There’s a frenzy between my legs. There’s a tension that snaps like a rubber band. Explosive cries erupt. Before the calm can descend after the orgasm, Jayson drags me down from the sectional into his lap. He spears upward into me and brings my quaking sex down around his shaft with a sure stroke that broadens my climax. He grips my buttocks as he climbs to his feet, and I clasp my hands behind his neck. The bar of his forearm provides leverage at the base of my spine. I wrap my long legs around his hips and rise and fall while he holds me.
Jayson grimaces with ecstasy. I can tell he’s holding back. “Give it all to me,” I urge. “Fuck me, Jayson! Oh God, yes! Like that…” His fingertips dig deeper into the fleshy hill of my ass, stretching my body with his deep, long strokes. My nails rake over his shoulders. As his mouth burns kisses down my chest to my breasts, I coo in rapture. All I can say is yes. Each plunge takes me closer to heaven.
Then, he lowers us to the long end of the sectional with rigid self-control, and I can tell he’s ready to release. Yet he visibly forces the frenzy to a lull. “I don’t want to fuck you, Kit. I want to make love to you,” he murmurs. I press my heels into the sectional, instinctively bowing my body to envelop his, which centers the tautness in my pelvis and upper inner thighs. My arms wrap around him, knees tightening at his waist. He sinks into my softness, a contrast of hard planes and hard pleasure.
I learn a lesson in the difference between passion and sensuality. This is sensual. His kisses linger long and drawn out. His hands dance up and down my sides and caress the outer curve of my legs. If I imagined rough sex was the ultimate measure of eroticism, I was wrong. The slowness heightens the intensity.
I clench inner muscles that I never knew existed before being with him. Squeezing him in my slick, tight sheath, I revel in how intimately we join together, how the evidence of my arousal wets my inner thighs and lathers the base of his erection. Jayson shudders, attempting to suppress the sounds of his excitement, but he’s unable to keep silent. “Ah, shit! You’re gonna make me come. Your fucking body, Kit!” We both look down in awe at the place where we connect. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he growls, moaning swear words into my ear as he desperately nibbles at my ear lobe. I caress the back of his head, having some idea. It must be the same as what he does to me.
I feel the magic unwind as my orgasm blots out awareness of everything else. No loud exclamation heralds its arrival this time. It renders me mute with wonder at the potency, and he feels it, too. The moment my body spasms, his erection jerks within me. I hold my breath and rocket out of this world. His hands tangle in my hair as he kisses me. He pushes deeper and deeper inside of my body, and it seems to me that he’s digging a channel to some part of me always hidden before now. He gets harder in my grip until he shudders violently in the last throes. I love it and I want to start over and I need to rest. The paralyzing pleasure finally eases its hold. We’re breathing heavily, spent. “You already know,” he repeats. I nod, shushing him. He loves me. I drift off, realizing we’ve crossed a milestone and wondering what lies ahead.
* * *
If buying a house was me setting sail on my own, being with Jayson is me navigating unfamiliar seas. Mom turning her back on me is me losing all life boats. There’s no bailing out when things get hard now.
“Open the biggest gift first,” Jayson urges.
Bubbling with glee, I grab the big box under the spindly tree we hastily threw up a few days before. It’s wrapped in shiny green paper and tacked with a bright blue bow. “What is it?” I ask, shaking it.
“Hey, now. Stop that and open it up and see.” Jayson peels the tape from one side. I push his hand away and rip into it, eager to see what’s inside. When enough of the box gets exposed, I gush with excitement.
“Tools?” I laugh in amusement. “Wait, wait, this is how Castiel got me last time. Don’t tell me you used the packaging from a tool set to fool me again.”
“I promise it’s not just a picture of me. I’m not that egocentric.”
