by Liz Crowe
“Hey yourself. What’s up?” He put his hands behind his head. Sara allowed herself a very brief moment of admiration then snapped back to the present. She would not be distracted, especially not by this guy. That was the last thing she needed. The distinct memory of his full lips on hers, all those months ago, floated through her brain. She forced herself to focus on his words.
“My band is playing tonight. Here in town. We could use a few warm bodies,” he raised an eyebrow at her.
She grinned in spite of herself. A night out. There was a pleasant thought. She hadn’t had one in nearly a month. It had taken two weeks for Jack to get the loud and that she had no desire to talk to him, to make up, to make out, or of any of the above. It had nearly ripped her guts out, but had to be done. She swallowed against the image of Jack’s face. It would never fade it seemed.
He’d obviously moved on, of course as the company gossip machine had cranked up, to the max. Heather, the long tall exotic drink of water who’d had her claws in him before he’d bought Sara the ring, was back in the picture with a vengeance.
“Um, hey…” Craig leaned in and gripped her hands. Sara realized she had a death grip on her knees and he her eyes closed. “Sara. Let it go.” She sucked in a long breath.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
He released her hands.
“So, about that show?” His voice had deepened.
She smiled at him. His handsome face lit up as he brushed his always too long hair from his face. She needed this. A friend. She nodded. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He stood, then to her utter shock he leaned in, brushed her lips with his and whispered. “I’ve missed you.” By the time he walked away, whistling, hands in his wrinkled khakis she acknowledged that maybe, just maybe she’d survive this.
Chapter Six
Greg and Jennifer Stewart were the second generation to run the most successful independently owned residential real estate brokerage in the area. They had grown the company far beyond what his parents had started, and treated their employees and agents well. Formal Christmas parties, always at a different venue, and the “Party at The Farm” held every September, marking the end of the craziest and busiest season, were annual events. Sara pulled up to the massive compound, found a parking spot and sat, trying to catch her breath at the thought of being around Jack again.
They’d been promised “entertainment” and instructed everyone to come dressed to “play games.” The invitations had said each employee was going to be paired with someone else; either another agent or a spouse/significant-other, and the Stewart Olympics would commence at six p.m. sharp.
Sara had invited Blake to come with her. But he’d backed out at the last minute to tend bar when one of his employees failed to show up for work. He had kissed her forehead, given her a hard squeeze, and pep talk when she stopped by the pub and had gotten the bad news. Noting that he seemed calmer, and that things between him and Rob had settled, she’d shrugged and left.
She parked her car among all the other high-priced automobiles, and took note that neither Jack’s Stingray nor his new Escalade was anywhere to be seen. She pulled her contribution of homemade chocolate chip cookies out of the trunk and walked towards her colleagues and friends who all greeted her warmly. Val ran up to her with an ice-cold beer.
“Here babe, drink this now” she insisted, before guiding her towards the food tables.
Sara laughed over her shoulder at various friends “warming up” up for the amateur Olympics by chugging beers. Recalling the last time she’d been at The Farm, she was grateful for the Stewart’s strict “no drinking and driving” policy and for the large house they equipped to handle the many folks who’d be sleeping over tonight.
She turned to Greg Stewart to hug him and thank him for hosting another fun event for them and immediately spotted Jack over his shoulder. He sat on a blanket under one of the hundred-year-old trees with Heather, feeding her a strawberry. Her body stiffened and Greg pulled her closer, whispering in her ear as he led her away.
“Of all my agents, you were the last one I thought would go down this road.”
She allowed Greg to pass her off to Jennifer, who put her arm around Sara’s shoulders and announced that as the month’s top producer, Sara would be the one to match up the teams. Val and her office manager, Pam, stepped up to record the couples, which kept Jack out of Sara’s line of vision.
She reached in repeatedly, calling out names of oddball pairings, before finally pulling out her own name. She grabbed one more slip of paper, not really thinking much as the quickly consumed beer and residual shock of seeing Jack with Heather had made her head spin.
She unfolded the piece of paper: “Jack Gordon,” and heard a collective gasp. She shrugged and rolled her eyes, bringing nervous laughter from the crowd. Everybody knew their story by now. No use pretending.
Glancing up she caught Craig’s deep brown gaze, completely focused on her. She allowed herself a moment to look back at him before breaking eye contact.
