The Complete Irreparable Boxed Set: Irreparable #1-2

by Sam Mariano

  Letting his gaze wander over her, he felt a little underdressed in his jeans and black sweater. Along with a pair of black heels, Willow was wearing the snug black dress with a shoulder-baring, red gauzy top—the one she had posted a while back, before things had become even more complicated between them. It looked even better in person.

  Then she turned and gestured for him to follow her into the living room, and he saw that the dress zipped all the way up the back.

  His fingers itched to unzip it.

  Taking a seat on the couch, she patted the cushion beside her and he followed her cue and sat down, placing the bag with the wine in the floor next to the couch.

  “You look very pretty,” he told her, absently reaching out to run a finger along her bare shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving him a little smile. “So do you.”

  “Ugh, I couldn’t find a thing to wear,” he joked. “Everything made me look fat.”

  Rolling her eyes in amusement, she said, “Yeah, I bet you have that problem all the time.”

  “Constantly,” he murmured, his focus waning as she leaned back against the couch, her hair fanning out behind her, and tilted her head to look up at him with something close to admiration. Smiling slightly, he asked, “What’s that look for?”

  “What look?” she asked innocently, her not-so-innocent right hand brushing across his leg to land on the inside of his thigh.

  “I thought you were supposed to be mad at me.”

  Instead of confirming or denying that, her hand moved inward even more until she was rubbing him through the fabric of his jeans.

  Ethan leaned his head back and closed his eyes as his pants became uncomfortably tight. Willow shifted, turning so that she had a better angle, and then climbed on top of him, hiking her dress up so she could straddle him.

  His hands found her thighs, pushing up under the dress and cupping his hand between her legs. Smiling a little, she reached for the button of his jeans.

  “I thought I was here for dinner,” he managed.

  “You are. Why not have a little dessert first?” She flashed him her minx-like smile and then she was kissing him, and God help him, he locked his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and kissed her back.

  With his hand between her legs he went for her panties—only to find she wasn’t wearing any. Groaning against her mouth, he slid a finger inside of her and she moaned, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and lightly biting him.

  Pulling back from the kiss, he leaned in to brush his lips along the curve of her neck as she tilted it to give him better access. “Did you invite me here to fuck you?”

  “Maybe,” she whispered, shoving her fingers through his hair. “Would you complain if I did?”

  In lieu of an answer, he pushed a second finger inside of her, causing her to squirm in his lap.

  Since his hand was already around her back and that dress was just begging to be stripped off of her, he went for the zipper, watching her face as he tugged it halfway down her back.

  “Take the top part off,” he commanded.

  She smiled at that, and proceeded to do just what he asked, tugging the sleeves off so that her black lacy bra was the only thing hiding her breasts.

  “Now the bra.”

  Squirming a little as he continued to toy with her, she reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, removing it and tossing it in the floor.

  Sighing just a little, he realized he had missed those, too. Leaning forward, he caught her right nipple in his mouth and began to tease it with his tongue.

  She only let him continue to taste her for another minute, then she pulled back and said, “Wait, I want to try something.”

  Withdrawing his fingers from between her legs, he watched as she climbed off the couch and into the floor, getting down on her knees. Then she went for his jeans, tugging them and the underwear beneath them down to his ankles.

  His cock was happy to have its freedom, and even happier when she curled her fingers around it and shoved her hair back over her shoulder. It became ecstatic when she bent and took the tip in her mouth, a bit tentatively at first, but then she pulled back, licked her lips, and slid her mouth over half of his length.

  “Oh, fuck,” he ground out as she took more of him into her mouth, finally easing down until he could feel his cock at the back of her throat.

  Willow moaned, moving slowly at first, but before long she was picking up the pace. She actually seemed enthusiastic, and much faster than he was used to, he felt his climax approaching. He reached down and placed a hand on her shoulder to warn her, and she sped up even more. And then he was coming, one hand tightening on her shoulder, the other gripping the couch cushion, and she kept her mouth around him, taking every last bit.

  While he rested against the back of the couch to recover, Willow pulled the top of her dress back on and zipped it up, leaving her bra in the floor. Then she got on the couch, curling her legs up beneath her, and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a swallower,” he stated, reaching over to take her hand.

  She gave his hand a little squeeze and said, “Spitting isn’t ladylike.”

  He choked on a burst of laughter. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Well, now you know,” she replied easily.

  Regaining some of his strength, he leaned forward and tilted his head so he could place a little kiss on top of her head. “Thank you.”

  She made an affirmative noise and they stayed just like that for a few minutes, no words, just companionable silence and cuddling.

  Finally, she said she would be right back and headed to the bathroom, so he took the opportunity to get himself fully dressed again.

  Of all the possibilities he had thought of on his way over, that had not been one of them. In dreams a couple times, but definitely not in real life.

  When Willow emerged, she stopped behind the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him she would be back, she needed to go check on dinner.

