Dirty Talk

by S. L. Scott

  This used to be us. We used to love so freely, so completely. Now we’re a dirty little secret to lives that have gotten the better of us. All of it so much, too much. I try to move away before I fall under the darkness that shrouds my heart when it comes to the pain associated with Luke.

  His grip tightens as his other hand takes mine away. He weaves his fingers with mine and holds them between us, between our divided and bruised hearts. He kisses the top of my head and a tear falls from my eye, blending in with the water that runs down my body. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, his voice unsteady like my legs. “I’m not strong enough to survive your pain.”

  I’m not strong enough to survive your pain.

  I know what he means. I don’t think I’m strong enough either. I can’t do friends with benefits with Luke. Not my Luke. He means too much. Always too much.

  The faucet is shut off and I look up at him. Stroking my wet hair away from my face, he kisses my cheek, and says, “I never thought we’d end up like this. As broken together as we are apart.”

  Another tear falls and I whisper, “I’m sorry.” I love that our cheeks are still pressed together. His scratchy to my soft. He pulls back to look at me, but I hold him in place this time, not ready for him to see my face, my tears, my heart exposed through my eyes.

  Seconds lead to minutes as we stand there with our naked bodies, our broken souls pressed together. I’m not cold, but when I start to shiver, I turn my head and walk out, needing to put distance in our destructive path. I reach for a towel but his hand beats mine and he wraps the white terry cloth around me.

  Drying himself, he glances to me, but doesn’t let his gaze linger like usual. Maybe he’s felt the same pain I have, the same one I’m feeling now. I ask, “Why would you want to be a secret?”

  “I’d rather have you under those conditions than not at all.”

  He’s willing to bear a scarlet letter to be with me.

  And that’s all it takes.

  Dropping my towel, I turn to him, pressing my body to his, but this time in passion. I lift up and kiss him, kiss him with every I love you we ever shared, with every glimmer of hope bubbling to the surface.

  Large hands find the small of my waist and he holds me to him. One hand slides up my back and then his fingers slip into my hair, the pressure of our lips intensifying. With our mouths accepting and open, our tongues are reunited for the first time in years. A moan slips out and my heartbeat settles into what it’s missed for too long—the rhythm of his heart.

  Another moan escapes me, then a squeal when I’m lifted quickly and carried over his shoulder. Laughing, this feels too good to protest. I’ve missed how easy it used to be with him. I’m tossed on the bed while he stands there with a smile that could electrify the LA skyline. The tenderness of his heart speaks through his soft expression as he looks down at me, and he says, “I can hold you. We don’t have to do anything.”

  Moving higher on the bed, I rest my head on his pillow. His scent fills my chest, and I smile. Propping up on my elbows, I ask, “What if I want to do something with you?”

  With no hesitation, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and turns on a song. A slow country song starts to play when the Bluetooth kicks in, playing it through the speakers. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Keith Urban?”

  He shrugs as he climbs on to the bed and over me. “I know you don’t believe me, but I hear everything you say to me. You said you like him, so I bought a few songs.”

  “Because of me?”

  “For you.”

  This is the Luke I know, the one I once knew more than myself. Oh how I’ve missed this incredible man.

  It was never about money, gifts, or shopping in Beverly Hills. I never needed, nor wanted that. This is what my dreams are made of—kindness, thoughtfulness.

  Luke.

  Hovering over me, he breathes and I inhale, letting him fill my lungs. His hair is wet, but so is mine and I don’t care if my makeup is running or if my face is clean because deep in the ocean of his eyes, his soul is revealed to mine. As if my heart wasn’t already swimming in his heavy waters, he says, “You’re more beautiful than the day I met you and the day I met you, you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

  The tips of my fingers touch his temple, gently brushing back hair that has fallen. His hair is shorter these days, short enough to look professional in his field, but long enough to drive me crazy when I run my fingers through it. I love it. I always did. Stretching my neck up, I kiss him again. He leans down and I relax while he moves to my neck, his tongue swirling, and then he sucks lightly. “I missed the taste of your skin.”

  Curiosity killed the cat, so they say… “Do I taste different from the others you’ve been with?

  Looking up, he gazes into my eyes confident as ever. “When we’re together, Jane, it’s you and me. Only the two of us. No one else. Okay?”

  When his weight drops down slowly on top of me, the pressure of his frame on mine, I’m reminded of how much I loved being with him. “Okay.”

  A pact is made. A pact that doesn’t require anything more than my soul signed over to his in a moment of passion, then returned gently with a little more wear and tear, but bettered through the process.

  I sign my pact with a kiss to his lips and he signs in return.

  The music switches to a ballad about being blue and not being treated right. I block out the words and my body moves to the mesmerizing melody. His body is hard. All over. My legs open wider as his fingers tap over my stomach. A slight pressure, one I love too much, is felt when he flattens his hand on my belly. He stills. Our mouths part as he lifts. His lids are heavy and I imagine mine are the same. “I’ve dreamed about you, touching you like this,” he says, sliding his hand down until his fingers make me squirm, my body asking for more, begging if my body could speak.

