by Olivia Chase
I’m grinding on him, mindless of where we are. Just aching for his touch. I need his hands everywhere. I take one of his hands and press it boldly to my breast. His sigh as he squeezes me fills some empty part of my heart that’s been vacant for weeks. We resume kissing and touching, right here in the parking lot.
“Whoa,” he says, pulling his mouth back from me, and I realize my palm has slid down into his pants to cup his rock-hard dick. “This…this isn’t a good idea, sweetness. We need to stop.”
Shit. After all of this, he’s rejecting me. Embarrassment sweeps across my cheeks, making them burn. I mumble an apology and step away from him.
“Dammit, Red, you’re misunderstanding me. I can’t take advantage of you when you’re drunk.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say tightly. “You’re right. I should call my ride.”
He takes my wrist and tugs me to his car. “I’m taking you to my place. No arguments, Claire. You can sleep it off there. And in the morning, I’ll take you home. I gotta get up early, though.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a comment about how I thought thug life was a nighttime activity, but I swallow it back. Instead, I slide into his passenger side. The seat feels so comfy.
My eyes drift shut.
It feels like I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe, and it’s dark, like I’m swimming underwater and I need to get up to the surface. But somehow, no matter how much I try, I can’t break free of this blackness. Everything is happening in slow motion and I’m choking. Choking.
I want to scream.
And then, just as I feel like I’m going to die alone in this darkness, I claw my way to consciousness and wake up, breathing heavily, nearly screaming. But I bite back the shriek and sit up in bed, realizing that I must’ve been having a nightmare.
I glance down and see that I still have on my shirt and bra, but I can tell my legs are naked.
Everything comes flooding back to me. I got hammered, and made a fool of myself.
I must have passed out in his car, and Jamison brought me to his room. Took off my jeans and tucked me into bed.
My heart jumps into my throat and I try to swallow. Too many emotions are flying at me right now. I don’t know what to think, how to feel.
We kissed in the parking lot. A sexy, heated kiss, and then I groped his dick and he shut it down. God, I can’t believe I did that. Totally mortifying. How desperate could I be?
Jamison’s voice is low and throaty in the semi-darkness. “You okay, Red?” He sits up on one elbow, just inches away from me in the bed.
I wipe a hand over my face and chuckle. “Sort of, all things considered.”
“You sick?”
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. It hurts having him this close, having him near and feeling like I’ve made such a fool of myself.
“Come lay back down next to me,” Jamison says in a soft voice. “It’s still so early, the sun’s not even up yet.” His hand touches my arm and gently pulls me down next to him.
His warmth feels so good that I shiver, and then he’s sliding his strong, muscular body against me and pulling me into his embrace.
It’s like coming home, and all of the tension immediately leaves me. I sigh, as his breath hits the back of my neck.
My voice is tight as I speak in the darkness. “I’m sorry I got drunk and forced you to take care of me.”
Jamison laughs, and then his one hand caresses my belly as his other hand trails up my arm, giving me goose bumps. “Nobody forces me to do anything, Red. You know that.”
Hearing him say the nickname he gave me is almost like a physical pain, because I want this so badly and yet I know that Jamison and I couldn’t be more wrong for each other.
But his voice, his body—I need it.
I need him.
I feel him pressing up against me from behind as he holds me close, and he’s hard—so hard. My center clutches and I feel my walls tightening deep between my legs at the thought of what I want from him right now.
What I need from him right now. “I’ve missed this,” I say, my voice barely audible.
But Jamison hears me, because his hot lips brush the back of my neck and then he’s speaking against my earlobe. “I’ve waited a long time to feel you again.”
“Don’t just say that, not unless you mean it.”
“You’re the one who told me you didn’t want to see me anymore, Red.”
My body stiffens. “I don’t think we should talk about that right now.”
His hand caresses my forearm, like a cowboy tending to a wild, frightened animal. “Relax, nobody has to talk about anything they don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to talk at all, actually.” I turn my head and our eyes meet, locking on each other.
He knows what I mean, and then his mouth is on mine, and I can feel him drinking me in as his tongue slides in and brushes the roof of my mouth.
My nipples harden and his hands are on my breasts as I spin to face him. God, this is what I need, and Jamison knows it too, and my hand slides down to his boxers, where his enormous cock is already poking out through the gap in his shorts. He growls in his throat as my fingers gently grasp his shaft.
“Fuck, Red,” he says, as he briefly stops kissing me.
“Exactly,” I say, stroking him.
His fingers tighten on the tips of my breasts, until there’s the sweet mix of pleasure and pain. I cry out, and then he’s pulling my bra down and his lips and tongue are all over my sensitive numbs.
I’m still stroking his cock, and it’s so hard, I know what he wants to do to me right now. I want the exact same thing.
My legs lock around his hips and my ankles hook together around his hard buttocks.
His body is so ripped, and his power is just barely restrained as he sucks my breasts, his hands pushing my flesh upward so that he can suck more intently.
The heat between us is building, building. He grinds his hips into mine, and I feel his cock making me wet as it digs into my panties, into the cleft there, my flesh parting to open for him.
