Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  I let go of her neck and push her shoulders to lay her back; she is a vision lying beneath me, unabashedly lowering her eyes to the cotton straining against my arousal. She licks her lips and I’m almost done for.

  Taking a deep breath, I use the back of my fingers to brush the smooth skin under her waistband, leaving one glistening nipple to move to the other. Jenna slides her hands between us and into my boxers as I slip my hand into hers and cup her. I manage to manoeuvre out of the underwear before she takes me in her hand.

  “Ah!” We cry out in unison, as she grabs hold of me and I ease one finger through her slick heat.

  She strokes her hand up and down my length and all I can concentrate on it the fact that I feel light headed, out of control and ready to explode. I have to make this perfect. Jenna squeezes my pulsating head as my thumb strokes her clit and she spreads the burst of pre-cum up and down my shaft. I suck air in through my teeth and our eyes connect, sharing the blazing heat, caressing each other after years of need. I grab her wrists in my free hand and bring them up to the metal bed frame.

  “Hold on. Don't let go.”

  I’m waiting for her to say something about the damned checklist, but she just nods, lost in the moment and keeps her eyes on mine.

  I have her exactly where I want her; I’m not going to waste a minute. I slide the boxer shorts down her legs, throwing them somewhere with my jumper and jeans, before I move myself down and press my mouth to the inside of her ankle. She jumps in surprise, not expecting me to start so far away from where I see her wet and glistening, but I want my mouth on every inch of her. Slowly, I work my way up the inside of her legs, feeling Jenna squirm beneath me. When I reach the top of her legs, I part her with one hand, while I slide my middle finger from the other into her, and press my tongue flat to her clit. Her body bucks and she grabs two fistfuls of the sheet. I flick and circle my tongue while I drive my finger in and out of her.

  “You’re so tight.” I whisper, blowing on her flushed skin. She shivers and moans through gritted teeth and I know she’s close when she runs her hands through my hair and pulls hard. I growl and suck with gentle pressure as I turn my gaze to her and grab her hands.

  “You’re going to wanna hold on.”

  Her eyes light up with anticipation and she reaches behind her for the bed frame once more. I turn back to her sensitive flesh, adding a second finger to the first and feeling her stretch and tighten around me. I moan, aching to feel her tighten around my cock as she milks me. She begins to tremble, pulling on the bed frame and crying out, writhing as she climbs to her release.

  “Oh!” She pants, “Oh God.”

  I have her on the brink, ready to fall and she comes with a scream and arching her back as I taster her climax, her body shaking with the pleasure I’ve wanted to give her for years.

  “Don't let go.” I say as I watch her come down from the high. She opens her eyes and looks at me, still panting.

  “But-“

  “Baby. I’m not done with you yet.”

  I lift her hips up and ease myself into her.

  “Ah.” She cries, her breath catching in her throat

  “You okay?”

  She nods and I push further into her, as slowly as my impatient body allows.

  “Fuck.” She breathes with each inch and I stop when I’ve filled her. Her face is strained, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “God, no. Move. Please,” She begs.

  I ease in and out of her agonisingly slowly until I feel her relax.

  “Faster.” She pleads, her voice sandy and dry.

  I pick up the pace, watching her. Long moans escape as I sink in deeper, pounding into her; her eyes roll and she closes them, crying my name as her body builds again.

  “Tell me if it hurts.”

  “Just give it to me!” She cries, a challenge.

  I dig my fingers into her hips and pull her to meet my thrusts until she’s taking all of me and screaming my name; her muscles coil, her body gleams with a thin sheet of sweat that makes her sparkle beneath me. She comes with a cry, letting go of the bed frame and pulls me down, kissing me like her life depends on it. I slow down so she doesn’t bang her head on the bed frame, but she shakes her head.

  “Don’t slow down.”

  “Look at me.”

  She opens her eyes and I grab her shoulder with one hand, the other squeezing her hip and continue driving into her. She grips both my forearms and her nails dig in as she meets my thrusts, never taking her eyes from mine.

  I watch her breasts bounce, and when I can’t hold on any longer, I come painfully, giving Jenna everything I have. I collapse on top of her, nuzzling into her neck.

  .

  I turn my head and press a final kiss to her nose, and lie down, pulling her into me. She rests her head on my chest, drawing patterns with her finger. I watch Jenna fall asleep in my arms. Where she belongs.

  Chapter 8

  Jenna

  I wake up as the sun begins to rise, slithers of light bursting through the blinds on the wall of windows leading to a terrace and brightening the bedroom decorated in cream and taupe with blue accents.

  The room is unfamiliar but my headache, swollen lips and stiff body remind me what happened. The memories come flooding back; I run my thumb along my lips, remembering Deacon’s mouth on mine, how it set me on fire. As I look down at my naked body, I remember his hands on me, skimming my skin, kneading and gripping, worshipping me with a hunger I have never experienced before. I squirm and turn to look at the man sleeping next to me. He lies on his stomach, hugging his pillow with one arm, the other draped loosely over my stomach.

  I watch him for what feels like hours, wondering how last night happened. What am I supposed to do?