  Silently I reply, my head dropping back, my back arching toward him. His mouth covers one of my nipples, his teeth grazing lightly sending unabashed shivers down my spine. With his arm wrapped under me keeping me in that position, his whispers give me goose bumps. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

  My fingers glide over the smooth skin of his length when he cradles my hand around his hard muscle. Unbreakable, but not insurmountable. Surmounting several times over is all part of the plans I have in mind. His lips are too far when I reach to kiss them. Instead they say, “Answer me, Jane.”

  With his caressing gaze locked on mine, my mind is loose while my body tightens. “Yes.”

  “Yes what, baby?”

  Baby. Just like he used to call me so freely when I was his and he was mine. Another fiery-tipped arrow to the heart lands, relighting the torch I still carry for him.

  “Say it. For me,” he adds with his mouth on my chest, fingers working me.

  “I feel…” My breath is harsh, but I catch it. “I feel how much you want me.” Closing my eyes, my hands roll over the tense muscles in his shoulders. “Do you feel how much I want you?”

  Circles.

  One.

  Then two.

  Enter.

  My moan comes out in a sigh of relief. His thumb returns to chase the elusive along with my mind, and he says, “I feel how much you want me.”

  Pushing up, he moves down my body until his eyes are looking up at mine over my breasts. “I gave my soul to you when we were sixteen. Will you give me yours now?”

  “You already have it.”

  “Only you, Jane. Only for you.” With a cocky smile in place, he says, “I’m going to open your body, embrace your soul, and coax the moon and stars to shine inside.”

  My breathing deepens as he repeats the words I’ve held close for so long. Hearing those words again, after all these years, gives me goose bumps. Because he had. He had opened my body, embraced my soul, and coaxed the moon and stars to shine in my life. Each breath feels shorter than the previous as I begin to pant from his promise. I give in when his mouth covers me, my bod
y his always as his tongue warms me.

  The song changes. I barely notice except when the chorus kicks in and Aurora’s “Conqueror” floats from the speaker. Conqueror. Conqueror. God, Luke can conquer me anytime he wants. His mouth twists, words mumbled against my sensitive skin, hot breath causing me to fist the sheets. Not three minutes. I’m falling apart and begging, “I want you inside me.” He remains right where he is, placing my right leg over his shoulder, and burying deeper. When I touch his head, he stops. “Please.”

  He looks up. “No.”

  “No?”

  “This time is about you.” He licks his lips and I’ve never seen anything more fucking sexy than that right there. “I’ll make love to you. I’ll also fuck you. But not this time.”

  I fall back and huff unable to speak when his mouth takes me again.

  And again.

  And one more time before four a.m.

  We fall asleep shortly after, but I’m restless.

  I’m also hot and trapped under a large arm, nothing like the one that would try to cover me a few months ago. This one makes me smile, and for a moment in time, I allow myself to believe we’re more than a dirty secret, that we’re more than a one-time thing.

  I allow myself to believe I can forgive and forget and that Luke Anders can love me so completely again like I love him.

  CHAPTER 9

  ~Luke~

  THE BED IS empty next to me where her body warmed me most of the night. I stretch my arm out, not liking the space. Looking over, the pillow shows where her head once lay. The sheets are wrinkled and bunched where her body was. I grab the pillow and throw it across the room. “Fuck!”

  I sit up pissed for thinking we could be more than a fucking one-night stand. She’s probably waking her fiancé up with a home-cooked breakfast, lying to his fucking face. I hate the thought as soon as I think it. Not because of the other guy, though I hate that, but she wouldn’t do that to me. Would she? Has the Jane I’ve known so well, better than myself, changed that much? Could she have actually cheated on Lawrence? With me?

  If she did cheat, could she return to him so easily as if last night didn’t happen? I don’t know what the fuck is going on with her, but the thought of her with him makes me angry. I need to shake out of it or I’ll be knocking on Lawrence’s front door and kicking his ass for stealing my girl. Fuck! How could she do this? What the fuck?

  Getting out of bed, I go to the closet to grab a pair of basketball shorts from the shelf and boxer briefs from the drawer. After slipping them on, I reach for a sleeveless Lakers jersey and socks as I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The mirror doesn’t lie. I look like a fucking mess or maybe it’s just how I’m viewing life this morning.

  With a quick text to my buddy, I’m off to the courts to work these fucking emotions out of my system.

  * * *

  “SO YOU DIDN’T get laid?” Blaise asks in disbelief.

  “We messed around some, but nope.” I shoot and miss the basket.

  Rebounding the ball, he says, “What happened?”

  “Like literally what happened?”

  “Fuck you. I don’t want to know your gory sex deets. Why didn’t you get laid?”

  “First off,” I say, jumping and blocking his shot. With the basketball swooped to the side, I T my hands and call a time out. “No one says deets anymore, so stop that. Secondly, I wanted to make it about her.”

  His face is twisted in horror. “What does that even mean?”

  “Thought you didn’t want the ‘deets’?”

  “I don’t, but it sounds like you need help.” He punches at the ball secured under my arm, but it doesn’t move.

  Faking him out, I step around him and shoot. This time I score. “You just gave me an idea.”

  “Drinks on you then.” He rebounds again and this time shoots over my head.

