by Carian Cole
“Oh my God,” I cry out as his tongue pushes me to the edge. I teeter there, fighting the urge to tumble into ecstasy so this heaven with him will last longer. He reaches up and cups both of my breasts in his huge hands, squeezing them possessively, then rolling my nipples between his fingers, tugging and teasing as he thrusts his tongue in and out of me, lapping me from my ass to my clit over and over again. I become delirious, pulling his hair and arching up to him—into his hands and into his mouth—wanting and needing more. When he growls against my pussy like an animal, I lose it. I can’t hold back anymore.
I writhe beneath him, trembling uncontrollably with orgasm. He continues to lick and kiss my thighs, sliding his hands down to my hips, holding me until my shudders subside. Breathless, I lean up, desperately pulling him up to me and wrapping my arms and legs around him. I kiss his neck and chest, intoxicated by the sexy scent of him and the heat of his skin against mine.
He pulls away to look at me, and that wicked grin is all over his lips. “You. Are. Delicious,” he groans before covering my mouth with his. My breathing calms as he slowly kisses me, but it doesn’t last long. Within minutes our hands are all over each other, roving and caressing. I reach down between us and grasp his rock-hard cock, fisting his thick length into my palm.
“I want you,” I whisper with my lips against his ear.
“You’ve got me,” he whispers back.
The tear of the foil packet permeates the silence of the dim room, and a few seconds later his hands are on my outer thighs, his fingers digging roughly into my flesh. He pulls me closer and thrusts into me balls deep, stretching me to take his full length. I let out a gasp that’s half-pain and half-pleasure. I don’t even care that it hurts a little, because watching him lose himself inside me is like watching art come to life. The way his tattoos, shiny with sweat, flex with his muscles. The way his long hair flies around his head with every thrust. The rivulets of sweat dripping down the center of his chest. The bite of his teeth into his lower lip as he drives into me.
Pure. Hotness.
He slides his hands beneath me to cup my ass, pulling my body up hard into his. Wrapping my thighs around his sweat-slicked hips, I reach up and grab his shoulders, pulling him down to me. Our lips clash together, and when he sucks my tongue into his mouth, my entire body tingles. My nails rake into the plane of his back as the passion builds between us, our bodies slapping together, needing to be closer and deeper. My walls tighten around his thick cock like a vise. He feels incredible. Every part of him touches me, and it ignites wave after wave of ecstasy. I hold on to him tight as another orgasm ripples through me.
With a raw moan of my name, he collapses on top of me, breathing heavily. We kiss, foreheads touching, deep, slow and dreamy until we’re too tired to kiss anymore.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. He kisses me when he returns, tasting of mint-flavored toothpaste, and flops down on his pillow.
“By the way.” He rolls over to face me and snakes his arm around my waist, nestling against my side. “You were right. I was jealous.”
I smile in the dark. “I know,” I reply softly.
When he drifts off, I watch him sleep for a few minutes, then slip out from under his embrace and tiptoe naked back to my own room. Even though I want to stay in his bed, I don’t want to seem clingy or tread over his no-staying-the-night rule.
Before I go to sleep, I do what I do every night—I take my wedding band out of my nightstand and slip it onto my finger—wondering what it would be like if this was all real.
Chapter 32
Skylar
“I’m off to work,” Jude says from my doorway, just like he does every morning before he leaves.
There’s no good-morning kiss.
No about last night… talk.
“Okay,” I reply, meeting his eyes, wondering if I’ll see something different after what happened last night. “Have a good day.”
There’s nothing different in his eyes. Not a lingering look. Not a hint of regret.
“You too. See ya tonight.”
When I hear the front door open and close, I move to the window and watch him walk down the walkway, get into his truck, and back out of the driveway.
A little ache burns in my heart and then spreads down to my stomach, then up to my throat. The familiar sting of tears wells behind my eyes.
Confusion settles over me like a dark cloud. I’m caught in a feeling of wanting to cry, but also wanting to sit here and replay last night in my mind and revel in how perfect it felt to be with him.
How he kissed me like he wanted to swallow me up.
How his hands gripped me like he couldn’t get enough.
How it felt to have him stretching me open and pulsing inside me.
How I got lost in that look of hunger and desire swimming in his eyes.
How my heart melted when he kissed me so softly, so full of emotion.
My pussy clenches at the memories, like it wants to pull him back in and never let go.
Perhaps I should have stayed in his bed. He did put his arm around me as he started to fall asleep. Maybe he took my leaving as a sign that I wanted it to be a one-night stand.
I only left because I thought that’s what he wanted, and I wanted to seem mature—like I’m on board with us just casually hooking up.
And, I thought I was okay with that. But now, with this awful longing for him nettling in my soul, I’m not so sure. He seemed so casual and normal this morning, not acting different at all. But, maybe he was expecting—or waiting for—me to act different?
Or are we just going to pretend we didn’t have sex?
