by Ann, Jewel
“Does that feel good?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. HE. SHRUGS! “Does it feel good to you?”
“I’m doing it for you, not me.” I can’t entirely hide the frustration in my voice. I’m so damn turned on, but he’s acting like someone stepping into a lukewarm bath.
“Well then …” His hand clasps my wrist, pulling it from his briefs. “You’re doing it all fucking wrong.” Shoving both of my arms behind my back like I’m under arrest, he dips his head down and teases his tongue over the swell of my breast.
I feel chilled and ready to overheat at the same time. He dips lower. My back arches as he flirts with that invisible string that sends a thrumming pleasure right between my legs.
I seethe in a quick breath.
A soft groan rattles in his chest. That teases that invisible string too.
“You see…” he trails his lips along my chest, seeking my other breast “…the art of sex is all about selfish pleasure. You like what I’m doing…” he palms my breast, flicking his tongue over it until my legs pinch together to fight off the need to moan “…but I’m not doing it for you.”
He lets go of my hands and hovers his lips over mine. “I’m doing it because I want to taste you … because I want to hear you whimper … because I want to feel you squirm. That gives me pleasure.”
I nod slowly, but I can’t find one word that’s a suitable response.
He grabs my ass and lifts me, guiding my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, so he can lay me down on his sleeping bag. Kissing me with an unhurried pace, he reaches behind him and unhooks my legs from his waist before tearing his mouth from mine. “And…” he sets my feet on the ground and slides off my panties “…when my tongue goes here…”
“Oh god …” My hips jerk against the two fingers he shoves inside of me.
“…it’s because I’m so fucking hungry.” His tongue goes there, and he hums like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. Gone … I’m gone … lost in the bliss of pleasure given by Satan himself. I curl my fingers into his coppery hair and hold him to me as I throw my head back, speaking to a god I’m certain wants nothing to do with my orgasm gratitude.
* * *
Jake
“Where are you going?” Avery lifts onto her elbows as I pull on my shorts. “We’re not having sex?”
I grin, shaking my head. “I don’t have a condom.”
“It was YOUR idea! How can you not have a condom?”
I shrug. “It was a gamble, but I felt the odds were in my favor that I wouldn’t need one.”
Her mouth falls open. “Wh-what … you thought I would fail? You felt certain that what? I’d be bad at sex?”
“I find that people who spend so much time trying to impress are usually the most unimpressive. Don’t take it personally … you have potential.” I slip out the entrance and zip it closed.
“Bastard!”
I grin.
Nearly an hour later, the zipper sounds to my back. So much for hoping she fell asleep.
“You’re just sitting out here?”
“Yep. Just sitting out here.” I slip my bottled water into the drink holder of my camping chair.
“Why?”
I did some pushups, planks, dips, and crunches … among other things that I’m not going to share with her. It’s late. I’m tired of explaining everything.
“It’s quiet.”
“And I’m too loud?”
I grunt a laugh. “You’re ‘too’ a lot of things.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Not usually.”
“Oh, just with me?”
I glance over as she zips her pink hoodie over her short shorts, no shoes—shocking. She bends down and snags the expensive white tee off the ground, frowning at it as her hand smooths over it.
“Gah … I didn’t think I had that much spit. It’s still really wet.”
I rub my hand over my mouth and pinch my bottom lip between my fingers. “Yeah … you might want a squirt or two of hand sanitizer.”
She shrugs, folding the shirt like it’s fresh out of the dryer. “It’s my spit.”
“Yes. Some of it.”
Her nose wrinkles, forehead drawn tightly in confusion as she holds the folded shirt with one hand and rubs together the fingers of her other hand. “Sticky toothpaste.”
“It’s not toothpaste.” I scoot back in my chair, tipping my head back to admire the stars.
She stomps the ground, positioning herself right in front of my chair.
“Did you spill something and use my shirt?” She looks around. “You used it to clean your stupid windshield, didn’t you?”
“Nope.”
