I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh now, softly massaging it as he kissed up and down my body. Then one hand slid between my legs and he rubbed gently against my clit.
“Damn, you feel good, sweetheart. I cain’t wait to be inside you.”
“Then do it!”
“So impatient,” he said, a smile against my skin. “I’ve waited eight years, I’m not gonna rush this now.”
I ceded control and decided to let him go at his own pace. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be. Besides, it had been a while since a guy had taken his time with me. I was usually in a hurry and not looking for anything more than a quick pick-me-up, so to speak.
But if Jordan Kane wanted to take his own sweet time, who was I to argue?
He slid one of his long fingers inside me, showing me whatever else he’d gone without over the last few years, he hadn’t forgotten how to touch a woman.
I was a quivering mess of melted jelly within seconds. Those were some talented fingers that he had. No wonder he was so amazing at fine-tuning an engine. Damn!
Soon, I was beyond rational thought, my body moving to his every touch like a puppet as he worked the strings, pulling sensation after sensation from me.
Just as he’d brought me to the brink, and my whole body was pulsing with desire, he pulled his fingers out. I was about ready to tear him a new one when I felt the incredible fullness of Jordan pushing his body inside mine.
He moaned softly and stilled a second when he was fully sheathed by my body, obviously trying to catch his breath and avoid blowing his load.
“I’m not gonna be able to hold back,” he gasped. “Fuck, I’m so close already!”
“Then don’t. Don’t hold back,” I whispered, my nails digging into his back. “I want it hard. I want to feel every part of you now. I want to feel you come inside me.”
It was as if my words had released him, broken through some mental barrier that he’d built up, because he did exactly what I said. His hips rose and fell rapidly as he pounded into me, forcing me higher and higher up the blanket.
He reared up, taking his full weight on his forearms and the change of angle sent me wild, his pubic bone slamming roughly against my already sensitive clit.
I fell so hard I saw stars. Then I remembered we were outside and it was evening; I could still see stars when I opened my eyes again.
Jordan yelled out my name as he came. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
I’d heard guys yell a lot of things when they came—mostly other girls’ names, and one guy shouted, “mother” which I found deeply disturbing—but Jordan was perfect.
His biceps trembled, and I pulled him down so my breasts squished from the weight of his chest crushing mine.
His breath roared in my ear as he fought to get his breathing under control.
After a long moment, I felt his hand drift down to where we were still connected, and he carefully pulled out.
He snapped off the used condom and tied a knot in the end. It reminded me of tying a knot in the end of party balloons and the thought made me giggle.
“What?” he asked, turning to look at me, doubt clouding his soft brown eyes.
“Oh, nothing much. Just feeling good.”
“What were you laughin’ about?” he insisted.
“Don’t go getting all performance-oriented on me. I was just thinking that condoms remind me of party balloons, that’s all.”
“Really?” he said, his face creased with worry. “Because I wouldn’t blame you. I know that was damn pitiful. I know I can do better than that and…”
I leaned up on my elbow to look him in the eyes so he’d know I meant what I said.
“Stop worrying! That was amazing. In case you’re wondering, that whole yelling and thrashing around thing, that was me having a freakin’ amazing orgasm.”
He still looked worried. “You’re not just sayin’ that?”
“Jeez, Jordan! No! Have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?”
He chewed his lip while he thought about that. “I guess not.”
“Well, you guess right. I don’t go around telling lies, even little white lies just to make people feel better. And if a guy is a two pump chump, I tell it like it is. You have nothing to worry about. On the other hand…”
“On the other hand what?” His voice was tentative.
“I’m looking forward to getting in a whole shit load more practice with you. You’ve got eight years to make up for. What do you say?”
His grin could have lit up Vegas.
“I say you’re a very wise woman, and I’m damn lucky to have met you.”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a smile.
“I thought I was the one gettin’ it?”
“Don’t be such a guy,” I said, pushing his shoulder. “I got laid good—I’m a happy camper.”
We lay together and he pulled me against him, his warm and solid body close beside me.
I rested my arm on his stomach, idly tugging at the few hairs that grew up from his belly.
“How come you’ve got all these tats?” I asked. “I’ve been wondering about them. Unless you had them when you were 16, you must have gotten inked in prison.”
His fingers that had been drifting up and down my arm, stilled.
“You’re the only one who ever says that.”
“Says what?”
“About prison. Everyone else is just embarrassed and don’t know what to say. The ones who speak to me, anyway. But you—you just say it.”
“Do you mind?”
“God, no. It’s a relief in a way. I mean, it happened and I cain’t change it. But pretendin’ like it didn’t—and that I’m normal like everyone else—it gets so damn wearisome.”
I took a deep breath.
“Jordan, do you think you could tell me now? What happened to Mikey? To you?”
He shot me a panicked look.
“Torrey, I…”
“You know you can trust me. I’m not going to judge you.”
“You will,” he said, heavily. “Of course you will. And I won’t blame you when you do.”
His eyes were pleading with me.
I sighed and looked away. We lay there for several minutes, not speaking, the air growing cooler.
