He was getting close; I could tell. His breathing became more ragged and his tempo uneven. He was close and then it would be done and I would have done something stupid and unpleasant and I’d embrace how shitty it made me feel.
But the success of my plan depended on my complete lack of enjoyment. And even as JC plunged aggressively and without mercy, I couldn’t say there wasn’t any pleasure. Then he moved his hand from my hip and buried it in between us, finding my clit with ease. I nearly exploded from the first firm graze of his thumb.
Shit. No. That’s not what I wanted. No pleasure. Not for me.
I wriggled my hips back, trying to get away from the increasing pressure of his massage while still remaining joined by his cock, but his other arm gathered around my waist and pulled me closer. So I tried to push him away with my hand.
JC halted, mid-thrust, his expression saying that pausing was difficult for him, but he held still just the same. “I’m not doing this alone.” His voice was gritty and tight and while I didn’t want it to, it turned me on to see how affected he was. “So if you want me to keep going, you’re going to have to come with me.”
I’d wanted to feel pain. I’d wanted to feel dirty. I’d wanted to feel bad.
And JC refused to let me.
It scared me. Because the only thing worse than feeling nothing was feeling good. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve pleasure while my baby brother was hurting so bad.
JC must have seen the fear in my expression. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, echoing the words Norma had said to me earlier. “I’m going to make you feel good, and it’s going to be okay.”
Call it the magic power of the cock, but I actually believed him. I set my hands down on the counter next to me, curling my fingers around the edge.
JC recognized my act of surrender. “Good.” His praise was a balm. Confidently, without any trepidation, he resumed rubbing my clit. Expertly. With perfect pressure.
My belly tightened and I felt my orgasm begin to rise inside.
JC picked up his thrusting then, pounding into me with sharp jabs that were less frenzied than before but were deeper, more intense.
“I want to make you feel amazing, Gwen.” His thumb continued its play with my nub, and I edged closer and closer to the brink. “I want you to feel so good. Let yourself go, Gwen. Come with me. We’ll go together.”
I did then. I don’t know if I intended to or if I simply got caught up in the poetry of his words. But I let myself go.
The minute I did, my orgasm took over, crashing through me with violence. My whole body shook with tremors that shot down my spine, down my limbs. Tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes. I cried out so loud, I had to muffle myself in JC’s shoulder.
But the best part was the release. Not the physical part but the emotional part. The spiritual part. I felt like I was soaring. Or skydiving. Or, rather, I felt like what I imagined skydiving would feel like—thrilling and wonderful and free.
He joined me while I was still quivering. His fingers clawed into my waist as he shoved hard and long with a restrained groan.
Then we were still except for the rise and fall of our chests and his cock still twitching in me.
It took a few seconds for the rush to subside and the “after” to hit full force. Only I didn’t quite know what to do with this after. I’d had sex just for sex’s sake before, but not ever with a stranger. Also, never initiated by me and certainly never anywhere on the premises of my work. I didn’t know how to behave.
I also didn’t know how to feel. The soaring sensation had settled and now I felt much more like I was falling. And I wasn’t sure if it was a comforting falling, like the way you fall asleep, or a horrific falling, like the kind in nightmares. I’d wanted to feel but not like this. So even though I felt good, I felt shitty about feeling that way, which almost had me where I’d wanted to be originally, but not quite.
Also, now that the kissing and fucking were over, I had a feeling that JC would want to talk.
Well, not if I could help it.
I was the first to push away. I nudged him, and not even gently, until he got the hint and stepped back. I’d jumped off the counter and had retrieved my panties before he said, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“It wasn’t planned.” I stepped into my underwear and pulled them up, not caring that I was sticky, just wanting to get the “after” over with. Then I walked over to the small mirror above the sink and tried to do something to fix my hair. God, I hadn’t even realized he’d had his hands tangled in it. When had that happened?
“Gwen,” JC called behind me, but I didn’t turn. I didn’t meet his eyes in the reflection. “Hey, Gwen. Stop.”
