by Jackson Kane
So I turned my phone and my life off, and retreated to my apartment to do the only thing that ever made me feel better: painting.
I fell into my work. Once I got into the zone, there was nothing else in life except me, the canvas and the constant shifting sands of color. There was just something so visceral... so primal. All I needed was a paintbrush, and loud music to turn all the stress of my life off.
I mixed a light cobalt with French ultramarine blue, and tried it against the black pupils and whites of the rest of the eyes.
Damnit!
I sighed, cleaned off my pallet and reached for my mug of tea. I'd been trying for hours to get this color. Why was it so fucking hard to find the right shade?
It was only when I got the porcelain to my lips that I realized it was cold. When I breathed in, the pungent odor of mineral spirits punched me hard enough to make my eyes water.
“That wasn't tea at all!” My voice was drowned out by a vicious beat drop from my sound system. I chuckled to myself and shook my head as I reached for my actual tea cup. One of these days, I was going to be so tired, I’d really make that mistake. That would be a fun conversation with the nurse.
Empty. Damn.
Oh well. I yawned, stretched, and turned to walk toward the kitchen to refill it from the hopefully still-fresh pot.
What time was it? I didn't realize how dark my house was until that very moment. I started painting in the late morning and only turned enough lights on to let me paint. My stomach must've passed out. When I stopped painting, it woke up with a vengeance and started growling. Takeout again? The thought didn't sound appealing. At this point I might be more fried rice than woman—
Oh my God! My heart leapt from my chest like I was a sinking ship.
“Ah!” I crashed right into the monstrous chest of an intruder!
I closed my eyes in shock and half jumped, half fell backwards, but his strong hands caught me. I thrashed in his iron grip. Spotify must have been watching this all go down, because the next song played was faster and more chaotic than any I'd heard previously.
What was I going to do?
Then, just like that, he let me go.
I stumbled back a step, then opened my eyes.
Garrett stood there in his fine suit, now ruined with wet paint from my thrashing. I exhaled in relief so hard, I almost hit the floor. I slapped at the space bar on my laptop and the music eventually cut out. The silence hummed in my ears, after it being so loud for so long.
“What the shit, man!” I pressed a hand to my chest to help get my breath back. My lungs were full of fire and war drums. Thank God I was too young to have a heart attack. At least I hoped I was too young.
Garrett looked past me to the painting I was working on. He studied the portrait of himself. It was a dark spattering of reds and oranges, and in front of it was his form from the bare chest up. The background was abstract, but the foreground was photorealistic, as much as I could recall from memory.
Looking at him now, everything seemed right but the eyes. I was beginning to think there wasn't a pure enough blue paint to ever catch their hue.
“Your phone's been off for days,” he said finally, still gazing at the painting. “I was worried about you.”
Feeling embarrassed, I instinctively went to cover the canvas up. Because my studio was in my kitchen, my easel had two perpendicular bars welded onto the top. It was ugly. Like the-capital-letter-A-had-a-baby-with-the-capital-letter-T kind of ugly. But it let me throw a sheet over it when I had company, and not have to worry about the paint getting smudged.
He caught my hand and wrenched the cloth away, freeing the painting once more.
Then those unpaintable blue eyes turned their full attention on me.
“It's not what you think. I can explain—” But before I could get any more words out, he'd stepped forward, wrapped his big arms around my back, and lifted me into him. I was pulled right up off the ground.
Something primal came over him. He kissed me, long and hard. He smelled of musk and cinnamon, and tasted hot and savory. I closed my eyes, I didn't feel tired in his arms.
Garrett tore off his jacket and fitted shirt. What followed between us was a wild flurry of undressing. It was like a dam suddenly bursting. With raw, uncontained, urgent energy, we ripped each other’s clothes off. His several-thousand-dollar suit, my thrift store painting outfit, it all became so much useless fabric falling into heaps around us.
