by Parker, Zoey
So why did I practically dry hump her to completion right there on the kitchen counter? Why are my balls aching now when I remember what happened? I know she wants to forget about it; but while I don’t disagree, I can’t help feeling a little irked. Like she’s so shocked at herself for being attracted to the Big Bad Wolf. I was stupid to think she was different from the other women I’ve known. All she’s done is confirm a secret I’ve learned over the years: all women want the Big Bad Wolf whether they admit it to themselves or not. No matter how dangerous he might be.
And I am dangerous. There’s no doubt about it. I’d tell her to ask Marissa, but of course she can’t. Marissa isn’t talking anymore. Because of me.
Christina needs to get used to me, though, at least to get us both through the night. If the news is telling the truth, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t be, she’s not going anywhere until at least tomorrow—and even then, there is no guarantee when the road will be cleared.
“You okay?” I ask for the hundredth time. I’m sitting by the fire in the kitchen, reading a book while she fixes dinner. She insisted, and I was too happy to accept. What she’s made so far has been nothing less than spectacular. I feel bad now for giving her shit over the soufflé this afternoon, especially since it was so good. I just can’t seem to stop picking at her. It’s too much fun to watch her explode.
Especially since that explosion led to what it led to on the counter. I lick my lips at the memory.
“I’m fine, just busy,” she says, her back to me. I hear tension in her voice. I think I also hear a buzzing sound coming from her back pocket. That’s another thing. Her phone has been going all day, from the time it interrupted us through now. It’s been five hours since that happened and it sounds like there’s a hive of bees in here from all the buzzing. I wonder if she has a boyfriend she doesn’t want to tell me about. Maybe that’s why she stopped earlier. He called and reminded her she’s not single.
The more I think about it, the more I decide that must be it. She’s not being honest with me. God knows I’m used to women being dishonest by now. It’s nothing new.
“What smells so good?” I try to keep things light and easy, even though I know she’s lying to me.
“Chicken and dumplings,” she says, her back still to me. I see her using a can to roll out what looks like dough on the counter.
“Can I help you with something?” Even as I say the words, I wonder what the hell has come over me. Since when do I ask if a woman needs help in the kitchen? This gets a reaction from her at least, as she turns to me with one eyebrow cocked.
“You? Working in the kitchen?”
Instead of irritating me, her reaction makes me want to prove myself. “Yeah. I’m not totally helpless.” I get up, crossing the room to stand beside her. “I can do this, I bet.”
“You’re right. It’s pretty basic. Even you could handle it.” At least she’s joking with me again. She shows me how to roll out the dough and cut it into squares. I make a mess of my hands and get flour everywhere, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Did you ever see yourself helping in the kitchen like this?” she teases.
“Honestly? No.”
She laughs at this, and I’m glad to hear the sound. Then there’s that buzzing noise again, and she stops abruptly. She gets quiet, withdrawing into herself. I’ll hold my tongue for now, but I know I’m going to have to ask about it before the night’s over if it doesn’t stop.
An hour later we’re sitting together at the kitchen table, Blue on the floor between us. Her instincts were on the money; this is the perfect dinner for a day like today.
“When did you start cooking?” I ask, going back to the stove for seconds.
“I really don’t know. It feels like I’ve always been doing it. I used to watch my mom as she prepared meals. Even the most basic things. Meatballs, meatloaf, chicken, spaghetti, steak. I’d watch and ask questions. Why was she drying off the chicken before she put salt and pepper on it? Why did she add this or that to the recipe? What was the difference in taste? Eventually it got to the point where I was making suggestions. Maybe some grated cheese in the meatballs, a little garlic in the jarred pasta sauce. Then I took over. Baking has always been my real passion, though.”
“So it’s not like you had to do it.”
“No, I wanted to. It was a natural interest of mine. I think every person is born with a natural interest, you know? Only some of us get lucky enough to pursue it, though.”