“Hmm, that’s too bad. Picture a framed photograph of you wearing nothing but boxers and a tool belt. I’d put it right there on the living room wall.” Jayson laughs and shakes his head against the idea. I giggle as I tear off the last bit of giftwrap. When I open the box, I discover that it is indeed tools. “Ha! Aww, baby, you got me exactly what you wanted for Christmas!”
Jayson grins. “Hey, I’m a practical guy. Now you can stop checking out tools from the design department at school. I wanted you to have what you need to build those boxes that you have to do for your classes. Check out the small electric saw. Plus, your own drill, leveler and all that, and it’s in pink. I hope you like it.”
“I love it. No more getting stuck on the waiting list when I need something at the last minute. Extra points for your originality. No one has ever bought me power tools before. Very thoughtful of you.”
Our first Christmas together, Jayson also gives me a gift card to Devil in the Details, courtesy of a tip from my best friend Grace, and my favorite gift from him is a charm bracelet with a tiny hammer. I give him new work boots and two paintings for his apartment that leave a satisfied smile his face, which is good because it took me forever to sneak away one of his other boots to check the shoe size. Thankfully, the steel toes fit.
We finish off the gift giving with a kiss under the mistletoe and move on to Christmas brunch. The jalapeno shrimp poppers I tried making from an online recipe end up being an utter disaster, so Jayson takes me to the same Thai restaurant we went to a month back to enjoy real cooking. By the end of the day, I look back on the memories we made together with utter satisfaction. I’ll lay this holiday season up against the glossy, picture-perfect Christmases of my past anytime.
I don’t have a tree decorated with crystal from Tiffany’s or gifts with high-dollar price tags. There’s no lavish Christmas dinner with a turkey and honey ham and all the traditional sides. But while it’s a far cry from the glamor of yesteryear, it’s the best holiday I can remember having in a long, long time. The only damper is not having the chance to at least speak with my mom by phone. She won’t answer my calls.
Jayson curls up next to me on the couch for a last cuddle session before he has to get home and spend some time with his own family. “I hate to leave you here alone,” he says glumly.
“Don’t worry about it, babe. Professor Schwartz’s internship application is here to keep me company. I’ll be glad when I can ship it off. I want to begin the New Year with a clean slate.”
He kisses my temple, and I nestle deeper into the crook of his arm. “Try not to let morning catch you before you get some sleep. I know how you can get, and you do have to get some rest.”
“I’ll try,” I promise.
He leaves around eight in the evening. The clock above the stove reads after midnight as I put the finishing touches on the project for the internship. I step back with hands on my hips, staring at the miniature room. Rather than choosing a residential layout, I opted for an office lobby so I could include an exterior view, complete with wading pool and ornamental garden. Along with the application, I email the plans for the space and photos of the finished product before crating up the whole shadowbox to ship off tomorrow to whatever committee will decide my internship fate.
One last email goes to Professor Schwartz, thanking her for her support. For a while there, I was terrified I wouldn’t get things in on time because I had a late start, but it turns out the anxiety drove me to create my best interior design yet.
“Look at that,” I muse, glancing at the dark window. “In bed before the sun comes up.”
* * *
A lot happens in the week of vacation left following the dramatic disagreement with my mother. I chat with Grace a few days later about what happened, and she offers unyielding emotional support, while gushing about how wonderful things are between her and Castiel. It’s a bright spot in a row of so-so days.
“I’m glad I meddled in your affairs. I knew Casti
el was into you, and you’re a terrible liar, Grace. I knew you had the hots for him. Of all the Zephyr brothers, Castiel is the biggest barrel of laughs, and you love a guy with a great sense of humor. So, when are you coming home? I mean back to San Francisco. I guess you’re already home,” I laugh.
Grace answers, “I’ll be back in time for school. I’d fly in sooner, but you know plane ticket prices soar around New Year’s. Plus, bad weather.”
I scowl at the window. “I know. It’s snowing over here right now. Jayson was coming over, but I told him not to risk it. This us against the world crap can get mighty lonely when it’s just me.”
