Her body is at my mercy, and my cock strains against my pants at the sight. My body is in agony, as I fuck her with my fingers imagining it’s my dick.
“Don't stop,” she cries. “I’m right there.”
Gripping my forearms, she moans and whimpers as I find her special spot. Rubbing her clit with my thumb is the icing on the cake, and I feel her beginning to tighten around me as the pressure builds within her.
“Fuck.” I growl into the empty house, as her blissed-out body detonates before me.
Erratic breathing fills the space as she comes down from her high. I loosen the tight hold I have on her and watch her unfurl herself off me.
The distance comes the second we’re no longer touching. Unable to look at me, the mood shifts and the heat between us evaporates instantly.
Not sure what to do with her own thoughts she runs from me. Taking away the confident, seductive vixen she was, she leaves me standing there in the middle of her house, with nothing but a reminder that she's always going to be fragile.
Splintered. Fractured. Cracked.
All I want to do is fix her, but after tonight I realise, all I’ll ever know how to do is break her.
10
Sasha
I rush toward my bedroom, leaving him, and whatever it is that just happened between us, behind me. It’s supposed to feel wrong, but nothing about it did, and that’s a pill I don’t even want to try and swallow.
I use all my strength to stop the tears of confusion from spilling, just a few more steps and I’ll be out of his sight.
Disappearing into my bedroom, I head to my ensuite for added distance. As the door clicks, my legs weaken and my body slides down until I land on my arse with a thud. The thick wood holds my body, as I sink into a puddle of panic.
Not only is Jay Evans alone in my living room, but his big, masculine hands were all over my body. In my body. His mouth, his tongue, every skilled part of him bringing me to orgasm.
It’s like I’ve travelled back in time, where the people are the same, what we’re doing is the same, but I’m this version of myself. Misunderstood, broken, and lost, I’m the woman who has no idea what she wants. But after everything I’ve been through, I do know that when he touched me, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
A loud, continuous knock at my bedroom startles me. There’s no one else it could be, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to answer. The thought of him in my doorway after what we just did stokes a fire in me that I am too tempted to let burn.
He needs to leave.
I want him to stay.
I shouldn’t take this any further.
Just for tonight.
The back and forth in my mind is constant, my default setting returning. It’s all I ever do, and right now I’m so fucking sick of it. I wish I knew how to switch it off. I wish I knew how to just be present.
The pounding gets louder, and my heart takes on a frantic, matching rhythm.
Just talk to him, Sasha. He isn’t going to touch you unless you tell him to.
Picking myself up off the floor, I grip the door handle. Mentally coaching myself on how to deal with Jay. The slightest glimpse of my reflection stops me heading out. A contradiction to the conflict inside me, I look relaxed.
There are no bags under my eyes or worry lines on my face. My cheeks are pink, and my lips are still red and swollen from all the kissing. I’m glowing from the inside out, and I’m still reeling from the fact that Jay Evans was the one to light me up.
Quickly, I make my way to him, opening up the door enough that we’re standing face to face, but still leaving a significant distance between us.
His expression is nothing like the hungry, crazed man from earlier. He’s composed, and somewhat cautious. Like he’s approaching a wild animal, and he has no idea how it’s going to react. I hate that he has to be like that around me, but I’m aware I haven’t given him any other choice.
I trail down the rest of his dishevelled appearance and stop when I notice he’s holding a full glass of wine. I flick my gaze between his face and the drink. “What’s that?”
He shrugs, handing it over to me. “It looked like you might need it.”
Much to my dismay, he’s right. I take a soothing sip before thrusting the glass back in his face. “I don’t think I’m the only one.”
He raises his forearm, leaning it on the door jam for support before taking the wine from me. As he throws back the remaining liquid, his eyes implore more from me.
An understanding, or maybe some kind of explanation. Something to move past this awkward impasse. “I’m sorry,” I offer. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to say, but I do anyway.
His face is pained as he shakes his head. “I don’t want an apology.”
“I do—”
He cuts me off. “We’re going to do this your way.”
“What’s my way?”
Stepping into my not so subtly created bubble, he runs his knuckles down the side of my cheek. “You haven’t changed, Pretty Girl.”
Against my wishes, my head angles into his touch, and my lids fall at the softness. “Is that good or bad?”
“Neither.” He tucks an invisible strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re still the same girl, fighting those same insecurities. Letting me lead you one way, only to run the other after it’s done.” He tips my chin up, forcing me to open my eyes. “No matter how badly I want to fuck you, right now. I’m not that guy anymore.”
I sputter out my question, too focused on the lingering flutter between my legs. Too overwhelmed by how well this stranger can read me. “What guy?”
“The one that’s going to turn your personal battles into public wars. I’m not here to hurt you.”
I anxiously bite the inside of my cheek. “Then what are you here for?”
“I told you, I wanted to apologise.”
I didn’t like living through it the first time, so, I’m hesitant to do this with him. “I don’t want an apology, Jay.”
