call me Freaky Jack because of my burn scars. Sometimes she’d forbid me from wearing a shirt around the house and would periodically poke at my scars, saying how ugly they were, how I was lucky she took me in because nobody else would want a disfigured boy. Her words rang true. My uncle didn’t want me, and neither did my brother. When I was sixteen, I came home one day, and the house was empty except for Frances. She was in the kitchen making lunch, a pan of oil heating on the cooker. When she saw me, she made some cruel comment. I can’t even remember it anymore, but it was the last straw. I completely snapped, picked up the pan of oil, and threw it in her face. I’d never heard screaming like it — her agony as she wailed was satisfying to me. I didn’t feel horror, I felt justice, I felt pleasure. I left her there, disfigured even worse than I was, packed my stuff, and left. I’m not sure if she reported me to the police, but no one ever came for me. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
My brain was still trying to piece together all the information when he continued talking. “To this day, I’ve been obsessed with burning. Obsessed with fire and heat, and what it can do to people. When I was a child, it always frightened me, reminded me of the horror of losing my family and almost dying. Somehow, by harming Frances, I’d turned it into my medicine. I’d burn stuff all the time. It was addicting. You can’t believe the relief it brought me. Then I began learning how to breathe it, how to eat it, and the performance followed. It’s still the only thing that gives me complete sexual gratification, Lille.”
Suddenly, what he was trying to say made sense. I understood why he’d told me his sad, horrific story. It was to make a point. That point said this was his reason. This was his proper answer. You have to stay away from me because being with me means you’ll get burned, literally.
Two memories struck me at once, how I’d burned my hand back home in the restaurant and how Jack couldn’t take his eyes off me afterwards. How it had happened again in Violet’s camper, and that was the first time he’d been overtly sexual towards me. It had turned him on.
“So, you’re into sadomasochism,” I said quietly, and I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a statement or a question.
“More like erotically fixated with burning. Does that frighten you?” he asked, eyes seeking. He was tense as he awaited my reply.
“A little bit,” I answered honestly, and saw him wince. That’s when I knew he’d been holding out hope that I wouldn’t reject him. That he could show me all his flaws and have me accept them. “No, don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t pull away. What that woman submitted you to was unforgiveable. She was a monster, and I would never judge you for what you did to her. By all accounts, she deserved it.”
“But it turned me on, Lille. I told you experiences shape us, twist us, and mine have twisted me in ways not meant for women like you.”
Desperately, I grabbed his hand and placed it on my breast. His breathing grew shallow. “Does that turn you on?” I whispered, and he nodded as he swallowed. I bent and pressed my lips to his throat. “Does this?” Again, he nodded, and I felt the evidence of his arousal in how he hardened against my inner thigh. I smiled as I spoke into his skin. “Then, quite frankly, Jack, I have to ask, what exactly is the problem?”
Abruptly, he turned us so that I was no longer in the power position. He crouched over me, pulling my legs around his waist and growling in my ear, “The problem is that it makes me want to pour wax over your skin, press hot matches to your thighs. It makes want to leave marks all over your body until no man can refute that you’re mine.”
I moaned and pulled him closer, and I wasn’t sure who was more surprised by my reaction, me or him. I couldn’t understand why, because he was telling me he wanted to hurt me, but I’d never been more aroused in my entire life.
With only a few deft movements, he had my legs parted wide, his hand sliding under my dress, beneath the fabric of my underwear, and discovering how wet I was. A strangled cry escaped me as he thrust two fingers into me, and I bit his neck, causing a deep, masculine groan. His body was so magnificent, I wanted to bite and lick him everyw
here. He buried his face in my neck, breathing raggedly, and muttering lovely worshipful swear words into my skin.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel good, you’re so wet, shit, I love how you feel, Christ, Lille, I’ve dreamt about this.
His fingers moved in and out, his thumb finding my clit and applying just the right amount of pressure to make me whimper. The sweet relief of his touch was ecstasy. I tried to remember to be frightened, to be scared of what he wanted to do to me, but I couldn’t. The overwhelming urge to have him inside me outweighed everything else until I was nothing but a needy pile of flesh and bones.
