“Fuck you.”
“No, Jake. Fuck you. I’ll stop treating you like an imbicile when you stop acting like one. You have one job to do: go to your classes and finish high school. You only have three months left.”
I sit on the couch. I don’t know why but I feel tired. He’s right, of course.
“I went to see Professor Ashe today,” Alexander says. He told me he was going. I never thought the guy would go for it, though. I don’t even want me living in my house so I don’t why he would.
“And?”
“He said you can live there until you finish. They have an attic you can stay in with its own entrance.”
I watch him but I don’t reply.
“It’s a big mansion of a house, Jake. Close to the high school. Professor Ashe is going to Europe for a month or more and his wife is already over there. They won’t even be around. They want to meet you first, but it’s pretty much a done deal.”
“So I’d have the whole house to myself?”
“No. They have a daughter.”
His gaze holds mine. Shit. This will, of course, complicate things. It just will.
“She’s a sophomore at the university. Her name’s Zara.” And then the lecture begins: “And you will avoid her. You will give me your word you will not lay a hand on her. No matter what.”
“Zara. Sounds exotic.” I’m intentionally trying to rile him at this point, which is ridiculously easy to do.
He’s glaring at me but I’m already sick of this entire topic. I stand up and run my fingers through my hair. It’s sticky. I need a shower. I can still taste those girls on me and I wish I couldn’t. Sure, I got my rocks off pretty hard but now I feel emptier than ever. Sometimes, like now, I really wonder what it would be like – just once – to feel some other emotion besides this twisted cocktail of lust and rage.
“Force me to play happy families in suburbia and we’ll see how things pan out,” I say. “But sure. I’ll hide away broodily in the attic and masturbate all day. Only then will I emerge out into the daylight with my spent, shrivelled dick strictly in check.”
“Jesus Christ, Jake. Maybe I should just call this whole thing off.”
I notice it then: my brother looks as tired as I feel.
I know I’m too hard on him. I know he’s doing everything for me and that I make his life about ten times harder than it would be if I simply disappeared. I also know that if I did disappear, it would devastate him.
On some level there’s no point in analyzing, we need each other.
So I tell him what he wants to hear. “No. Don’t call it off. I’ll do it. I’ll live obediently in the mansion. I’ll go to my classes and finish school.”
He’s mildly appeased but not entirely. “And?”
“And I’ll do my best to steer clear of Zara Ashe.”
I’ve had a bitch of a day.
First my Saab wouldn’t start this morning and I was supposed to meet Vivi for coffee before our Business Administration class. But since I had to walk I couldn’t meet her and didn’t end up getting even one espresso until lunchtime which is totally uncool. I could barely concentrate.
Then Murph left me two messages about wanting to take me out to dinner tonight. And, to top it all off, now my Business Administration professor wants to meet with me to discuss some paper due next month. As far as I know he hasn’t scheduled meetings with anyone else so it’s not hard to guess what his motives are.
Another text.
I can’t think about anything but you. Your lips. Your perfect pink nipples. Please, Zara. Let me take you out. Or we could go away somewhere romantic together this weekend. Just you and me. Vermont? A little B&B, maybe. I want to be alone with you.
Sorry, sweetie, I type. Busy tonight. We’ll talk soon. xo
I actually am busy tonight. I have an English paper due on Monday which I haven’t even started. And Daddy leaves for Portugal tomorrow and I offered to drive him to the airport.
I send the text just as I turn the corner to our street. That’s when I see the black Jeep parked in our driveway again. God, I’d almost forgotten: that brother of Alexander Wolfe’s is here to meet my father. To possibly stay with us. For the next two months.
Great. Just what I need.
I open the door and walk into my house. They’re sitting there on the couches, having drinks. Alexander stands up when I walk into the room and his brother does too.
Oh.
My.
GOD.
“Zara, this is my brother Jake,” Alexander says. “Jake, Zara Ashe.”
