by Kim Karr
Everyone watches as he walks slowly toward the door. Jake is still beside it and hurriedly opens it for him.
Once the door is closed, Jasper’s gaze darts to mine. “I’m taking you home now.”
This time I don’t argue.
STRESS KICKERS
Jasper
HERE’S THE SCENE: Me, barreling straight down a double black-diamond ski run at 40 miles per hour. Or me on the racetrack taking curves I shouldn’t be cutting so close at 100 miles per hour. You might say it’s stupid. Or crazy. I call it genius.
The danger and unpredictability that threaten my life are the same things that have saved me so many times from doing some stupid-crazy shit that might have gotten me into real trouble.
Adrenaline has always been my thing. Living for that high I get from it. It’s who I am. Moving fast is how I have always lived my life. I talk fast. Walk fast. Drive fast. Shit, I even fuck fast.
With Charlotte though, I don’t feel like I want to parachute out of a plane. With her, I’m different.
Then again, everything between us is different than I’m used to when I’m with a girl.
Good different?
Bad different?
I’m not entirely certain which.
But I can feel it in my bones—the urge to want to slow down.
Who knows, maybe it’s the shit situation I’m in. Or maybe, just maybe—it’s her.
It seems like light-years ago that I was on my way to pick her up wondering if she was going to come with me, wondering if what we had as kids would be tarnished or ruined by delving into the past. How fucked up is it that it turns out it might be my own actions that do just that and not those of her father?
Silence fills the air, but I don’t mind it. I push the gas and let the speed overtake me, for no other reason than just because. Windows open, the warm summer air fills my lungs. The speedometer easily surpasses the threshold of 70. The threshold I’d been afraid to cross for three years and no longer am. Because of her. For her. All thanks to her.
Still, I don’t go that fast. I have Charlotte in the car and I don’t want to scare her. The adrenaline I crave comes from just being beside her, and oddly enough, it helps ease my troubled thoughts.
Back at her apartment door again, she twists the lock, but before she opens the door she turns toward me. “Jasper, I just want you to know that I believe you. I know you didn’t kill Eve.”
My eyes greedily take her in. Her stunning face, pink from the sun, her freckles more prominent because of it, her hair a beautiful mess, half back and half forward, windblown from biking and the ride in the car, her eyes so much like the color of the sky. I press my palms on the door, caging her in but not getting too close. “I know you do. But I hate that you had to hear that just now. I meant what I said earlier: I don’t want you to hear the details of that night. Promise me when they come out, you won’t read about them, you won’t listen to them on the news, and you won’t ask me about them.”
She shudders and straightens her shoulders. Bucking up. Putting on a brave face that I feel she has perfected over the years. “Jasper, you were with two women. Situations like that probably happen more times than I can imagine. Stop worrying about me and what I think. I’m not a prude. I can handle talk about kinky sex.”
Hearing her say what is only the truth makes my gut twist.
I hate that she knows about that night.
Hate it.
Absolutely hate this situation.
Against my better judgment, I dare to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.
She stares at me.
Standing here in silence, I could break it and explain the events that led to that fucked up threesome. But why bother. It’s not like what happened is going to make me look like Prince Charming. “I don’t want you to think of me like that.”
Her hand meets mine just as my fingers brush through her hair.
That touch, every time . . . every time I feel something course through my body that lands right in my heart. It’s that same raging storm, and whatever it means I’m not sure I want to know.
“Like what, Jasper? Like a man who indulges his needs?” she whispers.
I quickly pull myself upright and take a step back feeling a little stung by her words, even though I know they weren’t meant to sting. “I should go. Everyone is waiting for me to get back.”
She looks directly into my eyes. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just meant you’re a man with needs. I get that. I already told you, I’m not one to judge.”
I don’t say anything but I also can’t look away. I swim for a minute in her gaze and find myself struggling with what to say and what not to say. What to do and what not to do. Being with her is something I want and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself not to want her.
Realizing that I need to leave before I do something stupid, I take another step back and practically trip on the untied laces of my scuffed up boots. This isn’t the right time for us with what might be taking place over the weeks to come. God only fucking knows how long it will take for the police to find the killer. Until then, I might just be put through the wringer. “Listen, I’ll call you.”
“Don’t say what you don’t mean.”
“I never say things I don’t mean, Charlotte. I will call you. I want to hear what it is that makes you so certain the explosion wasn’t an accident.”
With her eyes closed, softly she whispers, “I’ll be waiting.”
A sense of being needed hammers hard against the walls I’ve built, but the reality that the call won’t be made any time soon, and I know it will hurt her, is what stops me from shoving her away.
Instead, it breaks me.
There’s this need inside me that I can’t fight—the need to stay close to her. It’s as if somehow she snuck over that wall I’ve spent my whole life building so high and is getting inside of me.
It’s foolish to think closing the distance between us and pushing her up against that door is the right way to handle the indecision battling within me. But it’s more foolish to think it isn’t. So I stride toward her as fast as I can. Once I reach her, I yank her to me and then I press my lips to hers.
