End of Day (Jack & Jill #1)

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Yeah? Well, women can be sensitive and a bit persnickety. You had a moment … everyone has their moments.”

  AJ tried to smile through the anguish. “What happened earlier, that wasn’t me. It’s not a moment I’m proud of.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed while closing his eyes. “Or maybe it was me. God! I hope not, but … I just don’t know anymore. It’s so damn frustrating—the unpredictability. One minute I’m in control, in the next … agitation at the whole fucking world rips through my body like a tornado.”

  AJ rested his palm on her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “I’m so damn sorry. It will never—”

  “Shh.” She rested her hand over his. “Never’s a long time. But next time—”

  “There won’t be a next time.” He sat on the bed and pulled her between his legs, resting his forehead on her chest while cupping her ass.

  “As I was saying … next time put some balls behind it.”

  “My God, woman. You have a knack for verbally castrating men. If I spend much more time with you, I’m not certain I’ll still have a pair.” He bit at her nipple through her top.

  Jillian moaned bringing his dick to attention.

  “Let’s go.” He smacked her ass.

  “Go where?” She climbed up on his lap, perching her crotch on the bulge in his jeans.

  “I’m taking you to dinner for some real food.” His fingers dug into her hips to still her efforts of dry humping him.

  Jillian kissed his neck as if food wasn’t even close to being on her radar. “I think if I tied you up again and sucked on your cock that would tide me over until morning.”

  “No way in hell.” He lifted her from his lap and stood, adjusting his erection.

  She laughed. “I don’t think that’s a normal reaction to a blow job offer.”

  AJ cleared his throat and held open the door for her. “I don’t think you know how to give a ‘normal’ blow job.”

  She waltzed past him with a smirk. “You mean boring?”

  “Boring’s not always bad,” he grumbled to himself, letting the door slam behind him.

  “Yes it is,” she called from twenty feet down the hall.

  The woman had the hearing of a dog.

  “My tongue will keep you young, Sarge. You don’t want your ball hair going gray yet, do ya?”

  Jillian had impeccable timing. AJ turned at the giggling sound behind him. Three doe-eyed teenagers froze, holding their breath while covering their mouths. His piercing glare sent them scurrying in the opposite direction.

  *

  Their dinner at the hotel’s tavern was two cloth napkins short of a real date.

  “We had drinks, appetizers, a main course, and dessert. It was a real date,” AJ argued in the elevator on the way back to their rooms.

  “Sorry, no cloth napkins.”

  “But I brought you flowers.”

  “That was an apology.” Jillian stepped off the elevator.

  As she unlocked her door, he smoothed her hair off her neck and brushed his lips along her skin. “It was a shitty apology,” he whispered.

  Goose bumps bloomed along her flesh as she shivered from his touch. “Good night, AJ.”

  “Wait.” He hooked his arm around her waist as she pushed open the door.

  “Just like that? No kiss goodnight or—”

  She turned and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

  He tightened his grip as she began to pull away. “I think my ball hair is going gray.”

  She laughed. “About that … I think you should just wax that whole area. I’d be happy to do that for you when we get home.”

  AJ released her, buckling over like she just kicked his junk. “Guys don’t do that shit.”

  “They do.” She tossed her purse on the bed. “I suppose you could shave it instead. I think Jackson has a straight edge we could borrow.”

  “I’m messed-up, but not completely insane. I think I’d gnaw off my own hand before I’d let you near my dick with a straight blade.”

  “I told you, I’m not into cutting.” She smiled past the knot in her stomach after realizing the words in her head actually came out of her mouth.

  The jovial mood evaporated leaving a heavy, suffocating feeling in its place. She could see the question brewing in AJ’s mind as his expression became more focused, eyes searching, lips firming with a deep swallow.

  “Who’s Jones?”

  All the blood pulled from the surface of Jillian’s skin leaving a cold sweat in its place.

  “What?”