  Instead of waiting for her by himself in the living room, he grabbed the wine he had brought and followed her.

  “Do you want me to help with anything?” he asked.

  “Can you cook?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she filled a pot with water.

  “Of course I can cook. I mean, not foie gras or anything, but I can cook regular stuff.”

  Willow shook her head. “Thank you anyway. You can get out the wine glasses if you want,” she said, indicating the cupboard.

  It wasn’t much, but he grabbed the wine glasses and took them over to the table, which she had already set prior to his arrival. There was already an empty glass for each of them, and she even set up a candle in the center of the table nearest their spots. That made him smile a little.

  “So, which one of your boyfriends was going to be the lucky date if I would’ve been busy?” he asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms as he watched her put a lid on the pot she had just placed on the stove.

  Adjusting the heat, she turned around and smiled. “Why? Jealous?”

  “No. Well… maybe if he was also going to get dessert first…”

  Willow grinned, but didn’t confirm or deny it. “My reserve tonight was actually my ex-boyfriend. I should probably text him, come to think of it,” she said, walking to the other end of the counter to find her phone.

  “The one you dumped?” he asked, frowning slightly.

  “Uh, no, not that one,” she said as her thumbs flew rapidly across the screen. “My ex-boyfriend before him—Caden. He was the big brother of one of my girlfriends, but I don’t really talk to her much anymore.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should appreciate the ease with which she seemed to switch between guys, or be a little insulted by it. “So the dress wasn’t specifically for me then?”

  Apparently finished texting, she put her phone down and shoved it to the back of the counter, returning her attention
to him with a smile. “No, the dress was for you. I was wearing jeans earlier.”

  “What about panties?”

  Her grin widened. “I was wearing panties earlier, too.”

  Ethan shook his head in amusement. “You’ve never been dumped before, have you?”

  “I have. Actually Caden dumped me—part of why he doesn’t get the dress,” she informed him with a wink.

  “I don’t know that I deserve the dress either, to be honest.”

  Willow merely shrugged. “We don’t get what we deserve out of life, Ethan.”

  That little nugget of truth wiped the smile right off his face, but she just turned around, reaching into a cabinet above her head and pulling down two shallow bowls.

  “Do you want bread with your salad?”

  He watched as she pulled a giant loaf of bread out of its brown paper sleeve, placing it on top of the cutting board and reaching for a large knife.

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll have a piece.”

  She nodded and sliced off two pieces of bread, placing one on the edge of each shallow bowl and moving the knife to the sink.

  With the knife safely out of reach, he walked up behind her and slowly moved his arms around her waist. She tensed initially, but then she relaxed and leaned back against him, resting her hands on top of his.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Ethan asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Are you having bad dreams again?”

  Her shoulders tensed and she stepped out of his embrace, flashing an irritated glance at him over her shoulder as she took the bowls to the table. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, taking her response as verification that she was.

  She shook her head, but didn’t bother responding. Instead, she moved on to the next task, taking the bowl of salad she had already prepared out of the fridge and placing it in the center of the table.

  “If you want tomatoes or cucumbers in your salad, just let me know and I can chop some up for you.”

  “I don’t care about tomatoes, Willow,” he said, catching her by the shoulder and turning her to look at him.

  Sure enough, beneath the make-up she had attempted to cover them up with, there were dark smudges under her eyes.

  Ethan sighed. “I thought… I thought they stopped.”

  “They did. For a while. Then they came back.” She shrugged, averting her gaze. “It didn’t work. Oh well.”

  “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “It’s not your fault,” she told him, breaking free and resuming her busy work. “It was a valiant effort.”

  “When did they start up again?”

  “Does it matter?” Willow replied. “I’m working on a new theory of getting rid of them, but it’s trial and error at this point.”

  “Are you still seeing your counselor?” Ethan inquired.

  “Yep. Haven’t told her everything though—I kind of thought she might not understand.”

  “Well… she is trained to better understand these kinds of things, Willow.”

  Pausing to spare him a look of disbelief, she said, “Really? You think she would understand this? I don’t think this is normal. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m fairly confident that I’m not.”

  Since he didn’t know how to argue with that, he let it go for the moment.

  By the time they sat down to dinner, he seemed to have succeeded in lowering her guard again. He was still a little pissed at himself for not noticing earlier, and he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just open up instead of making him pry every little thing out of her. It would be so much easier—but then, that was probably just part of what made her Willow, the beguiling creature that she was.

  “That was amazing.”

  Willow offered a smile as Ethan helped her clear the table. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  The food had been delicious, the wine had helped ease what little tension had remained, and after only one glass, Willow’s cheeks had pinkened and she was even more pleasant than usual.

  But dinner was over.

  Ethan wasn't immediately sure where to go from there. They were still in the kitchen, and he checked his watch, asking, "Do you know what time your parents will be home?"

