by Abby Jimenez
Circle, repeat. Circle, repeat.
An orgasm was building, but every time I felt close to coming, he’d pull away and it was just enough to stop my momentum. He had to know what he was doing. And every time he did it, I wondered if this would be the time he’d go all the way in or would he pull out again and start over, make me a fraction wilder than the last time? The anticipation was making my legs shake.
I thought I’d been ready for him a moment before, but now I realized I didn’t know what ready was. I was drenched. I had no idea how he was maintaining this discipline. I could see how much he wanted me, feel how hard he was. All he had to do was let go.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Sloan,” he said, his voice husky. “We can stop at any time.”
I couldn’t stop, he knew I couldn’t stop. He was teasing me within an inch of my sanity. I felt like some sex-crazed teenager.
This was the kind of turned on that clouded judgment. This was the level of horny that got a girl pregnant on prom night in the back seat of a car. I always considered myself immune to that kind of frenzy—mostly because I was usually too self-conscious for it, especially for a first time. My first times had always been slow and careful, getting to know someone’s body. It was always a little awkward and weird, and so I’d expected this time to be a little awkward and weird—but all of that was out the window now. I didn’t care anymore what noises or faces I made, I didn’t care that he was hovering over me, openly looking down at my naked body. He’d pushed me beyond inhibition—and maybe that was the point. Now all I wanted was that tip to go all the way in.
That tip…
I wanted to do things to it. Taste the bead of moisture I knew he had there. Put it in my mouth, feel it bump my throat. I was already making plans for next time, imagining all the ways I’d make him crazy like he was making me crazy.
Why was he doing this? Why was he making me wetter and more frustrated when he could feel and see that I was ready? What did he want from me?
“I want you inside me,” I breathed.
And that’s what he was waiting for. I watched his control break. He crashed his lips down on mine and slid into me.
It was instant pleasure. A payoff bigger than anything I could have ever imagined, a wait beyond worth it.
His first thrust hit some inner wall I didn’t even know I had. It sent shock waves of ecstasy through my whole body. Then he did it again. And again. And again.
I gasped under him, frantically rolling my hips against him.
I liked the way he circled between my thighs. I put my hands on his back to feel him moving, and I had the sex-clouded realization that I should have done this with him days ago. That I’d slept next to this man in his trailer and not taken advantage of what he could do to my body if I’d just let him. I wanted to go back in time and yank that pillow out from between us and climb onto his lap and ride him. I wanted to go back and let him take me on my sofa, let him carry me inside on our first date, the same way I wanted to go back and let him sing to me sooner. How many moments like this had I already missed because of my own stupid hesitations and rules and reservations?
And then it occurred to me that’s why he’d taken me to this edge. Why he’d made me want him to the point of insanity, until the only answer could be yes. Because he knew how I was, and he was getting ahead of me now before my overthinking kicked in.
I would have laughed if I wasn’t so out of my mind.
He hiked an elbow behind my knee and somehow managed to drive himself deeper. I let out a sound that made me grateful there was no one within two miles to hear it, and he released a moan of his own. I knew he was close. His body went rigid as he neared the end, and the orgasm that he’d been working me up to built and built on top of itself. And then, when he groaned and I felt the warm pulsing inside me, my climax tipped over and decimated me.
It was the fireworks finale on the Fourth of July, a dam breaking, an atomic bomb. I was leveled. I had nothing left after it. I couldn’t even move.
I lay there, staring up at the sky through the mesh ceiling of the tent, seeing stars twinkle across my vision that had nothing to do with the galaxy.
His nose nuzzled my neck. “Are you okay?” he whispered, still out of breath.
I made a tiny squeaking noise, and he laughed. He leaned down and kissed me gently, closing his eyes, smiling against my mouth.
There was a reverence in the way he held me, and all I could think was how much I liked the weight of him on top of me. How safe and anchored and grounded I felt.
How cherished.
I never wanted to move from this spot.
There was nothing outside of this tent tonight. Nothing.
There was nowhere to be, no phone to check. No lights to turn off or doors to wonder whether I’d locked. Not even the faint white noise that comes with civilization. The only person I wanted with me was here, and the serenity of the lake and woods combined with Jason’s gentle affection made me relax in a way I hadn’t known was possible. Like I’d been tense my whole life and hadn’t even known it.
All that was left was us.
A big scary world existed somewhere, where bad things happened and people you cared about died—or left you on fourteen-month tours around the world. But tonight there was only this. And I was happy, and grateful, to have it.
Even if it wouldn’t last.
* * *
The next morning Tucker met us at the water’s edge as we docked back at the shores of Camp Larsen. Jason grabbed my ass before he picked up the canoe and pack, and I giggled and hit him.
We were going home today, and we’d already decided that he was spending the night at my place tonight.
He carried everything to the garage, and I came in with him to drop off the paddles, both of us grinning. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he opened his eyes this morning. Neither had I.
We never did see those lights. We’d been a little distracted—all night. I was sore and tired, and I couldn’t have been happier.