Jake is as tall as his brother, and barely leaner. He’s got the kind of muscular, athletic body that makes you want to stare at him and just appreciate the magnificence of his shape and the way his clothes fit him. I can’t tell if he’s nicely tanned or if his skin is just naturally darker, but he looks like he’s half-gypsy or part pirate or something exotic. Like he should be wearing a gold earring and holding a sword. There’s the thin line of a scar across his jaw, adding to the whole effect. His eyes are dark in every possible way. Black. Containing jagged secrets and fathomless pent-up angst, you can just tell by looking at him. He looks like a rebel. One that’s been groomed just enough to make him appear borderline respectable. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans and has a tribal-like tattoo of a howling wolf on his muscular arm and a few others, which give him a definite bad-boy edge. His longish hair’s a shade lighter than his brother’s – a deep, rich brown that falls in perfect disarray. His face, if he seemed like the kind of guy who would pursue that particular line of work – which he doesn’t – could be a model’s. A young, rugged, rough-cut one. He’s hot as hell, but there’s more to him than that. There are shadows under his dark eyes and a glint there that ignites not only a flicker of lust I wasn’t sure I even was capable of, but also a sharp dart of fear.
The fear, though, instead of overriding the lust, somehow only manages to amp it up a notch.
Wow.
Alexander has obviously forced or possibly threatened his brother into behaving.
“Nice to meet you, Zara,” Jake says politely. His voice is husky, and deep. His gaze sort of burns into me like ice-fire as he says my name. He’s radiating this animal heat that’s making me blush. I look away, daunted by him.
There’s something damaged about him, this is easy to read. His darker layers are hard to decipher, though. I find myself wondering what his story is, aside from the obvious hardships of being raised by his brother, skipping school, going to juvie. I feel drawn to him, weirdly. I want to unravel his mysteries. I have an unfamiliar desire to ease those hard knocks.
“I wanted you to meet Jake before we made the final decision, Zara,” my father says. “But we think it’ll be nice for you to have company while I’m away. I never did like the idea of you staying all alone. Alexander will come and check in occasionally, to see how everything’s going. What do you think, honey?”
What I think is that my father is far too trusting for his own good. I don’t trust Jake Wolfe. Not even close. That Daddy sees him as some kind of protector is ludicrous. Even so, I can’t bring myself to refuse. I’m too curious.
And – I don’t even want to admit it to myself – I’m too turned on.
“Um … sure,” I manage. My stomach does a crazy little flip as Jake’s black glare lands on me. I have a feeling I might regret this even as I say it, because what I’m thinking is that this guy is a big, dangerous untamed beast who could very easily break me. “It’s … it’s fine.”
Jesus Christ.
I have to live with her? Alone?
This is going to be Pure. Fucking. Torture.
She’s got long, dark hair that hangs to her waist. Her face is stunning, sort of pale and golden but with soft blushes of pink on her cheeks¸ making her look fresh and healthy and innocent. Her lips are full and pink. There’s something edgy about her, too, though. Like she’s not as innocent as she first seems. It’s that hint of wily mischief in her
that makes me suddenly think this is all a very bad idea.
She’s dressed in a short shirt and a fitted little sweater. The outfit shows off the shape of her body in crazy detail. She’s slim but with just enough curves in all the right places. Her skirt is a little shorter at the back than the front from the gentle roundness of her ass. It’s one of those schoolgirl type skirts, in blue and green plaid. Like she’s fucking doing it on purpose.
She wouldn’t have to bend over very far to make the hem rise far enough so you could see if she’s wearing any panties. Maybe she isn’t. I almost feel like dropping something just so she’ll pick it up. Her top is white and v-necked, not particularly revealing but tight enough. You can barely see the little twin swells of her nipples under her thin sweater. Her breasts look soft and bouncy which makes me wonder if she’s even wearing a bra.
The whole thing is making my cock insanely hard.
Goddamn it.