“Aww, homie. I’ll be there to keep you company in no time,” Grace consoles me.
“Don’t mind my whining. All in all, things could be worse. What if he were the type to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble? Granted, after the confrontation with Candace he did try to tell me we don’t belong together because he has a past.”
“What kind of past?”
“I told him we all have a past. He feels his background in contrast to my background puts us on uneven footing with me getting the short end of the stick. Personally, Grace, he’s in a much better position than a lot of guys his age, despite his humble beginnings. But during the short time we were actually welcome at the party, I cringed every time someone asked him what he does for a living.”
“What the heck for? It’s not like he works at a fast food restaurant or something, and even if he did, it’s a living.”
“I know, I know. I know how it sounds, but I am a product of my environment, too. Intrinsically, I’m aware that whether Jayson is a doctor or a small business owner, he’s still the same great guy. That doesn’t change the fact I wished he could shut ‘em all down and say, ‘Oh, I found the cure to every known cancer’ or something. The bottom line is Mother’s circle of friends have a hard time valuing anyone who isn’t on their socioeconomic level.”
“I have a feeling Jayson’s not bothered by that and neither should you be. My psychic senses tell me you need to do some soul searching if you’re worried about being a product of your environment, as you say. How is that going to affect your relationship with him?”
“Oh, no, I’m not saying I have a problem with his income. But, any logical person would be concerned about her financial stability.”
“Are you worried about it? With him, I mean.”
Inwardly, I refer back to Mom’s warning about living paycheck to paycheck. Even with the most basic understanding of business economics, I know Zephyr Brothers Construction isn’t likely to make Jayson the next Donald Trump. Hypothetically, if we were to stick things out and get married, we might end up in a nice suburban neighborhood but definitely not the enclave of the wealthy that is Pacific Heights. I shrug, knowing Gracie can’t see me through the phone but reluctant to voice my thoughts out loud.
“At this point,” I reply, “I’d rather take this relationship one day at a time instead of commit to uncertain forevers with or without a loaded bank account. The way he makes me feel…I don’t want to ruin what we have by getting ahead of myself.”
Grace hums speculatively but doesn’t press for a less ambiguous answer. I hear someone call her name in the background. “Sounds like my aunt just walked in. I gotta go, homie. We’re about to pop fireworks. Take care of yourself out there.”
“Have fun! Bye, chica-boom.” I hang up the phone and try not to think any further on the conversation, but in the back of my head I wonder if secretly I’m as elitist as I accuse my mom of being. I am, after all, a product of my environment.
Chapter 30
JAYSON
“Put it down right there,” Kit says confidently to the two burly deliverymen. The queen-sized craftsman bed pieces get placed in the middle of her bedroom, and the guys assemble the long boards like a giant puzzle. For a change, I don’t have to lift a hammer.
I step out of their way and look out the French doors at the blue sky beyond and the two white rocking chairs I found for a steal at a garage sale and refurbished for her. The days following Christmas had been spent bargain hunting together. It’s funny, but Kit’s place is starting to feel like home. I’ve spent less time at my apartment in the past few days than ever before, which has Momma pleased as a peach. I’m starting to enjoy this decorating business. Not that I’d want to do it for a living, but for Kit and me? Hell, yeah. We both appreciate craftsmanship and getting something just right. Kit’s looking forward to using the tools I got her and, I admit, it makes me hot thinking of her wielding a hammer or a drill.
Once the plush mattress is placed on top of the bed, completing the hodgepodge design theme she has going, Kit chirps with excitement at the latest acquisitions to House Schneider. “Isn’t it fantastic?”
“I have to agree. I can see the result of our combined tastes coming together.”
After she sees the deliverymen out, Kit comes back upstairs and throws herself down on the mattress. She spreads her arms and legs to take up as much space as possible and mewls like a pleased kitten about the pleasures of sleeping in a bed again. I settle on the edge of the mattress next to her, contemplating trying out the springs. She stretches languorously. Her t-shirt eases up to expose the flat of her stomach. Higher, and the lower curves of her breast might spill free, too. I toy with the bottom of her shirt, inching it yet higher.
