Good thing it wasn’t my cock making decisions around here. His reaction was definitely my signal to call it a night.
Or maybe take a shower myself. Temperature set to cold.
I was already headed toward the bathroom when Jolie stopped me. “You know, Cade…” She sounded tentative. “I understand you are used to living a certain kind of lifestyle.”
Certain kind of lifestyle? Was she calling me a manwhore? I was intrigued enough to turn around and face her.
“And I realize that having me here is probably getting in the way of that lifestyle.” She paused.
“Go on.”
Hesitantly, she approached me, her cheeks rosy, her lips wet. “If you really need to...you know. I don’t have to be an inconvenience. I’m here. You’re here. There’s no reason I couldn’t help out with...your needs.”
I blinked incredulously, not sure she was talking about what I thought she was talking about but unable to figure out what else she could possibly mean. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
She eyed the bulge in my jeans. “You sure about that?”
Okay then. She was definitely talking about what I thought she was talking about.
I choked back a laugh. “Uh, no. Definitely not.”
She took another step toward me. Now we were close enough that I could feel her exhale. “Why not? I’m a woman, you’re a man. No-strings hookups seem to be your M.O. Me being here is preventing you from going after that. Might as well be useful.”
Any other beautiful woman saying those words to me, and I’d be stripping already.
Those words coming from Jolie made me wince. She was not my usual M.O. She was not disposable. Or forgettable. She was not string-free.
How could she even consider putting me in that box?
Still, I was trapped in place. Glued to the spot. She placed her hand on my chest, and even through the hoodie, my skin scorched.
“Stop it,” I warned, my restraint thinning.
“Hell, it could be fun. Everyone wants a night with an ex-lover, don’t they?”
“No fucking way.” I wasn’t even thinking about the bet with Donovan. It was a matter of self-preservation.
“Because we’re not strangers? After all these years, we kind of are. That’s your type, right? Someone you don’t know? Or is it because you can’t separate now from the past?”
All my blood was running south, but I managed to come up with a decent argument. “How about because you think that sex equals love? Is that reason good enough?”
“Ouch.” She blanched and moved away. Only one step, but her heat went with her, and she suddenly felt a mile away. “That was a lot of years ago, you know. I’m sure your innocence has faded too. You probably don’t still think love can save the day, for example.”
It stung more than it should have, which was fair since I’d set out to hurt her first. It angered me that she could still understand me so well, and I’d lashed out. I didn’t really believe she was still that naive. I certainly wasn’t.
But that was who she’d been when I’d met her—a girl seeking affection in whatever way she could get it. She’d been the school’s official boy toy when I’d transferred in, and while I was pretty sure she hadn’t slept with most of her conquests, she’d been on her knees enough to make it a sore spot to my ego. Particularly when I’d never been one of the boys who’d been lucky enough to receive one of Julianna Stark’s famous blow jobs.
I hadn’t really wanted that from her then. I’d wanted to be special to her. I’d wanted to treat her special. I’d wanted to give her more than praise spouted out in a moment of fleeting euphoria.
For all the good it did. Here we were, strangers, like she’d said. I wasn’t special to her.
She didn’t have to be special to me.
And hadn’t I earned a turn with her on her knees?
She must have read my thoughts because she stepped forward, and now she was close again. “Look. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” She fingered the button of my jeans, but unlike when Simone had her hands in the vicinity, this time my cock reacted.
“I’m not asking you to do this.” I put my hand on her wrist, meaning to push her away, but instead just stilling her.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. With all you’re doing for me, I owe you this. I think you need it. Let me give it to you.”
Everything she said pissed me off.
Worse, it turned me on. Made me unimaginably hard. Made my thinking originate from my little head instead of my big. She wanted me to treat her like those boys had? She wanted to minimize everything that had been between us with something transactional? She wanted to feel cheap? She wanted to be used?
Fine. I could do that.
I could use the hell out of her and feel fucking good about doing it too.
Seventeen
“Kneel down.” The order flew from my mouth, harsh and impossible to disobey.
Jolie’s pupils got wide and dark. The surprise, I understood. I hadn’t been like that with her before. Back then, I’d been sweet and adoring and nice. Forceful tones had been part of our every day. There’d been no place for them in our lovemaking.
But this wasn’t about love. This wasn’t about nice. This was about justice. And closure. And basic, primal need, and the lust present in her dilated eyes said that maybe somehow this was meeting a need for her too.
“I’m not saying it again, Jolie. Get on your knees.”
She fell to the ground instantly, her mouth open and waiting before I had to ask. I didn’t want to think about all the boys who’d seen her like this back at school. I didn’t want to think about any men who’d seen her like this after I’d left, but I forced myself to be aware of them all the same. You’re not special. You are one of a crowd.
The acknowledgment made me even harder. Made me more desperate than ever to have my piece. My belt was still undone from Simone, so all I had to do was pop the button and unzip my fly, but I paused before I pushed my jeans down. “One more thing I need to make clear.”
