“I know,” he murmured, moments before he kissed me.
I kissed him back with an intensity that surprised even me, climbing eagerly on top of him. He fell back onto the floor below me, letting me have my wicked way with him, his hands moving quickly to my buttocks as I began to softly ride him, grinding myself backwards and forwards against him, working him up through his chinos, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against me through the soft cotton of his pants.
I pulled my skirt around my waist, wanting him inside me as quick as humanly possible.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, positioning himself up on his elbows to nuzzle my chest, his kisses dancing tantalizingly against my stiffening nipples through the flimsy silk of my blouse and the soft cups of my bra.
I fumbled with his pants, finally freeing him, once more feeling that hot thickness in my fingers, his shaft already slick and wet — almost as wet as I was getting. I didn’t even bother taking off my panties, just tugged them hurriedly to the side and then guided him inside me, relishing the feel of his hands on my buttocks, parting me wide as he drove himself deeper inside me with a final shivery grunt, his cock stretching me right open, filling me, his fingertips brushing gently against my asshole as I began to ride him, leaning forward to kiss him, too, driving my tongue so deep into his mouth as I ground out my pleasure on top of him, feeling the early waves of my orgasm fast approaching.
“I want to worship you, Jessica,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re so fucking special to me …”
But right now, all I wanted was to feel him deep inside me, fucking me hard and fast. I was only out for my own pleasure at that moment and I ground myself even harder against him, moaning, my mouth pressed tightly against his, our hot breath mingling as our fucking became even faster, even more intense.
I felt his middle finger slip ever so gently just a little ways into my ass, tipping me over the edge in just the way I needed, my pussy spasming tightly around his thick cock as I came so hard, my tongue thrust deep into his mouth ...
CHAPTER TEN
My eyes opened and I smiled, just like I always did when I found myself waking up next to Blake. But as my vision adjusted to the bright early morning light, and the fuzziness of my surroundings finally sharpened into focus, I remembered where we were. And I remembered just how insanely awful the décor was.
Lying there in that enormous four-poster bed, I began to feel oppressed by the heavy brocade furnishings, the many pieces of useless white veneer furniture, and all the gilt – absolutely everything seemed edged in gold.
I sat up and gently laughed at finding myself somewhere so ridiculous.
“Hey,” murmured the sleepy, slumbering form beside me, and I felt his playful hand snake around my waist, trying to tug me back down beside me. “Come back to sleep, you ...”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I replied. “Please just get me out of here!”
“Okay, okay,” mumbled Blake. “I know a great little place for breakfast.”
“Perfect,” I replied, jumping out of bed and padding across the room in the direction of the en-suite bathroom.
But just then, something in the corner of the room caught my eye.
“Blake?” I said, unable to believe what I was seeing. “Is that a five foot tall ceramic unicorn standing there in the corner?!”
§
That morning, bright and early, Blake took me on a walk along the seafront, to a little diner he knew. And as we walked, I found myself soaking in the atmosphere – enjoying the feel of the cold wind against my skin, so glad to be out in the fresh air, free from that crazy, oppressive house. It was so strange seeing everywhere practically deserted, too — the beaches that I’d imagined crammed full of sun-kissed bodies in the summertime, now dramatic and windswept, totally empty.
Like a real gentleman, Blake held the door for me, and I was glad to step into the comforting warmth of the diner, choosing a cozy little booth by the window, eagerly looking forward to a hearty breakfast and a nice hot cup of coffee.
And I have to admit, I was enjoying how wholesome our morning had been so far, too. Out here, it wasn’t quite like the stifling small-town atmosphere of Glenbrook Falls, but it wasn’t like being in the non-stop hustle and bustle of Manhattan either. No, Blake was right: a weekend away, just the two of us, was exactly what we needed.
“I’m glad you came with me,” I said, smiling across at him, sat there happily in the booth seat opposite, dressed in a rugged navy fisherman’s sweater and cream slacks, his tanned skin glowing with health and vigor, his hair mussed and shining, a dusky two-day stubble flecking his chiseled jaw, grey eyes glinting back at me.
And I hoped that I, too, looked the part. I knew that women around here spent a fortune, even on their casual ware, the kind of stuff that’s supposed to look beat-up and old. I couldn’t quite bring myself to spend that kind of money on clothes just intended for a windswept walk along the beach, but luckily I still had plenty of real old beat-up clothes. Over a vintage daisy print dress and thick grey woolen tights, I too was wearing a navy sweater.
We looked quite the couple.
“What can I get you, honey?” the elderly waitress asked as she arrived at our booth and beaming down at me, her eyes wrinkled at the edges from decades of smiling.
“The pancakes, bacon and maple syrup sounds delicious,” I said, smiling back up at her. “And coffee and OJ, too, please.”
But then something really strange happened when she turned to Blake. I watched the smile completely drop from her face, her eyes becoming glassy and cold.
“Hello, Sally,” Blake said, nodding up at her.
“Blake,” she replied curtly, nodding back, her eyes narrowing. “What can I get you?”
“Just coffee for me,” he said, fixing his eyes on the menu, his concentration so fixed, it seemed like he might burn a hole straight through it.
