by L. B. Dunbar
“Let’s just watch the movie,” I snap, harshly. Pam’s gaze presses into the side of my head, but I don’t turn back to her. I’m not comfortable with how well I think she sees me at this moment.
“Are you okay?” she asks. I don’t want to discuss myself any more than I want to talk about Mandi.
“I’m always fine,” I tell her, reminding myself. I can get through anything with a drink.
By the time the movie ends, Pam has snuggled lower in the blankets, and I want to bury myself in a hole for barking at her.
“Mandi and I aren’t together anymore,” I finally tell her, feeling as if the confession will make up for turning our evening sour. “The trip was a time to discuss our feelings,” I mock, “which included how I don’t have any, and she has all the feels for love and marriage.”
“You don’t want to marry her, or you’re just against marriage in general?” Pam asks, turning her head to look up at me.
“Both,” I immediately answer. Pam’s eyes widen at the admission. I don’t even have to ask to know she’s a woman who wants marriage someday. A husband. A home. A family. Those are things I could never offer a woman, and especially not a woman so good like her.
She still looking at me when she adds, “I don’t think you’re without feelings, Jacob. Look at how you are with your sister.”
I huff as it hardly compares to relationship statuses with women as a whole. I don’t do relationships, at least not well—case in point being Mandi.
“Want to watch something else?” I ask, hoping to drop the subject.
“You can,” she offers, fighting a yawn. “I’ll probably fall asleep during it.”
“I can go downstairs,” I suggest, although I don’t really want to leave the room.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, her voice softening.
“You’re saying I can sleep with you again?” I tease in hopes to break the tension between us.
“It’s your house, right? Your rules,” she says with a bitter tone so unlike her. I especially do not like how it’s directed at me.
“Good night, Lilac,” I whisper, wondering what it would be like to say it to her every night.
“Good night.” She rolls to her side, placing her back to me, and I hate myself even more for ruining this night. Then again, that’s what a monster does. He ruins things. He destroys them.
I reach for the bottle of scotch, but something stops my hand. My fingers shake and blur as I pause just before touching the glass container. I turn back to Pam’s form in my bed. I have something good right next to me, and I’m an ass for ignoring the pull I feel toward her.
But ignore her I must because monsters don’t deserve good things in their life. I retract my hand from the bottle, though, and reach for the TV remotes instead.
Chapter 6
Delicious dreams
[Pam]
I sleep fitfully, but not as restlessly as the man next to me. At some point, I slipped off his sweats, not liking the confinement and extra material under the too comfy blankets on Jacob’s bed. He also removed his own clothing, remaining in his boxer briefs as he did last night, and slid under the sheets. He isn’t anywhere near me tonight. His body heat helped with the fever and perhaps that’s something my mother told him although I can’t imagine her going so far as to tell Jacob to get nearly naked with me. My mother didn’t even know who he was until he called her. I’m going to have so much explaining to do. To Mom. To Mae. Ethan Scott’s the only one who knew of Jacob’s existence because I got him a job with Jacob last fall.
I’m thinking these things when Jacob calls out, “No.” His legs jolt, and his body flinches. Spinning to face him, I hold my breath.
“I said, no.” His arm twitches, and I slowly sit upright. His head moves from side to side on the pillow and then stops as though he’s been slapped. His breathing is heightened. His chest rises and lowers exaggeratedly. The sheets have lowered to his waist, revealing the fine lines of his abs. A dim illumination glows through the large window wall as the moon is in the sky somewhere.
“No,” Jacob groans again, and I hesitantly reach out a hand, resting it on his shoulder.
Saying his name, I gently jiggle him. His skin is hot to the touch, and for a second, I worry he’s caught what I had. I’ll feel terrible if he gets the flu from me and sharing this bed. Then his entire body jolts again and I press harder at him.
“Jacob, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
His body stills. “Angel,” he whispers. His forehead heavily furrows.
