by W Winters
“I want her to marry me.” I say the words out loud. Freeing them. He’s the one who brought up love. I’ve never considered him helping me, but he has Aria and if he can have her, I should be allowed to have Bethany.
“Then tell her.” Carter’s response is easy enough.
“I did.”
“Was that before or after she was arrested?” I look past him, letting out a frustrated sigh. “You’ve never waited for anything. Why would a marriage proposal be any different?”
“Timing may not have been the best.”
“Best?” Carter actually laughs. He has the balls to let out a deep, rough chuckle that fills the room and forces me to crack a smile.
“I told her she wouldn’t be able to testify if we were married.”
“You’re a fucking dumbass, Jase. I’m a goddamn bull in a china shop and even I’m more graceful than that.”
“It felt right.” I drag my hand down my face remembering how her eyes widened.
“Like I said, you’re a dumbass. You like shocking her,” my brother comments. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what she wants or needs from you at the moment.”
“What does she want?” I say out loud and Carter answers as if he’s known Beth her entire life.
“Someone to help her with the things that matter most to her. Someone to love her.”
His phone vibrates again and that’s when I check mine and my stomach drops. “She needs someone to kick her ass. That’s what she needs,” I murmur under my breath.
Bethany
“Seth told me.”
The heat in Jase’s car is stifling. For the first time, he’s driving and Seth is nowhere to be seen. It’s just us.
“What did he tell you?” I ask.
“You said you wouldn’t run,” he says and his tone is accusatory.
A small and insignificant sigh falls from my lips as I stare at the passing trees, small buds forming on the branches and lean my head against the passenger side window. “I wasn’t running.”
The steady clicking of the blinker is the only sound until we turn at the end of the street. “What would you call it?” he asks me and I answer.
“Following my boss’s orders to take a vacation while getting away from the chaos for a moment.”
“You really think you would have come back?” I can tell from the huff that leaves him that he doesn’t believe I would have.
“I would have missed you, worried about you and thought about you every second I was gone. You’re a fool to think otherwise.” I second-guess my harsh manner and turn to look at him. He only gives me his profile; he’s still staring at the road. His stubble is longer than it’s ever been, but I love the masculinity of it, along with his dominating features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that.”
Quiet. It’s quiet and that’s how I know he doesn’t believe me. I suppose it works both ways. The mistrust between us runs deep with not just everything that’s happened, but the way we’ve handled it all.
Laying a hand between us, palm up, I offer a truce. “I thought you’d come last night. I was waiting for you.”
“You didn’t message me.”
“Neither did you.” I give him back the same accusatory tone.
“Seth suggested that I give you space. Carter agreed with him. I thought I could use some as well, given that you made plans to leave.”
“You scared me--”
“I apologized.” His words cut me off and I steady myself, pulling my hand back to my lap.
“Do you want me to apologize? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you think I’d run.” Transparency is what I’m aiming for, so I let the words spill out. Every bit honest. “I could’ve handled it differently. I didn’t trust you’d let me go.”
“You’re damn right, I wouldn’t have and I won’t now.” Anger simmers inside of me until vulnerability stretches his next words. “You knew before.”
My heart does a silly thing. It beats out of rhythm, making sure I’m listening to it. “Knew what?”
“You knew who I was.”
“I still know. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
He finally glances at me as the expensive car drives over gravel for a short moment, jostling the smooth ride.
“I would do anything for you. Name it, I’ll do it. Whatever you need to make you want to stay.”
“What?” I say and the word is as exasperated as I am. “What are you talking about?”
“If you want to leave, you come straight to me. In exchange,” he says as he taps his thumb rapidly on the leather steering wheel. “Name it. Whatever you need in exchange for me being the person you run to.”
I don’t hesitate to take away the card he’s been playing to keep me under his thumb as I say, “Drop the debt.”
“It’s dropped.”
He says it too easily, too quickly. The words were waiting to be spoken. It didn’t matter what I said. The long drive is winding as we approach the Cross estate. The dent in the fence is already fixed, but my mind replays the images of when I sped away as we drive by it.
“I don’t believe you. The moment I do something you don’t like or the second I make you think I’m leaving you, you’ll say I owe you.”
“I’ll write it down in fucking blood, Bethany.” There’s no menace in his words, only desperation and he adds, “I’m trying,” while staring into my eyes. I can feel it deep inside of me, his need to hold me.
I barely whisper, “Why do you want me?”
“Because you make it okay. You make it all right.”
“I don’t know what I’m making okay, Jase. Can’t you understand how that’s my problem?”
The car comes to a halt on the paved driveway and he lets out a long exhale, staring at the bricked exterior rather than at me before he tells me again, “I’m trying.”
“I’ll try too,” I answer quickly, remembering the tit for tat our relationship started as and may always be. “Let’s go back to the beginning. There’s no debt this time, but I still have questions. I don’t want to forget what happened to my sister. I want to know who. I want to know why.”
