I cough, and Ana snaps her head up to look at me. “Holly, you need to go home. This much smoke is not good for the baby.”
“Yeah, I just had to make sure you were okay. I thought … I thought you—”
“I know.” We both stand back, and watch the fire swallow the building that’s held so many memories for the two of us. It might have been her mother’s dream, but as much as Ana may complain about it, in a way it’s her dream, too. And in a matter of minutes it’s been reduced to ash and rubble, just like the lives of all the Belles.
At the hospital, Jackson refused to be seen until after the others, even though his injuries were about the same. He didn’t have grazes from the explosion like Ana, Elijah and Sammy, but Bob wears some pretty hefty biker rings, and they did more than a little bit of damage to his face. Earlier, we’d dropped Elijah back at the house. Ana had ridden in the ambulance with Sammy, and Elijah would follow us to the hospital in my car so he could bring the others home once Sammy’s fractured arm had been placed in a cast. Bob and Sammy are going to stay with us in Elijah’s old room for the next few days until we’re able to go through the house, and sort out what survived the smoke damage and what is ruined beyond repair.
Now, I lie awake in bed. Unable to switch my mind off. Unable to stop replaying the sight of the flames, and devastation.
I’d hated the Dragon lady. Couldn’t stand the bitch. But the sadness I feel is for the rest of my family who did love her. Ana wasn’t a fan of Kerry either, but she knew how much her father and brother loved the trampy wench, and despite what she’d have me believe, I knew deep down they’d been growing more accepting towards one another, so I know she’s hurting, too.
I push back the covers and pad slowly across the hall into Jack’s room. It’s not until I quietly shut the door behind me that I wonder what I’m doing here. The sound wakes him up, and he does this half snorting/snoring thing that I ordinarily would have made fun of him for, but I don’t, because I feel too fragile right now to play our back and forth game.
“Hols?” He leans up on his elbows and rubs his eyes, forgetting the shiner Bob had given him. “Ow, shit. Whatcha doing here? Are they back yet?”
“Yeah, I heard them come in about an hour ago.”
“You alright?”
“No,” I whisper, feeling a bout of insecurity slam me in the chest. What am I doing here? “Can’t sleep. Do you mind if I crash with you?”
He doesn’t answer, just lays back and pulls open the covers for me to climb in, then he rolls on his side, away from me, and attempts to go back to sleep.
“Jack?”
“Mmm.”
“Why did you provoke Bob tonight?”
The sheets rustle as he turns over. “When my mum died, I was so fucking angry. I felt nothing but blackness inside. Sometimes you just have to get that shit out. Sometimes you have to hit and scream, and tell life to go get itself well and truly fucked, ’cause you’ve had enough. My mum died of cancer—”
“I know,” I say quickly, and it sounds all high and weird. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I in Jackson’s bed? And why am I in Jackson’s bed talking about dead people? It’s like Sixth Sense but with a horny pregnant chick and ruined pie diner.
“I was prepared for it. I mean she battled that shit for two goddamn years, she wasted away to nothing before my eyes, but when she died, I felt betrayed by everything. And I was as mad as a fucking cut snake. Frightened a few of the orderlies that day. Not my proudest moment. I could see that blackness building within Bob tonight, and I knew if he didn’t let it out, it’d only get worse.”
“How’s your face feeling?”
“Sore. Dude hits like a fucking wrecking ball.” He laughs. “Oww.”
“Aww, you need me to kiss it better?” I say, and playfully shove at his arm.
“Would you? I think he may have even whacked me in the balls a time or two.”
“Oh, really? Damn, and we’re fresh out of kisses, too. Sorry.” I laugh and then say, “We do have a couple of middle fingers left though, would you like me to shove them up your arse?”
“You always were a kinky bitch, Hols.”
“Says the guy who liked to spank me while he stuck it in my arse.”
“Good times, huh?” He laughs.
“Yeah, actually, they were.” I laugh too, and then sober a little when I realise that’s all behind me now—and I don’t mean that literally, though that is kinda funny. How the hell am I ever going to have sex with another man again now that there’s a kid involved?
