by W Winters
“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 at 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 comman
ds, 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.
Wow doesn’t do it justice.
“The fireplace is real. It’s from a castle in Ireland,” he says as he walks to it on the other side of the room while my fingers trail down a set of old books with red covers. “Not like the glass one in the other room.”
“Fireplaces seem to be your thing,” I speak without really thinking about the words as my gaze drifts from one shelf to the next. “You like to read?” He nods. “And collect weapons?” I tilt my head at the knives on display. The bottoms of the blades have rust that extends to the handles.
“Yes,” he answers and reaches out to gently caress my hip as I lean against him. The more I touch him, the more he touches me. Tit for tat, like all things with us.
“Where’s your desk?” I ask, noting how it looks like a combination of a sitting room and office. “There should be a desk in here.” The room has a primitive air to it, dark and cavernous with a large rug on the floor and walls covered with shelves.
“My office is at the bar. Not here. This is just for me.” I lift my fingers from the books at his last comment until he adds, “And you, if you like it. You can come in here whenever you’d like.”
I can imagine listening to the crackles of the fire as I turn the pages of The Coverless
Book. “I think I’d enjoy that.”
“Good, let me show you the rest.”
Today is apparently the day Jase forces me to go on a tour. Between the gym, the cigar room and the billiard room, all three of which look entirely unused and are outfitted with as much dark polished wood as they are wealth, I’m not sure what Jase does as a hobby.
The only room he truly seems to enjoy is the office that’s not an office… and the fire room. Which I’ve already explored with him.
“I love that you call it a fire room,” I comment as we pass it, feeling my cheeks heat.
“What would you call it?” he questions and I change the subject before I find myself wanting to go inside of it – the wooden bench room - rather than hear him tell me more stories. It’s the intellectual side of him I need to feel safe. Although his touch is just as addictive.
“You said you didn’t used to use this gym,” I comment, nodding my head toward the last door we passed on the left. The equipment looks virtually brand new.
“I didn’t, but lately the other gym has… The women seem to like the main gym.”
“The women?” My eyebrow raises on its own.
“Chloe, Addison, Aria, they live in the estate with us. You’ll meet them soon, I think.”
I don’t anticipate the pressure that overwhelms me at the thought. As we walk down the hall toward the foyer which leads to the door separating this wing from the rest of the estate, I drag my fingertips along the wall. All the while thinking how close he must be to his brothers since they live together. Only a hall away.
“So they… they get how it is?” I ask him, watching my feet and wondering if they feel the same way as I do. “Chloe, Addison and…”
“And Aria. Yes. They grew up in this life. They aren’t like you.” I can’t explain why it hurts so much to hear him say it like that. Not like me.
“They’re your brothers’ girlfriends?” I’m quick to keep up the conversation and not let on how I’m feeling.
“No. Declan is single. He’s happy being on his own.”
“No one’s really happy being on their own.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud.