The Will

by Kristen Ashley

  But I very much enjoyed how it felt when I had him in my mouth, the way he tasted, how big and hard he got, the noises I could make him make, the satisfaction it gave me that I could excite him in that way.

  “Josie—” he started.

  “Um…” I mumbled.

  “I eat you,” he decided for me. “I want you spread on my couch in that dress and you can’t do that blowin’ me.”

  “Uh…all right, darling.”

  He dipped his head and his mouth came to mine but he didn’t kiss me.

  He ordered on a whisper I felt everywhere. “Down, baby, and spread.”

  Then he brushed his lips against mine.

  After that, I lay down on the couch and spread.

  Jake’s eyes raked over me before his hands moved to the backs of my knees, shoved them up which slid me up the couch so I was nearly hanging over the arm and then he joined me, well down from me, his mouth closing over me between my legs.

  My legs tensed in his grip and my head fell back.

  Jake ate me.

  And not that he hadn’t already taken over, after he made me come with his mouth between my legs, he made me come three more times “taking over.”

  It was better than making out.

  Much better.

  In a big way.

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon, with my uncle incarcerated and unable to come up with bail money, even for a minor breaking and entering (although, since he had a record, minor had turned into somewhat major), we were back at Jake’s.

  And it was me who had a bag in his bedroom.

  I was heading to the living room from the kitchen with a bowl of Ro-Tel dip I’d nuked and another of chips when the doorbell rang.

  “Got it!” I called and moved to the door.

  However I saw who it was through the windows and stopped dead.

  He saw me too. I knew this when his already hard face got harder. But when I didn’t move the doorbell rang again.

  “Babe? You got it?” Jake yelled from the family room.

  I stared at Boston Stone through the window and yelled back, “Darling, I think you need to come here.”

  I had not moved an inch before I felt Jake’s presence and then I heard him growl, “Oh no. This shit is not happening.”

  He then stalked around me, threw open the door and ordered, “You get off my property in five seconds or you get to have another conversation with Coert and slapped with a restraining order.”

  “It’s necessary I speak with Josephine.” I heard Boston say but I only heard it. Jake was barring the door and I couldn’t see him.

  “The fuck it is. Five seconds, Stone,” Jake returned.

  “I came to apologize,” Boston announced.

  What on earth?

  “Write her a letter,” Jake clipped.

  “If I apologize, this is done,” Boston told him.

  “One,” Jake started counting and it was then I moved.

  I got close to him, put the bowls on the table by the door and my hand to Jake’s back.

  Through this, Jake didn’t move a muscle except the ones around his mouth in order to say, “Two.”

  “Jake,” I said softly.

  “Three,” Jake said to Boston.

  “Jake.” I pressed my hand into his back. “Please. If we can get this done, let’s do that.”

  “Listen to her, Spear.”

  Jake stopped counting but still didn’t move.

  I pressed my hand deeper into his back.

  Finally, he shifted to the side.

  But barely.

  Nevertheless, I had a view to Boston and he looked directly to me.

  “Right, Josephine,” he bit out. “I apologize. Now call off your dog.”

  I felt my brows draw together.

  My dog?

  Was he referring to Jake? For he couldn’t be referring to Pearl.

  Could he?

  “I’m uncertain what you mean, Boston, but if you’re referring to Jake or Mrs. Milshorn, that’s quite offensive.”

  Boston straightened his shoulders even as he continued scowling at me. “You know what I’m talking about, Josephine. Now tell your dog I apologized and this is done.”

  I straightened my shoulders as well and informed him, “I can’t control Pearl. And Jake’s right here so if it’s him you’re attempting to appease, I would suggest you do it in a less insulting manner.”

  “I’m not talking about Pearl or Spear,” he ground out. “I’m talking about your other dog. The black one.”

  I shook my head in confusion but this confusion was cleared when Jake murmured, “Amond, babe.”

  I looked up at him to see he was struggling to keep his composure and that was to say he looked like he wanted badly to smile but was fighting it.