“Yeah.” Jackson seems to sense my hesitation because he sighs. It’s quiet for a moment while we both get lost in our thoughts. When he finally does speak, his question surprises me, “Hey Hols, what happened the night Ana and Elijah got busy on the couch, and I took you out for ice cream?”
“Well, I believe it’s called a blow job, or fellatio, though that makes it sound like some weird French dessert, and trust me, your jizz don’t taste like any dessert food I’ve ever tried.”
“What’s wrong with my jizz?”
“Nothing. It tastes like all jizz. Is it wrong that I’m suddenly craving a milkshake?”
“Um, yes. It’s kinda disturbing, actually.” The moonlight glints off his hair as he shakes his head. “And you know that’s not what I meant.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, Jack, boredom? Hormones? Insecurity? It just sort of happened.”
“Insecurity?” he asks. “What the hell have you got to be insecure about?”
I shrug, and I’m thankful the darkness means he can’t see my expression, though I’m quite sure he can hear the lump in my through when I speak. “There are all these changes happening, all the time. I’m like a freaking walking vagina now, and I get these bouts of insane horniness, like I’ll explode if I don’t have sex, or come, or do something to make me feel halfway normal again.”
“Really?”
Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but Jack sounds way more excited than I think he should. He shouldn’t be happy I want to dry hump everything that moves. He should be afraid. Especially because I’m in his bed, it’s the middle of the night, I just realised I’m not wearing knickers, and his sexy laugh makes me want to rub myself all over him like a cat in heat.
I let out a frustrated sigh, and roll towards him, tucking my hands under the pillow to keep from running them over his hard chest. “Yeah, it’s all very fucked up.”
“So you just thought you’d shove your face in my lap while I was driving?”
“Well, I don’t recall you complaining. Where exactly are you going with this, Jackson? Don’t tell me you want a repeat?”
“Of course not.”
Ouch. That stung like a cherry-popping from falling on a fencepost. More than it should have, because this is the way we always are with one another. This is how we play safe; by teasing and rejecting one another until we can forget about the feelings between us.
“Right. Well, then, I’m sorry I decided to take out my bitch-in-heat frustrations on you. It’ll never happen again, trust me,” I say, and throw back the covers in an attempt to get up. Fuck. I hate this baby mamma stuff. Why does everything hurt already? And why the hell can’t I even get up off of this stupid futon? The kid’s not that big yet. And while I’m on it, what kind of tool even owns a fucking futon? Oh right, a Jackson-Rowe kinda tool.
I finally haul my arse up off the bed, and make a beeline for the door.
“Hols?” he says, coming up behind me. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Whatever, just forget it,” I say as I reach for the handle, but Jackson places his arm against the door. I use two hands to pull the handle towards me, but it’s like trying to move a freaking hulking mountain. “Let me out, Jackson, or I’ll … hurl all over you.”
He leans down, and whispers in my ear, “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. You just let go, and back the hell off.”
<
br /> He spins my shoulder so I’m facing him, and presses me back against the door. His lips trace my neck, barely touching and certainly not kissing, though it’s like he’s drinking me in. I shiver. “I can’t forget. I can’t think of anything else but fucking you until we’re both raw.”
My eyes go wide. Passion flares to life in my belly, so hot I feel it like the heat of the flames that swallowed Belle’s Pies. His calloused hand encircles my jaw as his thumb traces my bottom lip, and then he slips it inside, and I bite down before I remember what I’m doing. Jackson brings his lips close to mine, hovering there, testing me.
I shake my head. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
God, I can’t believe I have to be the voice of reason here. Why is life so god damned cruel? “Because I’m pregnant with someone else’s baby, Jack.”
“Sweetheart, right now you could be pregnant with the Dalai Lama’s baby, and I wouldn’t give two fucks.” And then his mouth crashes down on mine. He hisses and pulls back, touching his split lip. “Ow.”
“We should stop.” I say. Though that’s the last thing I want right now.