“You deserve it.”
“That’s irrelevant.” My voice gets shaky. “It was so long ago. I should be over it, and for whatever reason, I’m not, isn't your problem.” I pull away from him and slide my fingers underneath my eyes ensuring I interrupt the potential emotional outburst. “Guys use girls for sex all the time, I’m not the first or the last person it’ll ever happen to.”
“Sit down with me,” he orders, distracting me from the conversation. He hooks his fingers into mine and guides me to the floor.
Perplexed, I raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want us to stand for this conversation, and I don’t trust myself with you, on any piece of furniture.”
“So, we’re just going to sit on the floor?”
“Got any better ideas?”
I roll my eyes and do as he asks. We each sit on one side of the frame, facing one another, our legs splayed out horizontally in the opposite direction. It’s a little more casual, lightening the heavy mood this conversation seems to draw out.
“I’m not sorry it happened,” he says, starting the discussion back up again. “It may have started and ended as a game, but everything in between was real.”
“What changed?” I ask, certain I don’t want to know the answer.
“It wasn’t so black and white,” he offers as somewhat of a defence for his actions. “There was no other option for me.”
“Sorry, what?” I exclaim. “You’re telling me, there was no other option but for you to hurt me.”
“Sasha.” He places a hand on my shin, and I shake it off. “It wasn’t like that. There were other factors involved.”
“Of course there were,” I shout, throwing my arms up in the air, flames of fury bursting on my cheeks. “It was never about you and me. I should’ve never forgotten the reason we teamed up in the first place.” As if the universe scheduled this to be the theme of my life, I huff in defeat. “It was always going to be about Jagger and He
ndrix.”
Their names have never riled me up as much as they have in the last few weeks. My choice to put their happiness over mine, proving to be the most costly decision I've ever made.
“You knew that from the beginning.” He raises his voice defensively. “And don't act like you didn't use me for your own motives.”
“I didn’t use you to piss them off,” I correct. “I used you to distract me.”
“And I did that,” he smirks arrogantly. “I did that fucking well.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out.
“Don’t,” he warns, body stiff, his jaw clenching.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t push me to remind you just how much you loved my distractions.”
I bite back my retort, because anything I say is going to have me straddling him, and him angry fucking me. But since we’re halfway through this conversation, I’m now determined to get to the end of it.
“Cat got your tongue, Pretty Girl?” he teases, acknowledging my restraint.
“Why don’t you finish what you started, so you can go home.”
Unexpectedly, his eyes twinkle at my sass, undeterred by my response. “Fine. I want to know what hurt you the most?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not like you felt anything for me.”
The statement comes out as a challenge, one I won’t accept. He’s trying to pull apart our time together, peeling off each layer and revealing the very thing I hoped to never have to admit.
I know we both felt something for one another. Whether it was young infatuation, curiosity, or the start of something that could’ve been; it was there. But considering our circumstances, it was deservedly left to wilt before it could ever begin to flourish.
Not knowing how to navigate my answer, I give him half-truths. “It wasn’t about what I did or did not feel for you.” Sadness creeps into my voice as I clarify. “It was how that one action changed everything.”
“So, which one is it? You’re upset it happened? Or you’re upset over the consequences?”
“Does it matter? They're the same thing?”
“Not even close,” he says, dismissively. “I may have taken something I knew I didn’t deserve, but anything that happened after, besides those fuckwit friends of yours knowing I held the upper hand, wasn’t my fault.”
I wince at his harsh tone, and I don't know if it's because his insult offended me or because he’s telling the truth.
“So my feelings didn’t matter?”
“If they didn't matter, I wouldn't be here trying to apologise for hurting them.” I still at his honesty, as he looks at me pensively deciding whether to continue. He exhales loudly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “How did you think it would end, Sasha?” He leans as far forward as his body allows, holding my watery gaze. “You were always going to go back to them. I just made it happen sooner.”
Feeling every bit my insecure self, I push him for more, something to make the uncertainty go away. “Don’t act like you wanted me.”
“Wanted you? Pretty Girl, any more and I would’ve let myself fall in love with you.”
I drop my chin to my chest, refusing to let him see the impact of his confession. It’s impossible to process, even more impossible to believe.
“You’re a liar,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
The sounds of someone shuffling hint that he’s no longer sitting on the floor. A body pressing up to my side confirms my suspicions.
Too big for the small space, our backs try and share the narrow piece of wood. It’s uncomfortable, but not enough to move. His need to be close reflecting that of my own.
“It would’ve never worked between us.”
“You blew me off like I was nothing more than dirt on your shoe.” I keep my head down, and my eyes trained on the way our legs lay side by side. I can’t look at him. Not when I’m about to voice how deep my self-doubt runs. “I thought we were friends. I told you how worthless I felt in comparison to Hendrix, and you used it against me.” My voice is tearful as I rub the heel of my hand over my sore chest. “If the broken girl wasn't enough for the broken boy, how could she ever be of worth to someone else?”