I grabbed a handful of his hair as he travelled down my body, his hand still working me into a frenzy as his mouth met the rise of my breasts. His other hand came up, pushing the top of the dress down urgently to reveal my nipples. His mouth was on me in an instant, alternating between licks, sucks, and bites and I felt my body coil tight. I was going to come so fast it was almost embarrassing.
“Jack,” I cried out as my orgasm hit me quick. I was blushing all over as his eyes raked my body, and then he kissed me in a way that was almost more indecent than what his hand was doing. The slow slide of his tongue was dirty and erotic, and I knew I could become addicted to the way he tasted me.
This was nothing like the sex I’d had before. It was in a whole other stratosphere, it was more, and it wasn’t even sex, not yet. He rose up on his knees and dragged my underwear down my legs. A moment later they were gone, tucked into his pants pocket. He leaned down and kissed me again before breathing a ragged warning, “I’m going to fuck you now, and it won’t be slow.”
I felt more like a spectator than a participant as I watched him move. The way he undid his belt buckle was too sexy for words. I soaked in every inch of him when he pulled himself from his boxers. He withdrew a condom from his pocket, tore open the packet, and began rolling it down his length. Eyes levelled firmly between my legs, he moved my thigh aside and tilted his head, just looking at me, and I knew I was blushing again. I felt something rattle as he reached inside his pocket a second time and pulled out a packet of matches.
The next time our eyes met, there was a question in his, requesting permission, and I didn’t hesitate a moment in giving it. I wanted this. Even though he was going to hurt me, I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me. He’d told me he trusted me, and now I was trusting him right back. I watched in fascination as he flicked the match along the edge of the box and a flame sparked to life. It lit up his face, such handsome features, his eyes liquid black as he stared at the fire with such enchantment. Then he blew it out, and he was a work of light and shadow again. Smoke rose from the match as he took it between his teeth, then bent over me, his mouth going to my breast.
I yelped when I felt the hot sting against my nipple as it met the tip of the match, but it was instantly soothed by the soft, wet lick of his tongue. It happened once more, and once more he gave me his tongue to temper out the burn. It was actually…exciting. I felt his cock nudge against my lips, and then he was pushing into me, the invasion deliciously sweet. I felt tight around him. It had been a while since anyone had been inside me, and it showed. Jack’s groan filled my ears as he thrust his hips, and he was suddenly embedded deep.
Our gazes locked, and it felt like in that moment, we both had the exact same thought.
Wow.
His eyes grew hooded as his hands held my hips, and his movements were hard and fast. He’d been right to warn me, because there was nothing slow or soft about this. Yet, still, it was strangely tender.
“Jesus,” he hissed when I clenched around him, a light sheen of sweat forming at his brow. My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, and now it felt like I could see every inch of him. Every pore and crevice.
Somehow, by joining our bodies, we lit each other up.
The long grass was soft beneath me as I stared up at him, mouth open, sounds I never knew I was capable of making coming out of me in a rush. I loved how his defined, muscular hips jutted in and out, almost violently, in his need to go deeper, harder. He wore his hunger on his face, and my heart squeezed knowing it was all for me. I felt like the centre of his universe right then, and there was no denying that he was the centre of mine.
Suddenly, he was picking me up and flipping us over so I was straddling him. His hips hammered up into me from below, and the pleasure was so much more intense for me this way. From the searing look he gave me, I knew that had been his intention. His hands massaged my breasts as I rode him.
“Fuck, you should see yourself right now,” he growled, and then our movements grew more frenzied as we raced toward release. I took his hands in mine, lacing our fingers, not breaking eye contact as I felt myself contract around him. His noises filled my ears and were branded into my memory as he came, long and hard, and I collapsed on top of him, savouring the feel of my naked breasts on his skin. His arms went tight around me, and I closed my eyes as I nestled my face in the crook of his neck.
Our hearts beat in time; I could feel his fluttering beneath me. Mine was racing, too. I was fascinated by how something that felt so delicate could reside inside such a hard, impenetrable body.
