“Oh Jesse,” I gasp, still feeling like I’m on a high that I’ve never known before and one where he’s right there with me. “This is too much. This is way too much!”
“It’s from me and from your grandparents,” he explains. “We agreed when they were here that you really need some wheels of your own. So they paid for half of it.”
“But my birthday isn’t until Saturday,” I say, and then wonder why the hell that makes any difference.
“I know when your birthday is,” he replies, “But I just couldn’t wait. I had to see your face when you saw it tonight.” And in that moment he seems like a kid himself.
I run to him and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and savoring the feeling of closeness we have, and for this occasion, I know that it’s a perfectly appropriate reaction. His arms encircle me and he hugs me back.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I repeat over and over, and beyond him I can see the curtains part in Casey’s kitchen and she looks out upon the both of us, taking in the whole scene, including my new car.
I catch her eye and give her a big smile. She turns quickly away and closes the curtains.
“Now,” he says, releasing his arms from me too soon. “This is a used car, but it’s been well-maintained, and it only has a little over a hundred thousand miles on it. If you keep it maintained, you can easily double or triple that, so it’s gonna teach you some responsibility too. There’s more to maintaining a vehicle than just putting gas and oil into it, hear?”
“Yes, Jesse.”
He’s on a roll. “There are periodic oil changes, tire rotation and alignment, tune-ups, brake inspections, and I’ll be here to teach you how to keep it on a good maintenance schedule.”
“There’s just one problem,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t have my license yet.”
“We’re gonna fix that tomorrow. Ruth mailed me your certification of completion in Driver’s Ed and your documented training mileage log so I’ve checked and all you need to do is take your final test.”
Once again, I am compelled to give a high-pitch squeal of delight, wrapping my arms around him one more time. “You’re the best ever!”
The warmth of his body touching mine is reminiscent of an earlier time. It’s a memory from my childhood. From another birthday years back.
I think it was my eighth birthday. Mama had baked me a clown cake and she let me push eight little colored candles into it after supper. She was getting the ice cream out, and had warned me not to light the candles. Totally disregarding her instructions, I flicked her Bic, turning it upside down to light the wick of the first candle. Of course, the flame hadn’t followed, snaking up my thumb and burning the hell out of it. Mama turned when she heard my scream, running over and smacking the lighter out of my hands, yelling at me for being so stupid.
Jesse had come into the kitchen, hearing the ruckus. He immediately went straight to the freezer, grabbing ice cubes and wrapping them in a paper towel. He picked me up and placed me on his lap, holding the wrapped ice up against my throbbing thumb. His kind and soothing words had been the first-aid I needed.
“Now don’t forget to call your grandparents in the morning to thank them too,” he reminded me pulling away.
“I will,” I promise, wishing our bodies didn’t have to be distanced; and that it was a perfectly normal thing for us to cling to one another. No special occasion or injury was required to precipitate our touching one another.
Chapter 15
* * *
It’s early October—two weeks after my birthday. I’ve successfully passed my driving test and am now proud to be a certified holder of a valid driver’s license issued by the state of Arkansas.
It’s Friday and I have some great weekend plans. I pull into the driveway and am surprised to see Jesse’s truck pulled up in the garage.
Gathering my books and discarded jacket, I get out of the car and go into the house hoping like hell that there’s no bad news. Seeing him sitting in the living room, his cell up to his ear, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’m not sure what to think, Ruth,” I hear him say. “This is the most bizarre thing imaginable.”
Silence.
“I think you need to hold off planning anything until we get to the bottom of this.”
Silence.
“I don’t know that they’ll do anything, but maybe we need to hire someone to look into it.”
Silence.
“I’m not sure what the cost will be. I’m not sure that if we pool our resources that would even buy us enough shoe leather to do any good.”
Huh.
“Look, talk to Henry when he gets home and then give me a call in the next day or two and let’s work out some kind of a game plan, funds permitting.”
Silence.
“September’s home—I’m gonna let her know, but I think Scout’s too young to be told this shit.”
Silence.
“Yeah. I’m down with that. Take care. Talk to you soon.”
By this time, my heart is beating faster, because something big is definitely going down. Jesse reads my expression and body language.
“Come here,” he instructs, patting the couch cushion beside him. “I need to talk to you, darlin’.”
And I love when he uses endearments with me . . . no matter how bad the news is, I’m in his court.
I sink down into the cushion next to him and watch as his large hand takes one of mine into it, his thumb brushing across it gently with care.
He turns slowly to gaze at me with those sapphire eyes of his and it’s totally starting to freak me. “I got a call today from a guy named Jackson at the State Department. He called to give me a heads up before the official letter gets here in a day or two. The DNA testing done on the samples from you girls—along with the tissue samples of the . . . uh . . . remains aren’t a match.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Well, it means that whoever those tissue samples belonged to couldn’t have been Libby—your mother.”
He lets out a long sigh, and pulls his hand from mine, putting both of them over his eyes and shakes his head. “This is too much. Just too damn much.”