The skewed way that I see myself, sits heavy between us. I've carried this heartache into every piece of adulthood, and it has left nothing unscathed.
“You were going to break my heart,” he whispers, unexpectedly.
With tears I finally let run free, I turn to him. His crystal blue eyes look as desolate as this situation feels.
“So, that was a good enough reason to hurt me first?”
“No.” Reaching for my hand, he curls his around mine. His gaze holds my attention, conviction coating every word. “It was a good enough reason to save myself.”
It’s a revelation that resonates with me. Too well.
It’s been one of the few recurring instigators of my many bad decisions. While it almost always appears selfish to anyone who isn’t in my head, it often feels like a necessity in mine. A survival mechanism. A way to get through the endless cycle of undeservingness.
People continuously disregard your teenage years. Say you're too young for it to matter, that it doesn't affect your future, and tell you that you can always come back from your mistakes. Sitting here with bleeding hearts, we’re both living proof that it’s a naive way of thinking.
Anyone who grew up emotionally unmarked will never know how lucky they are to never feel the sting of life so early. To never have to chase your tail, or beg for redemption. That’s a luxury I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing.
We all have scars that take on a life of their own. Their own memories, their own reminders and a distinct type of pain that can take you back to that very moment in one single breath.
As Jay continues to look at me with such earnest emotion, and we reopen old wounds together, I realise there’s only one way I want to move on from this.
Bringing our hands to my mouth, I surprise him and kiss each of his fingers.
Not wanting to be without even the simplest touch, I keep hold of him, as I rise to my knees.
As gracefully as I can, I hook one leg over his, until I'm kneeling in front of him.
He cranes his neck up to look at me, and I catch his gaze.
With two hands, I begin to undo the buttons on his shirt. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, as he watches me. His eyes are liquid desire as I push his shirt off his shoulders.
Gripping the bottom of my tank, I lift it over my head and throw it to the side.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I bend one arm behind my back to unclip my bra, while the other sits across my chest.
“You’re apologising,” I tell him as the black straps loosen and drape down my arms. I release my hold on the material, exposing myself to him completely “And I’m forgiving you.”
Eager hands cup each breast, his thumbs skimming my already hardened nipples. “Are you sure, Pretty Girl?”
The question barely comes out, almost like he’s afraid of the answer. Nodding, I hold on to his broad shoulders for support and lower my mouth to his, my intentions clear.
Gripping the back of my neck, he pulls me to him, my time in control short-lived. Our mouths collide in a rush of longing and fervour, all the words we’ve shared, too much, and yet not enough.
He kneads my breast before his mouth leaves mine bereft and feasts on the other one. He alternates between bites that sting and licks that soothe, the fusion of sensations travel straight to the pit of my stomach and in between my legs.
He stops his ministrations and brings my head back down to his. His eyes are wild, the eye of the storm brewing inside them. “I’m not fucking you in a doorway,” he growls. “If this is the only time I get to have you, I need every inch of you naked and spread out.”
I ignore the spasm in my chest at the mention of my body never feeling his near me again, and choose to get lost in this moment instead.
&
nbsp; “Is that so?” I quip.
“Get yourself on that fucking bed, and I'll show you.”
I kiss him before adhering to his request. Slow and wet, my tongue tangles with his until the need for more is all consuming.
With locked lips we fumble, desperation spurring us on. When he’s on his feet, he wraps his arms around my stomach and carries me, his steps getting us to where we need to be quicker.
His feet come to a halt as we reach the bed. With one last quick peck, he playfully throws me on the mattress, and I quickly wrap my arm around my chest.
“Don’t cover them,” he says disappointedly. “I wanted to see them bounce.”
Smirking, I move my hand and lean back on my elbows; appreciating my view as much as he does his.
He was always good looking. The untouchable bad boy that all the girls wanted to take hold of, make him theirs, and change him forever.
Now, he stands too big for my space. His body a formidable presence with every muscle sculpted like a Greek god. Every dip and contour, perfectly carved from stone, waiting to be traced by my tongue.
My eyes dance down his stomach, following the light smatter of hair that makes its way into his pants. The outline of his hard dick, pressed against his slacks has me rubbing my legs together aching for some friction.
“You done looking?” he interrupts with a raised brow.
I flick my gaze to his and bite the corner of my mouth. “You sure grew up.”
He chuckles. “Like what you see?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “It could be worse.”
“Is that fucking so?” His grin is wide, and the predator is back. Each of his movements feel slow, as both his knees hit the mattress and his hands land on either side of my face. His naked chest arches above me, a titanium necklace with an “L” shaped pendant hangs between us. “Want me to show you just how much I grew up?”
Our eyes lock as I caress the piece of jewellery between my fingers, another reminder of how much this man has changed, and how much I want to know why.
Delicately I finger the chain and pull him toward me as I whisper. “Please.”
Rectify (A Redemption Novel Book 3) Page 11