“Not that I think you need the help, but why not look into culinary school? Even though you already have the coffee shop. If it’s what you really love to do?”
Her face gets stony. I hit a nerve. What is it about her? Why do I even care? And what the hell is she hiding from me? All I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed with me, which is the most bizarre reaction to have at the moment but it’s how I feel. I want to take her, make her forget everything for a little while. Maybe I can forget, too.
Then there goes that damned phone again. Finally, I have to ask, putting down my fork and looking her straight in the eye.
“Do you wanna tell me who the fuck has been messaging you all day? Not once have I seen you take the phone from your pocket, even though it’s been buzzing literally all afternoon. What’s going on? Are you hiding from somebody?”
She’s silent, staring down at her bowl. “Please let it go,” she murmurs. I think I hear a tremble in her voice. Now I know something’s wrong.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Is it really that bad? Listen, I know we don’t know each other well, but I can tell it’s bothering you. I just wanna help, if I can.”
“You can’t help.” There’s finality in her voice. Like she’s living with a death sentence. “Besides, it’s really not a big deal. If I ignore him, he’ll go away.”
“Him?” She’s painting a pretty vivid picture for me without meaning to. Is she running away from some asshole? There’s only one reason why she would. She’s not dishonest. I don’t see her stealing from a man or cheating. She’s not a coward. She’s stood up to me a bunch of times already. She’s scared to death of this guy, though.
“Let me see the phone,” I say as quietly as I possibly can. Already my blood’s boiling and I haven’t seen what he sent yet.
“No.” A violent shake of the head. This only spurs me on.
“Show me. Please.” Again, a shake. I decide to take it, my hand darting out to swipe it from her pocket before she can stop me. She’s leaning forward, making it easy to grab.
I heard her crying out, trying to stop me, cursing at me. But her words aren’t registering because the blood is rushing through my ears as I read the sick shit this guy has been texting her. I hold up a hand, signaling her to stop talking. I hear what sounds like a whimper coming out of her as she puts her face in her hands.
“Who is this guy? A boyfriend?” I look at the name. Tommy.
“Ex. I left him.”
“I don’t think I have to ask why after reading this.” My voice is tight. I’m barely keeping my rage under control. Scrolling up, I see things started innocently enough this afternoon. Begging her to please at least let him know she’s alive by replying to him. Begging her to take him back. Give him one more chance. He’ll make it up to her. They can be happy again. Why doesn’t she want to be happy with him anymore? He knows there’s somebody else. Why is she doing this to him? How could she have cheated on him? How can she be such a bitch? He’ll make her see how much she’s hurt him. She’s a stupid cunt. He’ll make her pay for this. He’ll make her wish she’d never made a fool out of him. She’ll be sorry when he finds her.
And she’s crazy if she thinks he won’t find her. She can’t hide from him.
I look up at her but all I can see is red. I have to kill this son of a bitch. “I’m guessing you didn’t leave him because he’s such an awesome guy,” I say.
“Please let it go,” she pleads. But I can’t. If there�
��s one thing I can’t stand, it’s violence against women. It doesn’t help that I happen to like this woman in particular.
“Just tell me what happened. Why did you leave him? Did this just start after you left?”
A sad head shake. “He…hit me. Lots of times. I was a stupid bitch, a cunt, worthless. I finally got the nerve to leave, but he just started sending me these messages not long ago. A few weeks. I don’t even know how he got my new cell number, unless he called my mom and tricked her into giving it to him. I never told them…you know. How bad it was. I was too ashamed. They didn’t know any better.”
I need to kill him. Or at least beat him within an inch of his life.
“Look, I’m going to block his number.” She holds her hand out now, wanting the phone. I hand it over, my mind racing with plans for how I intend to find this son of a bitch and beat the shit out of him. I watch as she does just like she said she would.
