God, if only it could always be like this with a man.
Cas’s hands begin to roam over me again now, and even though I thought I was completely exhausted, his touch reawakens my desire. He moves over me, then reaches for his jeans again, but I stop him.
This is crazy, I know. But I want it anyway.
“I’m on the pill,” I breathe. “If you think you’re clean.”
I’ve been on the pill for years. Wishful thinking, mostly. It’s not like I’ve actually used the protection. A hundred times, I’ve told myself I should just admit that I live in a sexual desert and stop refilling the prescription.
But right now I’m grateful for it. I want to feel Cas inside me. I want to feel us together, skin on skin.
“I don’t do unprotected sex,” he tells me. “I don’t like surprises.” I think that means he’s refusing, but then he says, “So yeah, I’m clean.” His eyes bore into mine, dark and stormy with desire. “You sure?”
The ‘surprises’ line hits me a little in the gut. Something must change in my expression, because Cas’s face turns gentle.
“Look, if you’re not sure, it’s completely fine,” he murmurs. “Don’t do this just because you think I want it. Like I said, I’m not in the habit.”
Shit. I feel like I’m wrecking this moment. “No,” I say, reaching down for him. “I’m sure.” My hand slides around his thick cock, gripping it. It’s the first time I’ve actually touched him there. He feels amazing, the heft and weight of him making the rising ache between my legs even more painful. I’m dying to feel him inside me again.
Cas closes his eyes for a second as I begin to slowly stroke him. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You’ve got me on the goddamn edge already, Jen.” I angle my hips upward, and he presses the thick head of his shaft against my opening. Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly as he joins us together, skin to skin. God, the heat of him inside me like this… it’s unbelievable. He’s perfect, it’s all so perfect, that for a second I just freeze and marvel at what it feels like to have him inside me, filling me so completely.
We begin to move, a rhythm that starts out slow but quickly becomes more driven, more frenetic. I can feel the two of us begin to climb higher and higher together, Cas’s moans joining with mine. Our bodies need this, with an urgency I can tell is the same for both of us.
“Cas,” I moan.
“I know, baby,” he croons at me. “I know. Come with me, baby.”
“Oh, God, I’m so close. Oh, Cas, please don’t stop, I’m… Oh God YES!”
I shatter just as he empties himself inside me with a roar, our bodies shuddering together. For a few moments, I sort of lose all sense of my body’s borders, like my body is Cas’s body and both of us have expanded out into the universe. When I finally start coming back to my senses, Cas is kissing me deeply, our bodies entwined, with him still inside me.
He’s whispering things about how gorgeous I am, and how sexy I am, and for a few minutes, I just feel so incredibly happy — like seriously, probably the happiest I’ve ever felt in my whole life. The only thing that comes close is the day I gave birth to Noah, but even that happiness was ringed with fear and worry and oh my God how in the hell am I qualified to be somebody’s mother? But this… right now… is just bliss.
The sex, of course, is amazing. Sex with Cas is so much better than it’s ever been with anyone else that I’m a little worried he might have ruined me for future boyfriends — assuming I ever manage to have a boyfriend again. But it’s more than that. What just happened between us feels… intimate. It feels like it was more than just sex, more than just fucking.
It’s not, though. I know better than to let myself imagine things that aren’t there. I’m probably just so sex-starved after all this time that I’m imagining things.
But he did ask me to stay the night. Practically insisted on it.
Stop it, Jenna. Stop reading into it. Cas could have any woman he wanted to, practically. Just because he’s choosing me tonight doesn’t mean anything. I need to just enjoy it for what it is: a much-needed vacation from reality.
18
Jenna
I should be exhausted after our second round of sex, but for some reason I’m wide awake afterwards. Luckily, Cas seems like he isn’t in any hurry to go to sleep, either. We fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, catching up with what we’ve each been doing for the past few years — as though we’re not lying in bed naked next to one another after two rounds of mind-blowing sex.
