by Liz Crowe
When her mother called last week and informed her that they wanted to spend the weekend in Ann Arbor so her father could give her the money for the wedding, she’d been relieved. No more answering to Jack. Something in her knew that wasn’t right. They were supposed to be husband and wife and learning to communicate about shit like this. Sara took another sip from her water bottle, wincing at the queasy feeling in her gut from previous night’s combination of over indulgence and anger. It felt impossible now. The magic date they’d set: November eighth. One week after the new downtown project opened. The project she’d gotten as deeply into as he had, with many late nights spent poring over drawings, contemplating possibilities of retail versus residential versus rentals.
Maybe her brother was right. Blake had given a whole new meaning to “hate,” specifically as it related to Jack Gordon. Claimed Jack would be nothing but a serial cheater; couldn’t resist women and would never settle for just one. After she’d agreed to marry him, Blake had backed off from the vitriol, but had once suggested that two people as alike as she and Jack would have nothing but misery ahead of them. That comment stuck with her for weeks. The very concept seemed ludicrous, even insulting. She was not like Jack. No way. But the more they clashed, the more she wondered.
Tears threatened at the thought of calling it off, but the last week or so she’d been questioning her sanity. The office gossip about Jack had ramped up and even taken on a bitter tone as all the women, who’d hoped to be in her four-carat-wearing shoes, started griping, most of it reaching her ears. The man obviously had not been able to keep that impressive cock in his pants much; that had become crystal .
He’d taught her so much about how relinquishing her tight control to him was a pure turn on, fueling her libido in ways she had no idea were possible. It also terrified her at the same time. Ceding control like that, to a man like Jack, inevitably left her feeling cold, scared and vulnerable. He’d made a promise to her. She would never, ever be left unsatisfied or made to feel humiliated by anything they did. He’d kept his promise. However, at times, she felt herself shut down afterwards, as if that sort of trust was something she had no idea how to give, or get.
The niggling words “you two are too much alike to work” kept coming back, tickling her brain, making her antsy.
Damn Blake
After rubbing her hair with styling gel, she blinked the tears back and tried to focus on the day ahead. Saturdays were notoriously long days for realtors, and today promised to be a doozy. To top it off, she had the pleasure of dinner with her parents, Blake and his partner Rob, and her fiancé to look forward to. That was, if Jack decided to attend. After last night’s blow out, she wasn’t so sure.
Fuck him.
She grabbed the hair dryer and ignored the growing ache in her chest–the spot she’d come to call Jack’s place. He alone had the ability to fill it with joy and ecstasy one moment, fury and frustration the next. He remained a cipher to her. She still knew very little about his family, about which he seemed disinclined to share. He preferred keeping them both “in the here-and-now,” which usually meant in bed, on the floor, or back in his office, with his talented body teasing orgasms out of her at his will.
How in the hell could a relationship like that possibly work?
Fortified by caffeine, Jack made his quiet way upstairs. The hair dryer fired up as he entered the bedroom suite. His head still pounded but he knew part of it was from dread. Failure threatened large on his horizon. He knew it and didn’t want to subject her to the messiness. The “down the aisle” thing made him numb with terror. The thought of Sara not in his world made him want to lose his lunch. He leaned on the doorjamb, watching her. She’d given him her trust. He’d wanted it–demanded it even. But did he deserve it? Sometimes he wondered.
Christ, what a mess.
Only he had the power to fix it. That kind of responsibility for another person’s emotional well-being had been easy for him once, and something he thought he knew how to handle. Lately, with the woman he loved, he had serious doubts.
Her light brown hair formed a curtain over her face as she worked the hair dryer under its many layers. Jack’s hands clenched into fists, resisting the urge to bury them in it, drag her to the bed; apologize with his body and not his words.
She’d called him on that too, hadn’t she? Yes. She had.
He groaned and looked up at the ceiling, sitting on the edge of the large bed, which was only messed on the side she’d slept in alone.