  “Amo…?” I started then the light dawned and I stared at Jake.

  Then I looked to Boston Stone.

  “Are you speaking of my friend, Dee-Amond?” I queried.

  “What I’m speaking of is that I was told if I apologized directly to you and made you the promise that I would no longer involve myself in your life in any capacity, some difficulties I’ve suddenly found myself facing would disappear. So I’m apologizing directly to you. I will no longer involve myself in your life in any capacity. Now, I request that you phone your friend and share this with him.”

  Suddenly, it was me having difficulty fighting back my smile.

  Through this struggle, however, I told him, “There is one small matter that needs addressing.”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek before he asked, “And that would be?”

  “My uncle has no way home and I’d like him to go home and stay there. I’ll drop the charges against him if you would see to that issue and that would be, getting him home and giving him plenty of incentive to stay there.”

  Boston said nothing, just scowled at me.

  So I continued.

  “And that would be plenty of incentive, Boston. Alas, he’s a greedy man and he’s also an unpleasant one. Unless you’re certain to neutralize him, since he knows where to find me and what I have, it is likely he’ll continue to bother me until the day he dies.”

  “Which could be any day, Josephine. He’s not exactly young,” Boston pointed out.

  “He also shouldn’t be my problem,” I said softly. “And wouldn’t be if you had left well enough alone. That’s your mess, Boston. Clean it up or I make no calls.”

  He drew in a deep breath, his neck going red before he said, “I’ll deal with your uncle.”

  “Then I’ll be certain to call my friend when I have time,” I assured him.

  “At your earliest convenience, if you wouldn’t mind,” he clipped.

  “Of course. However, the Ravens are playing and I rather like their uniforms so it’ll have to be after the game.”

  Jake made a strangled noise and Boston’s jaw clenched.

  Then he forced out, “My gratitude.”

  “Have a lovely Sunday, Boston,” I bid him.

  He scowled at me, didn’t even look at Jake, turned and stormed down to his Mercedes.

  Jake gently shoved me back with a hand in my belly, shut the door and locked it.

  I looked up at him and burst into laughter. In the midst of doing this, his arms closed around me so I got to finish it with my arms around his neck and my face in his chest.

  It felt so nice laughing in Jake’s arms I made a mental note to do it more often.

  Perhaps once a day.

  When my laughter was dying I looked up into his smiling face.

  “Perhaps I should call Amond,” I suggested.

  “It’s only first quarter. You got most of the game to appreciate the Ravens’ uniforms,” he replied.

  “Yo!” Ethan shouted from the living room at this point. “What’s taking so long with the dip? I’m starved!”

  And that made me burst out laughing again so I shoved my face in Jake’s chest and held on tight doing it.
/>   Therefore it was then I amended my mental note do to this more often.

  I wouldn’t aim for once a day.

  I’d aim for at least twice.

  “I’ll go nuke the dip again,” I told Jake.

  “I’ll take in the chips,” he told me.

  “All right,” I agreed but he didn’t let me go.

  I would know why when he asked, “You good?”

  The look in his eyes and expression on his face changed the instant I answered, “Of course. I have you.”

  I loved the look in his eyes and expression on his face. I loved it so much, I wanted to give it to him again.

  Regularly.

  But I wouldn’t aim for once a day.

  I’d aim for at least twice.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Good Answer

  “That’s it, baby!” Alyssa shrieked at Junior fighting in the ring. “Mess him up! You know mama likes it like that!”

  I grinned at my lap before looking back up to the action.

  We were at the arena in Blakeley for the adult league matches and Junior’s opponent this time was a fair sight less talented than he was.

  Bryant and Ethan were sitting in the aisle with us, both of whom had bags of Halloween candy they’d brought with them for treats. I was monitoring their consumption as I wanted to see Jake fight, not be in the bathroom with Ethan vomiting. That was unpleasant enough the first time for me to take pains not to let it happen again.