“Fuck no.” He pulls me towards him, and I melt into his touch, into his mouth, and into all the promises of pleasure his body makes mine. We kiss each other so hard we’re practically consuming one another. Jackson lifts my T-shirt above my head and frees himself from his boxer briefs. They hit the ground with a soft thud and then he lifts me up and slams my back into the door as I cross my ankles behind his arse and anchor myself to him. His hard cock slides against my pussy. I gasp, because it feels so good, and it’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone. I haven’t forgotten the fact that it’s Jackarse that cock belongs to, but I can’t form the words to make him stop. I don’t want him to stop.
His hand glides between us, his fingers pinching my clit, and then he pushes inside. I’m already wet, but there’s still that delicious burn as I stretch to accommodate his size. It feels like heaven. So good that when he pulls out, I cry out, and he covers my mouth with his hand. “You okay?”
I nod. His fingers smell like me. My tongue darts out, and licks at the hand covering my mouth. Jack growls. I kid you not, a God’s honest growl, and my insides aren’t just burning up anymore, they’re a goddamn inferno.
“Gonna need you to be real quiet, Hols. Think you can keep your mouth shut for five minutes while I fuck your brains out?” he asks, moving in deep and slow. He keeps his hand firmly fixed over my mouth.
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, and then he pounds into me. Hard and furious. Nothing has ever felt so fucking good. I slide my hand between our bodies and circle my clit. Delicious warmth floods through me from the soles of my feet to that sweet spot Jack’s presently occupying, and then my orgasm crashes over me. It’s so intense I want to scream, but Jack’s hand is still covering my mouth so it sounds like nothing more than a muffled plea. He gives me a look, and then laughs and dips his head to take my nipple in his mouth. A second orgasm rocks me right after.
Say what you want about the pregnancy stuff, but the sex is un-fucking-believable. I never knew my lady parts could feel so alive, which is saying something, because I’ve slept with both Jackson and Coop, and goddamn, those two boys could fuck an entire room full of women each and still be ready for more.
Jackson’s thrusts pick up speed, pounding my arse into the door. I squeeze my thighs around his hips, and everything intensifies. He groans in my ear, “That’s it, baby. Ride my cock. Fuck, do you know how long I’ve waited to do this again?”
“Jackson?” I ask on a moan.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He doubles his efforts, and then wedges his hand between our sweating bodies and strokes my clit. I don’t even feel my orgasm build this time, it just rocks through me as Jack slams into my wet heat and I come hard and fast, clawing his back with my release. Hot come spurts into me as Jack growls his exertion into the hollow of my neck. He leans down and kisses the sensitive flesh there, and I break out in goosebumps all over.
I shudder, and pull away from his soft lips that will only suck me back in again. The euphoria subsides, and my previously happy thoughts have turned a corner into What the fuck did we just do? territory.
I shove his chest, and say, “Off.”
He laughs, this sexy, indulgent sound that makes me want to wrap myself up in him and stay there, not push him away like I’m doing now. “You wanna go round two on the bed?”
I untangle my legs from behind his hips, and set them on the floor. He’s still firm inside me, and the action causes all of my nerve endings to go electric, but I ignore the sensations in my body telling me I want more and shove my hands against his hard, warm chest. “Get the fuck off me.”
“Hols?” He’s standing there, buck-naked. His beautiful cock still erect and on full display, and he looks so adorably confused that if I wasn’t so pissed at him, I’d probably do him again. “What the fuck? What did I do?”
I pick up my T-shirt from the floor and slip it on over my head, and reach for the door handle behind me. “How about what you didn’t do, Jackarse?”
“Am I missing something, darlin’? Did you fake the three orgasms you just had, ’cause you and I may fake our way through a lot of shit, but I’m pretty sure even you aren’t that good at pretending?”
“And you would know all about pretending, wouldn’t you, Jackson?”
“Holly, are you high right now? You got off. I got off. You accomplished what you came in here to do, so what the fuck is your problem?”
“I did not come in here for that.”