She nodded eagerly, and I wondered if she’d still be nodding when I said what I had to say. “This is for me, not for you. Got it?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “I didn’t expect it would be any other way.”
A sharp stab of pain shot through my chest until I shoved it aside and made myself stone. This was what we were now. This was all we could be.
With that settled, I pushed my jeans and underwear down together, just far enough for my cock to spring free and in her face.
Her breath drew in audibly. I hadn’t reached my full potential by the age of eighteen. I’d had a significant growth spurt after I’d last been with her, and my cock had gone from a very normal width and length to a size that most called impressive.
I could sense the compliment on her tongue, and though I normally liked hearing it, I didn’t want it from her. I was feeling mean and contemptuous. I didn’t want her praise. I didn’t want her awe. I wanted to shove my impressive cock so far down her throat that she couldn’t breathe.
So before she could get out a single syllable, I was pushing my crown between her lips and into her lush mouth.
Fuck. Her mouth. Damp and hot. Heaven.
I’d planned to get in, fuck hard, and get right back out, but her tongue curled around my length as I pressed in, sending a storm of sensation down my spine. I closed my eyes and paused my stroke, trying to get my bearings before I exploded.
In my hesitation, she took over, wrapping her small hand around the base of my cock. Then she moved her mouth over me, sucking me in as far as she could before releasing me to the tip. Again. Again. Long, hard sucks that had me shivering.
After three trips up and down my cock, she swirled her tongue around my head, then started the whole pattern over again, bringing me closer to the edge on each round. Bringing me closer to erupting.
Bringing me dangerously close to losing my mind.
I closed my eyes hoping it would help. If
I didn’t see her, I could pretend I didn’t know her. That she was a woman I’d just met in the bar. That I could get lost in the selfishness of pleasure and forget everything else between us.
But there wasn’t any real forgetting.
Even if she had been another woman on her knees, it would still be her face in front of me, plastered on the back of my eyelids. Because it was always Jolie I thought of, even when I didn’t acknowledge it to myself. She was always the undercurrent of every sexual encounter.
And even if she wasn’t always the undercurrent of my sexual encounters, I wouldn’t be able to pretend now. She felt familiar, despite never having taken me like this. The way she touched me, the sounds she made as she sucked me off, the smell of her own arousal wafting up to my nose—they were uniquely her, and there was no way not to feel a tug of emotion with each draw of her lips against my sensitive skin.
My world suddenly felt like it was spinning, and I urgently looked for something to steady me. My hands fell on her head, tangled in her hair, pulled at it from the roots. I opened my eyes, and they immediately crashed into hers. Green-rimmed pools of beauty held my gaze, probing me with intensity as she worked her jaw over my cock.
I hated her.
In that moment, I realized just how much I did. How much I had for years. I hated her for hurting me, and for letting herself be hurt, and for hiding, and for having the guts to face me again after all this time. I hated her for throwing away what we’d been and for not allowing us to find out what more we could be.
I hated her for not loving me enough.
I hated her because I’d loved her too much.
A blast of fury spread through my torso. I braced her face with my hands, holding her still so I could control the speed and depth of my next thrust. She didn’t fight me. Her jaw went slack. Her eyes looked at me with something akin to trust.
“Did you learn this from them?” I drove in until my tip touched the back of her throat, barely letting her breathe when I pulled out before thrusting back in. “Birch and Wesley and Troy? Did they teach you how to take a cock like this?”
Her eyes watered, but the hitch in her breath made me wonder if the shaming aroused her.
I didn’t want her to enjoy this, but the possibility that she did somehow made me even harder. I looked for more signs of pleasure. Besides her dilated eyes, her skin was flushed and splotchy. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.
“Open your robe,” I demanded.
She did without question, exposing plump breasts, and it was my turn to suck in a breath. I hadn’t been the only one who’d had a growth spurt after high school. Before, she’d perfectly fit my palm. I didn’t move my hands to be sure, but it looked like she’d spill over if I groped her now.
More provoking than the sight of her beautiful tits was the steepled nipples they sported. Two solid beehives, begging to be touched and sucked and pulled. Proving that her body was reacting to this blatant exploitation. Inviting me to use her in other ways. Inviting me to use her all night long.
I could do that. Easily. Could pull her up to her feet, kiss her until her knees buckled. Carry her to the other room and make her come a thousand different ways until morning.
But if I did, it would mean something.
Not because I couldn’t separate the present from the past, but because in the present, I still loved her as much as I hated her. Nothing I did would ever change that. It was a commitment I’d made at the age of eighteen, and maybe Headmaster Stark had turned me into a masochist because I’d stuck miserably by that commitment for seventeen years.
There would never be closure. Not with Jolie.
Frustration threatened to distract me from orgasm, but one more glance at her face—tears streaming down her cheeks, her jaw struggling to take me all in—and I was almost there. Electric shocks ran down my cock and up my spine, radiated from my limbs. My torso spasmed like I’d been tickled. Two more pumps, and I was going to come.
