Permanence wasn't even in Jasper's vocabulary. She wasn't staying in a sleepy Boston suburb, first because she was only here to escape her present situation and second because she didn't want to stay here. This wasn't where she wanted to be. Even if recovering from her last job—and that marriage—she wasn't turning in her power heels for duck boots.
This was temporary and that was why I could live with taking her home with me on Sunday and to the party next month. When she left town and returned to her life, or some version of it, my mother would have to accept the absolute pointlessness of challenging me to find someone special on a prescribed timeline. She'd have to.
So, yeah. I told Jasper I wanted her with me. I meant it too. I liked Jasper and I knew my family would adore her. As far as the party went, well, that was for me. I wasn't positive Jasper would still be in town when that event rolled around but if she was, I got the bonus of hanging out with her all night.
Seemed like a good deal to me.
I wasn't getting attached. I was just looking out for her. Being a good neighbor, really. Or something along those lines. I liked her and—and, well, I didn't hate her. I wasn't irrationally angry about her fixing up Midge's house anymore, even if I did completely lose it when I saw her marching toward the half-dead rhododendron in the backyard with an axe the other day. We only yelled at each other for ten minutes that time, which was progress.
We only yelled at each other for ten minutes because I grabbed the axe out of her hands, tossed it into my yard, and kissed her while she flailed those bony little fists at me, but it was still progress.
I wasn't getting attached. This wasn't attachment. It was something else. Something that made me want to physically shake sense into her at least once a day while also making me want to fuck her clear through my mattress at least five times an hour.
I still had to talk myself out of both in order to survive this invasion.
Her life was a bunch of puzzle pieces thrown up in the air and she wasn't staying. I was all about casual sex but there was nothing casual where it came to Jasper. Taking her to bed would mean something. If not to her, definitely to me. After she left, she'd always be the beautiful maybe-burglar who blew into my life with a cloud of bats at her back and a toxic banana bread. She'd always be the woman who told an eternity of secrets the first time she stepped into the heart of the woods. She'd always be the woman who made my heart stop when I saw fire trucks outside her house and the one who got woozy at the sight of blood. She was the one who'd catalyzed ordinary concern for my neighbor into the kind of worry that kept me up nights. And she was the only woman I'd ever met who could make a meal out of toasted bread.
I wasn't getting attached.
14
Jasper
Linden found a reason for me to stay over every night that week.
The overnight temperatures were dropping and he was worried about the heating system at Midge's house. (Very valid; I shared that worry.)
He didn't like the idea of me staying there with the porch demolished down to the joists. (Not sure I followed that one but okay.)
I drank two glasses of wine over dinner and he thought it was better for me to stay put. (Since the three-minute walk next door was so perilous.)
That sort of thing.
I argued with him every time because it was in my DNA, but there was no teeth to it. The fight was more a matter of custom at this point, something woven into the fabric of our neighbors-turned-whatever-this-was. Not that I had time to put into defining our whatever.
Sometimes, we kissed. Sometimes, I fell asleep on the sofa with my head in his lap. And sometimes, we fought hard over the right way to fold a bath towel and didn't want to talk to each other all day because of it.
It was fine.
We were fine.
Everything was fine.
Except for those moments when he'd look at me and I'd swear I saw a wolf behind those eyes. Like now, when he gazed at me with brutal intensity every time I handed him another dish to dry. Staring of that sort while someone was elbow deep in soapy water was excessive. It just didn't fit.
Except it did because this was Linden and everything about him was intense and excessive. That didn't mean I had to like it. "Those are some serious looks you're giving me. Are you still worried I don't know how to operate a garbage disposal?"
"I'm not worried that you don't know how to operate it," he replied. "I know for a fact that you don't know how to operate it and that worries me."
"Like I said earlier, I just won't use it." I handed him a bowl. "It's not that complicated. I can just pretend it doesn't exist."
"You think that will work?"
I reached into the sink to pull the drain. "I mean, yeah. I didn't know what that switch did until I flipped it earlier. It was purely accidental and I'll probably forget all about that switch."
"Until you go to turn on the light over the sink again and hit the wrong switch," he murmured.
"Oh my god," I groaned. "Would you just let it go?" I shook the water from my hands, giving him my most annoyed glare as I reached across him for a dish towel. "So there was a fork that had slipped into the opening and got whirled around a bit. It happens. We recovered it before anything tragic occurred so why don't we just put it behind us? It's not like I stuck my hand down there while it was on."
"Only because I stopped you from doing that," he cried.
I slung the damp towel over the front skirt of the sink. "Do you have any idea how obstinate you are?"
He leaned back against the countertop, his arms crossed over his chest. I was getting the sense that he knew how much I liked it when he crossed his arms like that. It was even better when he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. That dark dusting of hair on his thick forearms, the ropy muscle against the soft fabric of his plaid shirts. Gahhhh. It was amazing.
"I have a very good idea, yes." He shot me a smirk. "Do you know you're just as obstinate?"
"I am nothing of the sort."
"You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met."
