He gestures to the ground, smirking.
“It’s freezing out here,” I say, clutching my arms to my side.
“Here,” he says, sliding his jacket around my shoulders and rubbing some warmth into my arms.
I close my eyes, leaning into him. We sit silently for a while before I speak. “Don’t freak out…” I say carefully. Jesse tenses beside me. “But three men in goat masks talked to me when I was waiting in that coffee shop.”
“What did they do?” he growls.
“Nothing. It was strange. They just wanted to tell me something. They said someone I trust is feeding information to the people who want to hurt me.”
“Someone you trust?” he asks. “How long is that list?”
“Not long. My stepfather, Kennedy… you.”
“Don’t tell them anything from now on. Not where we’re going, our plans. Nothing. Okay?”
I smirk. “So I should still trust you?”
“You can always trust me.”
I want to believe that. I really do. But the echo of his betrayal still haunts me. “I’m sorry I ran,” I say.
His hands pause for a moment before he starts to rub my arms again. He’s behind me and his hot breath tickles my ear as he speaks. “Me too.”
His tone tells me he doesn’t mean he’s sorry I ran. He’s sorry he ran… all those years ago. Tears well in my eyes. So what if he’s sorry? Does it change what he did?
Yes, it does.
I already read his journal and I know he was only trying to protect me to begin with. Hearing him apologize melts away some of the last remnants of the anger I held toward him.
“What happens if you get involved with a client?” I ask, turning to face him.
He takes me in calmly with his eyes. “Bad things,” he says, voice full of hunger.
I put a hand on his broad chest, letting my fingers slide down slowly, tracing long, delicate lines on his skin. He sucks in a slow breath.
“Maybe I want you to do bad things to me,” I breathe.
His hands weave through my hair and his mouth crashes against mine. A roaring sound makes me jump back, looking to the sky in confusion and panic. He holds me tight as we watch the underbelly of a jumbo jet as it takes off from somewhere just on the other side of the hill. It crawls past our heads, impossibly slow for something so large.
“You brought us to an airport… like we used to,” I say.
He smirks. “Call me sentimental.”
I bite my lip, kissing him again and pulling his shirt over his head. He lowers me softly to the grass, kissing my mouth and my neck, pulling my shirt up. I let him take it off me, lifting my shoulders to allow him to unhook my bra next. He props himself up on one arm, still kissing me greedily as he uses his free hand to unbutton my pants and start pushing them down. I help him, lifting my ass and shimmying out of my pants and panties. He yanks his pants down and I catch a glimpse of his perfectly sculpted body cast in sharp relief by the moonlight.
I see his cock for a brief moment before he crushes his body into mine. I have a split second to marvel at how large it is. He kisses his way down my chest and finds my nipple, sucking and kissing every inch of me. I arch my back, already feeling a building of pressure between my legs. I’ve anticipated this for so long. I’ve feared it and dreamed of it. Now it’s happening, and all I can do is give in to the desire.
I realize with a start that he’s kissed his way down my body and his beautiful features are poised over my belly. I suck in a breath of surprise at the rush of pleasure that shoots through me when he licks a playful circle around the sensitive skin of my belly button, and then trails kisses down the smooth flesh above my mound. His touch is electric. It’s fire and ice all mixed together as his hot mouth burns my skin leaving an echo of icy shock in its wake. My body is alive like I’ve never felt as each kiss sends jolts of pleasure pulsing through my body. I grip the grass tight, barely feeling the way it tickles my bare back, feeling like I need to grab onto something or I might lose myself in the moment. I want to be here, to be present. I want to relish in every second of it because the thread connecting us is frighteningly strong, but the same power of attraction could repel us just as easily. It’s exhilarating and terrifying.
He’s about to reach my throbbing clit with his lips. He lingers, letting the heat of his mouth sink deep into the skin just above my slit. He pulls back and I suck in a breath, anticipating the explosion of pleasure when he finds my waiting heat, but instead he tortures me by kissing the inside of my thigh. His rough palm grasps my leg, lifting it so that he can reach every inch of the sensitive skin. I press the back of my head into the ground, gritting my teeth. It feels so good. I lift my head to look down at him and feel a fresh surge of excitement. He’s holding my leg with one hand under my ankle and the other beneath my knee. His smoldering eyes regard me with a heart-stopping intensity as he kisses a path down the soft flesh of one leg before licking his way up the other.
My breathing comes in heaving gasps and I clench my teeth, feeling such a powerful need that I think it might actually tear me apart at the seams. When his lips finally encircles my clit, a lusty moan spills from my lips and I press myself up into him, squeezing my eyes shut, reeling from the intensity.
I’ve been with men before. Sex has never felt like this, even all those years ago with Jesse. It’s only been a few short seconds of his mouth on my clit and I know with crushing certainty that he just ruined sex for me with any other man. Nothing will ever touch this feeling. Nothing will come close to drawing this much pleasure out of just a single touch.