  “Jones. When I pinned you down and woke you after you fell asleep last night, you yelled ‘Dammit, Jones.’”

  Complete honesty wasn’t a luxury Jillian would ever have again. Lying was survival. “My dog. I used to have a dog named Jones.” No lie.

  “He died?”

  She turned and opened her suitcase, needing something to hide the way her hands were shaking. “Yes, he died,” she lied.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jillian fought the tight grip of emotion in her throat that felt like it was trying to asphyxiate her. “Me too.” She could hide her thoughts, her words, and on a good day her tears. But her heart demanded acknowledgment, there was never enough Heineken to numb the dull ache in her chest.

  AJ huffed a heavy sigh. “I’m not good at this.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed with her hands tucked under her legs. “Good at what?”

  “This…” he motioned between them “…this relationship stuff. I should care enough to ask you more about your past, the blood thing, the ridiculous profession you’ve chosen, the reason why you’re living with your brother … but I’m too fucking selfish. I can barely deal with my own pathetic life, I just—”

  She shook her head. “It’s fine. I have nothing to tell.”

  His head jerked back a fraction as his eyelids fluttered with rapid blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jillian lifted a single shoulder. “You act like I’m on a cliff’s edge just waiting, begging you to ask me about my past and my ‘issues,’ but I’m not. The fact that you don’t ask me about it is why this…” she mimicked his motion between them “…relationship works.”

  He nodded with an absent stare.

  She’d gone too far. It was a slippery balance between too much and not enough. It’s human nature to desire what’s perceived as the unattainable. Was she making her past seem too unattainable?

  “Don’t.”

  AJ’s gaze snapped to hers. “Don’t what?”

  “I was simply stating a fact. Don’t interpret it as a game. I’m not playing hard to get with my emotions. It’s not a trap.”

  He rested his hands on his hips and stared at his feet.

  “It’s a gift, AJ. You will never have to be my gallant knight on his trusty steed, drawing your sword to defend my honor. I will never gawk at sparkly diamonds in the jewelry store window or ask you where you see our relationship going.”

  “You sound callous, but I know you’re not. I’ve experienced your compassion.”

  “That’s a gift too. I’ve never been compassionate toward you with an ulterior motive. I’m not callous. I’m strong. It takes a lot of strength to give unconditionally because the ego is a savage, demanding beast.”

  He narrowed his eyes a bit. “So nothing … you don’t want anything from me in return.”

  Jillian smirked, prowling toward him. “I’m compassionate, not a saint.” She slid her hands under his shirt, tracing the definition of each firm plane of muscle.

  He quirked a brow. “So you want me for my body?”

  A provocative smirk stole her lips as she pushed up his shirt and teased her teeth over his skin. “I think we both know it’s not for your stellar personality.”

  “You’re such a bitch,” he growled, grabbing her ass and lifting her up.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed. “But an honest bitch.”

  Cha
pter Thirty-One

  Day

  Jessica could not blink. A thousand jolts of panic coursed through her veins.

  It was fire.

  It was ice.

  It was insanity.

  Panic seized her heart sending it into a pounding arrhythmia. Inside the black bag was an assortment of restraints: handcuffs, ropes, satin gags and blindfolds, and zip ties. She stepped away as if it were filled with poisonous snakes. He wanted to torture her. Maybe he did believe Four’s spirit was in her and he was planning an exorcism.

  He’d been right all along, and maybe it was all part of his mind games. The chance of them having sex was once again less than zero percent. Period.

  The bag was his final point. He’d been studying her, therefore he had to know there was no way she could ever be restrained. They’d hit an impasse and there would never be a bridge long enough to gap the distance. No matter how much she loved him … the bag and what it represented was too much.

  She shoved it in the front closet, tossed her sandwich in the trash, and went to sleep alone—the way she would for the rest of her life.

  *

  Autopilot.