  I’m the worst person. I’ve cheated on my boyfriend, with the man I’ve been in love with since before I knew how to write my own name, and I’ve become one of those girls I swore I would never be. One of the girls who lets lust cloud their judgement and makes decisions based on what their body is telling them, not their mind. I can't believe I’ve become that girl, and this can only end badly.

  I do the only thing I know how to do.

  Deacon is still sleeping when I decide to get out of bed. The room smells of sex, mixed with his delicious scent, and my recent favourite perfume. I don’t want to leave; I want to lock us in this room until we figure out whatever this is between us. But I can't face the embarrassment if he wakes up and regrets what happened. Or if he wakes up expecting me to be gone, like good one-night-standers are supposed to do. My head is swimming in confusion, and throbbing to punish me for last night.

  I manage to slide out of the covers undetected and creep downstairs to find my clothes. They’re on the dryer in the kitchen and have dried off. Thank God. I put the dress on, put my bra and knickers in my bag and pull my phone out while on the way to the front door. I press ‘call’ and hold the phone to my ear, guilt consuming me as I wait for the line to connect.

  “Jenna?” Jade answers and I can hear Phillipa in the background. I’m grateful that her day is in full swing and I haven’t woken her up.

  “Hey, I need a favour.”

  ~

  “What kind of mess have you got yourself into, Jen?” Jade asks after I’ve told her the whole story.

  She picked me up on my route home from Deacon’s; she left Phillipa with Steve after taking me back to hers to borrow some clothes. And now we’re in a little coffee shop in the middle of nowhere, so I can beg for some undeserved advice from my big sister.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head, and tip sugar into my cappuccino, “I don’t know.”

  “There isn’t much I can say. I’m here for you and I’ll take it to the grave. But you’ve made your bed.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe you should have stayed to talk to Deacon.”

  “I couldn't face it. What if it was a spur of the moment thing for him? I can't take reje
ction from him. Not again.”

  The memories of last night are so vivid I can still feel Deacon on me, inside me, around me and I’m paying for my uncharacteristically brazen behaviour. I’m sore, my body aches, and my heart feels like it’s made of lead.

  “I don’t even know why I did it.” I continue, “He was going on about the traits in his trio of women and I challenged myself to be the one who had it all. But I’m not, and I shouldn’t have let myself think I could be.”

  “Don't sweat it, Jen. You’re young. You’re supposed to be out there having fun, living life.”

  “But this isn’t fun. This is torture. Every time I see him I’m reminded of what could’ve been had I not run away. Had he not run away.”

  “I understand. Well, I don’t. But I think you need to let loose, have fun. See the world, meet people, and sleep around a bit. See what happens.”

  “I have Kip.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re serious about that guy?”

  I nod, confused, “You were pregnant with Pip at my age, and married to Steve.”

  “Steve is the love of my life. Kip is not the love of yours. Besides, you’re different. You’re passionate and creative and there’s fire in your belly. I was born for the life I have now, were your born for yours?”

  I sigh and stir my coffee; I’m not going to attempt to argue with Jade over this, and I can't use ‘love’ and ‘Kip’ in the same sentence. Nor can I tell her my life is entirely satisfying and what I was put on this planet to do.

  “Look,” Jade reaches out and grabs my hand to stop me stirring a hurricane into my coffee cup, “the girls and I are going out next Saturday, only to a club in town. Come with us, have some girl time.”

  “Yeah, girl time sounds good. I’ll have to cancel with Kip.”

  “Yeah, period.” She finishes her latte, “Come on, I’ll take you to get your car. I’ve got some shopping to do, and I want some cupcakes for dinner tomorrow night.”

  I pay for our coffees, and Jade drives me to Foster to get my car and I drive home to shower. I clean up in record time, avoiding questions from Mum and Dad about why I went out for dinner with Kip last night, and came home alone this morning. I pull on some jeans and a vest, find a pair of sunglasses, thankful the sun has returned after last night, and stand at the top of the stairs. All is quiet, so I assume everyone is in the garden, and run down the stairs and to the door.

  “Jenna,” Jonas says quietly, standing behind me and leaning against the wall. I’m grateful he knows I want to leave undetected, but I need to leave quickly.

  I beckon him to come with me and he follows, walking next to me in silence until we step out onto the path.

  “So where were you really?” He asks, “Grace says you look like you’ve got a thing for Brad.”

  “I haven’t got a thing for anyone. And you're my brother. Don’t ask about my love life, especially when you think it involves your best friend.”

  “Where were you then?”

  “I had a few drinks and stayed out.”

  I pick up the pace towards the shop, but his long legs and height advantage mean he catches up with me easily.

  “Where?”

  “Deacon’s.”

  Jonas stops in his tracks, as if he’s walked in to a brick wall. When his brain has obviously jump-started, he continues walking next to me.

  “But he’s a dick.”

  I stop walking and face him.

  “Why is he a dick?”

  “Jen, he got messed up when his dad died. He sleeps around, he rarely leaves work, and he never comes out with us anymore. It’s like his life just stopped that Christmas. He’s trouble; you need to stay away.”