I lose track of time, giving myself over to the blinding waves of ecstasy his mouth is igniting. His tongue is everywhere--flicking against my clit as he sucks the sensitive bit of flesh, circling my entrance before plunging it inside me. He works my pussy over in a way tht has me rocking my hips into him while desperately gasping his name. The men who’ve gone down on me in the past were tentative at best. Like it was more of a chore, or a means to an end than something derived pleasure. Jesse? He attacks my pussy like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Like it’s the most precious thing in the world and it’s his job to pay tribute to it. He pays attention to every detail, making note of my every response and using that knowledge to hone in on how to further drive my pleasure
He’s a fucking pussy eating god.
I never want it to stop, but I can only hold back the tidal wave that is my orgasm for so long. His attention turns solely to my clit, working me into a breathless frenzy. He alternates between delicate, fluttering licks of his tongue and hard pressing swipes that have my toes curling. When his fingers glide into my entrance I clench around them as the first wave of release washes over me. He moves his fingers in a steady rhythm, drawing me close and closer to the edge. I’m so primed that when he sucks my clit between his lips and curls his fingers inside me, my orgasm rushes up and over, stealing my breath as I cry out, cumming harder than I ever have.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as my orgasm continues to roll through me in waves. I’ve never been loud in bed, but Jesse has made me a moaning, screaming mess and I can’t find it in myself to care. I dig my hands into his silky hair, not knowing if I’m trying to hold him closer or pull him away as I quiver, absolutely floored by the torrent of sensations ripping through me.
When my orgasm finally subsides, I realize with a mixture of fear and excitement that it’s not over. I’m completely wiped out, but with every passing second I look at his gorgeous face and hard body and the scrumptiously large cock throbbing between his legs… well, let’s just say I make a quick recovery.
I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock, biting my lip and looking into his eyes. “Do you have a condom?” I ask.
He reaches to his discarded pants and fishes out a metallic wrapper, expertly opening it and sliding it onto his cock in seconds. I try not to dwell on why he’s so good at that, or the fact that he was carrying one around. It’s not hard to shift
my focus when he presses himself against me, straining the walls of my core with his thickness.
My eyebrows draw together and my mouth opens in a silent “O.” There’s a brief moment of tension and then he’s seated inside me, filling me so completely that I wonder how I ever lived without him. I wrap my legs around his back, holding him to me. I grip the hard, corded muscles of his arms as he holds himself up over me and glides himself in and out of my slick heat. He moves slowly at first, almost reverently. I get lost watching his face, the way it almost looks as if he’s frowning, but his lips are slightly parted, and his downcast eyes take in their fill of my naked body.
His pace increases with a relentless certainty, never wavering, always getting just a little faster with each thrust. I become transfixed by it, the precision of it, and the way it creates a suspense, a question of how long he can keep up the increasing pace, like listening to a master singer hit higher and higher notes, knowing it can’t go on forever but reveling in the anticipation.
He pounds into me, face drawn in a mask of passion. I squeeze his arms, nails digging into his smooth, hard skin. I look up at him, the perfect outline of his body silhouetted against a blanket of stars above us. Being with him feels so primal and so right, like if I could only hold on to this moment, it would breathe the life back into my world, giving back the meaning that has been missing since he left.
His pace reaches a fever pitch and I can feel myself clenching around him in the telltale sign that I’m about to cum. Our eyes meet and the fervent look in his is my undoing. My orgasm seems never ending… and when he groans as he finds his own release, I shudder. I feel the warmth of his cum through the condom and am racked with another hit of pleasure. I practically melt into the ground as Jesse falls to his elbows and buries his head into the crook of my neck.
I don’t know what this means for us, whether it was just release or something deeper. I don’t know if Jesse felt the same bond and connection I did, but if I can trust my heart, I know he did. The sensation of something real and tangible linking us together was unmistakable.
But a single question burns in my mind with painful heat: What if he leaves again?
62
Jesse
I’m in a dark room. Water drips from the ceiling somewhere. A man’s boots scuff on the ground as he picks up metal implements from a table behind me and sets them back down, humming casually. My body is on fire. My wrists are rubbed raw from where the ropes hold me. The bullet wound in my side feels like it’s festering, and my back is pulsing with agonizing pain from where they whipped me. I spit blood on the floor, forcing myself to straighten and stay strong. If they’re going to kill me, so be it, but I’m going to die like a fucking soldier, head held high and without a trace of fear in my eyes.
The man steps back in front of me. He’s middle-eastern with dark skin and a thick beard. He has oddly kind eyes for someone in his line of work. They are light brown, soft, like his features. I can picture him sitting on the edge of his children’s bed, reading them a story. But now the only story he wants to hear is where I came from and who I work for.
“Go fuck yourself,” I say, spitting another mouthful of blood at his feet.
He regards the blood with disinterest, raising the surgeon’s knife to my face. His accent is thick, but I can understand him well enough. “This knife is sharpened by a special machine. You will not even feel the cut at first. It can slice skin and bone just as easily. I could carve at you for hours before you even lose consciousness.”
My eyes are drawn to the razor-thin blade and I grit my teeth. “Fuck you,” I say.
He tsks, “And I thought we were getting along so well.”