Well, unless of course he wasn’t leaving me. But that was something I wouldn’t let myself think about right now.
I followed him through the garage with Tucker, looking around at all the toys. The Larsens were definitely outdoorsmen. They had all the things. Kayaks harnessed to the ceiling, three snowmobiles under covers, a wall of fishing gear. Even a motorcycle was parked in the left stall.
“Your dad rides?” I asked as I looked down at a carefully organized box of fishing lures.
“Oh, the motorcycle?” he said, shouldering off the enormous pack and putting it in the bed of Paul’s truck. “No, that’s mine.”
I looked up and blinked at the bike.
His? Jason, on a motorcycle? I didn’t know he—
Sand.
Invisible grains of sand began to fill my lungs. Every breath gave me sand. It poured down my throat, heavy and thick, taking up the space in my chest, robbing me of air, drying out my mouth.
Can’t breathe.
Couldn’t get anything past the weight of it. I gasped. Tears spilled down my cheeks. The panic spread, the sand coursed through my veins. I couldn’t make it stop.
It drowned me.
Chapter 24
Jason
♪ burn slowly/i love you | The Brazen Youth
I had just slid the backpack into Dad’s truck and slammed the tailgate closed when I heard Tucker’s whimpers. I came around the driver’s side and saw Sloan with her hands over her mouth, gasping for air.
I had her in my arms in an instant.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I held her and tried to tip her chin up, but she buried her face in my chest and sobbed.
Her whole body shook. She was absolutely terrified.
My heart started to pound. “Sloan, what happened?” I could hear the panic building in my voice. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She didn’t reply.
I glanced over her shoulder and my eyes glided over the black wh
eels of my bike and then I realized…“Is it because of the motorcycle?”
She managed a nod.
Without another word I scooped her up into my arms and ran with her outside.
It had been two years since Brandon’s accident. She must have seen thousands of bikes by now. There was only one reason this could be upsetting her. Because it was mine.
When I set her feet down on the lawn, I held her by the arms and dipped my head to look at her. “Sloan, we’re going to work on your breathing, okay? Look in my eyes. In and out, slow and steady. Can you do that?”
She nodded and drew a careful, jagged breath through her lips.
“Listen to me,” I said, holding her gaze. “Nothing is going to happen to me,” I said slowly. “I’ll sell it. Right now. You hear me, Sloan? I won’t ever ride one again.”
She let out a shuddering breath, and tears spilled down her beautiful cheeks. Tucker pressed himself against our legs, looking up at her, worried.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
I shook my head. “Don’t apologize to me, no. Shhhhhhh…”
She took a few more ragged breaths and when she started talking again, it was so quiet I almost couldn’t hear her. “There was blood in his eyes, Jason. His skin was scraped off by the asphalt. All the way to the bone.”
Her words came like a punch to my gut. Jesus. What do you even say to something like that?
I hated this. I just wanted to protect her, to keep her from ever having to endure anything else painful for the rest of her life. I wished I could wipe it clean. If I could take it from her and carry it myself, I would.
Every gasp and sob that came from her sliced at me like razors.
It was like my heart was split down the middle—I had one half and Sloan had the other. I knew without a doubt that from this point forward I’d have to care for her better than I cared for myself—because I could never be okay if she wasn’t.
It took a few minutes, but she calmed down.
When the trembling stopped, I kissed her forehead and held her face in my hands. Her hair stuck to her wet cheek, and I brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear.
“I can’t watch another man die on one of those,” she said simply. “Please. Don’t ever get on one. You have to promise me, Jason.”
“Never. I promise,” I whispered. “I’m not going to leave you, Sloan. It’s not going to happen again.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, and let me walk her to the house, and the whole time my mind kept circling back to the same thought.
I was grateful that I’d been there for her through my music in her darkest hours. That I’d reached her and touched her and held her in my arms for years—even though neither of us had known it yet.
I wanted to reach her and touch her and hold her in my arms forever.
Because I was completely and totally in love with her.
Chapter 25
Sloan
♪ 26 | Paramore
It had been three days since we’d come back from Minnesota, and every morning since, it had been a feat getting Jason out of bed and off to be Jaxon Waters.
“Don’t you have to get ready?” I giggled. He was all hands today. “Zane’s going to be here at seven.”
He made a dismissive male grunt and trailed his lips down my naked chest, working his bare shoulders under the sheets. I smiled.
Jason’s new personal assistant, Zane, had started on Monday. A tough-looking, no-nonsense woman with a pompadour, cuffed jeans, and a naked lady tattooed on her forearm. She spoke Spanish, was experienced, knew her way around LA, and she was amazing.
She drove him to his appointments so he didn’t have to deal with traffic and she made sure he ate and got to places on time. Zane turned out to be exactly what he needed because his schedule had officially become ridiculous.
His soundtrack was being released on Friday, and he had radio and TV interviews and photo shoots every day this week. The theme song for the movie was particularly promising. Next weekend he was even playing Saturday Night Live.