“I should have blocked him right away, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I was just afraid of how much angrier he’d be if I never responded to him.” She looks at me, and she doesn’t have to finish her thought because I can see what she’s trying to say. She feels safe with me. Like I’ll protect her. And the thing is I want to protect her. I want to be sure this guy doesn’t hurt her.
At the same time, I almost feel sorry for her, for being so naïve as to think I’m her safe bet. But between me and the asshole sending those texts I guess I am.
He’s not safe, though. Because I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna make him hurt.
Chapter 10
Christina
I can’t sleep now, not after sharing what I did earlier. There’s a storm inside me now.
Even though I’m relieved, somewhat, to not be carrying this burden on my own anymore, I can’t stop my mind from racing. What’s Tommy going to do now that I blocked him? When he sees I have no intention of replying, he’s going to spiral out of control, I know it. I have to try to get in contact with my mom in the morning, to ask if she gave him my new address. I’m terrified that he’s going to show up out of the blue.
Jax will keep me safe. That’s the thought that keeps popping into my head every time I get too worried. He’ll protect me. But I won’t always be with him, will I? What happens when I leave? And I do have to leave eventually, of course. I can’t be with him forever. Once I’m alone, I’ll be vulnerable.
I’m even more attracted to him than ever. I saw the rage in his eyes and it turned me on. What’s wrong with me that I actually, legitimately got hot when I saw how badly he wanted to hurt Tom once he read those texts? What’s broken inside me?
Whatever it is, it made me want Jax even more. I’m aching for him, as wrong as it is. I squeeze my legs together, noting how warm and tingling I am. He’s just what I need right now. Someone strong, powerful, commanding, even dangerous. But not to me. To the person who hurt me. It’s like an aphrodisiac, knowing there’s a person who’d be willing to hurt another person for my sake. And I know he would. I get the feeling he’s chomping at the bit.
Yes, I want him. But for now, we’re back in bed. In separate rooms. And I’m struggling to finally fall asleep and forget this for a while. Sleep is elusive, though. I wonder if some warm milk wouldn’t help. Maybe with a little whiskey. Do the two even go together? Well, it’s worth a try. I’m desperate enough to try anything at this point.
I pad downstairs, two pairs of knee socks quieting my footsteps. I stop short when I see Jax there, by the fire. He’s wearing boxers and nothing else, just as he did last night. I’m torn between wanting to turn away and slip back upstairs before he notices me and wanting to go to him. He’s like a magnet, drawing me closer against my will.
It’s too late. He knows I’m standing here, his head moving ever so slightly in my direction. As though he can’t decide what he should do either.
My feet are moving before I know what I’m doing, taking me to his side. I stand there, next to him, feeling the heat from both the fire and his body, burning into me. One strong, muscular arm slides around my waist before he looks up into my eyes. We don’t need to say a word. There’s nothing to say now, anyway.
I straddle his lap, pulling the oversize tee over my head and throwing it to the floor before wrapping my arms around his neck. He sighs, pulling me close for another soul-shattering kiss. I’ve never been kissed like this before, so completely. Like he’s trying to reach inside me and draw me out. We’re both searching for something as our tongues wrap around each other. But we’re not as frantic as we were this afternoon. We’re going slow, taking our time.
His hands move slowly up, then down my back. Over and over. The warmth from the fire is nothing compared to the heat his hands unleash in me. He sucks my bottom lip between his own, pulling slightly, using his teeth to make me hiss. I rock my hips against him, reminding him of the power I have.
My head falls back, his mouth now trailing my jaw, then down my throat. He’s going so painfully slow, licking every inch of my skin. I hear the whimpers coming out of my mouth and I don’t care. I have to find some way to tell him what he’s doing to me.
His head dips lower, his tongue dancing over my chest to my tits. My nipples are already rock-hard, waiting for his mouth. When his lips close around one stiff peak I cry out, digging my nails into his back. I lean further away, giving him better access. He holds me up as though I weigh nothing, his arms around me.