  This was difficult as Halloween had been just two nights before and Ethan, Bryant and Joshua had pulled in large hauls, putting a fair amount of effort into it by traipsing from house to house in their Combat Raptor costumes, followed by Jake and me, Jake carrying a flashlight.

  We’d hit four neighborhoods. Four large neighborhoods.

  Therefore, by the time we were done, I was exhausted. I had just enough in me when we got back to Jake’s to tell Ethan to go easy on his consumption, eat a handful of pumpkin seeds (which were, I found, addicting) and go to bed.

  We had a vast amount of seeds because, a few days before Halloween, we’d carved five pumpkins, one for each of us, and put them around Jake’s front door. I was surprised to see in their teenaged coolness that even Conner and Amber got into the carving process.

  Then again, I’d learned it was a family tradition that they never missed and enjoyed greatly. I knew this because I found it was highly enjoyable.

  I knew it more when Amber declared, “Even when I’m married and have kids of my own, we’re coming to Dad’s to carve pumpkins.”

  The “when I’m married and have kids” comment made Jake’s mouth go tight, this making me fight a grin. But in the end, Amber’s sentiment was very sweet and after experiencing pumpkin carving at the Spear household, I understood why she felt this way.

  By the way, Jake was a master pumpkin carver. I knew this because he helped Ethan freehand carve a Combat Raptor pumpkin that, if there were such contests, would win an award. I was sure of it.

  Conner, Amber and Alexi stayed behind to hand out candy at Jake’s (this Jake arranged, with Conner being a vaguely disguised chaperone) while we took Ethan out.

  When we got back, I asked Conner to keep an eye on his brother’s candy consumption and went to bed without Jake for the first time since we started sharing one. Which was to say, unless Jake was at the club, Jake and I went to bed together every night since we started sharing a bed.

  Jake joined me later, waking me as he pulled me in his arms and I fell right back to sleep hearing him mutter, “Next year, you’re gonna stay home and hand out candy so you don’t pass out after walkin’ twenty miles watchin’ Ethan get his haul.”

  I was just happy there would be a next year.

  This was why, I fell right back to sleep.

  It was not lost on me that I had sat beside the runways of the most lauded designers of our time. I had traveled to five continents and done it repeatedly. I knew the best place to buy croissant in Paris. I’d eaten pizza at the Antica Pizzeria Port’Alba in Naples. I’d sunbathed on Bondi Beach in Australia. And I’d slept in an actual igloo in Alaska.

  But carving pumpkins and roasting pumpkin seeds in Jake’s kitchen were the most fabulous thing I’d ever done.

  Bar none.

  On this thought, with senses attuned from taking care of two eight year old boys who’d evacuated their stomachs due to overindulgence, even over Alyssa’s shouting and a rabid fighting crowd, I heard a candy wrapper. I looked down to see Ethan opening up a fun-size Snickers.

  I leaned into him and said in his ear, “Honey, I know you like your treats but I suspect you’d prefer to ingest that and not re-experience it later, hanging over a toilet bowl. So let’s make that the last one tonight, hmm?”

  I pulled slightly away and caught his eyes. They were looking in mine and Eath (such a wonderful child) nodded.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I said.

  He chewed, swallowed and grinned a chocolate, peanut, caramel and nougat grin.

  I grinned back.

  At this point, Alyssa shot out of her chair, jumped up and down on her strappy, high-heeled sandals and started screeching, “That’s right, baby! Get in there. Don’t let up! Take him down!”

  I allowed myself to admire her attractive, albeit brief and tight, red dress before I looked to the ring to see Junior had his opponent up against the ropes and was landing a succession of combinations that his competitor was having difficulties defending against.

  Alas, the referee pushed them apart and moved in to assess the condition of Junior’s challenger. The man shook his head side to side to clear it then looked the referee in the eyes and nodded.

  The referee let them loose again.

  “Stupid ref,” Alyssa groused, plonking herself down in the seat beside me, her eyes never leaving the ring.