His tone was insistent, and I wasn’t so much of a bitch that I could ignore him longer. I turned my head toward him.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jesus, I hated that question. I looked back at the mirror and returned an errant lock of hair to the correct side of my part and then turned around to find JC staring at me intently. Obviously my answer hadn’t been enough for him. But I didn’t have more, so I asked, “Are you okay?”
It came out harsher than I’d wanted it to. I didn’t apologize.
JC, as always, ignored my bitchiness and smiled. “I’m great. Fantastic, actually.” Then he frowned. “But I’m worried about you.”
“I said I’m fine.” I brushed past him to grab his jacket off the floor. I didn’t know why I did—there was plenty of room to go around him. I didn’t even need to get it for him. But it gave me something to do besides look in his eyes, and it gave me an excuse to touch him again, even if it was just in a rough pass-by.
I turned back and handed the jacket out to him. He was still looking at me, his gaze intense, his expression concerned. I had to give him something.
“I’m sorry.” It even sounded like I meant it. Which I did. A little.
He gestured between us. “About this? Don’t be.” He took the jacket from me and then gently grabbed me with his other hand. He traced a soft circle on the skin inside my wrist. “Please don’t be sorry, Gwen. This was nice. Don’t ruin it for yourself in the aftermath.”
I felt myself caving. I didn’t even know what I was caving to, but the walls I’d built years ago seemed to tremble and sway. I thought I might cry. Or laugh. Or maybe kiss JC again but not like before. Sweet this time. Slow.
Or maybe I wanted to slap him. Or slap myself. Or maybe I just didn’t know what I wanted, and for that brief moment, if JC was willing to tell me what it was, I was willing to let him be right.
I opened my mouth to say whatever I needed to say to make that happen when I heard my name being called from outside the kitchen.
JC stiffened, mirroring the tension I suddenly felt.
“Stay there,” I whispered. I crossed to the door, and after making sure JC wasn’t in the sight line, opened it slightly. “Yeah, Matt. I’m in here. Do you need me?”
He was behind the bar filling up his sports bottle with Coca-Cola. “Wanted to tell you everything’s done.” As he waited for his drink to fill, he ran a hand over his bald head, something he did often. “I got everything locked up. The staff’s all gone. Just need your signatures on the paperwork and we can take off.”
Even though he probably wouldn’t fire me for getting it on in the kitchen with a customer, it didn’t seem like something Matt should know. And if he knew I was with JC, I was sure he’d know we were getting it on.
I had to divert his attention. Forcing a smile, I said, “Okay. I’ll be right up to the office. I’m sweeping up some ice I dropped.” I shut the door and turned to JC, who was still peering at me with apprehension. “If you go out the front, the alarm will sound. The back door is there, on the other side of the kitchen.”
“Gwen—”
I didn’t let him say more. “Please, turn off the lights back there on your way out. I gotta go.”
I left without waiting for his answer, wonde
ring if Norma really was right about me not being as strong as I thought I was. If I were stronger, after all, I wouldn’t have run out like that. If I were stronger, I would have stayed.
Chapter Five
I woke up around two that afternoon.
It was early for me, but I’d gone to sleep early too, having passed out as soon as I’d gotten home. I hadn’t even managed to finish off more than a glass of Moscato—Norma’s favorite and the only thing in the apartment, though way too sweet for my tastes—before I’d sunk my head into my pillow and let the void swallow me whole. Perhaps that was best because I didn’t have a hangover now or even a headache.
In fact, I woke up feeling pretty damn good.
Not good as in I’d forgotten what was happening with Ben or what Norma had said to me about not being strong. But good as in I now felt like I had the energy to cope. It was amazing to see what a difference a good night’s—er, day’s—sleep could make.
Except, as I headed for the shower and felt the reminder of JC in my aching thighs, I wondered if maybe it wasn’t just a good sleep that had affected me. As the hot water poured over me and I washed between my legs, I was invaded with the memory of JC massaging my clit, rubbing me toward orgasm. The words he’d encouraged me with to get there.