I sigh and turn away from the window because my phone notifications are going off like crazy. As soon as I pick my phone up, my stomach pitches. I’ve been tagged again on my social media accounts by Paige and her friends in a bunch of stupid graphics posted with my face Photoshopped into various wedding photos as the bride marrying a really old, wrinkly, gray-haired groom. I grind my teeth at the hashtags #childbride #pedohubby #daddyjude #skylarthedirtyho #mywifeisachild #oldhusband #youcantbringyourhusbandtotheprom #skylarshoulddie
More posts and rude comments are posted as the morning goes on, and now I can hear the girls whispering and giggling about me at the table behind me in the cafeteria.
“Just ignore them,” Megan says, pouring dressing onto her salad.
I meet her sympathetic eyes across the table and shake my head. Ignoring is easier said than done. I can’t escape the constant teasing. Ever since Lisa saw me at the dentist, it’s been going on all day at school, then continues online at night with the social media posts, hashtags, and group chats. Paige and Lisa are the ringleaders of the bullying circus, making sure the torment stays relevant for her minions to gossip about.
“I wonder if her parents sold her to him?” a female voice asks.
“Probably,” Lisa answers. “I hear they were dirt poor, living in a camper in someone’s driveway.”
“Ew, that’s gross,” someone else says.
“How does that marriage even work? Does she go home after school and make him dinner every night? Does he help her with her homework? She’ll probably be pregnant before we graduate. She better not bring him and a baby to the prom.”
“Have you seen him? He’s totally hot.”
“Yeah, if you’re into pedophiles.”
A round of laughter ensues as I slowly chew my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My blood is boiling with anger, my heart pounding with rage.
“They’re just jealous bitches.” Megan glares at the table of idiots behind me.
I continue to chew, but I can’t get myself to swallow. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are one of my food choices to eat again as part of my therapy, to get over a traumatizing event attached to it. I loved PB&J as a little girl. Especially with grape jelly on super-soft white bread. When I was around six or seven, I was eating it for lunch and Daddy was saying
goodbye. For some reason, I felt scared and started to cry. Mommy kept screaming at me to just shut up and eat, and I swallowed too much. It lodged in my throat, and I gagged and cried hysterically until Daddy smacked me on the back and I coughed it up. Mommy made me eat it again, and I threw up and got sent to my room.
I’m surprised I’m still alive with all the things I've had stuck in my throat.
“Skylar, don’t listen to their stupid shit,” Megan says. “They’re just spoiled assholes with no lives.”
Nodding, I grab my napkin and discretely spit my food into it. I fold it up and put it on the corner of my tray.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “I’m getting worried about you.”
“Yeah. I just don’t feel too great.”
She cocks her head at me. “You’ve been doing so good, Sky. Please don’t let them get to you. This will all blow over soon when they find a new target.”
Paige rambles on at the next table, making sure she talks loud enough for me to hear. “Guys, did you know his little sister is that girl who went missing years ago? She went to school here.”
“I heard he was the last one to see her alive. He was a suspect. Since he’s into kids I bet he did something to her. Like, raped and killed her.”
“Her body is probably hidden somewhere right in this town.”
“Ew. Hopefully he’ll kill Skylar next and put her out of her pathetic existence,” Paige says.
I pick up my lunch tray, dumping my drink and sandwich onto the table. Standing, I turn and face the table of five girls who are giggling wildly.
My jaw clenches as I pin my stare on Paige. “What did you just say?”
She looks up at me with her snarky smile. “I said I hope your pedo husband puts you out of your misery.”
“You don’t know anything about him. Or me. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “What fun would that be? Run along, Mrs. Lucketti. Maybe ask your husband to buy you some new clothes.”
They all go into a fit of hysterics again.
Gripping the blue plastic tray in both hands, I haul back and slam it into Paige’s face.
Everything that happens after that is a blur. There’s horrified screaming and scrambling. Chairs are upturned on to the floor. And blood. I definitely saw blood pouring down Paige’s face, staining the front of her white sweater. I stand rooted there, watching it all happen but feeling absolutely nothing, until I’m grabbed from behind and dragged out of the cafeteria.
“Suspended?” Jude repeats, pacing the sunroom with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. My recap of the drama at school has him all worked up, because he never smokes in the house.
“It’s only for three days,” I reply. I don’t consider it a punishment to miss three days of school. It’ll be a relief to get away from all the whispers, rumors, and hate.
“I already talked to Rebecca,” I add. “I’m going to work for those three days. I won’t be sitting around the house.”
He shoves his hand through his hair and blows smoke up at the ceiling. “Still, Skylar. You can’t go around breaking people’s noses.”
“She deserved it,” I protest. “It’s not even her real nose.”
I place the lottery ticket he gave me earlier on top of a book and start scratching it with a penny.
He tries to stifle a laugh and fails miserably. “Look, no more violent outbursts, okay? Her parents might try to go after you for assault.”
“Jennifer Dilly has the whole thing on video, and she showed the principal. It clearly shows how everyone was teasing me and saying horrible things. She also has a video of when Paige pushed me down the stairs the other day. I could’ve broken my neck. It was basically self-defense.”