“Sara,” Jack nodded at her as they stood together to listen to the rules and regs.
“Jack,” she responded, as coolly as she could manage. Her entire body hummed with familiar energy, but she held it at bay, let the anger focus her.
They performed the necessary egg-and-spoon trial, three-legged race, and wheelbarrow relays. The fireman carry provided a little diversion and Sara knew he used it as an excuse to hold onto her a little longer than was completely necessary. When they reached the final events, Sara and Jack were well ahead of every other team. She had another beer at one point, which loosened her up and allowed her to enjoy his closeness and the heat of his skin. She caught him staring at her, his eyes squinting as if trying to figure her out, as she won the hula-hoop contest on behalf of their team.
The final two events involved food and only included the top five remaining teams. Sara and the other four women, each given apples, were told to hold it in their mouth while their partners ate as fast as they could for twenty seconds. The team with the most-eaten apple would be the winner.
Sara sighed, put the apple between her teeth and turned to Jack, who immediately placed both hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him, his legs slightly bent, his head tilted. She closed her eyes until she heard the hoots and whistles of the crowd. She snapped them open and caught Val’s wide-open eyes and shaking head over Jack’s lowered shoulder.
In spite of herself, she let her body respond, taking no small satisfaction in the fact that he turned her around so that his back faced the crowd to hide his tented shorts. The crowd continued to catcall, egging him on, as the timer dinged. They broke away from each other, the electricity snapping between them, a completely cored apple in her hand and juice dripping down their chins. Jack wiped his off, not taking his eyes from her, before reaching out to raise her hand over their heads in triumph. The crowd erupted with cheers.
He laughed but dizziness made Sara’s gut clench from such intimate public contact with him. Hands pushed her into a chair for the final event. A quarter of a watermelon was placed between her knees. Jack knelt in front of her. Her thighs trembled. Someone gave her another beer, patted her on the shoulder then walked away.
Jack grinned up at her, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. She glared back at him, and happened to look up, straight into Craig’s dark eyes. He was standing at the front of the crowd, not clapping, watching her with an intensity that brought a chill to her spine.
She looked back down at Jack. Anger flared in her chest, and she smiled at him in such a way that made him pause, only perceptible to her, as she knew his small facial nuances very well. He hesitated slightly before leaning over her lap in anticipation of the contest. She drained her bottle, held it out for someone to take and placed her hands on either side of her knees, keeping the watermelon in place, flexing the well-honed muscles in her legs.
“Bring it stud, if you can,” she told him loud enough to be heard by the first two ro
ws of spectators. The crowd gave a collective “ooohhhh” and a few of Jack’s cronies yelled out: “you can tap that Jackie,” and “eat it fast, Jack” some of the louder ones.
She raised her eyebrows at him as if to ask “What?” and sat forward, allowing him a view of the tops of her breasts through her tank top.
“If you can,” she whispered to him, again before she leaned back, her hands behind her head.
The crowd erupted again, hooting and calling, and Sara no longer cared that she was playing out some fantasy scene in a lot of heads as Jack leaned in to start eating the melon between her knees. The timer dinged, and he began to lick, slowly, scooping up big bites, his eyes never leaving hers. She was mesmerized and royally pissed at his little performance. He closed his eyes and licked his lips once, which brought a fresh round of hooting from the crowd.
He buried his face in the melon then, and the crowd went nuts. She glanced up, slightly off kilter from the beer and the heat. Her anger escalated. Her legs trembled harder as the sticky watermelon juice oozed down either side of the fruit. She knew the entire company was laughing at her, allowing Jack to do this to her in public, humiliate her while his new gal pal watched from the shade tree. She watched as he lowered himself for another ridiculous eating session, confident they would win the gold medal.
The asshole was making a mockery of her. A mockery of what they once had. Her eyes narrowed and she brought both knees together, hard, against either side of his face, which broke the melon in half without much effort and caused him to wince in pain and jump to his feet.
“Fucking-A Sara,” he yelled at her as the watermelon juice ran down her legs. She stood up, realized she confirmed the suspicions of anyone who was too dumb to realize what was going on between her and Jack and ran into the house.
Gasping by the time she got to the upstairs guest suite, she leaned over the sink to steady herself, and looked up into the mirror. Her hair had broken loose of its tie back, as usual, and haloed her flushed face. She leaned down again to splash some cold water on her face, and allowed it to drip down her tank top onto her chest.