I tell him about going back to school for a second year of college, and then dropping out again. What I don’t tell him is why. That after I’d discovered I was pregnant, I made it through the school year, and even Noah’s birth, but in the end I couldn’t make it all work financially with a baby on a full-time student’s budget.
I feel a twinge of guilt and nerves as I tell him all this. Part of me is both hoping and dreading that he’ll put two and two together and figure out that Noah is his. I should tell him, I know. Now that Cas has actually met Noah, I feel like I have to tell him. But how do you do that? How do you tell a guy, “Hey, by the way, that kid running around with deep brown eyes and a shock of brown hair? Yeah, he’s yours. Sorry I forgot to tell you at the time.”
The fact is, I agonized about whether to tell Cas about Noah throughout the entire pregnancy. But I didn’t want him to think I was trying to rope him into a relationship. And I didn’t want Noah to have a father who didn’t want him. In the end, I told myself that I could love my son enough for two parents. But it was easier to believe that when he was a baby. Now that he’s older, I know Noah is starting to miss having a father. And now that I’m back in Tanner Springs, it’s even harder to figure out how to navigate all this.
Especially since here I am back in Cas’s bed.
“Hey,” Cas is saying, as he begins to twine a lock of my hair around his finger. “What’s with the hair, by the way?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Why did you dye it?”
Oh. I’ve been coloring my hair for a while now. Long enough that I forgot Cas hasn’t ever seen me as a brunette before. “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I guess… I thought people would take me more seriously as a brunette. You’d be surprised how many people seem to believe the ‘dumb blonde’ thing.”
“Huh.” He’s quiet for a moment.
“What?” Now I’m self-conscious. Reaching up to touch my head, I ask, “Does it look bad?”
“No, no. Not at all.” He looks at me. “It looks good, actually. It’s hot. But…” For a couple of seconds he looks like he’s trying to decide what to say. Finally, he murmurs, “I get that it’s just hair, Jen. Women dye their hair all the time. But… don’t cover yourself up, okay?” His face is serious. “You don’t need to hide from anyone. Be yourself.”
Anger flashes through me. I hate when guys tell women how to dress, or how much makeup they should have on, or how to do their hair. It happens to me all the damn time. I open my mouth to tell Cas to go to hell, but then I close it again.
Because as pissed off as part of me is that he thinks he should get to tell me what to do with my hair…
He’s right.
I dye my hair precisely to cover myself up. To hide the part of me that does nothing but screw things up. To look more serious, more capable.
But for the first time, I realize that I’m not hiding myself from other people. I’m hiding myself from myself.
And somehow, Cas Watkins saw right through me.
I’m not about to let him know that, though.
“What about you?” I challenge. “You’re hiding behind that big bad biker thing.” I’m trying to rile him up — suddenly I want him to be angry with me — but he just laughs.
“I’m not hiding anything, Jen.” He lifts his head to grin suggestively at me. “What you see is what you get. And you’ve seen pretty much everything.”
I blush. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” I wave my hands ar
ound. “You’re Big, Bad, mysterious Ghost Watkins, Sergeant at Arms for the Lords of Carnage. You’re trying to tell me that’s not something you use to keep the world at a distance?”
He shrugs. Clearly, I’m not getting under his skin as much as I want to. “Not more than anyone else,” he says calmly. “The club’s a brotherhood. I’m not hiding from anything.”
I snort. “I don’t buy it.”
“What would I be hiding?” he asks, raising his hands wide.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” I say. “I mean, I barely know anything about you. How would I know what you’re hiding?”
“What do you mean?” He frowns, genuinely perplexed. “We’ve known each other for years.”
“Yeah, but… what do we really know about each other?” I persist.
“I know what makes you scream,” he says reaching for me.
“Stop!” I bat him away. “I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “What do you want to know?”
“Ummm…” I sit for a few seconds, thinking. “Okay. Cats or dogs?”
“What?” He’s confused.
“Which do you like better?” I explain. “Cats or dogs?”
“Oh.” He cocks his head at me. The smirk on his face tells me he’s considering whether to play this silly game with me. Finally, he relents. “Dogs. You?”