But the fabric between us is infuriating.
And then, just like that, Jamison reaches down and rips my panties off in one quick thrust. The fabric tears and my slick mound is free, open, waiting.
“Look at that fucking beautiful cunt,” he whispers.
There’s just enough light coming from the bulb in the hall, exposing us to one another in the dimness of the early morning hours.
Before I know it, he’s sliding down and then his mouth is on my pussy, and he’s licking my dripping slit, his tongue so perfect, his mouth so hot and wet, sucking and licking. I buck my hips up, and he drinks deeply from me, my clit between is teeth as he nibbles and sucks until I cry out and my legs writhe in what is almost a painful agony of pleasure.
“I’m going to come,” I breathe out.
Jamison reaches for the drawer on the nightstand nearby and pulls out a condom, putting it on his throbbing dick. “Not without me,” he says, and then he’s pushing his dick into my slick cave, sliding deep into me until he locks into place.
I start coming immediately, as he slow fucks me, his hips grinding, and I can’t help it, but I want to cry. My body climaxes, every muscle tightens, every piece of me shattering and I can’t think of anything but him and how much I need Jamison.
His cock slides in deeper, somehow, as I finish my climax, and then he’s pumping faster.
“Come for me, baby,” I say to him.
His powerful hips are smashing into me, our bodies slick with sweat. His eyes stare into mine as he fucks my pussy deep and fast and hard—and it feels amazing.
“God damn, that sweet tight pussy is soaking me,” he says. “And I’m going to lose it, Red.”
“Lose it, fuck me. Fuck me and finish in me,” I tell him, grabbing his back and pulling him into me so I can feel everything.
“Oh, God,” he moans, and I feel him exploding, feel him shooting his load into the co
ndom, and spurting everything, his huge dick throbbing again and again as he finishes inside me, my walls closing in around him until we pulse together as one.
“Yes,” I breathe, holding him as I have another sudden orgasm myself. It’s so hot—everything about Jamison is sexy and he knows just how I need to be touched.
When he’s done, Jamison slides out and then lays on his back next to me, his arm under my neck, still holding me close as I lie on my side and watch him.
“That was amazing,” I tell him.
He nods, still breathing heavily as he looks up at the ceiling. “Beyond amazing,” he says, still short of breath. “Christ, Red, you do something to me…”
I trace my fingertips along his chest. “And you to me.”
“I’d do it all over again right now if I didn’t need to get some much needed shuteye. Big day coming up. A lot to get done and I have to be awake for it.” He glances at me, as if watching for my reaction.
I don’t give him any.
But inside, my stomach drops as if it’s an elevator with the cables cut, hurtling downward. Just the mention of Jamison’s “big day” makes me feel nauseous.
I can only imagine what his day entails. The people whose homes he shows up at, demanding things—what, protection money? Drugs? God only knows.
And does he beat them up if they refuse him?
I want to forget the deeper issues we face, because Jamison has me under his spell. The way he touches me, holds me, talks to me—I love all of it.
But nothing can change the basic facts about who we are.
Who he really is when we’re not together.
Jamison’s eyes close as he pulls me towards him, until my face is nestled into the crook of his neck. He murmurs something unintelligible, and then his breathing becomes steady and slow and I realize he’s asleep.
It feels both amazing and horrible to be next to him right now.
My body is drawn to his, it’s a chemical reaction that I’m powerless to resist. The very smell of him…
I can feel my nipples tighten again, my sex contracting as I remember how he felt thrusting inside and filling me up.
The way he looks at me, the words he says make me feel so real and so seen and understood.
But then I remember the day I met him, what he was doing at Outlaws.
Fighting.
And the men in the pickup truck the other day, coming to pay him revenge for his actions against them. The way they looked at me, like they could hurt me just for being with a man like him.
Knowing that this is who Jamison really is, and knowing that I would be giving up the deepest part of myself if I stayed with a man who lives like that.
And then, as if our lovemaking never even happened, all of my happiness and bliss dries up and disappears. Gone. I’m left lying in bed, awake, while he sleeps soundly next to me, not realizing that tears are pouring down my cheeks.
I can’t do this.
I can’t stay here and pretend we have a future. I just can’t. But I also don’t want to leave him just yet. So I lay cuddled into him, relishing these last moments together, knowing that we’ll never have them again.
I must have dozed off a bit. But I wake up when the sun starts to break through the window in his bedroom, and I know it’s time to leave. He’ll be getting up soon and I can’t face him.
Knowing that this thing between us can’t ever happen again. I was drunk and I made a mistake…
Of course, I wasn’t drunk when we made love a couple of hours ago, but still…I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, either.
A soft sigh from the bed beside me makes me stiffen. Jamison is still asleep, the covers bunched at his lower waist, his sexy, naked torso on display, one arm flung up over his head. God, he’s so gorgeous it’s painful.
I need to get out of here.
I crawl out of bed and slide into my jeans, then find my sandals and slip them on. Jamison’s heavy into sleep, his breathing steady. I find my purse on a chair against the wall and then crack the door open and head down the stairs.