"Wow. Wow. That's unspeakably kind of you to mention," I said. "I have to wonder, Linden, why you'd go to such trouble to keep me around when I'm obstinate and stubborn and dangerous with household appliances. Better yet, I'll stop wondering and return myself next door for the evening. I'm sure you could use a break from telling me how to do everything."
"You're not going over there."
"No? And who do you expect will stop me? It can't possibly be you since you're very busy being right all the time."
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "What? Fine. What are you talking about?"
He pushed away from the counter and stepped closer, trailed his knuckles along the buttons running down the front of my shirtdress. "I'm asking how you're feeling tonight."
I laughed as I shook my head because I couldn't understand why we were talking about this now. "For a stubborn, obstinate woman, I'm all right. Why do you want to know?"
His brows pitched up as he considered this. "I mean, it helps to know if you're tired or feeling down or just want to scream at me a little longer."
"So you can get out of the way?"
He jerked a shoulder. "Yeah, that. You know I like to see you mad but I'm not a total beast. I want to know if you're having a rough time."
"And why is that?"
He stared at my buttons for a second. "Is there anything else I should know? About how you're doing, I mean."
"How I'm doing," I echoed. "Are we talking about the garbage disposal again? Or being recently fired? Or newly divorced? Or my role as the star of last month's political shitshow? What is the concern in question?"
"Any of the above. What are you up for?"
"Why do you want to know?"
He reached out, thumbed open the top button. "Because I'm not going to throw you over my shoulder and toss you facedown on the bed if you don't want it."
"You're—oh." I watched as he op
ened another button. "Then you've decided the best way to resolve this matter of our shared stubbornness is putting me to bed, is that it?"
"I'm not putting you to bed." He hooked an arm around my waist, dragged me up against him. "I'm taking you to bed."
"And by that you're saying…" I peered up at him, hoping to the heavens he'd finish the sentence for me, but after a beat it was clear that wasn't happening. No, I had to finish the sentence. "You're saying you're joining me in there."
"Fuck yes, I'm joining you."
"You're saying you're ready to finish what you started the other day."
"I've been ready all week. You were the one who needed to rest up. You weren't ready for me and you know it."
"That's highly debatable," I murmured.
"I don't fuck girls who haven't slept in a month," he replied.
I gave him a brassy smile. "Oh, is that what you have in mind? I wasn't sure where you were going with this."
He flipped open the next two buttons. "I'm going to rip this dress off like it's on fire and I'm going to taste every sweet inch of you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't take it anymore and then I'm going to fall asleep right beside you. And I think it's pretty cute how you make me spell it out for you when that was your job."
"I didn't need you to spell it out," I said with all the indignance one could muster with her dress open to her navel. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
"People have let you down before."
A considerable part of me wanted to argue with this sudden shift from our play-fighting to this very real, very unpleasant truth, to push him to explain that statement and why he felt it was appropriate to make it now. The other part of me was small and tender but it was starving, and it cried out at the recognition he offered. "Yeah."
"Right here, right now"—he lifted his palm to my cheek, slipped his fingers into my hair, tapped his thumb against my lips—"I won't be one of those people."
I shuddered. My whole body, it was one indelicate shudder. It wasn't necessary but I still said, "Okay."
"Do you know what that means, Jasper? Do you know how to trust someone to show up for you? Or do you play the part while knowing you're the only one who could ever give you what you want?"
"I know what it means," I said defiantly. "I just don't have much experience with anyone making good on those promises."
He rubbed his thumb over my lips again before tracing the shape of my birthmark. "I won't be one of those people."
Because I was a bratty little punk under all this polish, I shook off his thumb and gestured to the table. "Are you waiting for me to hop up there?"
"You fucking know I'm not," he growled, his hand sliding down to my neck. "I'm having a conversation with you here because I don't want any confusion in there."
I blinked away before saying, "Condoms."
"Of course."
"I'm not into pain or degradation."
He nodded. "Good, me neither."
"I'm serious. I don't mind a slap on the ass or two but if you think I'm going to count while you spank me, I will walk out of here naked."
"The last thing I want to do is spank you in any disciplinary way," he replied.
"What's the first thing?"
His brows bent up. "What?"
"You said the last thing you want to do is spank me. What's the first thing you want to do?"
He hummed for a second, then shook his head. He dragged his fingers up from my navel to my neck. "No, I don't think I'm going to answer that question. Not until you tell me what you want."
"I—" I almost said it. I almost spoke the words inside my head.
"If you can't say it, Peach, I'll—"
"Would you just wait a minute? My god. Let a girl speak, would you?"
I gave an exaggerated shake of my head as I fired a haughty glance at him. He knew it was bullshit but he seemed to know all my bullshit. Every last bit of it. I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze to his beard. There were flecks of silver in there but a dash of sun-kissed auburn too. I didn't know why that amused me but it did.
"I have all night and nowhere to be in the morning," he said, his knuckles gentle as they brushed along the line of my jaw.
"I-I just," I stammered, still struggling to grab hold of those words and share them without immediately regretting it. "I don't want to think."