  Jumping up, the ball meets my hand. “You might be onto something. I don’t need your help, but I might need a detective.”

  He stops in the middle of the court. “Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

  Why didn’t it dawn on me this morning? “I got distracted last night. Maybe it’s not about what I’m being told, but what I’m seeing.”

  “Since we’re not playing ball and standing around like two fucking girls gossiping, lay it on me. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Maybe what I think isn’t what’s real. Maybe seeing is believing. “Nothing,” I mumble, my head still back in bed with Jane from last night.

  “Fuck, man. Let’s play ball then.”

  I throw the ball at him. “Game on.”

  * * *

  SO WHAT SEEMED like a good idea in the middle of a half-assed game of basketball has now become complicated. Standing in the middle of my closet, I’m perplexed. What does one wear to spy on the love of his life? More importantly, what does one wear to spy on the love of his life in order to figure out if she’s really going to marry someone else?

  Because this is normal… not in any way.

  I grab a black turtleneck, wondering when and why I bought a black turtleneck. Pulling it on over my head, I still have no idea where this came from or when I would have purchased it, but it works for my mission, even if it is a little snug. I swing my arms out several times to stretch it out, and then pick a pair of dark jeans and black sneaks. I add a charcoal beanie to complete the look and head out the door.

  It’s just gone nine when I park in front of Jane’s house. I cut the engine and sit. And wait. I haven’t heard from Jane today, despite a few texts and one call to her that she didn’t pick up. I’m not sure what’s going on, and on top of it, her sneaking out of my house in the middle of the night has not sat well with me. It’s all wrong.

  We’re all wrong.

  I wasn’t lying when I told her we’re broken. Are we too broken to fix? I hope not. Love will be the glue that holds us together again. I feel it deep inside. I’m meant to be with her. I wonder what she feels deep inside.

  A car pulls up to the house and I duck down when they park in the driveway. I watch as Lawrence helps Jane out of the car. But when the woman stands up, her hair is dark, almost black, not like my Jane’s.

  I straighten up, hoping to get a better look at her.

  Holy fuck! Is he cheating on Jane or are they actually not together anymore? Since she hooked up with me, my gut tells me they’re broken up. But wouldn’t she tell me if they weren’t together when we spoke about being a secret?

  They must be together. My ego is stroked thinking she just can’t resist me.

  Lawrence is a douche so her being with me comes as no surprise. But shit, if he’s cheating on her and her on him, what kind of relationship is this? What we did was natural. We have a history. We have feelings that will always exist from a life spent together. Our attraction to each other was never the problem, so it remains just as strong. But Lawrence, he flat-out cheated. I start the car when the couple disappears inside. Driving away, I’m more confused than ever. Jane is a complete mystery to me.

  I’m not sure how to process what I saw, or what to do with the information. I can’t think clearly. My stomach growls. Food will help. I need to eat and then figure out if I keep this information from Jane or tell her what I know. I feel dirty with this knowledge.

  Will telling her about her fiancé cleanse my soul or will the messenger be killed? Is this even my business?

  Jane is always my business. The one thing I stuck to when we broke up was if I couldn’t make her happy, I wanted her to be with someone who could. A cheating fiancé is one thing, but a husband is a whole other.

  She has to know the truth, even at the expense of myself.

  I place an order with an area restaurant and sit in the parking lot for a few minutes weighted down by the burden of being the bearer of bad news. I have no idea what I’ll tell her or when. I don’t even know how—phone, text, email, in person. Needing fresh air, I get out and go inside to wait, hoping the bustling rest
aurant will distract me for a few minutes at the least.

  The restaurant is crowded, but my to-go order is ready and waiting for me when I walk in. I don’t recognize this hostess from previous visits but she’s more than happy to shoo the waiters away and help me. When she leaves to retrieve my order, I check my phone and scroll through emails with no interest to tackle them tonight.

  “Luke?”

  I look up, and with surprise in my voice that matches my eyes, I say, “Jane?”

  “You still come here?”

  Tucking my phone in my pocket, I shift, wanting to ask her why she left and a million other questions about last night. I don’t because I don’t want to bombard her right off the bat. With her looking so damn beautiful it’s easy to forget everything but the good. “A few times a month if I’m in the area. What are you doing here?”

  “Picking up food before I head home.” She looks away when she speaks, but her gaze works its way back to me. She has a glass of wine in one hand and her purse in the other. Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Why are you wearing my sweater?”

  “Yours?” I ask, tugging it away from my chest and looking down.

  “I think so. I used to have one just like it. It was huge on me.” Amusement dances in her eyes and I can tell she’s poking fun when she says, “Looks good on you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I reply sheepishly, then chuckle. “It was in my closet. I had no idea where it was from.”

  She laughs lightly. “You can keep it.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I laugh too. “So ridiculous.”

  She takes a step back when the hostess returns with my order. The hostess hands me the bill. After glancing at Jane, her eyes make their way back to me, and she whispers, “If you’re single, can I give you my number?”

  Jane hears the posed question, which is not helping my case. She peeks back at me over her shoulder and a resolved smile is present on her sweet features. “I’m flattered, but I’m with someone.”