“What do you say we christen this new arrival,” I murmur. The buzzing of a phone intercepts the play, however.
“Hang on, lover boy.” With a grin, Kit scrambles away from my questing fingers and pokes out her tongue at me. Grabbing her cell from the new nightstand, she answers the call. I decide to speed the intrusive phone call along with a little interception of my own. Behind her I take off my shirt and drop it over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?” she says in an irritated voice. She pulls my shirt off her shoulder and distractedly throws it to the floor. I realize whoever’s on the phone has changed her mood. Coming around to face her, I lift a brow in question.
“What’s wrong?” I mouth.
Kit holds up a hand to silence me, listening intently. Her face twists in a scowl. “So, basically you’re reneging on our agreement. You told me I didn’t have to pay back the loan for the renovations unless the house sold. You said if I couldn’t find a buyer I had up to a year after the renovations were complete…No, I’m not trying to get over on you, Mom! You know I’m not planning on selling the house now, but that still leaves a year past renovation completion before I’m supposed to start payments!” Kit stands to her feet and paces.
I cross my arms and stand back, a muscle ticking in my jaw with the restraint it takes not to blurt out to Kit that I’ll just pay the loan back for her. Candace doesn’t need to hear me talking in the background. Kit growls, “I know you’re only doing this to coerce me to come back home, back under your thumb. Well, it isn’t going to work, Mom. Expect a money order for the first installment next week. Yeah, whatever. Bye.”
Kit hurls the phone, and it hits the wall with a loud bang, preserved only by the life-proof box that keeps it from shattering into a million pieces with the force of her throw. “Shit!” she screams out her rage. I grab her before my destructive princess does any more damage.
“Hey, hey, calm down. Tell me what happened.” Kit sobs brokenly and when I discover she’s crying, I hold her back so I can look at her face. “Kit, it’s alright, babe.”
“I’m sick of it!” she complains bitterly. I sit down and pull her into my lap so I can comfort her while I make sense of her blubbered responses. “She-she says since I re-refuse to give you up, I might as well pay her back for everything she’s done for me. H-how the hell am I supposed to pay her on top of paying my other expenses?”
“You’re not in this alone,” I say softly. “Us against the world. Remember?” The alternative to me helping her out would be her taking on more hours at work, which is damn near impossible. She’s already working over twenty hours a week and going
to school full time. Overworking herself is not the answer.
But analyzing the numbers and weighing the risks comes second nature for me. It would be dishonest to say I don’t wonder how investing more time and resources into helping Kit stay afloat will affect me, personally, because there is no “me, personally.” I’m responsible for covering Momma’s healthcare costs and Ashby’s college fees. I have to keep Castiel and Dev on track at the office; they can’t handle it on their own. They don’t have enough experience. To admit any of these concerns to Kit would be relationship suicide.
So I stroke her hair and whisper soothing promises I’ll have to make good on, even if it drains me. This is why I’ve been avoiding serious relationships for years. They require so much, and at the end of the day I feel like my presence in Kit’s life is subtracting more than it’s adding. Every attempt to extricate myself from this beautiful bondage fails because I don’t want to leave her. I’ve never been in love. It’s possible she’s the one. When it hurts to stick around, but it’s hell to get away, it has to mean something, doesn’t it?
“Things are getting dysfunctional,” I mutter without thinking. Kit mistakes the comment—a reference to our state of affairs—as relating to her situation with her mother.
“It’s always been like this,” she says tearfully. “I take that back. It’s been like this between me and my mom ever since my father died. He was a developer for a program called iGene, on the verge of creating one of the first online genetic databases. Mom had just started working at the hospital. She wasn’t like this back then. They were so happy together.”
Jayson: A New Adult / Coming of Age Romance Page 23