Eventually, I sat up and started pulling my clothes toward me. Without saying anything, I passed Jordan his t-shirt and jeans.
Guess I was good enough to fuck, but not for him to share anything important with.
We dressed in silence and I started to stand, when suddenly, I felt his hand on mine.
“I was 16,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
I turned to stare at him, but his gaze was fixed on the sand at the edge of the blanket.
“We’d celebrated Mikey’s eighteenth birthday with our parents the week before. That was … nice, but kinda tame.”
Oh my God! He’s really talking to me. He’s going to tell me…
“Ryan, our buddy, he wanted to have a kegger while his folks were away. And … I said I’d drive so Mikey could have a drink. When we got to Ry’s, the place was jumpin’, cars everywhere, people drinkin’ and dancin’, kids makin’ out all over the place. You know, ordinary stuff.
“Mikey hooked up with this girl Sonia that he saw sometimes. I went lookin’ for Allison. When I found her, she was already pretty tanked. Seein’ as Ry’s folks were gone, we decided to stay the night. I started drinkin’, and Allison was bein’ a bitch ‘cause one of her friends was hittin’ on me.”
He sighed.
“I wasn’t discouragin’ her too much, I guess. Anyway, we got into a fight and Allison was screamin’ at me. I took off and found Mikey. He was wasted—been smokin’ weed and shit. I said I was leavin’ and he tried to talk me into stayin’. We argued some, and then he said he’d drive. Man, he was so high, he couldn’t even see straight. And … I had the keys.”
Jordan took a shuddering breath.
His body felt tense next to me, but I didn’t dare reach out to touch him. He seemed so far away, lost in his memories.
Jordan
I remember it all.
I remember turning up the radio real loud to keep awake for the short drive back, but I guess I fell asleep at the wheel because the next thing I knew the car had shot off the road, flipped over and hit a tree.
I don’t think I was knocked out for long because I remember crawling out of the car and seeing the wheels still spinning, around and around. I couldn’t understand why Mikey wasn’t in the car with me. I was stumbling all over, calling his name.
“Oh my God! What happened then?”
What the fuck?
Confused, I looked up, jolted from the painful past, and saw Torrey’s beautiful blue eyes watching me. Was I talking? Did I just say all of that aloud?
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard, Jordan.”
We were still at the bay, still lying on that rough blanket, her arms around me.
I closed my eyes, traveling back to that night again, pulled toward the dark memories.
“Someone must have seen the car leave the road because there were people there right quick. I remember thinkin’ I’d gone blind in one eye, but it was just because of all the blood. I’d cut my head open and a flap of skin was hangin’ down. I didn’t realize. And then my foot caught in somethin’ and I fell over—I literally tripped over his body. I didn’t recognize him at first.”
Telling this part of the story hurts so bad. I can’t breathe, my chest aches, and it’s like it just happened.
“He hadn’t been wearin’ his seatbelt and he’d gone through the windshield. His face was … gone. But I recognized his t-shirt, and I knew it was him. I was screamin’, I think. I remember that. They told me later that it was me. When I remember it, it’s like someone else is tellin’ me about it, you know? Like it was a film—except I feel it. All of it.”
Torrey held my hand so tight, my fingers started to tingle. I didn’t care, because I didn’t want her to let go. I didn’t ever want her to let go.
“Someone pulled me away, some guy. I never knew who he was. Just an unlucky passer-by. I remember he put his coat over Mikey’s face, and I was screamin’ that he wouldn’t be able to breathe like that; he’d suffocate. And this guy kept sayin’, ‘He’s gone, son. He’s gone.’ Over and over. There was an ambulance and then the police. They took me to the hospital first and sewed me up. I think I was in shock because I kept askin’ them why it was so cold, and I couldn’t stop shakin’. The police wanted to interview me, and someone had to phone my parents. I remember Momma screamin’ and cryin’ and she collapsed on the floor, and Dad was holdin’ her and cryin’, too. And I was just sittin’ there and everyone was lookin’ at me like I was some kind of monster. I kept on at them about Mikey: ‘Where’s my brother? I need to see my brother.’ I think I knew he was dead, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
Torrey ran her fingers across my cheek and kissed me gently.
“Oh my God, Jordan! I’m so sorry.”
I met her eyes and was amazed to see that they were glistening with tears.
“My God,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that’s just … horrible and awful and shitty—but it was an accident.”
She wrapped her arms around me and it felt so good to have her there, anchoring me to the here and now.
“I can’t imagine what that was like for you,” she said, softly. “I mean, you were just a kid. And dealing with all of that alone.”
I felt the gentle touch of her fingers on my skin and I wanted that feeling to go on forever.
“You’re not alone now,” she said.
And I felt it. I felt it in her words, in her voice, and in her body. I closed my eyes: I wasn’t alone anymore.
I rolled onto my side to look at her.
“You’re still here,” I said, quietly. “I was sure you’d have headed for the hills by now.”
She smiled sadly.