He gets up from the couch and heads to the kitchen for a beer.
“So Mama’s alive?” I ask to no one in particular. “Then where is she?”
Jesse’s back, taking a long swig of his Budweiser. “I don’t know what the fuck to think. She may be alive. She may be dead. Who the fuck knows?” He’s clearly agitated and frustrated. “I mean it’s not like we’re even dealing with a country that has a sound government. Shit!”
He finishes off his beer and goes back for another one just as Scout comes bounding into the house. “Dad,” she calls out. “You’re home.”
“I am, sugar,” he says, setting his beer on the counter and picking her up for a bear hug. “Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yep! And guess what? Amber asked if I could spend the night. Can I?”
“Amber from down the street?”
She nods, anxiously awaiting his answer.
“Well I need to make sure it’s okay with her mom if you stay. You two didn’t cook this up by yourselves, did you?”
“No, dad,” she grumbles. “I know better than that.”
He laughs and musses her hair. “Let me give them a call to make sure.”
I’ve cancelled my plans for tonight. I feel like I need to stay home with Jesse. Clearly, he’s shook up; I’ve never seen him pound down the beers like he’s doing this evening. He’s sucked down eight by my last count.
I drop Scout at Amber’s house and check with Mrs. Lawson to see what time I should pick her up the following day. She says mid-afternoon is fine.
Back home, I pop a frozen pizza in the oven for Jesse and me.
I grab a soda and join him in the living room with the baked pizza.
“Ah, good girl. How’d you know I love pizza with my beer?” he asks, cracking a smile.
“Lucky guess.”
“Hey, didn’t you have plans tonight?” he asks, taking a bite of pizza.
“I did but I changed them.”
“Why’s that?”
I feel his gaze on me and I’m not sure how to answer. I have my reasons. I just don’t want to share them with him at the moment.
“I dunno. Thought maybe you needed some company after, you know, getting the news today.”
He finishes off his beer. “Hey, wanna grab me another cold one?”
“Sure.”
When I set his fresh beer down on the coffee table, he’s watching me. “I didn’t mean to upset your plans for this evening. I’m fine, September. Don’t need a babysitter.”
I turn and give him a glare. “Could’ve fooled me I guess.”
His hand stops with the bottle of beer in mid-air. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I flop back against the sofa cushions and lean my head back. “I just don’t know how I should feel about this. I mean, it’s like I’m affected too, Jesse, but I can’t think about my feelings because I’ve got to make sure that you’re okay, I mean, do you even get that?”
He slams his beer down onto the table, and turns to face me with blue eyes blazing. I’ve managed to piss him off.
And I don’t give a shit.
“No, I guess I don’t fucking get it. You might’ve turned eighteen, but I’m still the adult here. If I wanna sit in my own house and get fucking hammered for once, then by God I will do just that! I don’t need a teenager watching over me. She’s my wife, goddamit!
“And she’s my mother!” I scream. “And she fucking left the both of us! Remember?”
“Hell yes I remember.”
“Then why—why are you so fucked up over this? I mean, do you hope she’s alive? Will you try and find her? What then? If you find her will you beg her to come back? Will you forgive her everything?”
I’m on a roll now but every word that I’m spewing is the absolute truth for once. No games. No pretenses. I want to know how he feels.
He takes a moment to calm himself because I’ve hit a couple of nerves. “Maybe I will,” he replies. “God knows I loved her. She was the first woman, hell—she’s the only woman that I’ve ever loved. I gave her everything—every fucking thing including my heart, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t . . . enough.”
He shrugs; a look of total defeat washes over him.
“So that’s it? What? I mean are you gonna go through the rest of your life holding onto something—to someone—whether she’s dead or alive, that makes you feel the way you feel right this damn minute?”
I look into his eyes because I want to hear it from him. I want to know why he feels the need to punish himself for what she did.
He takes another sip of his beer, and shrugs. “Shit, maybe so. Maybe it’s what I deserve for not being enough, and not letting her be enough for herself.”
I have no clue as to what he means by that. I simply throw out a retort for good measure. “That’s weak,” I mumble. “Pathetic and weak.”
I start to get off the couch so that I can get away from his drunken ass. I can take almost anything except self-pity or self-loathing. I’ve no tolerance for it.
His hand clamps around my wrist and I’m jerked back around to face him as he stands, pulling me up against him roughly. “What did you say?” he growls.
“I-I think you’re acting weak,” I mumble, losing a bit of my courage.
He cocks a brow as he studies me intently. “What would you know about love—or life or any of it?”
“Maybe more than you think,” I reply softly, looking up at his beautiful, angry face, meeting his cool gaze with one of my own. Our conflicted eyes lock, and when they do, something passes between us; like a spark or something, and all I can think is that it’s about damn time.
He pulls me closer. I wrap my arms around his strong neck, and tilt my face back a bit to give him ample access because this will happen. I’ve decided that.
He captures my mouth with his roughly—almost savagely, but I don’t care. “Fuck you look so much like her,” he growls, “I need to see if you taste like her too.”