Jase merely stares at his front door as he turns off the car. Not speaking, not acknowledging what I’ve said for so long that I eventually move closer to him and almost repeat my suggestions until he takes my hand in his and squeezes lightly.
Hope moves between us, drawing us closer.
“Can you give me a name?” I ask him, praying he’ll trust me this time. It’s a futile prayer.
“I’d rather not.”
“Do you have anything new?”
“No.”
I have to swallow to keep from telling him that there’s no point if all he’ll ever be is a sea of dark secrets to me. I nearly breathe out, what’s the point? and storm off. I can already hear the car door slamming. Instead, I stay in the parked car with him, letting him hold my hand.
Our relationship is uneven; it may always be. Jase needs this. I think he needs it more than I do.
That’s the point. This is for him. I can take what’s mine another time. “I don’t know that I can live with all the secrets,” I admit quietly.
“Ask me something else,” Jase says, the slow stroke of his rough thumb pausing on my knuckles as the crisp chill enters the car in place of the heat.
“Whose blood was it?” I dare to ask. There’s a pitter-patter in my chest that keeps me from inhaling when he hesitates.
Clearing his throat, he answers, “A man’s. Someone who hurt a lot of people.”
I push for more, staring at him, willing him to look at me, but he still doesn’t.
“Name,” I demand. “I deserve to know whose blood was on me.”
“Hal.”
Settling back into my seat, I note that he doesn’t give me more, but he’s given me something. “I don’t think I like that name anymore.”
My off-handed comment is rewarded with a slight huff of a laugh from Jase before he looks at me, really looks a
t me. The kind of look I’ll remember forever. Not at all like the way he was in the bathroom this past weekend.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, and I don’t know what prompted it.
“You really do scare me… sometimes.”
“I don’t want to.”
I squeeze his hand when he stops squeezing mine and say, “I know you don’t.”
“Ask me something else,” he says, looking out of the window.
“Are you okay?” It’s all I can think to ask.
He nods once but doesn’t say anything else and I get the feeling he’s keeping something from me. Enough so that I open the car door and head inside. It takes a moment for him to follow. The wind is unkind, ushering us inside as quickly as possible.
It seems like this is temporary. That we’re pretending it’s okay when it’s not. There’s something unsettling in the air between us as we walk to the bedroom quietly, our steps even and echoing in the empty hall.
“Do you have a ‘something?’” I ask him as his hand grips the doorknob. He twists and pulls it before looking down at me questioningly. “Something other than work?” I ask him and his answer strikes me hard. “Family. I have my brothers.”
The pain of loss is a horrid thing. It comes and goes; it sneaks up on you but it also punches you in the face at times.
It feels like it’s done all of those things to me in this moment. All at once.
Leaving Jase standing in the doorway, I drop my purse on the bed while kicking my shoes off without looking at him and try not to let it eat at me, but it is. Obviously so. Jase’s keys clink on the dresser, then his watch before he takes off his jacket.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he admits with his back to me before facing me. “I wasn’t thinking.”
The comfort of regret is what lifts my eyes to his.
“Yes, you should have. It’s what I needed to hear.”
Maybe he’s my something.
There’s no other logical explanation for why I’m so drawn to him. He’s talking as he walks to me, saying something but I don’t hear a word. Just the soothing cadence of his voice as I stare at his lips, his broad chest.
Just love me.
Pushing myself off the bed, I press my body to his, surprising him as I kiss him. It’s needy, it’s raw. His response is just as primitive. He tears the clothes from my body, but I don’t move to remove his; I don’t trust myself to loosen my hold on him. My fingers are braced at the back of his neck, keeping his lips to mine and urging him to devour me. To take from me, to use me. To make me feel alive and worthy of life.
I love you. The words are trapped inside of me. Maybe he can feel them when I kiss him. Maybe his lungs are filled with the knowledge when he breaks our kiss for only a moment to suck in air before tossing me onto the bed and then covering my body with his.
His fingers press on my inner thigh as his tongue delves into my mouth. Each stroke against my clit is sensual but demanding, just as Jase is. Every second I feel hotter. And with his palm pressing against my most sensitive area, a sweat breaks out along my skin so suddenly, I moan into the air and throw my head back to breathe.
He rocks his palm against my heat, and presses his hardened cock into my thigh. His stubble scratches along my neck and the sensation pushes me closer and closer until the all-consuming need throws me off the edge of my release.
“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, pulling my thighs farther apart and I obey.
Breathless still with the waves of pleasure rocking through me, my nails dig into the bedsheets as I wait for him to settle between my hips.
There isn’t an ounce of hesitation at having him between my legs after touching me like that.
The warmth of the high is still wrapped around me, making the small touches he gives me trace pleasure on my skin. “Are you expecting your period?” His question quickly changes that.
My lungs lurch and I’m quick to push him off of me.
“Fuck.” Embarrassment rages in my heated cheeks and I climb off the bed as I snag my clothes, keeping my legs closed tight.