Sally, the waitress, turned and bustled off in the direction of the kitchens.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” Blake said, quietly still gazing at the menu.
I guess Blake’s charm doesn’t work on everyone, after all ...
I leaned in across the booth and said in a whisper, “What was all that about? She looked like she wanted to stab you with her pencil. Do you know her?”
At this, his eyes flicked up from the menu, piercing me.
“She thinks she knows me. And she’s not the only one. Let’s just say that some people around here don’t take too kindly to me,” he said quietly, now turning his attention to a loose thread on the cuff of his sweater. “There was a lot of bad feeling towards me after, you know ... after Brett’s accident. I’ve not been back here for years. I thought everyone might have forgotten about all that by now, but turns out that some people have very long memories.”
He paused, turning to gaze out through the diner window for a moment at the dramatic, windswept beach before training his eyes back on mine. And I realized with surprise that they were brimming with hurt and anger.
“That said, they didn’t like me much before the accident either.”
§
I was worried that the frosty reception from the waitress might ruin our breakfast entirely, but luckily Blake seemed able to shrug it off, even taking a playful bite or two of my pancakes — his appetite obviously returning.
But even though Blake had started to relax, I was glad to settle the bill and get out of there, taking another walk along the seafront, this time huddling into him for warmth, my arm slipping easily into his as we slowly made our way back towards Elizabeth’s house, taking our time and enjoying the stroll.
“You know, not all my memories here are bad,” Blake offered. “I had some good times, too. It was a pretty great place to explore as a kid. And Brett and I, well, we had some really fun times. I should try to remember those.”
He shook his head, as if trying to shake off something dark, then turned his attention back to me.
“So how
about you?” he asked. “What were your childhood holidays like?”
At this, I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing as glamorous as the Hamptons, I’m afraid. The most exotic place I ever went as a kid was my Aunt’s farm in Georgia. It was totally remote, nothing around for miles. But you know, she had this one room there, tucked away at the back of the farmhouse, which she called the ‘Reading Room,’ and it was just the most fantastic library, packed with all kinds of books, everything you could ever imagine. I’d spend hours in there, nestled away, getting lost in fantasy worlds, reading about all kinds of things, just enjoying spending time in such a peaceful place. It was really magical. And I’ve always thought, well, if I ever had kids, I’d want them to have a room like that, too — a place where they could just escape and read quietly.”
“You will,” Blake said.
At first, I thought he was talking about the room, but from the way he stopped and turned to look at me, his steely eyes burning, I realized that no, he was referring to my kids.
“And they’ll be just as beautiful as you, Jessica, I know it,” he said quietly.
I laughed and shook my head, trying to cover my embarrassment, unsure what to say in reply to something so heartfelt — so direct. I looked out at the grey shoreline, the water sparkling in the winter air, then back into his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said.
And the thing was: despite myself, I’d found myself imagining our children: kissing Blake Junior goodbye in his smart school uniform on his first day at Dalton, taking little Jessica out for afternoon tea at Lady Mendl’s; our perfect little New York family ...
“What are you thinking?” he asked, so softly, so sincerely.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to say it, to let him in on my fantasy. After the way — no ways — he’d stung me in the past, every time I’d tried to talk to him about ‘us’, I’d learnt my lesson by now.
I know what you’re probably thinking: I’m an idiot, right? After all, didn’t Blake offer to give up his weekend to take me here? Here, where he could show me the important places of his youth. And wasn’t he, right now, on this beautiful windswept beach, telling me just how beautiful my children would be?
Maybe I am an idiot, but I’m also realistic.
I knew Blake by now: the most beautiful romantic gesture one moment, only to tell me he was sleeping around the next. No. I wasn’t going to let myself fall for that one again, no matter how idyllic this all might seem. I had to keep reminding myself how perfect and romantic our trip to London had been, and look what had happened there ...
“Oh, nothing,” I said, shrugging and grabbing his arm. “Come on, let’s get back. I’ve got some more work to do. This isn’t all fun and games, you know …”
§
As I took a final look around Elizabeth’s place, taking photos, making sketches and scribbling down copious notes and ideas, Blake remained in the kitchen, cooking. That’s right, you heard me correctly. Cooking: another secret skill I never knew he had.
He’d insisted on dropping into a cute little farmers’ market on the walk back and picking up some local produce for lunch – organic vegetables and freshly-caught seafood. And from the delicious smells that I caught wafting through the house occasionally, I seemed to be in for quite the culinary treat …
Once my work was done, I strolled back into the kitchen to find that he’d even laid the large wooden kitchen table for us. And if you ignored the over-the-top-ness of the huge black candelabra dangling above and the brain-meltingly tacky zebra print cutlery that we were expected to eat with, then this actually looked like a pretty delicious meal.
I sat down and we smiled at each other across the table, clinking our water glasses. Blake wasn’t drinking, as he was driving us back to Manhattan later that afternoon, and I didn’t feel like getting drunk on my own. And as we tucked into our lunch — which was absolutely delicious, I might add — I again had to push from my head all kinds of silly domestic fantasies, about Blake cooking up hearty family dinners for that cute little boy and girl we were gonna raise together …
Don’t get carried away, Jessica.
