by Lynn Lorenz
Edward wanted to be pounded. Wanted to be handled.
“Harder.”
Jack picked up the pace, his breath coming fast and harsh. Edward’s cock came to life. Amazing. He couldn’t believe it. As if he were sixteen again and so randy that he would get hard just thinking about dicks.
Jack sat back and pulled out of him. The look on his face had changed from concentration to something wild, dangerous and uncontrolled.
Oh yes.
With a growl unlike anything Edward had ever heard, Jack grabbed Edward and flipped him over onto his stomach. Grabbing him by the hips, fingers digging into Edward’s flesh, Jack dragged him up onto his knees. It was rough and harsh and felt just like when Jack had thrown him against his office door.
He was so fucking turned on. His cock stiffened with the handling, the wanting…
“Let go, Jack. Do what you want to do to me.”
Jack’s intake of breath filled the room. “You’re so impetuous, baby. So wild. You need…to be tamed.”
“Then tame me.”
“You like it, don’t you? When I’m rough. When I let you know who’s the boss.” Jack’s eyes glittered, hungry, like a predator.
“Yes,” Edward croaked out. So close, so aroused, he lost the ability to speak again. Single syllables only, thank you.
“Who’s the boss?” Jack pressed his cock to Edward’s ass, slipped between his cheeks and found its home.
“You.”
Jack shoved in. Pain and pleasure blended as Edward cried out.
“Goddamn.” Jack gasped. “Oh…fuck.” Jack seemed to have lost speech also. Edward grinned. He’d done that—he’d reduced him to one-syllable words.
Jack gripped Edward’s hips, holding him in place as he pressed down and rammed Edward’s ass as he rode him. Jack pounded him, owning his ass and a low, steady moaning rumbled in Jack’s chest, bypassing his throat.
Edward rested his head in his folded arms and went along for the ride. And it was a fucking wild ride as Jack’s growls turned to grunts and his balls slapped Edward’s ass. He shafted Edward deep and fast, taking him higher and further than he’d ever gone. To know Jack felt safe enough with him to let go, to lose himself, to take what he wanted, turned Edward on like nothing else.
Edward reached down and stroked his dick. At this pace, Jack couldn’t last long. He’d done so much to Edward, Jack had to be ready to unload, and Edward wanted to come with Jack. Wanted Jack to feel him come around Jack’s cock.
“Fuck! God. Yes!” Jack leaned over Edward burying his face in the back of Edward’s neck. Edward and Jack were sealed together, with sweat as their glue. Jack pumped his hips, jerked, first out of sync, then in rhythm, faltering—then in a final burst of rapid fire thrusts, Jack groaned. Stiffened.
Edward’s balls drew up, he raced his hand over his cock and he felt the warm flood of cum as Jack emptied inside the condom. Edward flew over the edge, joining him.
“Christ.” Jack shuddered, clutching Edward, his head working from side to side against the back of Edward’s neck, soft, sweet lips brushing his hair. Edward slid flat on the bed, carrying Jack on his back. Jack slid to the side but didn’t let go.
He didn’t let go.
Edward fought to stay steady, not to succumb to the feelings that rocked him, that almost pushed those three damning words from his lips.
Then Jack pulled Edward to his chest, his face still at Edward’s neck, his hand making a lazy circle on Edward’s skin
And for a glorious moment, Edward felt treasured. Loved.
He sighed.
In the morning, after the regret set in and the lust wore off, Jack would leave. He knew it because Jack had lost control with him. Had taken chances he’d never in a million years take, like kissing him in his office or storming off because he’d seen Sammi kiss Edward or coming to the motel to see him.
And Edward knew that for Jack, that made Edward dangerous.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Unable to sleep, Edward watched Jack. Jack’s face and body had lost all the tightness, the wariness, the tense struggle for control that Edward now recognized was the man’s state when awake. He’d hoped that for a short time he’d made Jack happy and relaxed, because Edward never expected Jack to fall in love. Want him, sure. Love him, no.
Edward had been in love too many times to count, but none of the men he’d fallen for had ever loved him back. And if a bunch of bad boys and twinks hadn’t loved him, what made him think a remarkable man like Jack Whittaker would?
No. Jack would leave and never look back, like everyone else.
Edward had known that going into this and for his own good, for once in his life, Edward would do the smart thing. There could be no future with Jack. None.
Edward craned his neck at the clock on the nightstand. Four-thirty.
“Jack. Wake up. You need to leave.” Edward didn’t trust himself to touch Jack. One touch wouldn’t be enough. It would just lead to others and they’d lead to fucking and Edward just couldn’t do more without losing what was left of his heart to Jack.
Jack’s eyes fluttered as he focused on Edward. Edward braced for the realization and regret to show in Jack’s face.
Jack smiled, reached for him and pulled him close.
Why did Jack have to do that? Why couldn’t he have just let his regret show? Edward closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of Jack’s body next to his. It was foolish and he knew it.
“You have to leave.”
Jack groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed, reaching for his jeans.
“Can I see you again?” Jack didn’t face him, just stood and pulled his pants up.
“I’m free for dinner tonight,” Edward quipped.