  There’s an awkward silence and I want Jonas to leave, but he stands and waits for my response, with his arms folded.

  “His dad died. Give him a break.”

  We continue walking to the shop, and I can see Deacon standing outside, leaning against the door with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, his blonde hair still damp from a shower, his crystal blue eyes sparkling.

  “I’ve got to go, see you tonight. You’re coming home right?”

  “Yes, I‘ll be home.”

  He makes a quick exit, veering off to avoid the shop, and I hurt for the man standing outside my shop, watching his friend walk away. Not only did I leave him and fail to support him when he lost his father, but his friends deserted him when he needed them the most too.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, meeting him at the door of the shop.

  “It’s Saturday.” His eyes return to me and I’m lost in their depths.

  “Builders work on Saturdays.” I squeeze past him to open the door, stepping inside and turning the lights on. I’m not surprised when Deacon follows me in, shutting the door behind him and switching the lock.

  “They do. But I’m not a builder. I can have whatever day I want off.” He wiggles his eyebrows, a smug grin spreading across his face. I want to say something to wipe it off, but what Jonas just told me has my stomach all tied up in knots so I point at one of the tables, and Deacon sits down while I put make tea.

  “You left,” he says finally, as I hand him his tea and sit opposite him. I can hear the hurt in his voice, and regret running away this morning. But I remind myself he does this all the time; the only reason I even went to his house last night was so he could explain his bevy of women to me. The thought unsettles me and I frown.

  “What did you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t know, be there when I woke up.”

  “I had things to do.”

  “Bullshit. You mean you wanted to get out and pretend last night didn’t happen.”

  “Whatever. I have work to do, what do you want?”

  “To say sorry. You were drinking last night and I took advantage. I’m sorry.”

  “In other words, you’re sorry you woke up regretting it. Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone.”

  “Who said I woke up regretting anything?”

  “The whole ‘you were drunk, it was a mistake’ thing. I’ve been there before Deacon.”

  The night my heart was torn to shreds and ruined for any other man.

  “Oh, have you?” He asks, folding his arms and leaning on the table.

  Shit.

  “What does it matter? Last night happened, I hope it gave you some points on the checklist.”

  “Will you give it up with the fucking checklist? Did it look like I was making notes?” He pulls his hands through the surfer curls on his head, “Tell me it meant nothing to you.”

  My phone begins to ring in front of me on the table. Kip.

  “Don't answer it.” Deacon whispers, his eyes begging me to give him the time I desperately want to give. I want to let my walls down, I want to let him in, but I can't. I can't.

  “Last night meant nothing to me, Deacon.” I try to be as strong as possible, although there's a lump in my throat the size of a small planet and I want to tell him we can do this. I want to tell him we can get over the past and start again, “I need to take this call.”

  Deacon’s eyes glass over, before he clenches his fists and stands up. With one final look of pain on his face, he leaves. I drop my head onto the table and cry like I haven’t cried in years.

  I’ve hurt him, and I wish to God that I didn’t have to. But I’m losing myself and everything I’ve done to create the woman I am now - the woman who has a heart of steel, doesn’t fall in love, doesn’t grow attached and certainly doesn’t put herself in a position like the one I’m in now. Shit.

  Kip’s call rings off; I can't talk to him now. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and head into the back to get started on the rum and raisin cupcakes Jade has requested for Sunday dinner tomorrow. I make some strawberry fairy cakes for Phillipa and make her a decorating goody bag so she can ice and decorate them herself.

  I plug my iPod into the dock and turn Ed Sheeran up high, his beautiful, voice the perfec
t accompaniment for my mood today. I’m confused, conflicted and terrified of the direction things are heading in.

  I can hear my phone ringing from the front of the shop but I ignore it, locking myself in this kitchen and shutting out the world and its complications. It’s just me and my baking, the way it always is when I can't take any more of the outside world and what it throws at me.

  I’m mixing up some icing, with a subtle hint of rum, when there’s a knock on the front of the shop door. I wipe my hands down my apron and answer the door to the delivery man standing outside.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, peeking my head out of the door, thinking he must be lost.

  “Miss Rivera?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I have a delivery for you.” He smiles knowingly at me, and nods his head to someone out of sight. Three people walk in with bright pink bunches of roses and I take a step back as they place the flowers on a table, one behind the other.

  “Thank you.”

  I turn to the roses and take the card off the first bunch.

  ‘I’m sorry’

  I put the card on the table and reach for the second.

  ‘People Change’

  And the third.

  ‘It has everything to do with you. X.’

  I grip my throat as the emotion threatens to surge out. Why does he do such sweet things, when I’ve done nothing but push him away since I got back?

  I fall on the floor, hug my knees and put my head on my arms. What has everything to do with me? I don’t understand what’s going on. I should hate Deacon for what he did to me; he should hate me for what I did to him. Why couldn't I have got past my own selfishness and been there for him when evidently nobody else was? Regret consumes me and the tears begin to fall, not for me, but for the friend I left behind.

  My phone rings again.