I repeat his name, and his hand snaps upward. My throat is cupped, and I’m flipped, pressing back into the mattress. Jacob’s body is instantly over mine, the weight of him heavy enough to take my breath. He isn’t squeezing my throat, just holding it as he stares down at my face, but his eyes are wild. He doesn’t see me, and I whisper his name.
Lifting a shaky hand for his face, I intend to cup his cheek and help him focus, but his free hand shoots outward, capturing my wrist and pinning it to the bed near my head. He continues to breathe heavily, his chest pressing against mine with each heave. His nostrils flare as we stare at one another.
“Lilac,” he whispers, and tears fill my eyes for some reason. I’m not afraid. He won’t hurt me, but something’s hurting him. The fear and anger in those midnight eyes darkens of all stars. His heart hammers against my breast while he’s covering me. One of his legs is between mine, but he slowly shifts so the other meets the first. On instinct, mine spread to accommodate him, and the sheets tangle between our legs. He shifts his body lower, adjusting between my thighs. Gently, he releases my throat and slides his hand to my chest, flattening his palm over my racing heart.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he whispers. “I’d never hurt you, Lilac. Never.” His voice strains as he stares at his hand just above my breast, concentrating on the rapid beating. He speaks as if begging me to understand, begging me to accept that he would never cause me harm.
“I know you wouldn’t.” His quick reflexes and sudden reaction were a response to whatever was haunting his dreams.
“What happened?” I question.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not going there with you.” He’s slipping away from me, retreating into his head. He’ll move off me any second and pretend this didn’t happen, which might be for the best. I’m hyperaware that he’s hard and resting against my core. Everything pulses—that spot between my thighs, the blood in my veins, my heart behind my ribs.
His eyes focus on my lips, which I nervously lick.
“I want to kiss you.” His voice is that low rasp that sends a thrill up my middle. He must still be dreaming. Perhaps, he’s not fully awake and doesn’t realize it’s me, although he’s called me both Lilac and angel.
“Jacob, it’s Pam,” I tell him as if he isn’t seeing me. His brows pinch.
“Yes, Lilac. My angel.” The hand over my heart slides back up my neck and jumps to my forehead, swiping back my hair, watching his fingers touch the side of my face. His attention returns to my lips. “Kiss me.”
“I’ve been sick.” Of all the desires I’ve ever had, I’ve never wanted his mouth so much as I do now, but the rational side of me says he doesn’t know it’s me under him. Logic dictates I decline his suggestion.
Then Jacob does something I’d never expect. He curls his hips so his thick erection presses harder against me, and my legs spread wider while my head slightly tips back. I chew my lip to fight a needy groan. My head warns don’t do this while my body says, I want, I want.
“I need to know that you’re real.” He lowers his mouth for my neck. The spot his fingers curled around moments ago is pressed by tender lips. His mouth opens as he sucks at my skin, followed by a tongue that hesitantly licks me before another sip. Then he nips me and I’m on fire. His body moves down mine as the kisses grow in intensity, peppering my throat before dropping to my chest. He tugs the collar of his too-large-for-me tee aside and continues to
kiss me, each one urgent, hungry even.
This is crazy, but I can’t seem to deny him. Lower and lower and lower, he moves down my body, tugging the material to expose a breast. He stills as he looks at the swollen globe, and one of his legs shifts. His head pops up to look at me.
“You removed my sweats.”
“I was too warm.” I should be telling him to stop. I should be warning him not to do this to me. My heart cannot take the passion brewing in him. He needs to recognize it’s me and not someone else. However, my body overrules my thoughts. So I do nothing when Jacob hastily moves the sheets, and his upper body settles between my thighs as he’s moved his entire body lower. It’s a wonder I’m still breathing as my heart hammers faster than ever. But more importantly, a part of me drips with desire for him, and I’m not wearing underwear. I assumed the length of his T-shirt would cover me. Jacob would never know the difference, but my hot core is against his firm abs, skin to skin.