“Sweetheart, you can pretend all you want with everybody else, but they don’t see the real you, not like I do. You and I are the same, Hols. We use sex as a weapon. Hell, we use it just to punish one another. There’s no lying to me, darlin’, ’cause I see straight through you, every single time.” He presses his arm against the door, just beside my head, and leans in close enough so that his breath skates the shell of my ear when he whispers, “You came in here because you needed to be fucked, and I’ll fuck you again, because the more we try and stay away, the more we want each other.”
“Fine. You know what? Maybe you’re right, maybe I did come here looking for a way to deal with everything that’s going on, but don’t flatter yourself into thinking this was more than a one-time thing.”
He narrows his eyes, and takes a step back, folding his arms across his chest. I can see how much that last comment stung, and I feel both a sense of smug satisfaction and guilt. “We’ll see.”
“You know what? Screw you.”
“Already did. As always, Hols, your cunt was as perfect and tight as ever, but I’m getting tired, so …” He inclines his head toward the door.
Oh no he di-int.
I’m so mad I’m seeing stars right now, and it’s hard not to let my fist get acquainted with his face. For a beat I just stand there, close my eyes, and breathe, and then I push off the door, and slink through it with my tail between my legs.
I CLOSE the door on yet another well-meaning, casserole-wielding resident of Sugartown, and deposit it on the kitchen bench, along with the twenty other “I’m sorry your trampy wife got barbequed” dishes that won’t fit in the fridge. I pull a spoon from the drawer, pick up a particularly delicious-looking baked cheesecake, and start tucking in. I could murder a Midori right now, which is weird, because I’m pretty sure I would never want to touch that lolly water crap if I wasn’t pregnant.
I miss alcohol. I miss coffee. I miss a time when I could look at Jack, and not want to wrap my little hands around his throat. Oh, right … that’s never happened, because he’s always made me feel homicidal. I’m still so pissed about the way he kicked me out two nights ago, and at breakfast this morning, it took everything in me not to launch myself over the table and stuff his stack of pancakes down his throat until he choked.
I sigh, and push the cheesecake away before I sl
ip into a food coma. I pray that nobody calls me on the fact that I almost consumed an entire family-sized cheesecake. By myself. Right after dinner. I can already feel my arse widening.
I should probably go and check on Bob. I’ve never seen him so quiet, not even when he lost Ana’s mum. Of course, the fact that he’s been nursing a bottle of bourbon since he woke this morning may have something to do with that. It’s kinda hard to form words when you’re finding the answers to the meaning of it all at the bottom of a bottle of Jack.
Ana’s tried speaking to him, taking the alcohol away—she’s tried everything but shoving Sammy under his nose, and dousing the man in freezing-cold water to get him to wake up to himself. She’s pacing, and plying Sammy with more Ana Cabanna Chocolate Banana Cream Surprise Pies than he could ever eat.
We all deal with grief in different ways. Ana’s way is to become Betty Crocker 2.0, and hypo-glycaemic everyone to death.
The others have gone to see what they can salvage from the house, leaving the decrepit pregnant woman, and the grieving widower alone. I wander down the hall and watch Bob from the doorway of Elijah’s old room. He looks haunted, and even in sleep he clutches the empty bottle like his life depends on it. I walk over, and pry it from his hand. I’ve never lost someone close to me before, so maybe his life does depend on it right now. I cover him over with a blanket, and then I switch off the light, close the door, and let him sleep it off.
I’m sitting watching The Bold and the Beautiful—shut up, it’s my one guilty obsession since they quit playing re-runs of Friends, and I’m dying to know which botoxed-within-an-inch-of-her-life old hag Ridge chooses to marry this week—when Jackson comes sauntering in, and plonks his annoying arse down, practically on top of me. He shoves his meaty fist into my bowl of freshly-popped popcorn, and contaminates it with all his cooties.
“Has he made a decision yet?”
“No. He’s still stringing them along like the typical, male fucktard he is.”
Enjoy Your Stay Page 3