My core tightened when I saw his massive defined pecs and shoulders. The heavy contrast of light spilling out from my studio, and darkness in the rest of my apartment, made him look like he was chiseled rock. When he flexed, his tattooed torso and arms came alive with color and motion. It was like the ink itself was putting on a show just for me.
I thought about my recent dream of him and me fucking in the masquerade ball. That man, that version of Garrett, didn’t have any tattoos. I gasped in a breath at his lingering hand on my back. I liked this version much, much better.
I couldn't tear my eyes off his amazingly colorful body. His hips were sharply defined, and led my gaze down his insanely carved-out V in his lower stomach that ran into his boxer briefs.
This wasn't even fair. Garrett was almost overwhelmingly handsome.
Our passionate kisses couldn’t be contained to each other’s mouths. His lips searched the side of my face, and his teeth clicked against the studs in my ears. I let my head loll back and allowed myself to just feel his power wash over me.
With a smooth slide and jerk, he gently pulled my sports bra over my head. I’d have been more embarrassed about the unflattering top, or the broad-bottomed comfy panties I was wearing, but it was clear that Garrett didn’t give a damn. He hardly even noticed any of that was there.
I had my arms around him but it wasn’t enough. I needed to touch him more somehow. I wanted him to be the oxygen I breathed, and the blood in my veins. Then I remembered I was pregnant and a sudden fear blossomed inside me, like a dozen blood-red roses.
What if he doesn’t want me? What if this is it between us? What if he thinks I’m just trying to get money from him?
No. Not right now. I squeezed him as he kissed my collarbone. If this was it, I was going to enjoy it.
I slid my hands down the bulging muscles of his sides. He was so warm; the grooves of his muscles were so defined. Guys never really looked like Garrett did. He was perfect. He was a rock star, an actor, he was every zero-body-fat athlete; he was impossible but somehow real. It was like being embraced by Michelangelo’s David.
I glanced down to the massive bulge that pushed out his boxer briefs like a tent, and realized that’s where the similarities to the statue ended. If David saw the huge cock that Garrett had, the statue would’ve broken down into tears.
The last time we had sex, I was sore for half a week. It was the best kind of pain… like going to the gym after a long time. My pussy and thighs were wonderfully sore, with little reminders of him, whenever I moved the wrong way.
In a tangled mess, we stumbled backward a few steps until we hit my kitchen table. He immediately hoisted me up with an arm, kissing down between my breasts. His chin was prickly with a few days of stubble; it scratched against my skin, as if telling me that even his love was rough.
The coarse hair would scratch me, and his tongue and lips would soothe away the pain. The lower he went, the more my body shivered and the wetter I became. I wrapped a leg around him, pushing myself into him. Instantly, lightning shot up my core.
Garrett moaned, feeling my wetness against his leg and picked me up even higher. I was no anorexic twig model. I had some curves on me, but he moved me around like I was filled with cotton and feathers.
In a quick backward arc, I brushed all the clutter off the table. Half-finished projects, empty food boxes, clothes, mail, it all went crashing over the side. I wasn’t sure why I did it. It just felt right.
Garrett must have felt it, too, because without a word, he tore my panties off an
d set me on the table.
Here, really? a kinky part of me gleefully cried. Aside from that lodge, I’d never had sex anywhere outside of a bedroom. He flashed those brilliant eyes up at me as he dropped to a knee before me. He made me feel so special, like I was the altar he was worshipping at.
Little tremors started deep within my thighs, as if my body knew what was coming and was trying to prepare for it. Seeing wasn’t believing, feeling was. And right now little rockets were going off inside me.
I’d been so absorbed by painting and trying to forget everything earlier, I didn’t realize how cool my apartment was. I felt that crispness over my entire body when Garrett leaned back to look at me, my nakedness fully on display.
In a bout of self-consciousness, I tried to shuffle back from the edge of the table and from Garrett. It’d been a long time since anyone went down on me. It was a little intimidating. What if he didn’t like the way I tasted?