“Jacob,” I warn, hoping the sound of my voice will remind him once more it’s me because this cannot be happening to me. Cannot be happening between us. I reach for the side of his head, curling my fingertips against his short hair.
“Must kiss you,” he mutters, not asking but demanding. He shifts once more, and his mouth latches onto me in a place long ignored. I nearly spring from the bed. My back arches. My head tips back. My eyes roll as his tongue laps across folds ready for his attention. Sensitive skin that have never experienced the eagerness in which this man is taking me. The flat of his tongue swipes upward, curling over my clit. The tip dips inward, and I moan like a hussy on steroids because nothing has ever felt this good. His mouth closes over the tender nub and sucks hard before delving forward once more, splitting me open and sweeping through me like I’m a succulent peach.
My head rolls on the pillow. My hips thrust upward. His hands clamp my thighs down to the bed as he devours me like a starving man.
“Jacob,” I cry out as a rippling begins at my toes and races upward. This will be like nothing I’ve had before. His tongue moves faster with my cry. His fingertips dig harder into my thighs. My hips unabashedly rock against his mouth, and I break. In sweet bliss, I call out his name, electrified by the pleasure. My skin prickles. The fine hairs stand on end. From my toes to my fingertips a spark burrows through me, and I’m so alive at this moment. I’m more aware of my body than I’ve ever been as the orgasm draws onward.
Finally, I can’t take any more. I collapse back to the pillow, and my head catches up to my body’s betrayal. “Enough,” I state, pressing at Jacob’s head. We need to stop this. I shouldn’t have given in to him. He’ll break me if we continue because it’s not just my body that wants him but my heart.
Oh, my God. We just . . . and he did . . . and we can never be the same again.
Slowly lifting his body, Jacob gazes up at me, the evidence of what he did to me coating his lips, but I quickly look away, mortified by my behavior.
“Thank you,” he whispers and crawls from the bed. Disappearing behind the bookcase, I hear the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Rolling to my side, I wonder what he’s thanking me for and how I’ll recover from what he just did to my body.
Chapter 7
Physical Addiction
[Jacob]
After taking care of myself in the shower, working roughly in my own hands to lessen the pain, I’m surprised to find Pam still in my bed. I took advantage of her, and I should have let myself suffer from blue balls because of it. After the dream I’d had, I needed her. I wanted to release the energy coursing through my veins. I’d fought the desire to plunge into her, the desire to lose myself in her, but I still had to have her in some manner. I had to taste her. I had to know she was real and under me, and willing—so willing to let me please her. Her cries. Her moans. Her body. In my dark fantasies, Pam gives into me repeatedly, allowing me to do what I want with her body, and her body responds. This was better than any dream. There was no disguising what happened to her . . . or me. I’m never going to be the same. She has dripped into my soul, cascaded over my heart when she should have told me I was an asshole for taking something from her.
She’ll never forgive you.
When I return to bed, her silence hammers home my thoughts. She’s curled into herself on the edge of the bed. She’s too far away both physically and emotionally. I curse myself.
“Lilac,” I whisper, but she holds herself still, pretending to sleep. My hand reaches for her back, hesitating like it did toward the bottle of scotch. I hate that I blatantly drank before her earlier. She’s the drink I need. She’s the sweet nectar I suddenly desire. Alcohol wasn’t enough to drown out the demons but bring them forward and haunt my head while I slept. I shiver with the linger thoughts and images from the dream.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but whether Pam hears me or not, I don’t know. I collapse to my back and stare at the ceiling. Then I roll to my side and face her back. My hand flattens against her, giving in as I had to the temptation of being close to her. “Don’t hate me.”
She can do anything else, but I don’t want her to hate me.
+ + +
When I wake alone the next day, I’m not surprised. I deserve her distance, but I’m a masochist and immediately text her. I’ve awakened rock-hard and ready to explore more with my little assistant, but it’s probably for the best she’s gone. I hate that she’s run off, but I can’t face her. Then again, I don’t want her to feel like I used her—which I did—or regret it—which I don’t. Heading to the shower once again, I miss her responding text until I’m dressed for the day.