Sweet.
Delicious.
The craving I can no longer deny.
This, our second kiss, is a little harder, a little rougher, and a lot sloppier than the first. No longer worried about crossing the line from friends to more, I devour her. The truth is we crossed that line the minute we laid eyes on each other again.
My hands grip her face.
Hers grip my wrists as if to pull me closer.
I’m not sure it’s possible to get any closer, but I’m willing to try.
With virtually no space between us, a rapid fire of sensation licks through my body and I can’t suppress the groan that erupts from somewhere deep. The storm that was raging fiercely within me seems to continually settle the longer my lips stay pressed to hers, but something else begins to replace it.
Heat.
Heat like I’ve never felt before in my life.
Blasting like an inferno through me. I’m a volcano that is about to erupt. And I feed from her, wanting more, taking every ounce of warmth she has to give.
That small, delicate body shudders beneath my touch and my entire body hardens with need, so much so that a rumble of pleasure vibrates from my chest.
I want to be gentle.
I try to be gentle with her.
But all of my willpower is gone and I just can’t.
I can’t get enough. Fast enough. Hard enough. I want more. I want it all.
Pressing my body against hers, my tongue sweeps along the rim of her bottom lip, teasing at the corner.
She smiles and I nip her once before I thrust my tongue in her mouth.
Sweetness.
That’s all I can taste.
A Molotov cocktail.
One I’d gladly let kill me.
My hands thread through her h
air. That hair I’ve been dying to touch. Then they move to her ass, greedy, wanting to take what I can, while I can.
Not nearly finished, I push my thigh between her legs, her shorts so thin and skimpy I can easily run my hands down them.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers.
My cock is hard, thick, demanding more of her. I press it against her body, rubbing myself right where I want to be plunging.
She moans a sound so sweet, I swear I might come right here in the hall.
What, am I sixteen again?
The smile on my face can’t be denied.
I don’t care how old I seem—I want this girl unlike I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.
Gliding a hand up her body, still greedy to feel as much of it as I can, I palm her small breast. Through the fabric of her thin shirt, I can feel another layer beneath. Not a bra, but another shirt perhaps. Fucking sexy as hell. I dig my thumb into the fabric, flicking at her nipple. Feeling it pebble under my touch.
The tomboy might be inside her still, but she’s definitely all woman.
Everything about her is sweet and I want to lick, suck, and taste every part of her.
She whimpers again, and this time she pulls away from my mouth as if searching for the air to breathe that I’ve stolen.
I know how she feels.
I should slow down.
I just can’t.
My lips aren’t ready to leave her sweet skin and I dive for her neck.
Her head falls back and I drag my mouth down her throat, licking, nipping, and sucking along the way.
Her fingers dig into the muscle and bone of my shoulders. “We should stop,” she pants.
My body tight against hers, I straighten and look her in the eye. “Let me come inside.”
Trying to catch her breath, she manages to say, “You have to go.”
Another press against her—my body, my lips, and I think my soul. “I want you so much.”
“Jasper, I want you too. More than anything, I want you, but you have to go. Everyone is waiting for you back at your place.” The voice of reason rings in my ear, all soft words and warm breath. And fuck if that doesn’t make me want her even more. “The police are probably still there. You should get back before they leave.”
Reality rings loud.
The police.
My fucked-up situation that I don’t want to dirty her with, and just like that, I push her up and back over the wall. This is not the time to let anyone inside of me, especially someone as untainted and good as Charlotte. The truth is she might want me, but I’m not good for her, not right now.
On a sigh, I drop my forehead to hers. “I’ll call you,” I say again, but unlike the last time I said it, this time I’m more than certain it won’t be soon. First I need to get all this shit over with the police.
“I know you will.”
I force myself to push away from her.
She grabs my hand. “You broke your promise.”
My gut twists.
“You said you wouldn’t kiss me again, and you did,” she says with a smile.
I take her chin in my hand and look her right in the eye. “That, Charlotte Lane, is simply not true.”
She gives me a disbelieving smirk and places her finger over my lips. “You said you don’t lie.”
“I didn’t. Let me clarify.”
“Go on.”
“I never said I wouldn’t kiss you again, I said that if you wanted me to promise I wouldn’t, then I wouldn’t. There’s a difference.”
“You got me there.” She smiles softly, opening her door. And then once she’s brought the bike inside, she leans against the edge of it. “Good night, Jasper.”
In the midst of all the shit going on in my life I shouldn’t be smiling, and yet I can feel my grin widen. “Good night, Charlotte.”
I will call you . . . as soon as I can.
DETOUR
Charlotte
I DISCOVER I don’t need coffee to wake me up.
My life is upside down and still the feel of his body against mine is all I can think about. The promise of the depths of pleasure almost too much to imagine. Places I know I’ve never gone but want desperately for him to take me.
The faintest of light streams through my bedroom window and my eyes pop open. Lying here, restless, unable to sleep, I’m thinking of him.