Jason started pulling my underwear down. I wriggled, tapping his shoulder. “No, no, no. Come on, get in the shower.”
His head popped up from under the sheet and he gave me a sad puppy dog look.
I smiled at him. “I won’t contribute to your delinquency. You have that KROQ thing today.”
He let out a sigh and rolled off me onto his back, putting an arm over his face. “You make me insane. I can’t keep my hands off you.”
My cell phone pinged, and I leaned over with a grin and reached for it.
“Who’s that?” he asked. It was barely 6:15 in the morning.
“Your mom.”
“My mom? She doesn’t text.”
“She texts me,” I said, flashing him the screen and then going back to typing a response.
“Unbelievable.”
“Well, she’s not going to call me and read me a recipe over the phone like a crazy person,” I said. “It’s eight fifteen there. She found a recipe in a magazine for sloppy joes she thinks you’ll like. And she wants to know if I know how to make a compote.”
“Do you?”
I snorted. “Well, yeah, of course.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me and I set the phone down on my chest, smiling. “What?”
“Go on a date with me tonight.”
“You mean go outside?”
We hadn’t spent any time together out of bed since we’d come back from Minnesota. He’d spent the night at my house for the last three nights. I loved it. I loved going to sleep in his arms and waking up to him.
“Let me wine and dine you,” he said. “Walk with you on the beach and hold your hand.”
I put my arms around his neck. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you, my music man.”
He kissed me deeply and I thought for a second I was going to have to remind him about his call time again. But he broke away and rubbed his nose to mine. “Hey, what do you think about me using that empty bottom drawer in the dresser? Maybe unpack my backpack? Hang it in the closet?”
The request hit me like a bucket of ice water. My response was so knee-jerk I didn’t have time to rein it in. I bit my lip and shook my head. “No. I can’t.”
The light faded a little from his eyes, but he just smiled at me. “Okay.”
He gave me a quick kiss, got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and closed the door.
I sat up and put my hands to my face. Feelings pinged off me, firing in all directions.
Why was he doing this to me? Pretending this relationship was going to be able to progress like any other one? This wasn’t real life. This was just an in-between. He couldn’t put things in drawers.
He was leaving.
I was doing everything in my power to try and enjoy this time. We had so little of it left. The start date of his tour loomed in front of me like a tidal wave. It was coming, and it would be the end. So then why did he want to put me through this? Emptying out a dresser again? I’d already done it once this year and it had been hard enough.
I threw off the sheets, put on my robe, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the guitar he’d propped on the chair and chewing my lip. The pipes knocked in the wall as Jason turned on the shower and I called Kristen. It was early, but Oliver always got her up at 6:00, and she answered on the second ring.
“Jason wants a drawer,” I whispered.
The baby fussed in the background.
“Uh, then give him a fucking drawer?”
“Kristen, he’s leaving. He should be living out of a backpack. That’s exactly the nature of this situation. This relationship isn’t a house. It’s a tent. Why keep things here and act like it isn’t all going to come to an end in two weeks?”
“Is it coming to an end in two weeks? I mean, have you guys even talked about it?”
I chewed my thumbnail. “No, not really. But it won’t change anything if we do. I’m not doing the long-distance t
hing for fourteen months.”
“What if he’s planning to ask you to go with him? Why would he make you his girlfriend and take you home to meet his parents if he wasn’t serious about this relationship?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me the tour was extended until we were in Ely, so maybe he just found out? He probably went into all this with the best intentions, but his circumstances have obviously changed. And I’m not going with him even if he does ask. I’ve been his girlfriend for a week. I’m not running off on tour with him, and talking about it is just going to make the bubble pop. I just wanted to be blissfully ignorant for a few more days and then he went and brought up drawers.”
I think Jason and I were both kind of pretending his tour wasn’t happening. Who wanted to be the one to throw a wet blanket on this?
“Well, bubble or no, you need to fucking talk about it. And give the man a damn drawer. He’s had his mouth on every inch of your body. He can’t put socks in a dresser?”
I put my forehead into my palm and pushed back my hair. “I don’t know if I can play house with him, Kristen. It’s going to be too hard when we break up.”
She snorted. “There’s no way you’re letting this dude go. You’re like half in love with him already.”
“Oh, I’m letting him go. I have to.”
She scoffed.
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t wait fourteen months for a man I’ve known three weeks.”
“Why? At three weeks with Josh, I would have tattooed his name across my boob. You’ll hang on to a car that’s barely running just because you had your first kiss in it, but you won’t stick out a long-distance relationship with a man who gives you multiple orgasms and makes you insanely happy?”
I shook my head. “Did you know that I kept a beer bottle in the garage for the last two years because Brandon drank out of it? Like, what kind of crazy is that? I am so tired of being more sentimental about everyone and everything in my life than I am about myself. For once I want to be the rational one, Kristen. I didn’t even like losing Brandon to the fire station for two days in a row. Staying with a man who’s going to be gone for a year will make me miserable—even if I am half in love with him. I’m in an in-between, and if I keep making decisions that bury me there, I’ll never get out of it.”