“Do it,” I dare.
His tongue ravages my lips, parting them and swirling against mine, his teeth nip at my lower lip, tugging and pulling until I moan softly. His hands are cupping my face so that I can’t move away—not that I would ever want to. Being locked against him in this frenzied and passionate embrace is my own self-proclaimed heaven.
I mold myself to him provocatively, grinding my pelvis against his crotch. He moans, but he doesn’t stop and I’m so fucking worried that he will. That he’ll take a moment to calm his senses and push me away. I feel his hardness against me and I want more than anything else to know what he feels like inside of me. I want to feel the cock that I watched thrusting in and out of Casey when he was taking her from behind; the same cock that used to make my mother mewl like some sort of pleasured animal within the confines of their bedroom.
I want that cock inside of me. I want him doing all of those delicious and forbidden things, only doing them to me this time.
He breaks the kiss, but it’s only so that he can pull his white tee up and over his head, tossing it to the floor. My eyes are fixed on the firm, hard expanse of his well-muscled chest and shoulders as they flex with every movement.
He moves to me and I instinctively raise my arms up so that he can relieve me of my top. I hadn’t bothered with a bra so my breasts are bare and he’s perusing them appreciatively. With his gaze lingering on every inch of my heaving breasts, I watch, totally mesmerized as his hands make their way to the under-swell of my tits.
Cupping them almost possessively, he runs his thumbs across my erect nipples, groaning in the process, showing his appreciation. I’ve never felt anything so exciting in my life!
I melt into him and the next thing I’m aware of is that I’m in his arms and he’s placing me gently on the cold, hardwood kitchen table. I’m thinking ‘why here?’—but I don’t give a damn if he wants to claim me on top of the toilet tank, he is finally going to love me and make me his.
His breathing is heavy and his intent is clear and his loss of control is like a fucking aphrodisiac making me willing to do anything and everything he wants. Spreading my legs invitingly, I silently give him permission to take this to the next level. I can clearly see in his bright, glazed over eyes that he wants me. Only me. I can feel his need, branding me like a hot iron, making its mark—his mark. His claim.
Leaning back on my arms, my gaze never wavers from his gorgeous face as I lift my hips, my body language begging for him to relieve me of my jeans.
That simple gesture is all it takes for him to shed his last ounce of resistance, as his tongue washes over his bottom lip, and he quickly and expertly makes history of the rest of my clothes.
I sit completely naked before him, panting like I’d just run a marathon. Placing both of his large, calloused hands on either side of my thighs, Jesse drops to his knees and begins feasting on my pussy like a starved man.
This is a first for me. And I push the thought that it’s my stepfather who is introducing me to cunnilingus for the first time from my mind.
I feel the hitch in my breath at the first contact of his mouth on my clit, rolling it with his tongue and sucking it tightly between his lips.
Fuck!
I moan; he groans.
Our eyes meet before he leans back for just a fraction of a second, licking my wetness from his swollen lips. “You taste even better than her.”
And that makes me happier than I ever thought possible.
Biting on my bottom lip and staring at him through my hooded eyes, I push my hips upward towards him mouth, wanting him to continue, begging him to help me get to that release that I know only he ca
n give me. Jesse is eating my pussy and at eighteen, I already know without a doubt, that he’s fucking spoiled me for anyone else.
Ever.
“God, Jesse . . . please don’t stop!” I can barely recognize my own voice and I realize that he alone has made me a woman this night. He alone has wrecked me for any other male on this earth. It’s primal and it’s meant to be because the chemistry is just that epic.
My words clearly set off some sort of primal need buried deeply inside of him. Maybe he feels the same connection I’m feeling. Our chemistry boils through our veins as if it’s been there for generations; existing in previous generations, other cultures from long ago and in former couplings of perfect mates. That is us. This is ours.
He reaches down and lifts my legs up and around, hooking them around his neck and burying his mouth once again over my drenched pussy.
Holy shit!
Letting my head fall back on the table, I groan when I feel the thump against the hard surface. Between the heavenly feeling between my legs, the sound of our lust echoing off the walls and the scent of our combined sexual tension enveloping us in our own private cocoon, I can feel myself drifting into another sphere.
That’s when I feel his thick finger slide inside of me as his tongue circles my clit, making me scream from surprise and from pleasure. The wet, slick sounds coming from my pussy should be embarrassing me because I’m just not sure if that’s normal, but any concern is quickly being replaced with pure arousal and mounting pleasure.
Something is happening. Something that sure as hell didn’t happen with Austin, and something that is way stronger than when I bring myself to orgasm thrumming my clit.
Way stronger.
Way deeper.
“Oh my God,” I shriek. “Jesse—what’s . . . fuck, what’s happening?” My breathing is coming much quicker, just like my heartbeats.
“It’s all good, September,” he croons “Let it come, baby.”
Snaking his free hand under my ass, Jesse pushes his finger deeper inside of me and then turns it, thrusting so deeply I swear I can feel him hitting my womb!
Loving Jesse Page 7