His “natural prick” had emerged when she’d given him the “dinner-with-the-parents” news after the insufferable party they’d attended at her insistence. He had no desire to meet them, but knew it had to be done. He’d sloshed bourbon into a crystal glass and knocked it back before turning to her and accusing her of ambushing him with that little tidbit. He’d reminded her that he was perfectly capable of paying for their wedding, even if she wanted to ship all two-hundred invitees to fucking St. Bart’s on private planes. She had no business involving her father.
She did, didn’t she?
The guy had every right to be involved in his only daughter’s wedding plans. Even though Jack knew damn good and well,thanks to a conversation with Rob over a few beers, Sara’s father was a class-A prick who had been a shitty role model relationship-wise. Jesus. He ran a hand over his face again.
Things had quickly devolved from there. She’d had her own shot of brown liquor and accused him of being a man-whore, expressed her unhappiness with the constant stream of gossip about all his escapades from their real estate colleagues. Jack didn’t regret much in life, but at that moment, he had nothing but remorse for the women he’d pissed off if their animosity had caused the kind of pain he’d seen in Sara’s eyes.
Of course, he couldn’t have just said that, could he? Oh no. He’d laughed, like an asshole. Told her to get over it. He was what he was and she damn good and well had partaken of the “Jack fun” herself, hadn’t she?
He looked up in time to see her bend over to give her hair a final heat treatment. The sight of her ass up in the air, barely covered by one of his thick towels brought his cock to strict attention. He sucked in a breath, staying out of her line of sight. When she finished with the dryer, and ran a brush through her hair he narrowed his eyes.
Tears.
Great.
She dropped the towel, making Jack’s body tingle in anticipation. Lotion next, smoothed over her long, strong legs, across her luscious ass, around her firm breasts. His breath got short, ragged in his ears.
He had to talk, communicate better. His head kept buzzing as he stood, walked into the cavernous bathroom, stood behind her, and put his hands on her smooth shoulders. She looked up into his eyes, gaze flat and noncommittal.
Jack ran both hands down her arms, letting the essence of her infuse his senses. He wanted this, more than he wanted to draw a breath. He wanted her, there, every morning. The concept of screwing it up with his usual bullshit made him nearly blind with fury at himself. But, right then, he wanted nothing more than to touch, to caress, to soothe and kiss.
She didn’t respond, just stood stock still as he kept touching, down to her hips and thighs. He moved to her side and put a hand to her cheek, making her turn to face him. Unshed tears glinted in her deep green eyes. He swallowed but words wouldn’t form. His lips found hers, his tongue tasted her, and she moaned and molded herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
“Jack,” she muttered as he pushed her back against the pillows and made his way down her body with his lips.
“Shh,” he dipped his tongue into her navel, went lower, and nuzzled the small bit of hair covering her sex. His cock twitched, leaked, ached for the now-familiar connection with her. His brain engaged long enough to acknowledge he’d meet her damn father, suck up properly, and let the guy pay for some of the ceremony. He couldn’t lose this woman. He smiled against her pussy as he sucked the hard nub of her
clit into his mouth, before plunging two fingers inside her, brushing that magic spot, sending her over the edge. Her juices coated his face and fingers and he licked his way back up, giving each nipple a suck, rubbing the thick head of his cock against her now creamy center.
“Look at me,” she whispered. He did, caught off guard by the depth of emotion he found in her gaze. “I love you Jack. I truly do. But, I’m afraid. I’m…oh. God.”
Jack let his body speak for him, pressing in, filling her, groaning at the amazing tight glove of her body which enveloped him, milked him, as he eased in and out. She put her hands to his face. As always, the deeper connection he felt with her roared over him, deafening him with urgency and no small amount of fear at letting go. He dove into her body, pressing against her clit, using his hips with small thrusts to drive even deeper. They hadn’t used condoms since the New Year’s trip and the whole barebacked thing was, in a word, glorious, although they played with fire, and he knew it.
