I'm different now. I won't be that girl again. I'm in control. I'm the one who's going to leave him wishing he'd given me his everything when he had the chance.
“I thought you'd...” he begins, and I can tell by the look in his eyes he wants to take me back to that night, and I don't want to go. “...be upset about—”
I turn back to him and rest my lower back against the kitchen island. “The past is the past.”
Though I know I can't just toss it off like I wasn't upset. Jarek will know it's an act, so I'm more careful in my approach as I lean back against the island, pushing my hip forward to stress my form. I'm not Kelsey, but if even half the chemistry of our past still lingers, my tricks will be as effective as they once were.
“I can't say I was ecstatic,” I say with a forced chuckle. “It wasn't the most noble of exits, and I was pretty mad at you for a while after. But what else should I have expected? I was a kid. We were both kids. Stupid kids.”
“Yeah,” he says, a trite acknowledgment of his behavior. You hurt me so much. How can't you see that? How can't you read my thoughts and see the pain I still feel because of what you did? The Jarek I knew could have read that...would have seen how much I'm falling apart inside right now. He would have saved me from the pain. Maybe that version of him only existed in my imagination.
“That was a long time ago, though,” I say. “I'm not sure I can even remember the details.” I think I'm doing a good job, but I worry I'm trying too hard. He steps across the living area carpet, onto the tile. The click of his shoes isn't as loud as my heels—a slow, steady tap, emphasizing how fast my heart is racing right now.
As he grows nearer, I have to look up to see him. Our positions leave me feeling submissive. I want to fall into his arms and let him do with my body as he pleases, because I know exactly how satisfying it can be, but I have to fight this primal urge.
At least for now.
“Regardless,” he says, “it was a shitty thing to do.”
“I've done plenty of shitty things since then, so I can't claim to be an innocent.”
I haven't done anything nearly as cruel to another person as what he did to me. But tonight...I just want to lose myself in this. I can face the regret tomorrow. I can handle that insurmountable pain another time—not now.
He approaches me and caresses his thumb against my cheek. It's the way I remember him touching me before our last experience. It almost does me in, but he doesn't get to be in charge. I leap at him, pressing my lips against his, cupping my hand around his neck, pulling him close.
He pushes me away.
Will he stop this? Will he reject me? Maybe it would be better if he did. That might offer me the closure I desperately seek. Give that to me, Jarek. Deny me right here.
“Do you really want to do this?” he asks, reminding me of a similar sentiment he expressed last time. I attempt to vanquish it from my thoughts.
My conscience begs me to reconsider what I'm doing. That's the weak child within me. She doesn't have a right to speak right now. She doesn't have a right to vocalize her opinion when her childishness has only caused me heartache. She's not in control of this moment. And neither is he.
“Jarek, Jarek, Jarek,” I say. “I'm not the girl you once knew.” I kiss him again, the way I would a guy I'd picked up for the night. However, I can't deny the warmth of his lips and breath, the sensation that spreads through me as our flesh meets. He wraps his arms around me. I trust I won't have any problem getting him to fall into my trap—to watch me take it, enjoy it, and walk away. Regardless of how much it will hurt tomorrow, it'll help knowing I had a moment where he didn't leave me like I meant nothing to him. Not this time. Never again, Jarek.
His lips abandon mine and trail down my neck. I throw my head back as he kisses down to my chest. He rubs his hands up and down my sides, his fingers caressing, stroking and kneading, sending sensations up and down my body—sensations that bring me to life, make me feel a whole other level of arousal and intrigue. He feels so good. Why does someone this wrong for me, someone who's caused me such pain, have to send these delicious feelings rippling through me? Shouldn't it hurt? Shouldn't it be so unbearable that I couldn't even consider a moment like this?
He grabs the bottom of my dress and lifts it over my head, exposing me. I won't be the only one standing in such a vulnerable state, though. I always hate that in movies, when the girl is butt-naked and the guy has all his clothes on—especially if it's a fancy suit like the one he's wearing. I unbutton his blazer and toss it over a stool beside the kitchen island. We work together, me unbuttoning his shirt while he kicks off his shoes and drops his pants so we're both in our underwear.