Jesus! When was the last time I’d taken a shower? I did some mental gymnastics and realized that, yes, I had taken a shower today. Thank God.
If he had any reservations, Garrett didn’t show it. His strong hands clamped down on my thighs, preventing me from budging; his fingers pushed white indents into my skin. I liked the pressure.
His boiling hot tongue licked me from bottom to top. Spasms went off in me like popcorn being made.
It wasn’t just the way his tongue and lips dragged across me that tore me to shreds, it was his eye contact. Two blue orbs, deeper than any ocean, looked into my soul as he ate my pussy. How could my body not crumble around that?
With every twist and suck, Garrett was ruining me. I almost hated him for it. At that moment, I knew I would never be able to fuck anyone else.
To say that Garrett made me moan would be criminally inaccurate. Garrett was a maestro, and my body was his symphony. His fingers pushed deep inside me, while his tongue drew hard designs into my clit.
He had me quivering so hard, my fucking bones rattled.
“Holy fucking hell!” I didn’t know if it was the angle, the intensity, or just crazy skill, but I came like an earthquake. My hips bucked up, but he kept me grounded. If he hadn’t been holding me, I’d have crashed through my ceiling. “I’m coming!”
Garrett slowed the pulsing rhythm but didn’t stop.
I knew I was in trouble when his eyes flashed, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. I’m not done with you, it said.
And holy hell was he not!
My hips bucked, my pussy trembled. I had almost no control, and that made it even hotter. I couldn’t even touch myself this good. None of my boyfriends ever came close. The pressure within me immediately started building again. Another orgasm this soon?
No way.
Fucking way.
My hands snapped down on the edges of the table. I had to hold on for dear life. My body was tense enough to use as a diving board. I rode his mouth like a surfer rode waves. He brought me higher than I’d ever been, then crashed me back down. Slowing, pausing, pushing, and thrumming. Then when the wave broke he let me relax, but only for a moment.
During the final orgasm, when I was crashing, he bit one of my lower lips. I screamed in ecstasy and collapsed, writhing on the table, “No more! No more. I’m dying. You’re killing me with your magical tongue.”
I groped for him, trying to pull him up to me. I had no idea if the table would hold both our weights, and at that moment, I couldn’t possibly care. Garrett kissed his way up the center of me until he reached my lips.
“I— Please,” I stammered. I wanted more, and after that performance, he deserved to have me groveling before him. I just couldn’t yet. Aside from Garrett, the last time I had sex was well over a year ago. It was like trying to run a marathon while only barely being able to jog. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”
“Sure,” he said, picking me up off the table and carrying me into my bedroom.
Miraculously, my room was spotless. I had cleaned it a few days ago. I was actually in the process of cleaning my entire house before the surprise trip to the hospital put a stop to that. I wasn’t expecting Garrett to come over, or even hoping that this would happen, but a girl could fantasize.
We relaxed on the bed quietly for a little while. It reminded me of my favorite part of the lodge experience. The sex was amazing, but just laying with Garrett made me feel so safe, so protected.
“How was it?” I asked finally, looking up at him. The soft light that flooded in from the other room, framed him in warm tones, making him look somehow softer. My body still vibrated with aftershocks that I hoped he couldn’t feel. Garrett really did a number on me. “Being an A-list celebrity? You were everywhere for a while there. I even saw that terrible rom-com movie you made a cameo in.”
“You saw All the Wrong Moves?” He eyed me skeptically, then chuckled. “You and five other people. I think it got a 10 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. They were being generous.”
“You crashed through the couple's bedroom wall while they were finally about to have sex. You—you—you came in like the Kool-Aid Man and—” I lost it and started laughing my head off. The rest of the movie was completely forgettable, but not that part. Garrett's scene was the funniest thing I'd ever seen.
“And said—” Garrett cleared his throat and got into the exaggerated version of himself, with the super heavy New Zealand accent. “'Thirty minutes or the pizza's free. Dominoes don’t fuck around.' Or something like that. I probably didn’t say fuck.”