“Both,” I say. “With a slight preference for dogs. Okay, now your turn.”
“Are we seriously doing this?” he complains, but I’m not having it.
“Yes. Your turn. Go.”
He sighs dramatically. “Okay. Uh. Day or night?”
“Hm. Day,” I smile. “I love the sunshine on my face. You?”
“Night,” he grins, reaching out to stroke my breast. I shiver, but push him away. “Pizza or hamburgers?”
“You have to choose between pizza and hamburgers?” I ask.
“This is your game,” he reminds me.
“Pizza. As long as I can have different flavors.” I specify. “Okay, my turn.” I think for a second. “Leather or lace?”
“What? On me?” He starts laughing.
“No, silly. On women.” I shrug my shoulders. “Like, do you like women who wear jeans and leather, or more frilly, girly stuff?”
“Whatever you’re wearing is good with me,” he growls. “Right now I’m partial to naked.”
“Focus,” I say. “Oh, here’s a good one. Movies or books?”
“Books,” he replies firmly.
“Seriously?”
“What?” he protests. “You think I can’t read?”
“No, no, it’s just… a little hard to imagine you reading.” I admit, eyeing him curiously. “What’s your favorite book?”
“The Count of Monte Cristo,” he replies instantly. “My granddad gave it to me when I was a kid. I still have it. And you’ve asked like three questions in a row.”
“Okay, sorry. Your turn.”
He looks at me for a few seconds, thinking. Then finally: “Regret something you have done, or regret something you haven’t done?”
Whoa. I thought this was just a stupid game. But once again, it’s like somehow Cas has just reached inside my head.
Regretting things has become almost a religion for me. I’ve made so many stupid mistakes in my life so far. Sometimes I think making mistakes is all I’m good at.
I almost just give him a flippant answer so we can move on. But instead, I can’t help but turn Cas’s question over in my head. I think about my fling with him all those years ago. It’s a fling I regretted almost instantly. But it gave me Noah. I can’t regret that, no matter what.
I don’t know what’s going on between Cas and me, now, either. It might end up blowing up in my face. But if I’m honest with myself? I can’t regret this, either, no matter what happens.
The one thing I really, really regret as I sit here right now, though? That I never told Cas about Noah. That I’m going to have to do it eventually, and it’s probably going to be way worse because I didn’t do it when I should have.
“I’d rather regret something I had done,” I finally choke out.
“Me, too,” he breathes, bending toward me. He kisses me, deeply, and then for the third time in a night — just like our first night together — we come together, crying out our passion in the dark.
Afterwards, we lie panting next to each other.
“I sure as hell don’t regret that,” Cas murmurs.
I burst out laughing.
19
Cas
I manage to see Jenna most nights for the next couple of weeks. It’s not like I plan it that way. It just sort of happens. Whenever she’s in my arms, she’s all I can think about. And whenever I’m away from her, all I can think about is seeing her again.
Usually, I come over to her place at night. Most of the time it’s after Noah’s gone to bed, but sometimes when I get there he’s still up, all fed and bathed and in his pajamas. I’ve never paid a hell of a lot of attention to little kids, but I gotta say that Noah’s a pistol. Smart as a damn whip, too. He’s already reading, even though he’s not even in kindergarten yet. Jenna told me he just figured it out one day. I guess she was reading a book to him and he interrupted her and started sounding the words out himself. He even brought me one of his little books one night and read it to me out loud, sitting next to me on Jenna’s old worn-out couch with his stuffed monkey beside him. He’s always asking questions about how things work, and he’s got this damn quirky sense of humor, too. He cracks me up, which is pretty damn amazing in a four year-old. It’s weird — in some ways, the kid really reminds me of me.
In normal circumstances, I would have run as fast as I could away from a chick with a kid. Hell, the last thing I need is some woman looking for a daddy figure in her rug rat’s life. But Jenna’s not like that. At all. She’s not forcing Noah on me. Just the opposite, in fact. Which is why I’m surprised to realize I’m actually enjoying spending time with him.