I can’t look at him as I scatter to the bathroom, flicking on the light and digging through the basket in the cabinet under the sink. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
I haven’t had many sexual partners and it’s been years since I’ve had a boyfriend, but the last time something like this happened, I stained the sofa cushion of my high school fling. The hollowness that comes with a dry throat and embarrassing memories takes over as I find a thin liner that will have to do for this moment.
I’m sitting there taking care of it all, feeling foolish and wondering if my period is why I’ve been so emotional and tired and down and unable to think right.
“Are you all right?” Jase’s voice comes from outside the bathroom and I prepare to face him.
Opening the door to see him standing there, a small trail of hair leading down and drawing my eyes to the edge of the boxer briefs he slipped on, makes me that much more self-conscious. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” His expression is easy, but the way he bites the edge of his lip and lets his gaze linger makes me feel anything but. “It’s good you got it. We’ve been reckless.”
I hesitate to respond when I look over his shoulder and see he’s changed the sheets.
“Thank you for…” Closing my eyes and swallowing tightly, I fail to say the rest out loud.
“It’s fine. Do you need anything?”
He leans against the doorjamb, not taking his eyes off of me. When he crosses his arms, his muscles become taut and I find myself feeling hot all over again.
I need my something. I need it more than anything.
A hint of worry crosses his expression when I don’t answer him.
“I don’t want to lose what we’re building, Bethany. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then don’t.”
Jase
I couldn’t give two shits about her period.
I couldn’t give two shits about her wanting to leave yesterday.
All I care about right now is pressing my body against hers, ravaging her, hearing those soft sounds slip from her lips. I’m still hard for her, still needing to feel her, to remind her how good it is.
“Strip down… all the way.” With the simple command she stares up at me, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her hair is a messy halo and her hazel eyes are in disarray.
Leaning forward and bending down enough to whisper at the shell of her ear I say, “Don’t make me tell you twice, my fiery girl.”
Her eyes close and her head falls back instinctively. Like the good girl she is, her hands move to the button on her pants just as I unhook her bra through her shirt.
“You make me weak,” she whispers.
“You do the same to me.” No confession has ever felt so sinful to be spoken.
“You want to know why I want you?” I ask her, watching her undress and then stepping out of my boxer briefs to stroke my cock. “I can’t get those little sounds you make out of my mind. They’re addictive.”
Her pale skin turns a bright red, flushing from her chest up to the temples of her hairline.
“You’re beautiful, you’re innocent in ways I find challenging, and a fighter in ways I respect.” I’ve never thought about it like this before. I’ve never considered the specifics, and the statement forms itself as I take her nipple between my fingers and pull gently to direct her to the shower.
With a twist of the faucet and then the splash of hot water, steam billows toward us.
“You want to know why I want you?” she questions me as I grip her ass, one cheek in each hand and pull her up to me before stepping into the shower with her.
She gasps from the contrast of the hot water and the cold tile as I press her against the wall, but still keep us under the stream.
The warm water flows over my skin and it feels like heaven. Being cleansed and still having her in my grasp must be what heaven is like.
/> “Why?” I groan the word in the crook of her neck and then let my teeth drag down her skin, just to feel her squirm.
“Because you make me feel alive. You make me feel like everything matters and yet, nothing but you does.”
I have to pull away to look down at her. Her hair’s darker and wet, slick against her flushed skin.
Looking up at me through her thick lashes, I bring my lips just millimeters from hers and tell her, “You’re damn right, nothing but us matters.” Then I slam myself inside of her, letting her scream in pleasure in the hot stream. Her nails dig into my skin as I thrust inside of her, loving the feel of her tightening around my cock as she gets closer and closer.
Steadying her in my grasp, I keep my pace ruthless and deep as she bites into my shoulder to muffle her screams. I’d admonish her, forcing her to let me hear all the sweet noises she makes, but the hint of pain makes the pleasure that much more intense.
So I fuck her harder, silently begging her to bring me more of both the pleasure and the pain.
Bethany
“Anything you want, is yours.”
“You make big promises,” I tell Jase as I follow him down the end of the hall. He keeps calling it a “wing” though. He says it’s his wing of the estate.
Makeup sex is a real thing. There must be something special that happens to your brain when you have makeup sex. I’m convinced of it. I bet a decade of research could prove a thing or two to support that thought.
The kind of makeup sex that leaves you sore the day after. The kind of sore I am now.
“Anything within reason. Does that make you feel better?” he asks with a grin growing on his face. I can’t help but to reach up and brush my thumb against his jaw.
He tells me lowly, “I need to shave,” before I can sneak a small kiss that makes me rise up onto my tiptoes. A deep groan of satisfaction comes from his chest when I kiss him again.
“I like the stubble,” I comment softly as we stop at the entrance to what looks like a library, one that’s worthy of a museum. The antique weapons housed on a bookshelf full of creased leather spines and unique coverings draw me in.