“Tell me.” Her voice was low, rasping, and sexy. “Tell me Jack.”
“Ah God, Sara,” he ground out, as her orgasm gripped his cock, tightening and pulling him over the edge. “I, I love you, oh Christ. Yes!” He pounded hard, felt his world burst into a thousand pieces behind his eyes as his cock jerked and filled her. She cried out with him, and held on, arms and legs wrapped around his body, bringing him utter and complete happiness.
Sara smiled at the man next to her. He’d taken her world and yanked it into his orbit so hard and fast her head still spun some days. God help her she did love him. She put a hand on his sweat-slicked chest, and draped a leg over his. The smell of sex permeated the bedroom. She propped up on her elbow and touched his check.
“Hmm?” his sleepy voice reminded her how much they both needed more shut eye having passed out rather than actually rested last night. He pulled her close. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair. “It’s just.” She nodded into his shoulder. “Shit week, you know. All this wedding talk is not my thing or something. I don’t know. I do know I don’t deserve you.”
“Yeah, that is true. Look, we still have dinner with my parents tonight. My dad is a know-it-all doctor. I dread having the two of you in the same room, frankly, but we have to do it. They’re my family and they want to meet you.”
She felt him tense beneath her.
“That’s fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. But I don’t want him paying for any of this,” he swept a hand towards the small table where she’d piled up magazines and spreadsheets of wedding planning paraphernalia. “I’m doing it. You’re grown, not some little girl needing daddy’s money anymore.”
She bit her lip. “If he wants to I’m not going to stop him. It’s his prerogative. Can’t you just go with it?” She sat up, swung her legs to the floor.
Dear God he was so unbelievably stubborn!
He sang the same song, different verse, every time. They’d fight, he’d make up by making love to her. She’d let him. They wouldn’t talk about it. Again.
Sighing she stood, stretched her sated and tingling body, her mind back on the massive list of shit to do today. Glancing over her shoulder, she allowed herself a long look at the man who would be her husband. His six-foot five-inch frame firm, legs and arms covered with a light dusting of black hair; torso mostly bare, but for a line of jet-black hair beneath his navel leading down to the part of his body that he had, apparently, shared with so many. Her eyes trailed up, to his firm, square jaw, in need of a shave. Her palm itched to reach out, feel the sandpapery rasp of it, keeping him real.
Mine.
How completely unreal this still seemed, even now after he’d given her yet another mind-boggling set of back-to-back orgasms. That should’ve been solid evidence he was there, with her, “hers” even. But he wasn’t. That small voice in her head, the “Old Sara,” with its nagging and worry, poked her psyche once again. You’re too alike. It will never work. Jack’s eyes opened, at the sound of his own light snore. His sleepy grin made her smile in spite of her heavy heart.
She was no sap. Her own parent’s relationship had made her a cynic to the extreme when it came to men. She knew it. She fully acknowledged her own emotional constipation. Yet, she let the man who currently held her heart in his large, talented hands tug her down onto the bed, into the circle of his arms. His skin, smell, and feel eased her as always. She closed her eyes, just for a few minutes.
Chapter Two
“Why in the hell did you leave it here?” Sara bounded up the steps to Jack’s bedroom, having yet to acknowledge as “hers.” She yanked his suitcase out of the closet where he’d placed it after his Vegas trip to the National Association of Realtors convention. She still smarted from that week but set her jaw, determined not to bitch or whine about it another minute. The extreme tidiness of Jack’s space…no, her space now…made the small voice of self-doubt speak a little louder, yet again. She tossed the small black suitcase up on the bed and unzipped it.
“Do you see it? I must have tucked it in the front pocket. At the top.” His voice was tight, tense. She frowned as she fished around in the pocket. When her fingertips touched something, she grabbed hold and pulled it out without thinking.
“Yeah, I found…” she stared at foil squares containing condoms held in her hand. “Holy shit.”