Without preamble or hesitation, he swipes the blade across my thigh. I feel a slight tug, nothing more, nothing less. His lips slowly curve up into a malicious grin as he raises the knife to my face again. It’s smeared in blood now. I try not to, but my eyes fall to my thigh, where I can clearly see a thin black line across my the bare skin. The pain follows seconds later, but he’s right, it’s not much. I watch the blood rise up and spill from the wound. Judging from the bleeding, the cut is fucking deep. I know how little blood it actually takes to bleed out, and I’ve already lost so much. If he thinks he can keep this up for hours, he’s going to be disappointed.
He taps the knife against my cheek. It’s warm and wet, not cold like it should be.
I stir, no longer sitting upright, but lying on my back. I’m not in some dirty fucking torturers paradise anymore, either. I’m outside, in the fresh air and beneath the stairs. The pain in my leg fades to memory and my eyes jolt open. My chest is heaving and my body is covered in a sheen of sweat.
Makayla’s hand rests on my bare chest and she props herself up over me, looking down into my face with so much compassion it hurts.
“Hey,” she says, voice as soft as an angels. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
I sit upright, not wanting to give in to the warmth of her touch, not feeling like I deserve to be comforted. Those dark moments are just part of my penance, the price I pay for what I did and the men I failed to save.
“It’s fine. Just a bad dream.”
“Your hands are shaking,” she says, sliding her fingertips down my forearm to steady my hand by clasping it in hers.
I stand, pulling away from her. I’m still completely naked, and it feels a little strange to be bare-ass naked outdoors in the light of the morning, but I don’t care. She stands, apparently feeling the same because she starts to hunt down her panties and bra, sliding them on.
I’ve played this scene out so many times since being discharged. The morning after, when reality comes crashing back and I realize I want nothing more than to get as far as fucking possible from the woman I just slept with. I keep waiting for that uncontrollable need. It’s part of what really held me back from sleeping with Makayla.
Something in me is broken, and I’ve known it for a long time. I don’t stick around when it comes to women. There might be a brief spark but only emptiness ever follows. I didn’t want the same thing to happen with Makayla. I worried that my darkness would taint even the most powerful and pure feelings I have for my sweet Makayl, but the only thing I feel is the cold morning chill on my sweat-soaked skin. I’m shocked when I realize that last night I was able to cum without completely controlling the situation. We just made loved. There wasn’t anything dirty or kinky about it and I came harder than I ever remember.
I turn slightly to look at her as she bends over to pick up her pants, my cock stirs and I think about moving behind her to grip those perfect fucking hips and…
I still want her. I still want her as bad as the night before, maybe worse. But something else is pulling at my consciousness. Guilt. The sinking, stomach-churning sense that this is more than I deserve. I’m a fucking asshole who doesn’t deserve happiness. It’s not pussy feelings talking or psychobabble left over from my time with the army shrink. It’s a cold hard fact. I’ve killed and I’ve made mistakes that cost men who trusted me their lives. And now I learn that I made a mistake that led to Liam being tortured, and by the looks of it, he got it worse than I ever did. Fuck. I do not deserve her, but I’m going to take her because I’m a selfish bastard. I want her too badly to let her go again, and I can’t stand the thought of her with another man.
“We should head back,” I say.
She bites her lip, looking drop-dead gorgeous in her lacy black panties and red bra with black trim. “Only if you keep those clothes off.”
I smirk, glancing down at my rock-hard cock and naked body. “That might not be the best way to avoid notice.”
She steps in closer, hand circling my cock. “I might need to take care of this for you if you plan to fit beneath the steering wheel.”
I lick my lips, stealing a handful of her perfect ass and kissing her softly on the lips. “As much as I would enjoy that, we really shouldn’t linger here. “Makayla… my dog Makayla, has probably crapped all over the apartme
nt by now.”
She gives me an amused look. “I’m starting to get a lot less flattered that you named your dog after me.”
I grab my clothes and start to get dressed. “I told you. The shelter named her that.”
“Right,” she says.
I park in the garage across the street from my apartment building. “Stay here,” I say to Makayla. “No running off this time.”
She glances around the parking garage a little nervously. “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”
Looking around I realize she’s probably right. It will be safer if she’s with me. I can’t be sure how much manpower these people have. If it’s a small operation, there’s no way they would find us here. But if they’re well-funded enough, they could have eyes all over. I pull out my Glock, checking the chamber and re-holstering it.
“You really think you’ll need that?” asks Makayla.
I motion for her to stop before we step out of the garage and onto the sidewalk, making sure it’s clear. “I don’t know. But they know I’m coming back.”
I hear her take a deep breath as we cross the street and step into the lobby of my building. There is quite a bit of activity, and I recognize most of the faces, but there are too many tenants for me to know everyone, so I move carefully, always touching Makayla and doing my best to shield her with my body.
We take the elevator without incident and reach my hallway. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but hell, being paranoid is my job.
My muscles are all tight, ready to engage at a moment’s notice as we cross the distance, stopping outside my door. I unlock all the locks and then draw my gun.
I’ve been around danger enough to have developed something like a sixth sense for violence, and right now, my sixth sense is going fucking haywire. I’m positive there are going to be people waiting inside my apartment, and I’m equally sure they aren’t in there to throw us a surprise party.
Knocked Up and Punished Page 44