“Then what?” She brings the shirt to her nose.
I choke on my laugh. “No … don’t … that’s just … wrong.”
“Tell me!”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Come here.”
Avery eyes me with caution for a few seconds before taking two steps forward. She jumps when I touch the pad of my finger to the inside of her knee. What can I say? I like torturing myself.
Sliding it up her leg, I whisper, “Are your panties still wet?”
Her lips part, releasing a ragged breath.
I don’t wait for an answer before dipping my finger under the crotch of her shorts. Her breath catches as I rub my finger over her damp panties. “I’d say yes,” I whisper.
Her teeth lay claim to her bottom lip.
“Why are they wet?”
Her forehead wrinkles a fraction.
“Did you clean my windshield with them?”
The wrinkles deepen for two seconds before realization ghosts along her face. “Oh my god!” She jumps back, dropping her T-shirt like it stung her. “You jerked off on my shirt? Who does that? What is wrong with you? Eww …” She jumps in a circle shaking out her hands. “Gross!”
Swarley barks from inside the tent.
Leaning back to enjoy the show, I untwist the cap from my water and take a long swig. As her energy wears off, she levels me with a death glare. An hour ago, I had condoms on my list of things to pick up in town tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll need them after all.
“Come here.” I draw out the word come because she brings out the evil side of me.
“Fuck you.”
I shake my bottled water.
Avery scowls. After the steam stops flowing from her nostrils, she holds out her hands. I pour some water onto them while she performs a surgical scrub.
“Some women swallow it.”
“Water?”
I glance up at her, lifting an eyebrow. Okay, she’s not as smart as I thought.
“Oh.” She rolls her eyes, drying her hands on her sweatshirt. “Why are you so mean to me?”
“Mean? You think I’m mean?”
“I don’t think chasing me in a grocery store parking lot, calling me a bitch, ruining my shirt, saying I’m bad at sex, and then teasing me about it is exactly what I’d call nice.”
My lips twist to the side while I inspect this insecure mess of a woman before me. “Maybe I’m just flirting with you.”
“That’s not flirting.”
“No? Then what do you call flirting?”
She shoves her hands into the hoodie’s pockets and shrugs. “Compliments. Flowers. Chocolates. Jewelry.”
“Sounds like ass kissing to get into your pants.”
Avery tips up her chin. “You could learn a few things from men who do that.”
I laugh. “Avery, Avery, Avery … I ruined your shirt, called you a bitch, and suggested you’re shit at sex. Yet, in the next breath I had two fingers shoved in your … vagina.” I wink.
Heat crawls up her neck. I’m not a jerk. Really, I’m not. But Avery is one messed-up chick, and I feel like putting her in her place isn’t a bad thing. She might not thank me now. In fact, I predict her hand making another shot for my face. But some day … she might thank me when she finds a guy who doesn’t
treat her like a doormat, because she demands respect that can’t be bought with elaborate gifts and her self-esteem reaches deeper than fake eyelashes and designer clothes.
“Don’t touch me again. EVER!” She disappears into the tent.
“Good job, Ave. Stand the fuck up for yourself.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Avery
My life is a game of limbo—how low can I go? By four in the morning, I slip into jogging shorts, a tank top, and my most sensible shoes. If Jake’s awake, listening to me get dressed, he doesn’t let on. I slip out of the tent and climb to higher ground in search of a decent cell phone signal.
Satisfied with two bars, I call my sister.
“It’s the middle of the night, Ave. What’s the emergency? And why have you been ignoring my messages?” Sydney’s groggy voice bleeds into my ear.
“My fucking phone won’t work half the time. No damn signal.”
“Whoa, sailor, what’s with the language?”
“Don’t start with me. I’m stuck in the Ozarks, and I fear I could be in Oklahoma or Texas by tonight. I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. It’s unbearable.”
“Is Swarley okay?”