Why did I say that? Just…why? Ordinary, healthy people didn't say things like that. They didn't ask to zone out during sex. They didn't expect someone else to do the work while lying back and letting it happen.
But that wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't about letting it happen. It was about letting go. It was not having to make one more decision. It was being safe and trusting that I'd get what I needed just as much as he would.
"Now I know you're ready," he said.
I glanced up at him with a glower, still feeling the sting of embarrassment in my face, my chest. "What does that mean?"
He studied my mouth for a long moment before saying, "You wouldn't have said that earlier this week. That day in the woods? Never would've said it. You couldn't stop thinking." He met my eyes, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "And just so you know, I'm not going to allow you to think."
I always knew Linden was a wolf at heart but now I knew he was a savage one at that.
We were barely inside the bedroom when Linden had me against the wall, my cheek pressed flat while he yanked my dress over my head. He didn't waste a single second rocking that hard shaft against my backside and murmuring, "No, baby, I'm not going to give you a minute to think."
"I feel like you're making a lot of big promises here," I said. "It would be disappointing if you didn't live up to them."
Linden dragged his fingers up my spine and with one flick of his hand, my bra was gone. I didn't even know how to get it off that quickly. "You won't be disappointed."
He kept one hand between my shoulder blades while he ran the other down to my waist and over my backside—and lower. With that broad palm and those thick fingers, he cupped my pussy in a manner I could only describe as crude. It had to be crude. No one with fingers like those could grab a pussy without being a tad bit crude about it.
Then, "This is mine."
"Bless you and that spirited male imperialism," I managed. Honestly, I could barely speak with him squeezing my pussy like that. As if anyone could speak.
He curled those fingers around the crotch of my panties and yanked them down, sending them to the floor with less than a whisper. His hand tangled in my hair, he said, "Don't lie to me. You love it."
Since I did not actually want to lie and this was the best foreplay I'd had in forever, I stayed quiet while Linden nipped and kissed my neck and shoulders. That part was amazing but it was his scratchy-soft beard that had me clawing at the wall and arching my back to feel more of his shaft, anything, any friction I could get.
"You need to learn a bit of patience," he growled in my ear. "You'll get what you need when I'm good and ready to give it to you. Understand?"
What the hell did he just say to me?
"So, so imperious," I said, and those words weren't halfway off my tongue when he pushed two fingers inside me with more force than I'd ever experienced. I hadn't even been fucked this hard. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even breathe because the pressure—my god, the pressure. But it was so good. It was good in that lip-biting, clothes-tearing, sheet-twisting kind of way.
A gasp stuttered out of me as he edged my feet apart and found that perfect spot right inside me. "There you go," he murmured. "There you are."
There was a minute when I did nothing more than breathe against the wall while Linden made me a hot, slippery, grinding version of myself that I'd never met before. I didn't let anyone pin me to a wall naked and say rude things while I rode their hand. I'd never.
I'd thought about it but I'd never.
There was the sound of a belt unlatching, a fly unzipping, fabric rustling, and I needed to see him.
I needed it. There were at least two tattoos that required study and my hands itched to explore that husky body of his. My nipples too. It was completely deranged but I was dying to know the feel of his skin and the dark hair I was certain trailed down his chest against my breasts.
I started to shift, to pivot as much as anyone could while impaled on a pair of fingers, but Linden wasn't allowing it. "What did I just tell you? I'll give you what you need but you have to stop squirming."
"I'm not squirming. I'm—ohhhh." He pushed his cock against my ass and I couldn't believe how hard and hot he was. It didn't seem real. "Please tell me we're not doing this against the wall. I can't see anything and I really don't like this idea."
"Where would you like me to do it?" he asked as his fingers speared inside me again and his thumb circled my clit. "Tell me what you want, Peach."
Those fingers were going to cause my entire body to implode. I was going to cave in. I was going to fall apart before I touched him and that seemed like a tragedy of terrible proportions. "I just want—oh my god, I want everything."
Linden kissed and bit his way up my shoulder. The soft laugh he breathed out sent a ripple of goose bumps down my chest, over my nipples. "You want to be more specific?"
"We could've stayed in the kitchen if you have a fondness for walls and standing. It's impolite to smush a lady up against a wall for more than a moment or two."
"Let me be honest with you now. I'm gonna be real impolite tonight," he rasped into my ear before he pulled away. The sudden absence of that big body—and those fingers—left me cold and clenching around nothing. "Come help me."
As I turned, I found Linden unbuttoning his shirt, his jeans and boxers abandoned to the floor along with my dress. His cock bobbed under the tail of the plaid and I assumed that was the help he needed. I reached for him as he shrugged out of the plaid, pulled the t-shirt underneath over his head. He was huge. I didn't know a lot of dicks on a first-name basis but this one was huge. It was fitting—quite literally—as Linden was a tall, barrel-chested beast of a man and anything short of an impossibly thick shaft wouldn't make sense on him.
The Belle and the Beard Page 17