“Zara, why don’t show Jake which room he can use,” says the father. Then, to me he says, “Did you bring all your stuff with you, Jake? I called Alexander and told him you might as well. That way you can move in now and Alexander can head back to the city tonight.”
We decided not to tell them about my motorcycle until later. First impressions and all that crap. My leather jacket and helmet make me look like an untrustworthy punk, according to my all-knowing brother. At least, he said, to upstanding pillars of the academic community. As far as I’m concerned they can take their upstanding pillars and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.
It’s nice of them to offer me a room, sure. Unbelievably nice. And I’ve promised to be on my very best behavior.
But now she’s been ordered to show me upstairs. Alone.
She’s staring at me. She’s wary of me, it’s easy to see. That’s nothing new. All girls are wary of me. Everybody’s wary of me. People move out of my way when they see me coming sometimes, like they want to distance themselves from whatever kind of trouble or mess or state of fucked-up-ness I’m obviously in. I’m big and mean-looking enough to freak some people out.
That’s a good thing. They’re better off staying the fuck away from me.
But Zara’s not only wary. She smiles, and the pink on her cheeks gets a little pinker. “This way,” she says, and starts walking towards the staircase.
Alexander throws me a look. Like he’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking: this is fireworks we don’t fucking need. The problem is, we don’t have much choice. Our lease at the shithole apartment ran out today. My only other option is to enroll at the public school in New York City that requires metal detectors to get into. I know from experience, having moved schools too many times to count, that I’m a magnet for bullies and assholes. They fucking love me for some reason. They love beating me to a goddamn pulp. Which is the reason I started working out and learning a few martial arts moves so I can now bring most of them down before they get a chance to strike with their knives or whatever. I’m getting so skilled, in fact, I put one guy in the hospital a few months ago. Alexander tells people I got sent to juvie for shoplifting, which sounds a little milder. Anyway, as far as the city school goes, we both know I might as well not even bother.
I follow the girl, keeping a safe distance. It’s one of those big, wooden, curving staircases with framed family pictures hung on the wall going up. Like something out of a goddamn Disney movie about a cheesy fantasy of domestic perfection.
The girl – Zara – reaches the second floor and points to a door. “That’s the bathroom you can use,” she says. Then she opens another door that leads to another set of stairs. She disappears up them and I follow her. I look up and I can see up her short skirt as she walks up the stairs ahead of me. She’s wearing tiny, white panties.
Fuck.
My hard-on, which is pretty much a permanent fixture as it is, starts pressing painfully against my zipper. There’s no point even trying to adjust it or hide it at this point.
This is un-fucking-bearable.
Fuck the boarding house. Fuck school. Maybe I’ll join some motorcycle gang and ride across the USA like my brother suggested until I run out of gas and food and money and shrivel up on the side of the road in fucking Arizona or someplace like a goddamn piece of roadkill. Which is about all I’m good for.
If it wasn’t for my brother, I would. I can picture it now: Alexander trailing the motorcycles through some painted canyon in his old Jeep, honking the goddamn horn or something. Trying, as always, to save me.
So I man up and enter the attic. I have to duck a little to fit through the door. It hardly matters if I’m hard, if she can see that I’m hard. Fuck it. Once she notices, she can scuttle back downstairs and leave me the fuck alone.
I barely register that the attic is … nice. Very nice. There’s a big bed with a round window over it. A few lamps make the lighting soft, like someone purposely put those lamps there just to enhance the mood of the place, which I guess they did. I’ve never in my life lived in a place where someone actually considered the decorating so I can’t help noticing stuff like that sometimes. There’s a huge wooden desk with a chair and lots of crammed bookshelves where the books are all neatly arranged. And there’s a chest of drawers and double doors that lead to a little balcony with a table and two chairs, and an outside staircase.
I’ve never stayed in a room as nice as this in my life.