“What?” She heard voices, and remembered he had a final meeting with the city council today. “Sara, did you find it?” Her ears buzzed as she reached back into the recesses of the case and found his driver’s license.
“Yes.” She sat, and let the room narrow as her heart pounded so loud she was ready to make a 911 call for herself.
“Thank God. I’ve been scrambling around for it all morning. Sorry babe. Thanks for going back to the house for it.”
She let him talk as she stared hard at the evidence of her humiliation. Gripped them, letting their crinkly noise fill her ears and cover the building hum of fury. She couldn’t form words.
“Sara? Baby? You there?”
“Yeah. I’ll put it on the kitchen counter. I’ll be late tonight. Meeting Blake for dinner.” She quickly made up plans, knowing if she said anything more it would come out in a primal scream of sheer outrage. “Bye.” She let the handful of incriminating latex slip from her hands and hit the floor as tears blinded her vision.
Since getting engaged last fall, she hadn’t gone more than twenty-four hours without talking to him, either by phone or by text, when they were apart. The level of control he wanted over her, the connection they shared since first meeting nearly a year ago, demanded it somehow. When he’d disappeared onto that plane for the convention in Las Vegas, it had felt as if he’d gone into a black hole.
The five days of “radio silence” had made her insane, first with anger, then fear, and then had circled back to bright red indignation by the time he got home. She’d stayed at his house for the first two nights, and then decamped back to her own neglected condo, unwilling to talk to anyone, not even her brother who’d banged on her door after she had ignored his calls for an entire day.
It had given her a glimpse into her future and she had zero desire to live through anything like it again. She knew should trust him. He’d told her many times, she could. The complete silence from him as he “worked” in a place she knew he’d be sorely tempted on many levels had built in her until she’d nearly exploded from the stress. Then he’d arrived, fresh faced, only slightly reeking of old booze and cigars, and she’d welcomed him home, relieved beyond measure to see him again. And now…
She stared at the phone that had started buzzing in her other hand. Blake. She wiped her eyes and answered it. “Hey. Can you meet me for dinner? I need,” She stopped, unwilling to give anything away as her voice broke.
“Sure. What time?”
Relieved beyond words that he didn’t ask what was wrong, she blurted out without thinking. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Nothing that I know of, other than a serious bout of poor judgment
lately. But that’s an argument I know I’ll lose.” He kept his voice easy, light, but she knew he’d picked up on her unhappiness. She bit her lip. “So…what time?”
The pub buzzed with activity by the time she walked in, her mind for a change. She’d used the entire busy day avoiding Jack’s calls and texts and had reached the conclusion that she’d overreacted.
Who knew how long those condoms had been in there anyway?
She smiled when she spotted Blake’s face behind the bar as he flirted with the many women sipping beer and giving him their full attention. Pocketing her phone, after reminding her fiancé that she had plans for the evening with her brother, she watched as Rob exited the kitchen, tension etched onto his handsome face.
“Blake!” Her brother glanced up from his extreme attention to a couple of very attractive women and frowned at his partner. “An alarm is going off in the brewery. Can you please handle it?”
Sara narrowed her eyes at the look of frustration Rob shot him. “I’ll be right back,” Blake patted her hand as he passed. She sipped the beer the bartender put in front of her, observing the two men and the palpable tension between them as they made their way back into the recesses of the huge building behind the restaurant. Within twenty minutes, her brother was back and perched on a barstool next to her, his green eyes clouded with something Sara realized was likely reflected in hers. She sighed and put an arm around him, kissed his rough cheek.
“We are quite the pair, aren’t we?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kept glancing to the kitchen door, but it remained devoid of the tall, broad, blond man Sara knew he wanted to see. “So, what’s the issue?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” She picked at the salad she’d ordered, suddenly afraid to admit what she’d found or that she was willing to let it go. Her eyes felt hot, tired, and she glanced over at him. Blake stared hard at her.