There’s a soft light on in the kitchen. Using the light, I fumble for my cell phone and request an Uber ride take me home. The ride should arrive within ten minutes. I’ll just wait outside.
“Ah, the tiptoe of shame,” a quiet voice says from the kitchen table. I glance over—must be one of Jamison’s brothers. He shoots me a wink. “We’ve all been there.”
A small heat flushes over my cheeks. I swallow and dart past him through the front door. The whole time I stand in front of his house, I wait with baited breath to see if Jamison will come rushing out to yell at me for leaving like this.
Like a total coward.
Should I text him? Something about this makes my stomach sick. He did take care of me last night when I was drunk, after all. And we were together, making love, just hours ago.
I grab my phone and bang out a quick message to him. I’m sorry, but I had to go. This was a mistake.
My ride pulls up. I hop in, shut my phone off, and ride back to my apartment.
There isn’t enough coffee in the world to get me through today. My hangover is powerful enough so that it physically hurt to get out of bed this morning. Didn’t help that I slept shitty last night, plagued with thoughts of Jamison.
I haven’t looked at my phone yet. I’m nervous to see if he texted me back. I’m also nervous to see if he didn’t. I can’t believe that I allowed myself to fall back into this cycle with Jamison Beckett. So shameful and short-sighted and reckless.
But when I was with him, all that pent-up need I’ve been suppressing came right out.
I type up notes from an interview I did with a client yesterday. Hell, even staring at the computer screen makes my head hurt. I’m a mess.
“Claire, you look ill,” George declares as he stands in front of my desk, sipping from his Thermos.
I give him a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. “Sure you are.” He pauses. “That exam thing still bothering you?”
I nod, honest this time. “The worst part is how disappointed I am in myself. It was stupid.” I haven’t been able to muster the energy to continue studying, knowing it’s months and months away.
“Come into my office, Claire.” With that, George spins on his heels and walks away.
My stomach lurches. Am I in trouble? I know I look like hell, but I’m here. That has to count for something. And surely he won’t fire me over not taking the bar—he could have done it any time before now.
I stand in front of his desk, hands in front of me, fingers twisted together. George is sitting in his seat, scrutinizing me.
Then he leans down into his drawer and pulls out an envelope.
My heart leaps into my throat. “Is that…a termination letter?” God, I thought I’ve been doing good here. I work my ass off.
“What?” he says, looking confused. “Just open it.” He thrusts it toward me.
I force my fingers to steady as I open the envelope. Inside is a check made out to me. The memo line says “bonus and retrograde pay raise.”
It’s several thousand dollars.
I look up at him, speechless.
“You’re one hell of an employee, Claire. You’ve increased my business without complaint and you work your ass off. I’m giving you a raise. And if you decide you want to stay in Rock Bridge once you pass the bar, I’d like to give you a promotion to associate attorney. I’d be lucky to have you.”
I can’t seem to breathe. I’m shocked. “Oh wow, George. I… Thank you.” Tears come to my eyes, the best kind, the happy kind. I squeeze the envelope in my shaking hand. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
He nods. “And take the rest of the day off. You look like you need about twelve hours of solid sleep. All these weekend hours might be catching up to you. Be back here tomorrow morning, okay?”
Guilt floods me. I’ve griped about my job, secretly laughed at how he dresses. But George has treated me fairl
y, and now he wants me to stay on with him. I need to stop viewing him so negatively when he’s done so much for me. “Thank you,” I say on a soft breath. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning bright and early.”
I gather my purse and drive home. Strip off my shoes and clothes. Pop a couple of Tylenol. Crawl into bed and, keeping the envelope on the bedside table beside me, I slip into a much-needed sleep.
Jamison
I pause in my work and wipe my brow, studying the rows of brick I’m laying. We’re doing façade work for our local hospital—our company won the bid, so we’re getting lots of solid hours in to replace two full sides of the hospital, plus make repairs to another side, in addition to waterproofing and sealing all the windows.
It’s fucking exhausting. I’ve come home every night this week and collapsed on the bed after work, too tired to move for a good half hour.
Exhausting, but surprisingly satisfying. I can see real progress being made in the restoration. Our foreman is pleased with our work, and the project manager has been stopping by daily and offering compliments on our clean masonry.
“I need a fuckin’ smoke break,” Len, one of my coworkers, declares in a husky tone. He’s a tall and thick bald guy with darkly tanned skin, no doubt from years of construction work. “I’m sweating like a damn pig.”
“That’s just your balls, Len,” another guy, Dan, teases.
We all burst into laughter.
Len shoots Dan a mock glare and flips him the bird. “You wish you had my big sweaty balls instead of those two little acorns you got in your drawers, brother.”
“Your mother didn’t complain about the size of my balls last night,” Dan retorts.
I smooth down the front of the mortar for the row of brick we just laid and chuckle as the two men banter back and forth behind me. I’ve been employed with the construction firm for almost a month now, getting up at the ass crack of dawn and working with my hands. Turns out I’m pretty fucking good at it. I have an eye for detail and a steady hand for the work.