“That was…holy fuck…Lille,” he said breathlessly, making me laugh gently, my eyes still closed. He laughed, too, and it was the most glorious sound. When it quietened down, I found myself listening to his heartbeat again, savouring the feeling of connection in the moment, happily drowning in it.
I wasn’t sure who fell asleep first, but it wasn’t long before the soothing sounds of the night were pulling me under.
Thirteen
Julie showed Lille her true colours
I woke up to a chill that came from the cool morning air surrounding me rather the hot, lean body beneath me. Sometime during the night, Jack had pulled my dress back in place, and I missed the feel of his skin. His shirt was draped over my back, and I nuzzled into his neck, savouring his heady masculine scent.
I couldn’t believe we’d slept the entire night outdoors. I’d been so blissed out by our lovemaking that I hadn’t cared. I didn’t want to leave, not even now that the day had arrived, the sun lighting up the deeds of the night before. Unable to resist, I began planting soft little kisses on his neck, hoping he’d wake up to them. I felt him move a little before his eyes flickered open. He looked down at me, seconds drifting by as he remembered what we’d done, and then his arms tightened around me.
“You make a good blanket, flower,” he said, voice all raspy.
“And you make a delectable bed,” I giggled quietly in reply.
His smile lit up his face, the sunlight shining on his dark brown eyes, making them swirl with flecks of honey gold. We stayed like that for a while, me with my head on his chest, gazing up at him, and him tracing the contours of my face with his fingertips.
“We should probably get up,” I said, even though I didn’t want to. “Somebody might come by and see us.”
“Somebody might,” Jack replied, but it still took him a long few moments to move. He sat up, bringing me with him, and his shirt fell off my back. As he helped me to stand, I turned my neck from side to side, feeling an ache. My legs and arms felt achy, too, but it was a satisfying sort of ache. I liked knowing that spending the night with Jack was what gave it to me. We stared at one another as we righted our clothes, silly happy grins on our faces. Then Jack laced his fingers with mine and led me back to the campsite. I walked in my bare feet, the grass ticklish on my soles as I held my shoes in my hand. I wondered what I looked like, and considering the heavy makeup I’d been wearing last night, it was probably smudged all over my face. Jack didn’t seem to care, but I wanted to go clean up before breakfast. Reaching Violet’s camper, he backed me up against it and gave me a long, scorching kiss goodbye. I was weak in the knees by the time he withdrew, and it took all my strength to climb the steps into the van.
Lola was eating breakfast when I went in, the tiny television playing the morning news. A loud snore rang out from Violet’s room,
so I knew she was still sleeping.
“Where did you disappear off to last night, ya dirty little stop out?” Lola asked excitedly as she took in my appearance.
I went straight to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, knocked it back in two long gulps, then turned to face her, fidgeting. “Um, Jack and I sort of….”
“I fucking knew it!” she interrupted me. “What was it like?”
Her question encouraged a stupid dreamy look to come over my face, which must have spoken volumes, because she was laughing, and Lola had a real dirty laugh. I kind of loved hearing it.
“That good, huh?”
I sighed. “Pretty much.”
She huffed. “Some girls get all the luck.”
For a moment, I felt awkward as I remembered all that Lola had been through lately. Did it make her uncomfortable to talk about sex? If it did, she didn’t show it. I told her I was going to take a shower and left her to finish her breakfast. Half an hour later, I was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, a loose cream top and some washed denim jeans. The top was oversized and kind of fell off one shoulder, showing my black bra strap. I thought my choice in clothing was indicative of how I felt, all lazy and sexed up.
I left my hair down and pulled on my shoes before heading to the gazebo in search of a hot breakfast. I was starving, and the tea and toast back at the camper wouldn’t be enough to sate my appetite. When I got there, it seemed like half the circus was sporting a hangover as they chowed down on sausage and eggs. I loaded my plate up, and as I went in search of a seat, I felt someone tug on the end of my top.
I hadn’t spotted Jack sitting there, and had almost walked right past him. He gave me an affectionate, sexy look, taking my plate from me and setting it on the table before pulling me onto his lap. I must have felt the ferocity of her stare, because my gaze was drawn in the direction of Julie, who was sitting at a table a few feet away, glaring daggers at me.