“Yes!” I cheered, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. “Oh my God. That's perfect.”
I loved every second of this.
“But to answer your question,” he said, “it was great until it wasn't. That life put a lot of pressure on Heidi. Jealous people said some awful things about her. Then there were the games themselves.”
“What about them?” My laughter faded. I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I saw an interview once. Fans were screaming your name. You were like a rock star.”
“At home maybe, but away?” Garrett blew out his breath and cracked a smile born of exasperation. “Away, I was the most hated man to ever exist. Especially during my MVP years, while we were winning championships left and right. People hated me. They used to throw shit at me all the time. I had to start sneaking into the stadiums.”
“No....”
“Oh, yeah.” Garrett nodded, smiling wistfully at a life that must feel so far away now. “Someone once threw a beer-soaked pair of pants at me. Slapped me right in the face.” He stopped so that my sudden laughing fit wouldn't drown out the rest of his story. “No one brings an extra pair of pants to a game, in the off chance that they see a hated rival player. It was a January game, too. That meant someone had to walk their flabby, naked ass out of that stadium in the freezing cold.”
He pulled me into him so that I sat right before him. His arms wrapped around my stomach and his chin rested on my shoulder. He was my big spoon. I could feel the baritone treble in his voice through my spine. It was like he crawled into me in a whole different way.
This, I thought, I want this. This is all I want. Closeness, caring, and concern were such small things, but they meant the world to me. Why couldn’t I have this? I only wanted it for the rest of my life.
Is that so much to ask?
“Are you back?” I turned to face him, realizing that the moment had to end at some point, and I couldn't live with not knowing the truth. I traced the thin line of cadmium yellow paint that ran down his chest, smudging it into his coarse tuft of hair. “I mean really, really back? I can't go through losing you for a third time.”
“I'm here.” He glanced down at the yellow smear on his chest, then looked at me. Those hard blue eyes stared directly into my soul. “I'm yours and you're mine.”
“Good.” I twisted myself around to press the side of my face into his chest. I tried to bury myself and hide from his intense gaze. I took a deep breath and swallowed, then finally told h
im what's been on my mind for weeks. “Because I'm pregnant.”
There was no gasp of surprise or questions. He didn't pull away to criticize or berate me for lying to him about not being able to have kids. He didn't even try to run away. In fact, he didn't do anything, which made me even more nervous.
Had he not heard me? Or worse, did he fall asleep? I really didn't want to have to say that out loud a second time. I could only pour out so much of my heart.
“Jackie's going to love having a little brother or sister,” Garrett finally said.
The dam behind my eyes broke and I immediately started to cry. It wasn't tears of happiness, but tears of relief. I'd been holding my breath since the miscarriage so long ago, and now I could finally breathe again.
Garrett nudged my wet mess of a face up to look at him. God, I must've looked like such a wreck. He didn't care. His smile was soft, and extended all the way into those deep blue eyes. Those light azure eyes.
That's what color they were!
“You’re mine, Judy.” He drew a thumb down my cheek, wiping away the rivulets of tears that refused to stop. “Now and always.”
I squeezed him as tight as I could and let myself believe. I couldn't answer him. I could barely even breathe. The loneliness I'd felt for so long was gone. Was this what Gloria and Molly felt with the King brothers? God, I hoped so.
Had I finally found my happy ending?
No, I realized. This was my happy beginning.
Twenty-Seven
Garrett
I’m going to be a father again. The thought crashed into me, over and over, as I held Judy tightly on that queen-sized bed.
I absolutely loved the thought of all this. It felt like I had a family again. That ignited something in me that I thought was gone forever. I would always love Jackie, and we were a family, but this was different.
Having both Jackie and Judy was such a fuller experience.
I decided then and there that I was going to marry Judy. I was going to make her mine, in every way possible. I was going to take her body and her heart, and in exchange, give her all my love and my last name.