He removes his shirt and pulls off a white tee beneath it, revealing a beautifully sculpted six-pack. He's more ripped than I remember. He's clearly been working on his body, maybe at the gym, maybe because he was born to have this incredible physique. Whatever the reason, it's gorgeous, and I allow my gaze to delight in every crevice.
I press my lips against his chest and move down into the dip between his pecs. I rest my hand on his side as I trail down his torso, taking in the scent of the delicious cologne he wears and a bit that I know is him, a fragrance that smells as good as it did back then. While I enjoy the topography of his body, I imagine how I will ravage him. I kiss to his obliques, where I follow one of his v-lines, seemingly pointing to the expanding bulge in his black boxer briefs. I yank them down and behold his fully erect penis.
There it is. I remember when I was so eager to pleasure it. Now I just feel as if it took advantage of me. What right did he have to take that from me when he never had any intention of giving me more?
I settle on my knees, and rather than pleasuring his dick, which I am sure he wants, I run my tongue around his balls, tasting him. His penis twitches, assuring me of his satisfaction. I grab his ass cheeks and claw my nails into his flesh just a little too hard, so that he groans. You're mine, Jarek.
Who is this wicked woman within me? I can't claim ignorance, because I know her too well. She's the bitter, resentful creature Jarek created—a monster that has dwelt within me since that tragic day. And now Victor Frankenstein has returned to face the beast he gave life to.
I stand and step to him so that our torsos are flush. As I gaze into his eyes, I find I'm challenged. I don't see the terrible man I wish I saw. I see the boy I fell for, the same boy who I wanted so badly but who didn't want me back.
I shift my gaze. I can't do what I must if I'm looking in those beautiful blue eyes. Not if I'm filled with sympathy and hate, such confusing emotions to handle at one time. To distract myself from the thoughts that duel within me, I kiss him again. It replaces the pain with the profound lust I have for him. He spins me around and I follow his lead until my back is pressed against the wall beside the front door. His movements are gentle, but forceful enough to show me he wants to be in charge. I want him to ravage my body, but that's not how tonight is going down. You're not calling the shots.
I slide out from between him and the wall and shove him forward so that his chest presses up against it. I wrap my hands around his torso and feel the grooves in his six-pack, those powerful muscles that shift with each breath. How many sit-ups does it take to get a stomach like this? I envy his body. I'm sure it takes him a fraction of the time it takes me to maintain my own form. Of course, there's also the element of genes. I recall how he walked around with a six pack when we were younger. He didn't have to work for it then, like some guys. My ex, Todd, had to go to the gym just to keep his stomach flat, but starvation was the only way he would have achieved the kind of definition that seems to be a gift the gods bestowed upon Jarek.
His head falls back as he delights in the pleasure I'm permitting him. He doesn't deserve it. I question if I should even give him the benefit of this moment, but I've come too far. I must stick with the plan: show him I can give him this and not feel anything afterward—or at least, appear not to.
I grip onto the shaft of his cock
and stroke it up and down, massaging my thumb across the head, feeling pre-come lacing my flesh. A part of me wants to stick it in my mouth and taste him, but that won't be happening tonight. He grunts a familiar grunt, one that has returned to me again and again when unbidden thoughts of that night have forced their way into my brain, despite my attempts to focus on anything else. Sometimes I attempt to watch a movie. Sometimes I read a book. Sometimes I go through endless series of Wikipedia articles. None of these occupations can shake his guttural sounds made in passionate moments from my thoughts. Those thoughts haunt me, and I know they always will.
I release his dick and slide my hand down his thigh, feeling his flesh, taut against his firm muscles. I stroke my hand around his hip and caress his ass. It feels just as I remember. So smooth, so supple. I love it!