Which is kind of on the periphery of what I can concentrate on right now, though, since Zara is half-sitting on the desk with her long legs and bare feet with little painted toes, and her arms folded across her chest. I’m sure she’s not wearing a bra. I can see the outline of her raised nipples clearly now. Her breasts are ridiculously plush and soft-looking. I feel like peeling off that little sweater and pinning her to the desk as I ravage her with my mouth. I want to bite those soft nipples until they’re hard.
“So?” she says. “What do you think?”
I think I want to bend you over that desk and peel those white panties down. Then I want to spank your round little ass until it’s pink and your pussy’s dripping and juicy and ready for my hot cock to slide into. “Yeah,” I manage, and it comes out gruff. “It’s fine.”
She walks over to the balcony door and opens it. “It’s really nice out here in the mornings,” she says. “It gets the sun. And you’ve got your own entrance, too, so you can come and go as you like. I wonder if it’s supposed to be nice out tomorrow. So you can sit out here and study if you want.”
I wonder if she’s a virgin. I wonder what she would look like naked with those bouncy breasts all covered in my cum.
Her eyes check me out, subtly, and she smiles a little. She must’ve noticed by now that I’m as hard as a goddamn rock over here but she just walks over to the bed and sits on it. I want to ask her to leave. To get the fuck out. To let me seethe alone in my own fucked-up fury. I make a point of loosening my fists. But then, she lies back on the bed, sighing a little. “This bed is so comfortable,” she says. “This used to be my sister Saskia’s room before she left for Stanford.”
I don’t reply. I can’t reply. Even if I had something to say I’m not sure I could speak.
“We used to have sleep-overs all the time up here.” She’s sort of reminiscing now and her skirt has risen so high I can almost see her panties and I wonder if she’s doing this just to torture me. I wonder if she’s wet underneath those little panties. If the cotton is clinging damply to the soft lips of her pussy. “And every time there was a thunderstorm I’d come up here and sleep next to her and we’d listen to the rain on the roof.”
I say nothing. The silence is pounding in my ears along with my throbbing heartbeat, which mostly seems to be coming from my painfully-engorged cock.
She sits up and her cheeks are pink and her hair falls over her shoulders and her big breasts in shiny-dark ribbons. She’s so goddamn trusting. She doesn’t have any fucking idea of what I’m thinking about doing to her.
How am I going to resist corne
ring her and ripping off her clothes when no one is here to hear her scream?
“Do you like thunderstorms, Jake?”
“No.”
“Me either. I used to be so scared of thunder.”
“Me too,” I say for some reason. It’s true, I did. I used to be scared of a lot of things.
She’s watching my eyes, though, like I’ve just said something interesting. “So. Do you like to cook, because I don’t. I usually order in when my parents are away.”
She seems to be implying that we might eat together at some point. Which is definitely not happening.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m probably not even going to be here much. And when I am, I’ll be studying. Up here. Alone.” I want to make it perfectly clear to her that I want nothing to do with her. Sure, she’s fucking beautiful. But she’s off limits, unless I want to deal not only with death threats from my brother, but also the consequences of doing something borderline illegal. Because the thoughts going through my head are not nice ones. They’re savage and brutal. They’re mean and dirty. This girl deserves none of that. She’s cute and she’s sweet. She actually seems like a nice person.
One who should turn around and run as far away from me as she can possibly get.
I drove Daddy to the airport this afternoon and came back to find the house quiet. Vivi’s away for the weekend and I have my paper to work on, so I work on that for a few hours but I’m distracted.
I can’t help thinking about the surly stranger who’s taken up residence in my attic.
He’s obviously a moody loner, but he’s so freaking hot. I have seriously never met anyone so physically attractive, even if his is a dark-edged allure. But then, Jake Wolfe probably wouldn’t be so sexy if he wasn’t so edgy. And so horny. Jesus. You couldn’t help but stare at all that. The guy is built, no doubt about it.
A well-hung, pent-up badboy is living two flights up and probably jerking off as we speak. I’m not sure what to do with all this information.
He doesn’t seem to have a girlfriend. At least there was no mention of one.
Taming Jake Wolfe Page 3