I jerk my head back and hold the phone out as if I can’t believe I’m talking to my sister—my flesh and blood. “Swarley? I’m calling you in the middle of the night confessing that I’m living under the most unbearable conditions, and you react with ‘Is Swarley okay?’ What the hell, Syd?”
“Sorry. It’s just that you can be …”
“What?”
“Well, a bit dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I have less than five dollars to my name; Anthony had all my accounts frozen. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally a mess. And I’m roughing it with Satan and your dog that hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
I bite my lips together. She doesn’t know about my hand. I didn’t want to ruin her trip with my grievances, but … desperate times. “Before I left L.A., he chased a cat while I was walking him, and he ruined my hand. Major ligament damage. I may never work again.”
Too much? Maybe.
“Oh, Ave—”
“No. I don’t want you to feel bad or responsible. It was an unfortunate situation, but it’s put me and your beloved dog on the outs of sorts. I’m just … well, I’ve hit rock bottom. I thought I could make it to L.A. with Swarley and Satan, but I can’t.”
“Ave … Lautner has a bad stomach bug. I think he caught something toward the end of our trip. Otherwise, I’d see if he could meet you somewhere, bring Swarley home, and let you fly back to L.A. But I can’t leave the kids with him, and I don’t want to pack them up for another long trip. If it’s a true emergency, you should check with Dad and Deedy.”
“Deedy?” I say slowly. “You know about the Deedy?”
Sydney chuckles. “All of us video chatted a few days ago. She’s pretty great. I’m so happy for Dad. They’re going to make a trip to California after they get married. We should plan a surprise party or reception type thing for them when they come to visit.”
I glance around for the nearest tree to lean against so I don’t fall down, even if everything else in my world is crumbling. “My life is shit,” I say with a shaky voice as tears sting my eyes.
“Is it that Jake guy? Deedy told us he’s incredibly kind and trustworthy. She and Dad feel confident that you couldn’t be in better hands.”
“He’s a terrible person. I don’t know what Deedy sees in him. Unless …” I cover my mouth, swallowing a bit of bile.
“Unless what?”
“Oh … my … god …”
“Jeez what? I’d like to get back to sleep, Ave.”
“What if Deedy and Jake were …” I retch again. “Intimate.”
“You think Deedy was involved with the guy she suggested drive you back here?”
This horrible vision fills my head, replaying like a nightmare on a loop—Deedy naked with her head thrown back in ecstasy with Jake’s head between her spread legs doing to her what he did to me, then in the next frame it’s … my dad!
I gag some more, spitting excess salvia onto the ground while coughing.
“Avery, what the heck is going on?” Sydney asks in a whisper-yell. She must still be in bed.
Jake tasted the Deedy, and my dad probably has too. It’s like there’s this unimaginable two degrees of separation between my dad’s mouth and my … Here they come, up my throat … my Pasta O’s from last night.
Dammit! I don’t have calories to waste with so little money left in my wallet.
“Avery, answer me. You’re scaring me.”
“If it’s true … oh god … if it’s true …” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“So what? I’m not trying to be insensitive, but you have very little room to talk about anyone else’s number of sex partners.”
“It’s not the number! It’s that he was with her and with me and dad’s been with her and now—”
“Wait … please tell me you didn’t sleep with Jake.”
“Of course I didn’t sleep with Jake.” I amaze myself with my quick response.
“Thank goodness.”
“I let him go down on me, just once, and it will never happen again. He’s the bane of my existence.”
“Avery …” Total defeat seeps through my phone. She’s disappointed in me. A real shocker. I’m disappointed in me. “I’ll send you some money. Just tell me how much. But I can’t come get Swarley. If you’re too stubborn to ask Dad and Deedy, then I don’t know what to tell you. You shouldn’t have left L.A. with Swarley until we got home.”
“I had to leave. My life was falling apart. Anthony developed a craving for chocolate—one I couldn’t satisfy—and I …” I wipe the streams of tears from my cheeks. “I needed someone and you were gone, so I went to Dad.”