Jack froze, then continued working his buttons. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Because you’ve got another date, or because you don’t want to be seen with me?” Edward had to push, unable to do anything else or be anything else. He wouldn’t know how or where to start.
“I’m the chief of police, baby.” Jack sighed, as if he were explaining something to a small child. Edward pushed himself up against the headboard, surprised at his sudden anger.
“You can fuck me, but you can’t have dinner with me?”
“I want to see you again, but here.” Jack slipped on his shirt then buttoned it.
“What for, Jack? What’s in it for me?” Besides the phenomenal sex? Oh, sure, there would be the heartbreak, the self-flagellation, the knowledge that Edward hadn’t been enough for yet another man.
Jack shrugged, sat and pulled on his boots. “I have some vacation time coming. I was thinking I could take a trip to Atlanta.” Jack turned at last and faced Edward, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Edward sat with his arms crossed, to keep from reaching for Jack. It was a tempting offer, if sex were all he wanted. He felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. A motel outside of Spring Lake or Atlanta—it was just geography.
He shook his head. “Where would that leave me, Jack? Living for those two weeks a year when you showed up, then spending the other fifty weeks getting over you, only to do it all again the next year. And then what happens when you can’t come or eventually don’t show up?” Edward sighed.
“What do you want from me?” Jack fisted his hands and avoided Edward’s gaze.
“I want to be with a man who loves me, who isn’t embarrassed to be with me.”
“I’m not embar—”
“Don’t lie to me or yourself.” For the first time in his life, Edward was going to be smart, even if it broke his heart. “I want the fairy tale. I want what Brian and Rush have, what Sammi and Mitchell have. I want forever.”
“Edward, I—”
“Can’t give that to me. I know. You’re the chief of police. Respected by the good people of Spring Lake. You can’t go traipsing around town with a fag like me.” Edward was so numb he couldn’t feel his toes. Bitter and numb—not a pretty combination.
�
��Edward.”
“Shut up, Jack. Don’t say anything else.” Edward closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself. “Just go.” If Jack didn’t leave right now, Edward would give in, and he couldn’t do that. For once in his life, Edward wanted someone to beg him to stay, to beg Edward to be with him, to beg Edward to love him.
Jack went to the door, turned back as if to say something, then opened it and left.
Edward stared for a long time at where Jack had been.
Woof.
He got out of bed and let Winston out of the bathroom. The little bulldog jumped up on Edward’s legs, trying to climb up.
“Sorry, boy. I forgot about you.” Kneeling, he pulled the dog into his arms. Winston gave him a lick on the chin.
“Jack’s gone,” he whispered in Winston’s ear.
Woof.
“I know. I’ll miss him too.” He stood, went to the dresser and pulled out his sweats. Going back to bed with the sheets smelling like Jack, male sweat and their mingled cum would be too much.
“It’s for the best, you know. It would never have worked. I’d have just been hurt again.” He dressed and grabbed Winston’s leash. “A quick walk, and then I’m going for a long run.”
Without another look at the bed, Edward snapped the lead on and they left the room. It was still dark, but the lights from the parking lot illuminated the grassy area.
He’d drive to Meemaw’s, then go for a run from there. Then he’d take care of what he’d come here for.
If it went well, he’d be on his way back to Atlanta by Saturday.
* * * *
Jack pulled into his drive, parked, got out and went inside. He stood in the hall, unsure of which way to go, what to do or what he wanted.
A week ago, he’d known just what he’d wanted from life. He’d have told anyone who asked that he was happy. He had it all, was content with his lot, had met all his goals and was living the dream.
He looked around the empty, darkened house. In the kitchen, frozen dinners for one waited to hit the microwave. In the living room, no arguing over the remote or which movie to watch. In the bedroom, he had the bed all to himself.
Oh, yeah. I’m living the life.
How did he think it would end with Edward? Did he really think he could fuck him once, or even twice, and not lose his heart? Not realize that Edward was the best thing he’d ever seen?
Edward probably hated him and he had every right. Jack’s need for control, his fear of embarrassment, of being shamed and ridiculed, had ruined the most beautiful thing that had come into his life in a long time.
He started down the hall. He needed a shower to wash away the memory of what he’d done with Edward. Of how free he’d felt, of letting go and taking what he’d so needed for so long but never allowed himself to accept. Edward had awakened feelings Jack had suppressed for years.
It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. It was over.
He stripped, tossed the clothes at the growing pile around the hamper and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature to hot. Then he stepped in and let the scalding water beat down on him, pour over his head, run down his face, into his mouth, over his chest, his back, his flanks, thighs, feet. Rinsing Edward off him.
Edward clung to him like guilt.
With the soap clutched in his hand, Jack scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed until his skin was red and raw, but Edward, as tenacious as his bulldog, wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t go away and leave him in peace. Just leave him the fuck alone.
Edward refused to go.
He could still feel Edward’s body, still smell the scent of Edward’s hair, the taste of his mouth, his sweet cock, his musky balls, his salty, bitter cum. They inundated Jack’s senses and all he could see, taste, feel was Edward.