Working, it states, but I wonder if she’s telling the truth. Her friend Mae said Pam could take all the time she needed to recover. I wanted that recovery time to be endless and occur in my home, but I’ve messed that up, and I don’t know how to fix it. This is why I don’t do relationships. The monster hurts. He doesn’t heal. I’m terrible at apologizing and asking for forgiveness although I had to do it once before with Pam when we fought over my sister’s leaving.
I did a pathetic job of it last night.
Hanging my head, I stalk to my office with a plan to write out the negative emotions coursing through my veins. There’s no creature I hate more than myself.
By Saturday, Pam has ignored me for two solid days, and I’m coming out of my skin. I don’t mind being on my own, but after having my stepsister as a roommate for almost a year, I didn’t realize how much I appreciated another human being in my house. I recognize a need for deeper companionship although I’d never have someone live with me. It was enough to make me consider marrying Mandi for about five seconds. I could have married Mandi and had all the companionship I ever desired, but my heart reminds me that I just wasn’t that into her. With Pam’s absence after those days of her illness, my loneliness feels heightened to new levels.
Unable to be productive in any other manner, I go out for a drink instead of my nightly schedule of drinking alone. I’ll only have one I promise myself. The local’s favorite in Elk Lake City is Town Tavern with booths down one side, a long bar down the other, and tables in the middle of the rectangular space. A pool table stands in the back. I’ve heard Pam mention she comes here with her family once a week, and I know Ethan has joined them. Taking a seat at the bar, I mindlessly gaze at the television behind it, nursing my scotch.
“Penny for your thoughts,” says a mousy feminine voice at my side, and I turn to find a sultry brunette leaning against the bar. She’s wearing a tight V-neck sweater that exposes a hint of heavy cleavage and reveals a sliver of her belly.
I’ll give you a dollar to go away.
“That would be more than they’re worth,” I tease without humor.
“Want to talk?” she questions. Leaning forward, she presses said cleavage together, making the swells nearly pop out of the V in her sweater.
“Not worth the words either,” I mutter.
“We don’t need to talk then,” she coos, and I stare
at her. It’s been almost two months since I’ve been laid. The ten days with Mandi produced nothing, and the month-plus prior was a flop as well. As I just wasn’t feeling it for her, I couldn’t muster the physical reaction that normally came easily to me. The same is happening with this woman.
“Ever hear of Jacob Vincent?” I question, knowing this could go one of two ways. Sometimes, I measure a woman’s intelligence by whether she’s heard of me or not. Other times, I don’t want her to know a thing about me and the anonymity helps me lose myself for a bit. I don’t actually want either response tonight.
“Nope,” she says, giving me a smile that might work on other men but not me.
“Thought you were leaving, Vicky,” the bartender addresses her, and she huffs as she looks up at him.
“Changed my mind, Baz.” The bald man’s eyes meet mine for a second, and he reads my disinterest in her.
“Think you need to change it back,” he tells the woman, coming to my defense, and I’m grateful as I don’t want to make a scene. I just want to sit here, beating myself up.
“I was the one just leaving,” I state to save face. “I’ll just settle up.” After downing the rest of my scotch, I reach for my wallet while the front door of the bar opens, and two women walk in. I don’t pay them any attention as I lay a twenty on the bar and stand to leave. When I look up and notice Pam taking a seat at a booth with another woman, I park myself back on the stool.
“On second thought, how about another, and a drink for my new friend, Vicky.” Falsely smiling at the brunette, I keep my focus over her shoulder, watching Pam place an order with the waitress and then lean forward like she’s revealing all her secrets to the woman before her.
Chapter 8
Sunshine and Rain
[Pam]
“Spill,” Mae says to me the second Sandy takes our drink order and leaves the booth. I don’t typically hang out at Town Tavern other than on Thursdays with my siblings, but Mae wanted all the details of my days with Jacob, and we didn’t get a chance to speak at work.