And I’d been the one to jump him.
A wave of giddiness fell over me. And I started to laugh.
Like, hardcore laugh. Like, make-me-bend-over laugh. “I had to put my hand up against the tile to keep me from falling over” kind of laugh.
In the midst of my fit, it occurred to me that maybe I had finally gone mad, but I quickly dismissed it and let myself go in this emotion as fully as I’d let myself go when I’d climaxed that morning. The laughing made sense, actually. I’d done a completely out of character thing when I’d banged JC in the kitchen. And instead of feeling shitty as I expected, or hoped, rather, I felt renewed. And alive. And just plain good.
It was so unexpected, it became funny. Also, maybe I was going a little bit mad.
Whether I’d lost it or not, I had an unmistakable spring in my step as I dried off. I was still wrapped in a towel with my blonde hair bundled in another on top of my head, when the phone rang. Hoping it was news about Ben, I ran to it.
After glancing at the caller ID, I answered. “Norma? You made it there? How is he?”
“Yes, I made it here. I landed a couple of hours ago and came straight to the hospital.” In the background, I heard an overhead intercom paging a Dr. So and So. Then heels on a hard floor—probably Norma’s. I could picture her pacing as she talked to me on her cell. “Did I wake you up?”
“No, I was awake. And I wouldn’t have cared anyway. How. Is. He?” That she hadn’t answered that yet worried me.
“He’s good.” She sighed, which did nothing to ease the tension she was carrying. Her voice was still tight and strained. “I’m sorry. I should have led with that. He’s better than good, actually. Physically, anyway. They got to him in time and his liver doesn’t show any signs of long-term damage.”
“That’s great!” I was so relieved that I thought I might start laughing again. The road to emotional repair was going to be hard enough for him. At least he wouldn’t be dealing with health issues as well. “So what now? Is he checking out? Have you seen him?”
“He still doesn’t want to see me. But he knows I’m here. I wrote him a letter on the plane. I don’t know if it will make a difference or if he’ll even read it. We’ll see.”
I definitely had a different outlook than when she’d first called me that morning. This time, instead of being distraught that Ben didn’t want to see me, I was more concerned that he didn’t want to see Norma. “Ah, sissy, I’m so sorry.”
“Sissy. You haven’t called me that in years.” Finally, the stiffness of her tone loosened and took a hint of nostalgia.
“No, I haven’t.” When Norma had been my primary caretaker, it had felt right. An apt substitute for calling her mom, which in many ways, she really was to me. I could tell it pleased her now, and I was glad to be able to give her that comfort. “Maybe I should call you that more often.”
“That might be nice.” Her smile was evident through the receiver. “As long as you’re not meaning that I’m a coward.”
“Never.” I wanted to ask what her letter had said, but I knew it was probably private. So I asked the more important question. “What happens with Ben now?”
The softness she’d discovered disappeared and she returned to the harder no-nonsense version of herself. “They want to keep him until we can make arrangements to transfer him to an inpatient mental facility. His social worker has given me some leads, but I’m looking around to find the right place. It might be a couple of days.”
“I don’t say this often, Norma, but thank God Hudson Pierce pays you so fucking well.” There’d been times when I thought her paycheck was extravagant. Compared to how we’d grown up, it really was over-the-top. Not that I didn’t appreciate what she did for me. I also made sure I contributed as much as she’d let me. And I saved. A lot.
But right now I was nothing but grateful for her bank account. I knew it would get Ben the best care possible.
“Well, I’ll make sure Hudson is aware of your appreciation.”
“Yeah, I bet you will.” Maybe it wasn’t the right time to tease her about her boss fixation, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned her romantic feelings for him in a long time, and as a sister it was my duty to remind her that I knew. “In case you can’t tell, I’m waggling my eyebrows.”
Instead of getting embarrassed and gushy, she surprised me with her response. “You’re in a good mood. What’s that about?”