I know I should get up. My to-do list is endless. I have to look through the help wanted section to find a job, any job, so that I can pay my rent next month and have a little money left to eat. I have to go to the pharmacy. I have to make certain all of my files are untouched on my computer. And then somehow tell the police they mixed up my papers with Eve’s, but first I want to go through her things thoroughly and catalog them. I’m not a detective, but perhaps something will lead to who might have wanted to kill her. I could also see if those emails she sent Cole are still in his in-box.
So yes, I should get out of bed. Start the list that might take me days to complete, but I can’t because the memory of the sound of Jasper’s groan slides through me over and over and all this pent-up desire I feel for him needs to find a release.
I’ve masturbated before, but I’ve never done it picturing a particular man’s face. Never done it because I had to. Because I felt like I might explode if I didn’t.
And that’s just how I feel now.
Lifting my T-shirt and sliding my panties down, my hand finds my clit already wet with desire for him. Quickly spreading my legs, I rub small circles around myself over and over, applying more and more pressure with each pass. Sweet tension curls inside my belly. His face flashes before me. The way he looks at me like I’m the only one in the room. I think of how I like it when he looks at me like that. How my skin feels beneath his touch. How the stubble grows on his face as the day goes on.
Breathless, aching, body burning for release, I’m on the edge but can’t get over it. I find the need to go farther than this and I start to fuck myself with my fingers, something I’ve never done. Faster, and faster still. In and out. Circling my clit with my other hand. In and out. Circling my clit again. I picture him doing it. Him wanting to bring me to the brink and make me tip over.
Writhing now, my body burns with a fire that only an orgasm can douse.
His touch, I imagine it against my naked body. His rough hands on my skin, all over me. His wet tongue drawing a line down my neck, down my chest, and oh, yes, right there. Then I picture his hard cock in my hand, thick and long just like I remember seeing it. However, this time it’s not in his hand, but rather in mine and ready to plunge inside me. Like that, yes, just like that. My body tightens and tenses. He’s here with me. My hands are his. The thought makes my clit jump and spasm, and then finally a bolt of pure pleasure radiates through me as I dive into the darkness. Into the light. Into the abyss that is Jasper Storm.
I shake in silence, gasping, feeling boneless but nowhere near sated. Only he can do that for me. Sadly, this is something I already know.
Play with fire and you’ll get burned.
Still, I can’t help myself. I’ve had sex with only four men. Two of them were while I was in college. They were my age, nothing special. Sure, I felt a mild attraction to each of them in different ways. I’d called them boyfriends, but they were never quite true boyfriends. That’s when I scratched college boys off my list. The sex was mediocre at best anyway. Done quietly in dorm rooms while roommates slept. Nothing to write home about. Not that I had someone to tell anyway. My aunt would never understand. She’d loved one man her entire life and never wished for another.
The other two were slightly older men I’d met while they were staying on the island. The sex was better but not great. One was separated and the other divorced, or that’s what they told me anyway. They were both transients just looking for sexual companionship, and that worked for me, but they, too, left sooner rather than later. One to return to his wife; the other because he didn’t want to be tied down to one person. That’s when
I crossed older men off my list.
Young, single men didn’t come through the bed-and-breakfast very often. So I gave up. On men. Relationships. Love. After things sputtered out twice in college and two more times after that, male companionship wasn’t at the top of my list.
Remembering that, remembering how I seem to drive every man in my life away, I try to push Jasper aside.
Listen to Jake, I tell myself. He wasn’t lying.
Even if you get him, you’ll drive him away too—you’re too needy and it makes you unlovable.
With that sobering thought, I hop out of bed and struggle to start my day. To keep busy, I grab my laptop and sit on the couch with the list of things I know regarding the explosion.
Which is still very little.
When I first arrived in Detroit two months ago, it took some time to get the courage to go to the storage unit. When I opened it, I was overwhelmed: there were hundreds of boxes of files, some dated, others not. Laneworth Automotive had been in business nearly ten years before it burned down, and every piece of paper that passed through it appeared to be in that storage locker.
Work at The Detroit Scene had been demanding, so I hadn’t spent as much time going through the boxes as I would have liked.
Time no longer the issue, I begin searching for the names of people who investigated the plant explosion. I try not to look at my phone while I’m performing this tedious search. I try not to wonder why my phone is not ringing as I open file after file until I find what I’m looking for. It doesn’t take long before I’m lost in my work. Having jotted down the name of the fire marshal at the time, as well as who the DA and the police commissioner were, I go in search of finding where they are now. The Internet offers an avalanche of information and by noon I know the police commissioner of twenty years past has moved to California, but I’m unable to find anything further about him. I also know Harold Klein was the DA back then, but he has passed away. And finally I learn that the fire marshal recently retired and now lives in Florida, but has an unlisted phone number. A big fat zero is what I have.
Soon enough I find myself doing something I know I absolutely should not be doing—logging into Cole’s email. My email account at The Detroit Scene has been disabled but I’m still able to log in as him. He has yet to change his password. Probably doesn’t think someone with as naïve a skin as mine would ever do anything like that, or he simply just forgot.