  "Not precisely, but I know they’ll still be out for a little while." Approaching him and reaching for his hand, she asked, "Do you want to go to my room?"

  Of course he did, even if he was a bit conflicted about it.

  After a quick stop in the living room to retrieve her bra, Willow led Ethan upstairs and down the hall into her bedroom.

  Once inside, he was momentarily distracted by the girlish hues. Her walls were painted lavender with a couple of abstract canvas paintings on opposite walls, the carpet was plushy and white, and her bedspread was black and white with the names of several international cities printed on it—Paris, Rome, New York, etc. There were decorative pillows set up, some matching the bedspread, some that matched the walls, and a few that matched both to pull the look together.

  Her dresser was white with a mirror behind it, against the wall by the door he suspected was either a closet or a bathroom. Atop the dresser, a couple of framed pictures of her and her friends, a blue candle in a glass jar, a small stack of magazines, and several bottles of nail polish.

  Once more, he was reminded of her age. It was easy to forget when he was alone with her—too easy.

  As if sensing that he was about to have a crisis of conscience, Willow came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, just like he had done in the kitchen earlier.

  “Don’t judge me by the teenage girl paraphernalia that’s scattered around my room,” she said lightly.

  Cracking a smile, he said, “Did a teenage girl sneak in here and plant it so I’d find it?”

  “Yes,” she enthused. “She’s such a bitch. I keep trying to get rid of her but the garlic necklace and salt circle were both a bust.”

  Ethan shook his head. “You should really have someone take care of that. What would your army of boyfriends think?”

  “They’re teenage boys, so I highly doubt they would find it so offensive,” she pointed out. Tugging on his arm, she prompted him to turn around. He did, wrapping his arms around her waist, looking down at her.

  “You’re trouble, you know that?” he asked.

  Willow shook her head. “I’m sweet as pie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Despite his sigh, his hand moved to her face and he ran the backs of his fingers along her jaw before cupping her face in his hand. Willow leaned into it and closed her eyes, so open to his touch.

  “I don’t understand you,” he murmured, pulling her closer so he could place a kiss on her forehead.

  “What don’t you understand?”

  Sighing, Ethan said, “I’m not trying to bullshit you or anything , but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say you could pretty much have your pick of guys. Why am I here?”

  Instead of feigning modesty and denying it, or even smiling and teasing him about it, her lips pressed together and she seemed to contemplate her response. After a minute, she came up with one. “I could be here with someone else, sure, but…I feel like it needs to be you. I can’t compartmentalize you the way that I would need to in order to file you away—you’re in too many different compartments. We’ve blurred—I’ve blurred the lines in such a way that…” She trailed off, uncertain how to explain it. Her brow furrowed.

  “You certainly haven’t blurred the lines on your own, Willow,” he told her, shaking his head slightly. “That’s as much my fault—more my fault than it is yours.”

  Her gray eyes shot to his, a little frustrated. “It’s not about fault. I’m not trying to place blame on anyone. I just…I need to try to make a new memory. You’ll always be my first, whether you think I should think of it that way or not, it doesn’t change the facts. You were the first, maybe not the first that I picked, but the first all the same. Maybe my feel
ings for you have changed since then—I haven’t daydreamed about a fiery spike piercing your torso recently—but that just makes the memories… weirder. It’s like when you go to sleep and dream your significant other is cheating on you and you wake up angry at them, even though they didn’t actually do anything—only, instead of that, it’s… ripping away my virginity in front of a group of criminals, a couple of whom are clearly planning to do the same fucking thing to me at the next available opportunity. I’m not your high school girlfriend, I didn’t expect candles, but…my expectations were a little bit more than what I got.”

  Just hearing her reiterate the gory details caused Ethan’s stomach to sink. Images flung themselves to the forefront of his mind—Lane with the gun to her head, the bloody condom, Willow curled up on the ground, crying. His stomach rolled over.

  There was nothing he could say or do to make up for it, and he hated being reminded of that. “I’m sorr—”

  Willow placed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. “You don’t have to apologize again. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, just trying to answer your question.”

  Before he could argue, Willow stood on her tiptoes, looping her arm around his neck, and tugged him down to kiss her.

  Slow at first, Willow escalated things when she caught his lower lips between her teeth and tugged, then slipped her tongue into his mouth and surprised him with her aggression.

  Ethan could feel his own desire stirring as he tugged her closer, matching her eagerness. He slowly walked her backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed, skimming her curves with his fingertips, then placing his hands under her ass and lifting her. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively and a minute later they were on the bed, and he was tossing those damn decorative pillows on the floor as Willow scooted backward, trying not to break their kiss.

  Finally she did break the kiss, needing air, but he took the opportunity to start kissing his way up her neck, which made Willow moan—which in turn, drove him crazy.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmured, wanting to stop then if she was going to change her mind.