  The bell rang and since it was only the second round, we had another one to go before Alyssa again shot from her seat, lost her mind, shrieking, clapping and jumping up and down when the referee lifted Junior’s hand.

  He smiled down at his wife.

  She blew him a kiss that was so exaggerated she came off her feet when she swung her arm wide. Then she turned instantly to the seat, snatched up her purse and coat and her eyes came to me.

  She leaned into me and said low, “Right, Operation Tag Team commence. You got Bryant. I get home with my man and get laid. You text when Jake’s done, drop Eath and Bry at our place so you can get laid. Yeah?”

  I nodded, enjoying the happy light in my friend’s eyes and trying to ignore the happier feeling between my legs considering what was to come for me.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  She lifted her fist, knuckles facing me, something Conner had taught me about a week ago was a “fist bump.” He did this after he did the same to me and I stared at his hand nonplussed for half a minute before he showed me what to do.

  Thus, I knew what to do, bumped my fist against hers, and she breathed, “I love fight night.”

  I giggled as I encouraged, “Go.”

  I needed to give her no further encouragement. She dashed to her son, grabbed either side of her face, gave him a loud kiss right on the mouth, which made him shout, “Euw, Mom!”

  She then tousled his hair, looked to Ethan and said, “Later, buddy.”

  “Later, Mrs. Harper,” Ethan replied.

  Alyssa gave me a finger wave and took off down the aisle.

  “Can we get popcorn?” Bryant asked and I looked to him.

  “Think hard about your stomach, the fullness of it, the possibility if more was introduced that it may need to purge some to fit the rest and then tell me if you really want popcorn,” I stated.

  “What’s purge mean?” he asked.

  “Evacuate,” I answered and he grinned.

  “What’s evacuate mean?” he asked.

  At that, I grinned.

  “Empty,” I answered.

  “You talk so freakin’ cool,” he replied. “Weird. But coo
l.”

  “Indeed. And you will find, young Bryant, as you grow older that things that are normal are just normal. Anyone can be normal. Thus it’s my experience that most things that are weird are cool.”

  “So you sayin’ we should try to be weird, Josie?” Ethan asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

  “I’m saying that you shouldn’t try to be anything. You should be you and however you are will be cool unless however that is, is you trying to be like everyone else, which is just normal, which is not cool,” I answered.

  “Well, I’ve decided to be a con artist turned FBI consultant like that dude in White Collar. Is that weird and cool enough for you?” Ethan shared his latest plans for his future, that teasing glint still in his eye.

  This was a program that Ethan had recently discovered on Netflix. I knew this because he not only told me but he also talked about it all the time. And watched it all the time. And as I was with him a fair amount of that time, I watched it too.

  It was an excellent program.

  However, a life goal to be a con artist, even a stylish and intelligent one who had a definite flair with wearing a fedora, such as “the dude on White Collar,” was not optimal.

  “If you skip past the con artist part, and simply aim to be an FBI agent, yes,” I answered.

  He shook his head but did it grinning.

  I looked to Bryant and prompted, “Your popcorn assessment?”

  “I’m thinkin’ I wanna keep those fifteen Kit Kats in my stomach, Ms. Malone,” Bryant replied.

  “Good choice,” I murmured.

  We settled in, me examining the crowd, the boys jabbering to each other. We then watched the next fight, Mickey’s, the boys encouraging him rather boisterously to win, and although I didn’t shout, I did clap when Mickey’s arm was lifted.

  It was after that I started to get excited.

  Because Mickey’s victory heralded the last fight of the night.

  Jake’s fight.

  As the delay between fights began to feel incessant, I started fidgeting. But when the announcer introduced the fighters, like everyone else, I came out of my seat, clapping, but doing it on legs that were trembling.

  I felt my mouth go dry when I saw Jake coming down the aisle. I then felt my heart swell when he stopped at our row, put a gloved hand to Bryant’s head, then Ethan’s.