Being with Jenna has this weird… thing about it. This weird quality. It’s like, every time I’m with her, it feels familiar and new at the same time. It’s exciting as hell — and Jesus Christ, the sex is scorching hot — but it’s also sort of more there than with other women I’ve been with. It’s like every time I kiss her or touch her, I get to have the memory of how it felt the first time — plus all the years in between when I would think about her in odd moments and feel this little pull and twinge of regret — plus now when she’s older and hotter and holy shit amazing at sex. A few days ago she gave me a blow job, and when I came I thought my brain was gonna blow out the back of my head.
It’s sort of like I’ve been missing her this whole time and didn’t even know it, until she showed up.
And the thought of her eventually packing up again and moving on makes something constrict painfully in my throat.
Things start to fall into a sort of routine with us. A nice one, though. Jenna takes Noah to Jewel’s place every day to be babysat, and I see her at night, when we’re both away from the clubhouse. Of course, I see her during the day, too, when she’s working at the bar. But we’re keeping whatever this is private for now, especially because Angel will probably lose his shit if he finds out about us.
The sneaking around thing is kind of fun at first, but it gets old really fucking fast.
One afternoon, I’m at the clubhouse while Jenna’s working. I’d kept her up pretty damn late the night before, and even though she looks a little tired, she’s goddamn beautiful and sexy as hell. I’m having a hard time not going behind the bar and pulling her against my cock, which I’m fighting to keep under control. I settle for shooting her the occasional dirty glance, smiling to myself when she blushes and starts to squirm.
I nonchalantly wander over just as she’s serving Gunner a drink. He’s ordered his typical, a Jack and coke spiked with vodka. Jenna sets the glass in front of him and then turns to me saucily, the hint of a blush flushing her cheeks.
/> “What’ll you have?” she asks me saucily, her eyes daring me to say something dirty.
“Hey, what is this?” Gunner complains. “This ain’t vodka, it’s gin!”
“Shit! Sorry,” Jenna stammers. She takes the glass from him and pours it out. “I guess I’m just a little distracted today.”
“No worries, darlin’,” Gunner replies, giving her a grin and a wink. “You can pay me back later.”
“You wish,” Jenna shoots back easily. I’ll give it to her, she can definitely hold her own around these animals.
Jenna redoes Gunner’s drink and hands it to him. He moves away, and I lean closer and murmur, “I’ll have a tall glass of Jenna Abbott.”
Jenna looks away and smothers a smile. “Stop it! You’re being too distracting. It’s your fault I messed up Gunner’s drink in the first place.”
“Oh, sure, blame it on me.”
“It’s true!” She lowers her voice. “I can’t get last night out of my head with you staring at me like that. You make me feel naked.”
“Your mouth to God’s ears,” I mutter. “When do you get off, anyway? So I can get you off.”
“Filthy,” she says.
“You know it.”
A couple of the other brothers come up and ask for bottles of beer. “Hey, sweet stuff,” Hawk drawls, “How’d you like to join me later for a little extra-curricular activity?”
“Sorry, Hawk. I’ve got to pick up my son.” She stresses the word for good measure.
“Rain check, then,” he says, undeterred. He stares off into space, a lecherous gleam in his eye. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like with a MILF.”
A couple of the other brothers murmur their approval, and one makes a rude noise.
Easy laughter bubbles up from Jenna’s throat. “Same as with anyone else,” she says. “Just with more sleep deprivation.”
Jenna gets a lot of this kind of ribbing from the brothers while she’s working. It’s mostly good natured — after all, she is the VP’s sister — but every single one of them would fuck her in a heartbeat, I know. Jenna takes it in stride, but after a while it starts to piss me the hell off that she has to flirt with the rest of those assholes just to make tips. She’s not doing a damn thing wrong, but I find myself wanting to stand up and beat my fucking chest or something for dominance. Yell out to everyone in the bar, “Hands off, goddamnit. Jenna’s mine. Mine.”
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