He moves to the other nipple and again I cry out, now moving my hips in slow circles against him. We’re so close to each other, only a few thin layers of cotton separating us. I feel his hard length against me, hear him groan as I make contact again and again. The pressure against my mound is driving me crazy, and I feel my panties getting soaked through.
“So good,” I manage to moan between gasps for air. I’m breathless, my chest heaving. I need him so much it’s painful, my clit throbbing.
I reach down to where I know he’s straining to get out of his shorts and slide my hand inside. It’s his turn to moan when my fingers make contact with him and wrap around his thick shaft.
“Shit,” he whispers, his head falling back this time. I run my tongue along his throat, nibbling him as I stroke his cock. I’ve never been so brazen, but I’ve never felt any of this before. Like I want to devour him, and be devoured.
“You like that?” I whisper breathlessly, gripping him. He moans again and I feel him throb in my hand. My own pussy clenches in reply.
“Suck it,” he groans. “Please…suck it…”
I climb from his lap and sink to my knees. I’ve never liked doing this, but with him it seems natural. I want to. I love the pleading sound of his voice and want him to beg for more. For once, I have power over him.
When my lips close over the head, he lets out a shuddering gasp. I take my time, not really confident in my skill, but the sound of his reactions leads me in the right direction. The way he gasps, groans, and urges me on builds my confidence and gets me even hotter than before.
He takes a handful of my hair, massaging my scalp with his fingers. “That’s right, baby. Just like that. That’s so good.” I can’t take all of him into my mouth, gagging around three quarters of the way down, so instinctively I stroke the rest with my hand and use it as an extension of my mouth. I keep up my slow, deliberate pace, licking as I go since I can tell it drives him crazy.
Soon, he’s thrusting into my mouth and I know he’s getting close. I suck harder, harder, now wanting him to come in mouth. I can’t believe this change in me. I want to feel dirty, do things I’ve never done. He tries to stop me, to pull out, but I won’t give up. He has no choice but to let go, shooting his load straight down my throat. He grunts once, twice as he spurts deep into me. I hold him in my mouth until I know he’s finished, then let him slip out.
He’s breathing heavily, with a smile on his face. I feel good, knowing I’ve pleased him.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asks once he catches his breath.
I don’t have time to answer before he pulls me to my feet and rips off the boxers and panties. He kneels on the floor and pulls me down with him, then pushes me back until I’m stretched out in front of the hearth, the rug under my back.
Without another word his head is between my legs, giving me all the pleasure I just gave him. He licks my smooth mound, which I know is slick with my juices by now. “Taste so good…” I hear him groan in between long laps of his tongue against my swollen lips. I’m in heaven, eyes closed, almost not breathing. Just focused on the sensations he’s causing.
Soon, I’m begging him for more. “More what?” he asks, running his thumb over my mound, not yet dipping inside.
“Please, eat me!” I nearly scream it, not caring how I sound. I just want to come and end this agony. I’m rewarded by the feeling of having my lips spread, then the indescribable bliss of the first touch of his tongue on my aching clit. I arch my back, crying out again and again. His tongue flicks back and forth, then up and down. He sucks my bud between his lips, then goes even lower to lick my dripping hole.
I’m lost in sensation, my head rolling from side to side as a long series of moans flows from me. My whole body begins to tense as the pressure builds, my breathing quickens. I’m so close, so ready. He reads my reaction and attacks my clit with a furious series of flicks with the tip of his tongue. That does it—I’m screaming, my thighs gripping his head, my back arched as the day’s built-up tension explodes inside me, then flows over and through me.
Still he doesn’t stop. Now he slides two fingers inside my sheath, still pulsing from my orgasm. I hardly know what he’s doing, only half-conscious in the afterglow. The beautiful waves are still rolling over me to crest higher and higher as Jax’s fingers begin pumping in and out of me. Instead of the blissful feelings dying off, they get stronger. I start climbing again, screaming now, the pleasure almost too much to handle. I’ve never come twice like this before and I’m not sure I can handle it.