I press my lips against a depression in his shoulder blades and kiss softly across his back. As I feel the crown of his head on my forehead, I can't help but enjoy the moment. This is how close I wanted to be to Jarek for so long. This is a moment that felt so good in that time when I allowed myself to get lost in him, and I decide, though I want to get my revenge, I can let that wait until after this experience. Right now, all I want is for him to take me—to make me his—to do as he chooses.
I grip his shoulder, spin him around, and kiss him again. He swoops down and scoops me off my feet. The power, the intensity of the move, the exhibition of his masculine power, allows me to lose myself as he kisses me. He has me, and I feel safe again. What could be safer than lying in his arms?
He pries his lips from mine, and I guide him into the bedroom, where he places me on the bed, moving his face down my body. His nose and lips assault my flesh, shifting about, leaving me wanting so much more, wanting him inside me. I want him all over me. As much as I want him to own me, there's a line I won't allow him to cross, because he had a chance to have me however he wanted. He had the chance to do as he wished, and he didn't take advantage of it. He let it slip away. His loss...and mine, too.
His lashes brush my belly as he blinks, the sensation coupling with his kisses and sending waves of energy rushing up and down my body, stirring goosebumps across my chest and arms. The sensation is powerful, and another surge rushes up my spine and feels as if it's spilling waves of delight, like a river dumping these delightful sensations at the back of my head.
My cheeks tickle. My fingers prick. I want him inside me. I want to feel his thrusts, and in a moment, all those delicious sensations I experienced so long ago are reawakened. It hurts feeling it now, knowing I've been with enough guys to know how rare it is to feel these intoxicating highs. I never felt this way with Brad, Jesse, or Todd. This sort of stimulation was anomalous compared to my experience with Jarek, but it felt like what I was always reaching for, and now it's here again. It must be whatever potent pheromone he emits. How else can someone feel this kind of chemistry with another person?
He cups his hand under my back, pulls my body closer to his face, and kisses up and down my belly. His movements are so rapid, so primal, it feels as if he's missed my body as much as I've missed his. It's the sort of attention I've longed to receive from him—the sort of appreciation I wanted to feel—the sort of sensation that stirred such life in me, and brought me to climax that first time.
He leans back and gazes at me. What's he doing? As much as I could read Jarek in the past, I'm not sure what this look means. Is he thinking about how he left me? Is he thinking about leaving me right now? Regardless, just having his gaze on me makes me feel so important, as if I'm the only thing in the world that matters to him. Tomorrow, I'll realize that isn't the case.
He slides his hand up my thigh and gently removes my panties, pulling them down my legs and discarding them on the floor. He trails his fingers back up my leg until he reaches my clitoris. I toss my head back so I'm looking at the concrete ceiling. It looks different, as if something's changed, though every crack and divot appear the same as they always have. Everything in my place seems new, beautiful, magical, but I know it's only because Jarek's affection has transformed my perspective of everything around us.
Soft flesh and warm, wet saliva delight my senses. Flicking, teasing sensations sporadically stimulate, and what nerves aren't aroused are left waiting in suspense, as if they hope they will be fortunate enough to experience those same sensations. Rushes of energy, like volts of electricity, spiral up my body. They feel so good. Knowing this will be the last time I get to experience them makes me want to soak them up, to engrave them into my memory forever, to collect them and ensure that I never forget how amazing this feels.
He kisses up my body again until he reaches my face. Then he pulls back and gazes at me. I want those eyes on me, but at the same time, they make me feel so vulnerable that I almost need him to look away. But then I wouldn't be under his spell, so I refuse to do that. Dammit, Jarek! You have me all over again. Take me. Punish me for this desire that pools through my body. Tear me like no man has ever torn me because I deserve the cruelty for wanting something that is so bad for me. I'm an addict, and he's my drug. I shouldn't want him, but I can't help my desire to feel all this over and over again. Worse than anything, I know that when it ends there won't be any way for me to get it back.
I pull away from his gaze and scramble to the nightstand, retrieving condoms and lube.