  Jessica fell back into her pre-Dr. Luke Jones routine: exercise, work, study, test, repeat. After two weeks she gave up trying to pretend that he didn’t exist. After all, it would be difficult to do since they were both in the Long Beach Triathlon with Kelly and Gabe.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do.” Kelly barged through the door.

  “Nice to see you too.” Jessica set her bags by the door.

  They were all riding down to Long Beach in Gabe’s SUV. Aside from a few texts from Luke asking if she was coming to clean, which she answered with a simple “no,” they hadn’t had any other communication since the black bag incident.

  “Ellie said you’re Luke’s maid now. I told her she was full of shit, but she insisted she wasn’t and it’s a weird thing for her to make up on her own, so what gives?”

  “Oh, Ellie … yeah, um … it’s true. I was doing some light house cleaning for Jones—I mean Luke. But I’m not anymore.”

  Kelly looked at her like a third eye had sprouted above her nose. “That … that doesn’t make any sense.”

  It really didn’t.

  “You’re a disaster.” Kelly looked around Jessica’s cluttered apartment. “And everything at his condo is immaculate. What could you possibly be doing to help him?”

  “I’m not doing anything. I was, but now I’m not. Are you ready to go?”

  Kelly narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

  Jessica grabbed her bags and lifted her bike on her shoulder. “We—I—he … fired me.”

  “What?” Kelly opened the door.

  “Well, what I mean is he let me go. Actually it was more me than him.” She handed Kelly her keys to lock up then headed down the stairs. “He was too … demanding. I didn’t want to feel so tied down.”

  “Jessica Mauve Day, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. This whole situation reeks of lies and … something else.”

  “Hey, Jess,” Gabe greeted her at the curb and took her bags and bike.

  Kelly tracked Jessica with an evil eye as they both got in the backseat.

  “What’s with the sour grape look?” Gabe asked Kelly as he shut the door and adjusted his mirror.

  “Our friends are up to something.”

  Jessica shook her head and ignored Kelly’s distrustful scowl all the way to Luke’s condo.

  “Hey, man!” Gabe jumped out and grabbed Luke’s bike.

  Jessica looked out the opposite window, digging her nails into her palms just short of breaking the skin.

  “Oh … you’re sitting in back?” Luke asked Kelly as he opened her back door.

  “Why? Do you want to sit back here with your ex-maid?”

  Jessica whipped her head around to look at Luke. He squinted a bit, flitting his eyes between her and Kelly.

  “Ex-maid?”

  “Yes. You fired her, didn’t you?”

  “Uh …”

  “I quit.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Kelly nodded. “You were being too … what did you say, Jessica? Oh, now I remember. You were being too demanding and she didn’t want to feel so tied down.”

  Luke’s wide eyes sought confirmation from Jessica. “Is that so?”

  She grimaced.

  “Get up front. I’m sitting back here with my ex-maid.”

  Kelly seemed to dismiss the edge of anger to his words, but Jessica did not.

  “Everyone ready?” Gabe asked as soon as Kelly closed her door.

  With a unison of yes, they were off to Long Beach.

  Kelly dominated the conversation with her pre and post triathlon meal plans for everyone, the map of the course, check-in times, and basically everything else from the website as if she were the only one in the group who could read.

  Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket and focused on the screen. Jessica drummed her fingers on the arm rest, stealing an occasional sideways glance. Those hands that held his phone and fingers that slid over the screen were the same ones that cupped her breast, brushed over her nipple, and slipped between her legs. She adjusted in her seat, feeling warm and tingly.

  Her phone vibrated. Slipping it out of her bag she smiled.

  Jones: Hi.

  Jessica: Hi.

  She rolled her eyes to the side, but his face remained stoic as if he were messaging someone a million miles away.

  Jones: I’ve missed you.

  Her heart galloped.

  Jessica: Missed you too.

  Jones: Did you lose my number?

  She stared at the screen.

  Jessica: Just my nerve.

  Jones: Because of the bag?

  Jessica: Yes.

  Jones: I miss your lips.