“Life’s dealt you a shit hand and I can’t imagine how it was for you losing your brother like that…”
“I didn’t lose him!” I snapped. “I killed him!”
“It was an accident.”
“It don’t make no difference!”
“I think it does.”
“He’s still dead!”
“Yes, he is. And you’re alive, so stop acting like you think you should have been buried with him.”
What?
“I mean it, Jordan. You’ve got to stop torturing yourself—it was an accident!”
“Everyone around here thinks I’m a murderer.”
“Jordan, no!”
“My own parents think that, Torrey. Hell, even I thought that … think that.”
“But…”
“It’s what I am. I nearly killed a man—in prison. I wanted to.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Tell me,” she said, a determined expression on her face.
I turned my head to look at her.
“You mean the town gossips haven’t told you that story either?”
“No, but even if they had, I’d want to hear your version.”
I sighed and looked down.
“Well, what they say is mostly true anyway. I got into a fight—a guy got stabbed. I got the blame. The truth is, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I looked at her sideways, watching her expressions as they flowed across her face. “They charged me with attempted murder. I mean, hell, the shank—the knife—it wasn’t even mine. It should have been pled down to aggravated assault, or assault with a deadly weapon at most, but … I don’t know … I mean, I’m not sure how it ended up being on me. Anyway, I got seven years.” I smirked, and Torrey’s lips turned down. “I got nine months off for good behavior … and overcrowding. Now, I’m serving the last six months on parole…”
My voice trailed off.
“What started the fight?”
I shrugged.
“Happened all the time. It’s hard not to get dragged into stuff, you know, stay neutral. There were two major gangs running juvie: the ABTs, the Aryan Brotherhood; and EPT, the El Paso Tangos. Being white, I was supposed to join the ABTs,” I continued, “but I just wanted to be left alone. But wantin’ and gettin’—those are different things. Two of them got me alone. I got this,” I raised my t-shirt and pointed to the white scar at the base of my ribs, “and I turned the knife on one of the gang members—nearly killed the bastard.”
I looked directly at her.
“I wanted to kill him. I would have if they hadn’t pulled me off of him.”
For the first time since I’d met her, she looked scared—scared of me. A sharp, stabbing pain threatened to split my chest open. She was scared of me. But maybe that was a good thing even though it killed me. She needed to know about the darkness inside.
I held her gaze as I carried on, my words and memories relentless.
“I’d gotten me a punctured lung, but I was almost 18 by then—my juvie record would have been sealed.” I gave a humorless laugh, “I wasn’t deemed fit to be let back among decent folk. They moved me straight from juvie to prison. But the gangs weren’t so bad there. It was almost a relief.”
I looked across at her again, but she was staring toward the city lights reflecting off the water in the distance.
“I guess you know the rest,” I said.
I was trying to read her thoughts from her face, but I couldn’t see her eyes, so I wasn’t sure what she was thinking or feeling.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, quietly.
She didn’t look scared anymore and I didn’t know how to feel about that. Instead, I wanted to beg her not to leave me. I was afraid of what she’d say when she’d had time to think it all through. But Christ, I was so relieved that she was still here with me now.<
br />
I just wondered how long it would be for.
We didn’t talk much after that, and Torrey was quiet on the drive back. Every time I risked looking at her, she was staring out of the side window.
I silently begged her to speak, to say anything, even if it was to yell at me. Just say something!
As the seconds ticked by and she still didn’t speak, I felt like I’d lost her already, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t think I could take losing someone else I cared about, that I loved.
I’d always known I’d have to tell her the truth at some point, I just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon. But I knew it was just a matter of time before somebody told her, maybe her own momma, so when she’d asked—again—I had to tell her.
I felt sick, reliving it all, and I realized that she was the first person I’d told about how Mikey died since that useless fucking shrink in the pen. It was a completely different experience telling Torrey, and all the old guilt and pain had flooded back. Why was I so stupid that night? Why had I gotten in the damn car? Why was I the one who’d survived? Why was it Mikey who had paid? And my parents, too. We’d paid and paid and paid, but the debt was never going to go away. I’d never be done paying. Never.
As I looked at the future I had, I just saw fifty empty years of trudging through each long, lonely, gray day. It seemed unbearable. And if Torrey didn’t want to be with me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face that journey.
I thought telling her had been the right thing to do, but now I wondered if it only looked like she’d taken it well. Maybe she’d been in shock. Maybe she was afraid of me now. Maybe she was disgusted that she’d slept with me. Maybe she just wanted to get away from me…
When I pulled up outside the Rectory, she still hadn’t spoken. I felt like my skin would split from the tension burning inside me.
“Torrey, I…”
But I didn’t know what to say to make her stay.
She sighed heavily, and my heart shriveled.
“Jordan, tonight … thank you for telling me.”
I nodded and swallowed down the fear. “Has it … does it … change … things?”
Of course it does.
She didn’t answer immediately, and the sadness in her eyes all but killed me. I wished she would kill me. I wished she’d take a gun and shoot me in the fuckin’ head, rather than gut me slowly from the inside out.
Lifers Page 12