And as much as I wanted her to suck me dry, that felt too good for her. Too intimate. She didn’t deserve any more parts of me than she already owned.
Abruptly, I pulled out, wrapped my hand around my cock, and aimed at her breasts. As soon as she understood what I wanted, she stuck her chest out like it was an offering. Inviting me to defile her.
Three and a half strokes later, I was spurting white ropes across her tits, decorating her flushed skin with my cum as my body stuttered out my release. I grunted out a long curse word, adding way more vowels than normal. I forced my eyes to stay open, forced myself to memorize her like this—debased and dishonored and degraded.
“Feel better?” She sounded proud of herself, but not smug. Her smile seemed genuine. She stood up and pulled her robe back over her shoulders, leaving it open in front, probably so the garment wouldn’t get dirty, but also giving me the advantage of seeing my artwork.
I thought about it a second. Actually, I did feel better. In the way that only a good orgasm could make me feel. Staring at the evidence of my release, my cock was already getting thick again.
And that made me not feel better anymore.
Because the fact was there was no end to this wanting. All these years, I’d told myself that if I just saw her again, if I just spoke to her, if I just knew how things had turned out then I could move on.
But I’d always known that was a lie. I would always want her. I would never be satisfied with just pieces. I would always want as much of her as she had of me.
And the real hitch of it all was that, even if she did say she wanted me too, I’d never be able to trust it.
It was a Catch-22. My own personal hell loop. One I was meant to suffer through alone.
I tucked myself away and pulled up my pants, not bothering to zip. “You need a wash rag to clean up?” I nodded toward the semen on her chest, but I didn’t really look at her. I was already gone. My mind already safely shut behind the door to the bedroom with a couple of bottles from the minibar, ready to push her out of my mind and my heart with alcohol like I had so often over the years.
“I’ll take another shower, if that’s cool with you.” Her tone was flat. Whether that was because I was listening to her from a distance or because she was disappointed that I was pulling away, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was leaving the room.
“Good. That’s a great idea. It’s been a long day. I’m going to hit the sack now.” I didn’t listen for her response. I grabbed the liquor from the fridge and headed to my room, refusing to feel bad for making her sleep on the couch bed, or for leaving her a mess in my cum, or for not returning the favor.
There was only one thought of her I allowed myself as I disappeared behind a closed door and pushed her from my thoughts entirely: See, Jolie. You’re not the only one who can walk away.
Eighteen
I was used to waking up with morning wood and lingering dreams of Jolie.
I wasn’t used to waking up that way with her in the next room.
It took a moment for the thought to register, but as soon as it did, I sat up straight and cursed.
Then I remembered what had happened the night before, and I cursed again.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
That’s the thing—I hadn’t been thinking. Now that I was thinking, I had a half-mile list of reasons why what had happened last night shouldn’t have happened, starting and ending with she was Jolie. I couldn’t even entertain it not mattering. Couldn’t think for even a second, is it really such a bad thing? because every fiber of my being knew just how bad it was.
And also the reasons that it was so bad were not reasons I wanted to dwell on.
I needed closure for a reason—and in the daylight, I was no longer willing to believe that goal was impossible. Getting sucked off and jizzing all over her chest like I was marking my territory, though, was not very closure-esque.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. What was today? Tuesday? Three
fucking days until she was out of here.
Three fucking days of trying to convince myself I didn’t want to do a whole bunch of other bad things with her.
I grabbed my cell off the nightstand, scanned my email and messages, then not seeing what I was hoping for, called Donovan. “Any leads yet?”
“It’s been one day, Cade.” He sounded like that father who was tired from yelling every time his kids asked are we there yet?
To be fair, he sounded like that a lot when I called. “It should be a compliment that I think you can work so fast.”
“Funny how your version of a compliment seems an awful lot like harassment.” His voice got muffled like he’d turned his phone into his shoulder, but I could still make out what he said. “Is that still scheduled for ten thirty? Better make it ten forty-five.”
I should have been sympathetic about his workload when I was sitting on my ass, shut behind a door, afraid of the woman on the other side.
But really all it made me feel was annoyed. “Is there something I can do to make things move along faster?” I’d even do more ad performance reports if it meant he’d get something concrete sooner.
I decided not to offer that specifically.
The muffled sound went away. “There is nothing you can do. There are things in motion. All we can do now is sit and wait for information to come in.”
Pretty much what I’d expected, but not at all what I’d wanted to hear.
“What you’re telling me is that twenty-four hours have passed, and you’ve got nothing?” Being irritated at Donovan was a lot more satisfying than being irritated by the situation.
“No, that is not at all what I’m saying. Hold on, no, Simone. I changed my mind. Move the Pritzogram meeting to after lunch, and then put the call with Dyson on at ten forty-five.” This time he hadn’t even bothered to mute me.
Obviously, he was busy.
Obviously, I didn’t care. “So tell me what you found. I’ll follow up.”
Wild Rebel Page 12