“You’re going to have to explain the falling apart and chocolate craving later, but I’m truly sorry you were in need of someone and I wasn’t here for you.”
I know it’s not her intention, but she makes me sound so needy. Gah! Am I really that needy? Did she always feel like I needed her to fix shit in my life? I roll my eyes while drying my tears, clearly the middle-of-the-night phone call proves that theory correct.
“Ah, good …”
My gaze flies over my shoulder. He’s awake. Fabulous.
“You’re up,” Jake continues, stretching his arms over his head in one direction then the other, “and dressed for a quick hike. What a nice surprise. Let’s do it so we can pack up and hit the road.”
After I look for as many physical flaws in his body as I can find—too many tattoos is all I can find in this lighting—I point to my phone planted against my ear. “I’m on a call. Where’s Swarley?”
“He marked the area and went back into the tent.” Jake nods to my phone. “East Coast, I hope. If you’re calling California, I bet whoever is on the other end of that call really hates you right now.”
“Oh my gosh, he’s adorable.” Sydney laughs. “I don’t hate you, Ave, but I don’t hate him either. Sorry. And good to know someone’s keeping track of my dog.”
“Yeah, I agree, Sis, even his voice is obnoxiously annoying.”
“Avery, stop! I didn’t say—”
“Love you too, gotta go.”
“The money, Avery. How much?”
“No worries for now. I’ll let you know.” I press End. “Were you awake when I was getting dressed?”
“Of course.” He covers his yawn with his fist.
“You just like to play dead?”
“It’s better than being dead.”
“In your case, I disagree.”
“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest.
“Let’s go.” I start marching off.
“This way, Ave.”
Huffing while coming to a stop, I pivot. He smirks.
“Fuck the hike. Let’s take a jog. I have a lot of energy and
anger to burn off.”
“Now we’re talking.” He grins.
I roll my eyes at his cocky enthusiasm and start jogging in the right direction. Maybe I’m a princess in his eyes. Maybe not all of my shoes are camping-worthy. And maybe I try to give people more credit than slurping chocolate mousse from their employee’s pussy or jerking off into someone else’s T-shirt, but I’m not out of shape. It takes hard work to maintain my figure.
Jake, no doubt, can punch harder and lift more deadweight than I can, but he’s not going to outrun me. Not today. Not ever.
“Jesus Christ, woman! There’s not a bear chasing us,” he calls from a fair distance behind me after thirty minutes of fast-paced jogging on the somewhat level dirt trail.
Seeing the truck and tent up ahead, I slow to a walk, feeling so much better. Not a single step I just pounded changed my unfortunate situation, but my mental health feels completely recharged like I will survive another day.
“I bet you’re too protein deficient to keep up with me. Maybe we should stop for hamburgers today. Your treat.” I glance back and he shakes his head, chin tipped toward his feet as they scuff along the dirt. I bet those muscle-bound legs of his feel like two stumps of dead weight.
Off to my right are a few mushrooms that I recognize from my days of foraging mushrooms with my dad. I don’t know the name of this species, but I do remember what happened to us when we mistook it for a morel. Giving Jake another quick glance, assuring his head is still bowed, I snatch one of the mushrooms.
“You making a smoothie today?” I ask.
He has a travel blender. I keep turning down his nasty-looking green concoctions, but it might be time for me to show a little interest.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you show me what you put in it? I’ll make it for you while you get a shower. I want to stretch a bit before showering.”
Turning at the tent, I flash him my best smile while holding the mushroom behind my back. He narrows his eyes a tiny bit, giving me the once-over.
“You’re hungry. You want me to share my smoothie today. Am I correct?”
Yes. I’m starving, but I’ll again forego food to have an opportunity to take the lead. My conscience scolds me for being so immature in my thoughts. I blame it on too much time in the woods. Jake might think this is refreshing and a place to clear his head, but I’m dying for an eight-dollar cup of caffeine, shopping therapy, and a full day at a salon getting myself pieced back together.