I’m not even really friends with Jennifer. She’s just one of those girls who’s always taking selfies and making videos of everything going on around her like she’s in her own reality show.
Jude abruptly stops pacing the room and levels a tense gaze at me. “That little bitch pushed you?”
“Yes. They also put a bunch of those just married streamers all over my locker. They won’t leave me alone, and I’m sick of it.”
His eyes flash dark with anger and I catch the clench of his inked fist. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
I shrug. “I was just trying to deal with it.” That’s a lie. I didn’t tell him because all of it is so incredibly juvenile, and it would be like plastering the fact that I’m eighteen and in high school on a billboard right in front of him.
And because I don’t want him to regret marrying me.
He sucks a long drag off his cigarette, then puts it out in one of the potted plants. “This shit better stop or I’ll be going down to the school my-fucking-self to make it stop.”
I have to admit, his protectiveness is attractive. But it’ll only make things worse if he shows up at my school like an outraged parent. “Jude, you can’t do that. You’re not my father. Even the principal said these are very unusual circumstances.”
I go back to scratching my lottery ticket while he continues to pace the room.
“Fuck that. I don’t let anyone hurt the people I lo—care about.”
“I appreciate that, but I have to deal with it myself. The principal said the other girls are being suspended, too.”
“Principal Dalton?” he snorts out her name. “She’s a joke. She’d have a stroke if I walked into her office.”
“Well, it’s not helping matters that apparently you were a bit of a hellion when you went to school there, and now I’m legally married to you. The association with you isn’t doing me any favors.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him about the two-hour-long meeting I had with my guidance counselor and the principal where they voiced their concerns about me being married to an older man with a concerning past, and how they’re worried about predatory behavior and unhealthy relationships, and how men take advantage of young, vulnerable women. It was all beyond uncomfortable and embarrassing, but I was honest with them about the situation with my parents and my old home life and my reasons for getting married. I assured them I was in therapy with a great team of doctors. I left out the part about Jude and me having sex, for obvious reasons.
I’m just doing my best to live a happy life and reach my goal—to get out of this town and live a life free of stress, heartache, and drama. I want a new start. Have I made some bad decisions? Probably. But don’t we all? I’m a work in progress, and I’m not going to beat myself—or Jude—up over any of it.
I scratch off the last square of my ticket and stare at the little images. Oh my God! I jump out of my chair.
“I won a hundred dollars!” I wave the card in front of him excitedly. “That’s the most I’ve ever won. I’ll give you half. That was the deal.”
“Keep it. You might need it for bail if you keep it up, killer,” he teases.
“I promise I won’t hit anyone again. She just pushed the wrong buttons today.” The things those girls said about Jude were disgusting and unforgivable, and honestly, I don’t regret making Paige eat my lunch tray. Maybe she’ll think twice from now on before being a bitch.
Jude hooks his finger in the belt loop of my jeans and pulls me up against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. I kiss his cheek, and he hugs me closer.
“If this shit at school continues, you tell me, okay?”
I nod. “I will.”
“I kinda miss you,” he says in a low voice that sends a tingle straight through my thighs.
“You saw quite a bit of me last night.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I did. And that was fucking amazing. But I’ve missed hanging out and watching TV with you at night. It’s the best part of my day.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I didn’t realize he looked forward to our time together as much as I do.
“Look, I don’t want you to think it’s just sex between us, okay? It’s a lot more. I’m not good at talking about my feelings or being
gushy. All this is new for me.”
I swallow and blink at him. “Okay. Me too.”
“I have to run out and do an estimate, but I’d like to spend time with you when I get home.”
My stomach instantly flutters with anticipation that he might want our relationship to be more.
“I’d like that, too.”
I’ve just stepped out of the shower when the front door opens and closes downstairs. I glance at my phone screen, surprised to see it’s only six thirty. Jude’s only been gone for an hour, but his estimates usually take him at least two hours.
I slip into my red silk robe and go downstairs to make sure everything’s okay, but it’s not him making noise in the kitchen—it’s a young woman who appears to be raiding the refrigerator. My anxiety kicks into high alert. Not just because there’s a stranger in the house, but also because she’s in the fridge touching the food. I don’t know what she’s touching, or what she touched before I got here. Her hands could be covered in germs.
Now I’m going to have to throw all the food away and start over.
Disturbed, I pull my robe tighter around me as I move quietly across the kitchen.
My heart thumps faster. She’s totally unaware that I’m in the room. I glance toward the front door, then to the knife set on the counter. I left my phone upstairs, and the landline handset is in the living room. What if she’s dangerous? I’m not sure what to do or say, but I have to do something.
“Excuse me?” I clear my throat. “Are you lost?”
She peers at me from around the open refrigerator door.
“Maybe.”
What the hell?
She definitely appears lost and unkempt. Her shoulder-length, light-brown hair is flat in the back and rumpled on the sides, as if she just got out of bed. Her makeup is smudged around her bloodshot eyes. The jeans she’s wearing have red stains on them, which could be blood or hopefully ketchup. Her windbreaker is ripped at the hem, the zipper broken.