  She shifted again in her seat. How he sat there like a statue was beyond comprehension.

  Jessica: They miss you.

  Jones: Why no bra today?

  She dipped her chin. Her hard nipples were molded in twin peaks against her grey tank top. Tossing any sort of discreetness out the window, she turned and stared at him, silently demanding him to look at her. But he didn’t. He showed absolutely no outward signs that they were having any sort of interaction.

  Jessica: I’m against suppression.

  Jones: It’s distracting.

  Jessica: So are your socks. How did you end up wearing two right ones today?

  Jones: They’re crew socks. There is no right and left. They’re ambidextrous.

  Jessica: If I wouldn’t have cried in the shower, how many times would we have had sex by now?

  She stared at her bold words, letting her finger hover over the send button. She had to know, so she let her thumb tap the screen. Then she waited, but within seconds there was a return message.

  Jones: More than you can count.

  Gulp.

  Jessica: Fuck me …

  Somehow her fingers typed what her brain was thinking, not what she really meant to say.

  Jones: When and where?

  She turned to him again. Nothing. Not one look. Not one flinch.

  For a brief moment she wondered if she had the right “Jones.” What if he lost his phone and got another one with a new number? What if she was having this conversation with a sick and twisted stranger? Even worse … what if she wasn’t?

  Jessica: Ever had sex in the restroom of a restaurant?

  Jones: What do you think?

  That’s just it, she didn’t know what to think. Before that day she would have said no. But when her orderly, completely irresistibly sexy, mindfuck of a friend answered “when and where?” to her fuck-me comment—all bets were off.

  Jessica: I think if the restaurant where Kelly has planned for us to stop for lunch has a restroom door with a lock on it we …

  “Are we stopping for lunch soon? I’m starving,” Luke called up to Gabe and Kelly.

  No need for foreplay. That was it. The heav
y ache between her legs grew with such intensity from his voice—his words—she feared just getting out of the vehicle would detonate her impending orgasm. The more she thought about it the more certain she was that she’d never make it. The feeling was ten times worse than a full bladder on a bumpy road. Her pulse was nonexistent in her chest; every beat was at her sex. How would she explain going weak in the knees in the middle of a parking lot from an orgasm?

  “There’s road construction so we’re going to detour. I’ll have to look for a different stop, so it might not be for another hour or two. The bag on the floor between you two has some snacks in it,” Kelly said.

  Jessica salivated like a dog. Her entire body was in zero hour meltdown. If it were a bladder issue she could request they pullover and let her squat in the ditch. But how could she ask them to pull over and step out of the car while she had emergency sex with Luke?

  Luke: wet your finger

  She squinted her eyes at his text. What did he mean?

  Brushing her finger over her lip, her tongue darted out to wet it.

  Luke: lower

  His all-consuming eyes finally met hers, sucking her into his sensual vortex. All of her senses sprang to life: the brush of her cotton shirt along her nipples, the salty taste from her own finger that was destined to slide between her own legs, and the sudden rush of Channel No. 69 that infiltrated her nose like a drug.

  Under his manipulative trance, controlled only by his eyes, she pulled up her cotton skirt and slid her finger under the crotch of her panties, being careful to not touch her painfully sensitive clitoris. One wrong move and she would have exploded. A single swipe and her finger was drenched.

  Luke bent down. With one hand he ruffled the snack bag and with his other hand he clasped Jessica’s wrist. Keeping his head ducked behind the front seats he brought her wet finger to his lips and slid it into his mouth. It was a modest gesture with a monstrous effect.

  Jessica panted through it … fighting for control and dying to release soft moans of pleasure. He pulled her finger from his mouth and circled the tip of his tongue along the pad of it and It. Was. Over.

  She squeezed her legs together, dropped her chin to her chest letting her hair fall like a curtain over her face. Then she bit her lips and closed her eyes as an orgasm pulsed in rippling waves along her sex, clear to her toes curling them in her flip-flops.