“Look who's all ready,” he says. I'm sure he thinks I'm a slut for having condoms and lube ready to go. It's really the opposite. I bought the unused pack several weeks after my break up with Tom, when I was about to go on a date, but the guy was a prick so they went unused. So if anything, they mark what a prude I've been. However, he doesn't have to know that. I toss him a glance, raising a suggestive eyebrow to keep an air of mystery around his suspicion.
I start to tear the condom wrapper open, but he snatches it from me. “I got this, thank you very much,” he says as he opens the wrapper and slips the condom over the head of his dick, rolling the edges down his shaft with a proficiency that assures me he's done this with plenty of other women. He opens the bottle of lube and lathers his shielded dick. I don't know how much he'll need though, considering how wet I am.
I lie across the bed, awaiting his entry. He slides forward, his knees gliding across the duvet, pushing my legs apart as he maneuvers inside me. I instinctively roll my head back and grip his arm. Though there isn't a lot of pain yet, I know what's coming, and if it hurts even fractionally as much as it did that first time, I need to brace myself. But I know he won't invade me aggressively. Even in that first experience, he was so gentle. He stroked his finger across my face and kissed me tenderly, as if reminding me that, despite the pain, he cared for me.
He strokes his hand up my side and presses his lips between my breasts, kissing his way back up to my cheek, until he's making his way around my jaw and up to my ear. As his breath hits my earlobe, my body quakes. Body heat radiates off his face and hits my cheek. I feel pressure building inside me. I try to relax, to allow the invasion, but the occasional muscle spasm resists, and I know it's only making it more difficult on me. Once again, I'm my own worst enemy.
He pushes forward boldly, until I feel as if I can't take it much longer. I assure myself I can. I've taken it before, with far less experience. I grip his arm, hoping it will distract me from the sting, but as I start to adjust, I feel the pressure in me relax as he pulls back.
He leans down and kisses me. It starts as a soft, sensual kiss, but as it firms, it feels more passionate. I kiss back, taking in the warmth of his mouth, licking his wet tongue, feeling a rush of heat, like a fever, overtaking me. He wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me close, kissing as if he's missed holding me as much as I've missed being held by him. He slides back in, powerfully, forcefully. The intensity of the move is too much for me. I pull my lips away from his and groan. He freezes, a worried expression on his face, and I can tell he's terrified his last insertion was too intense.
“I'm sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn't—�
� I put my finger over his lips.
“I'm not a little girl anymore,” I say.
I'm not that girl who couldn't handle it—that girl who was so nervous and uncertain. And even though I can feel certain parts of me reluctant to embrace the severe obstruction, they'll have to bear it however they can, because I insist. I smile a twisted smile, one that I can tell by his relaxed expression gives him relief. He slides back in, and it's just as intense as the last time. I grind my teeth and grunt. He thrusts and thrusts, each time sending my thoughts back, as if opening a portal to the past. I wander through blissful sensations I haven't recalled in such a long time. These corridors of ancient memories fill me with sensations I've long forgotten, ones I almost believed for such a long time couldn't exist for someone my age.
I drift back to that night.
“I'm so scared,” I told him.
He looked at me with that loving gaze, those sapphire blue eyes glistening in the lamplight. He nestled his face against mine and whispered, “I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with.”
His shirtless, slightly burned flesh was warm against me as I lay beneath him, exposed. His jeans, the only barrier between us, scratched at my legs as he caved to the movements that his body encouraged him to make, as if preparing him for those he would make when he reached his final destination.
My fan didn't work, so the room was filled with a thick July air that forced beads of sweat across my face, and the heat from Jarek and the experience of being so close to him only made it worse. I struggled to breathe, though I wondered if that was because I was still recovering from the funeral I'd witnessed the day before.
A stray lock of my dark brown hair lay across my eye. Noticing the obstruction, Jarek passed his thumb across my forehead, freeing my vision so that nothing could taint my view of him and his soft, loving gaze. In that moment, I couldn't have felt more safe.
I tightened my hold around him. “But I want it, Jarek. I need you. Please, Jarek.”
Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1) Page 4