She was deflecting. But I was in a better mood than I should have been and with only one reasonable explanation. “I fucked a random guy in the kitchen at the club. It did wonders for my attitude.”
“You should do that more often. It’s helped.” Her tone said she thought I was joking.
Which was fine. I didn’t really know how I’d explain my encounter with JC if she pressed. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Anyway.” I’d wandered from the kitchen as we talked and now, in the living room, I flopped on the couch and hugged my knees to my chest before returning to the serious talk. “Norma, will Ben even go into a facility?”
“I think he will. It’s completely voluntary, but his social worker says it was his idea.”
That was a good sign. I picked at the polish on my toenail as I considered the situation. “Maybe that’s what all of this was? A way for him to tell you that he needed more in-depth care.” It was hard for me to accept that Ben didn’t want to live anymore, and I’d grasp onto any other option if given to me.
I knew Norma felt the same. “I hope so,” she said. “Personally I think he doesn’t want to deal with Dad’s release. He obviously feels guilty about putting him behind bars in the first place—”
“Which he shouldn’t. Dad was hurting him.” He’d hurt us too, but not nearly as badly as he’d hurt Ben.
And I’d known Ben felt that way. He wouldn’t have run so far away if he didn’t. It was probably why he was so much more scarred by our abusive childhood than Norma and me. Because though we’d all been hit, he’d essentially been the one to finally put him behind bars.
“It’s not that simple to say what Ben should or shouldn’t feel,” Norma said. “He did the right thing, yes. But it’s natural that he feels responsible. And I’m sure that he’s worried that Dad will come after him now. I assured him in the letter that the parole terms won’t let him leave the state. I’ll make sure whatever facility we check him into will be secure, and I’ll hire a bodyguard when he gets out if that’s what he needs to feel better.”
“You told him all that in the letter?”
“Yeah.”
It was overwhelmingly reassuring to discover the lengths Norma would go to for Ben. I knew she’d do the same for me. She loved us wholly. She cared for us in ways tha
t our father never did and our mother never could. She tried harder than she needed to make up for them. Often, I worried who was making it up to her.
Today, I tried to be the one who was her comfort. “He’ll read it, Norma. It will help. And when he does, I bet he’ll even want to see you.”
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat, and like I always knew with Norma, I could sense she was about to say something I didn’t want to hear. “Gwen, I know you were kidding about the guy in the kitchen, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea. You really need something to unwind you.”
And I was right—I didn’t want to hear it. It was bad enough when a stranger called me out on being uptight and I could deny it, or fuck him, as it turned out. When it was my sister, someone who knew me well, it was not as easily refutable.
My pleasant mood plummeted, and I was no longer concerned about consoling her. “I hadn’t realized my personality was so bothersome to you.”
“Don’t do that,” she scolded. “Don’t try to make it seem like I don’t love you just the way you are. You know that I do.” She softened now. “Your personality has never bothered me in the least. Your unhappiness, on the other hand, has. I always worry about Ben, but you should know I worry about you too. At least Ben knows that he needs an outlet. It might do you some good to find one as well.”
We hung up after that, and I immediately felt lonely. Again, I considered buying a ticket and going out to San Francisco just to be there with her. Just to be with someone.
But I didn’t want Norma more upset than she was. And she hadn’t told me the name of the hospital Ben was at, anyway. On purpose, I was sure.
So I stayed home. It was the first Tuesday evening in a long time that I’d spent alone, and that made me more restless than usual. I couldn’t find anything that would occupy my mind enough to settle down. No matter what I tried to do—reading, surfing Pinterest, cleaning—my thoughts kept returning to Ben and Norma and Dad.
I thought about JC, too. I guessed he was at the club while I was sitting on my ass watching Netflix, trying not to worry about my family or my own need for an outlet. I considered going to Eighty-Eighth. Considered finding something revealing in my closet, doing my hair and my makeup. I could show up in the Viper and take Norma’s advice—try to unwind.
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