Jack beat his fist against the tiles. Then his other fist hit the tiles. He gave a cry of frustration and hit the wall again to stop it. Another cry, another punch. Over and over until his cries were too hoarse to be heard, his shoulders and arms trembled, too heavy to lift, and his busted knuckles splattered blood on the tiles. The drops swirled on the floor and slipped down the drain.
* * * *
Edward jogged up to Olivia’s house. His dawn run had been good. This time he’d gone the opposite way to avoid the mechanics at Smith’s Garage. He’d pushed himself until the sweat poured down his face, nearly blinding him. His clothes were soaked and clung to his body.
It was still too early to bother his grandmother.
He got back into the car and drove to the motel, stopping at the fast-food place to pick up some breakfast. He ordered coffee and one of those meals with everything.
In his room, he tossed the food on the minuscule table, sat in one of the two chairs and opened the containers. Winston sat at his feet, his tongue lolling, then whined.
Edward couldn’t look at the bed.
Couldn’t look at the food either. It wouldn’t taste right and the smell of it didn’t sit right either. Going against his own rules for Winston’s diet, Edward picked up a sausage patty and dangled it over the edge of the table.
“Winston. Here, boy. Breakfast.” Winston took it from him and swallowed it whole. “Your table manners are awful. You need to chew, Winston.”
Winston ignored Edward’s suggestion with a loud smack of his lips and another whine.
Edward looked at the rest of the food, then with a sigh, he dropped the container onto the floor. Winston buried his face in the tray and feasted.
Edward went to the bathroom. A shower first, then go to see his grandmother and discuss his plan to heal her.
He undressed and ran the shower. After testing the water for warmth, he stepped into the cramped little tub and pulled the shower curtain closed. A tiny bar of soap sat in the holder. He’d forgotten to bring his good soap into the shower.
Too tired to care, he ripped the paper off the motel soap and washed the sweat off. His shampoo and conditioner sat on the edge of the tub. He pumped out a small amount and lathered, rinsed and repeated.
Finished, he got out, toweled off.
Wiped the fog from the mirror.
Stared at his reflection.
How could he look so normal? Look just the same as yesterday, when nothing now was the same? He was different now, changed, the new, improved Edward. Smarter. Braver. Able to leap heartbreak in a single bound.
No one could see the cracks in his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Somehow, Edward hadn’t been able to get around to talking to Olivia about healing her. They’d spent the day chatting and he’d driven her to the church for a board meeting, waiting in the car until she came out an hour later. They’d had lunch at some ladies’ lunch café that served soup, dainty sandwiches, tea and salads. He’d been the only male in the place. Olivia had introduced him to all the ladies and they’d been very friendly and welcoming.
They ran errands to the post office and brought a casserole she’d bought at the little café to a sick friend—then he took her to the local Wally World and followed her around as she wandered the store, greeting the workers and the other shoppers by name.
After cooking dinner together, they’d watched some television until she’d announced she was ready for bed. He’d gone back to the motel, taken Winston for a walk, then at last he faced his own bed.
Thank God, earlier that morning, the maid had come in and cleaned the room while he’d walked Winston. He’d begged clean sheets along with fresh towels from the young Hispanic woman.
Winston had jumped up on the bed and settled down in his spot. Edward drew back the covers, climbed between the cool, unscented sheets and only took two hours to decide to get up and take one of his sleeping pills.
Now it was Friday morning and he’d planned to leave town tomorrow. It was now or never, and never wasn’t an option, not as long as his mother was alive and kicking and in control of the purse strings.
Edward dressed, walked Winston, put down food and water and hung the Do
Not Disturb sign on the door. He got into the Miata and drove to Olivia’s.
He knocked on the door and waited. It was almost nine-thirty, so she should have been up by now. He rang the doorbell.
Still no answer.
Edward dug into his pocket and pulled out the key to her house. He opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Meemaw?”
The house was silent. Had he forgotten something? Did she have an appointment and arranged for someone else to take her?
He entered and shut the door. The front room was lit, the TV on. Some chatty blonde interviewed a second-rate movie star. Edward walked into the kitchen.
It was empty, clean, everything in place.
He trembled as he turned toward the hall and her bedroom.
“Meemaw? Olivia?” His call echoed in the empty house.
He pushed open her bedroom door. The bed had been made. Nothing out of place. It was strange. His gaze darted to the door to her bathroom.
He crossed the room and listened. No shower running.
He knocked. “Grandmother? It’s Edward.”
He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Olivia lay curled up on the floor, her face so white that he thought she was dead.
“Oh God,” he whispered as he knelt next to her. She was so small, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her belly.
Edward touched her cheek. “Meemaw?” he croaked. He’d been too late. Oh God, he’d blown his chance to heal her and she’d died. A sob broke from his chest.
“Edward.” It was a whisper and his heart thudded double time in his chest. She didn’t move and for a moment he thought he’d only imagined her voice, but her eyes shifted behind closed, translucent lids.
“I’m here. I’m calling an ambulance.” He sat on the floor next to her, afraid to leave her alone. He pulled out his cell phone, called nine-one-one and gave them the address.