It’s just lunch – it’s not a marriage proposal!
The voice of reason sounded uncannily like Fallon’s, and I felt a guilty twinge at just how little I’d been in touch with her since tour. I’d got so caught up with the Mermaid’s launch, it had been almost a fortnight since we’d last checked in, and I resolved to change that the moment I arrived back at my apartment that evening.
“This is divine, Blake,” I said, nodding down at my plate. “I didn’t know you were such a top-class chef!”
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, surprisingly humbly.
“So,” I continued, wanting to draw even more secrets and mysteries out of him, “what else don’t I know about the secretive Blake Matthews? What else are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything,” he replied, smiling back at me.
But it was happening again; I could feel her — that strong, confident woman inside me, once more taking control.
I put down my fork, folded my hands in front of me and fixed him sternly in my gaze.
“Tell me, Blake,” I began, “what exactly happened to Brett.”
“Do we have to do this right now?” he sighed pleadingly, the smile dropping from his face.
“I’m promise I’m not gonna judge you,” I continued, feeling my heart begin to pound, worried I might have made a mistake, worried I might have pushed things too far but desperate to show him that I understood. “We’ve all been there. You were young. You were a teenager, and teenagers do some really dumb stuff. It’s okay, you can tell me what happened.”
“It was just an accident, Jessica,” he snapped, dropping his knife and fork on the table so loudly it made me jump. “That’s all there is to it.”
He pushed himself out of his chair and got to his feet, most of the food still left on his plate.
“For the second time today, I appear to have lost my appetite,” he said. “I’ll see you in the car whenever you’re ready to leave.”
And with that he was gone, striding out of the kitchen, down the hall, then slamming the large front doors behind him, leaving me rooted in shock at the kitchen table, my head spinning.
What the hell just happened?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I spent that night furiously fixing up my apartment, tidying, arranging, re-arranging, in fact doing anything I could to try and keep my mind off the stupid argument with Blake. Could you even call it an argument? Because really, most of it had been moody silence. He’d hardly spoken, the whole drive home, and I just slumped as far down in my seat as I could, wishing I was anywhere else, pretending to be asleep behind my Alexander McQueen sunglasses — too scared to even try to fix things in case I said something that drove him into an even deeper funk.
Whatever it was he wasn’t willing to tell me about was obviously something really painful: something he’d buried deep inside himself, and I tried to convince myself that if he wanted to talk to me about it, he’d do it in his own time.
But I had a suspicion that most likely, this whole mess would simply blow over, and the mystery of Brett would remain just that: a mystery.
So much for ‘creating some new memories’.
I flopped down onto my bed, tired but still buzzing with stress and anxiety, picking up my laptop and opening Facebook, scrolling through my news feed for something to distract me.
About three posts down, I hit on a set of tour photos of Circles — Fallon, Clara and Evelyn all looking like they were having the best time, laughing and joking around, dangling from one of those automated kiddies rides at some seafront pier, but still looking icy cool in their knee-high socks and big vintage sunglasses.
I picked up my cell and sent her a message:
Hey. Miss you. Call me the next time you’re free. Hope tour is going well xxx
I’d only just dropped the phone back onto the duvet when
it buzzed into life. I snatched it up again.
“I miss you, too!” Fallon said, as soon as I answered. “I mean tour is totally rad and all, but I think I’m hitting that mid-point slump that everyone always goes on about. I just miss my bed sooooo much. I keep fantasizing about what it would be like to go to sleep in a quiet dark room on a real bed, on my own, for once … And another thing? I know everyone complains about how filthy guys in bands can be, but these girls?! Man, you should see our tour bus. It’s disgusting!”
I giggled. It was so good to hear her voice again; her bone-dry sense of humor never failed to bust me out of a bad mood.
“So where are you now?” I asked.
I could hear voices behind her, and instruments being tuned.
“I’m at sound check,” she explained. “But we’ve still got a little while. The others have gone out for a smoke break. Hey, you okay? You sound kinda flat …”
I sighed. There was no use hiding it. Even hundreds of miles away, she could obviously tell something was up.
“Come on. Out with it,” she commanded.
“Well,” I began, apprehensive at how she might react. “Blake and I went away for the weekend.”
“Oh, Jessica, not him again.”
“No, no,” I cut in quickly. “It’s different this time. We went to the Hamptons. He drove us there in this amazing car, and honestly? He was really romantic, really attentive. And on top of all that, it wasn’t like I was some trinket to keep him entertained on a business trip. It wasn’t like London. He came with me, Fallon. It was my business trip, this time.”
“So what’s the problem?” she asked, puzzled. “Hamptons, classic car, attentive guy. It sounds like everything you ever wanted.”
I took a deep breath.
“Well, I think he’s hiding something,” I explained. “I said some things and they struck quite a nerve. He blew up, over almost nothing. Oh, it’s all such a mess. I don’t think I’ll ever get to know the real him …”
Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy Page 34