Damn him anyway.
She winced, reliving the scene she had just made in front of people whose respect she craved. They already worshiped him as some sort of god of the boudoir and she had managed to confirm that, acting like a jealous teenager, or one of his deranged, jilted lovers–not the calm, cynical ex-fiancé persona she tried like hell to adopt. She took another scoop of the cool water, splashed it on her chest and neck, and closed her eyes. Forcing herself to calm her breathing, she wondered how in the hell she could sneak away from this debacle.
She looked up in the mirror and there was Jack, right over her shoulder. She yelped, and turned around, backed up into the edge of the vanity.
He stared at her hard and didn’t speak for a minute. Then he looked down and shook his head, hands on his hips. She waited for a split second, and then attempted to move past him.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled.
He grabbed her, and spun her around to face him, his lips just above hers. He took a deep breath. The agony of having him so near, again, made her want to weep with regret. When he leaned in close, she sucked in a breath.
“We were about to win, Sara,” he ground out between his clenched teeth. She stared into the dark sapphire depths of his eyes. They reflected something Sara knew she’d find in her own. Without another word, he covered her mouth with his, seeking her, seeming to need more of her than she had ever given him.
She pushed back on his chest. The slight damp of his t-shirt under her hands made Sara want to rip it from him. But she let her brain lead.
“No, Jack, not this time.” She made her way towards the closed bathroom door. He allowed her to reach it and take a single step into the hall before he pulled her back, and carried her unceremoniously into the adjoining bedroom. She started to protest, but his lips covered hers, cutting off noise and logic. The proximity and familiarity of his body so perfect she almost cried with the effort of not begging him to come back, to ruin her life all over again.
She gave in, her hands buried in his hair as she pulled his lips harder onto hers. He slammed the door shut with his foot behind them more or less in the faces of Val and Jennifer who had just made it to the top of the steps.
Without ceremony, he flung her onto the bed, climbed up between her legs, shoving her tank top up and snapping the front of her casual bra easily between his fingers, never missing a beat. He took one nipple in his mouth, then the other, tugging, sucking, pulling at them until she arched up, barely able to contain her need to have him near her, inside her, all over her.
His lips moved up to her neck and he bit down. She gasped, surprised, at her body’s reaction. She wrapped both legs around his waist, begging for more of him. Of their own accord, her hands reached for him–his hair, his neck, his shoulders, his back, his ass, unable to get enough.
His lips reached hers again, and he resumed his urgent kiss, seeming to want to possess her completely. She sighed with pleasure at the familiar feel of his lips. He grabbed her wrists and held them down on the bed beside her head.
“Sara,” he asked quietly, “tell me what you want from me.”
She stared at him a minute, unable to translate the look he was giving her. His eyes were dark with desire, his teeth clenched as though trying to hold something back, wanting her to say something, something that would satisfy him.
“I want you Jack,” she hissed at him. “All of you,” she said as she wrenched her arms free to pull him closer. “Now,” she demanded, meeting his deep blue gaze.
“Then why the fuck did you throw that ring back at me,” he demanded.
She turned her face away.
“Because, we just, we can’t. We’ll kill each other. It won’t work,” she insisted. “This is all we know how to do. Neither of us can handle anything more.” The tear that leaked from one eye belied her brave words. She would give anything to take back that moment, to let him explain the condoms, but she couldn’t. He would hurt her eventually. She knew it.
Don’t live our mother’s life. He will only hurt you. He’ll never change. She tried to close her mind to the words, but they spilled through her like water over a cliff, uncontrollable and wild.
He had worked her shorts down and off, and she could sense his cock near her, throbbing with need. He thrust inside her with no preamble. Her body was already dripping and ready, but he shocked her with his force as she stretched to accommodate him.
No finesse, nothing fancy, just pure mutual, primal need connected them. His eyes bored into her, questioning without words as he shoved in further.
“So this,” he grunted. His teeth still clenched, as if wanting something from her he couldn’t even name. “This is all you want from me?”
She was shocked at herself yet again, at her response to his roughness, but unable to stop herself, as if the entire set of games they had just played outside served as quirky foreplay.
She wrapped her legs around him tighter, and her pussy clutched at him, pulled in him further, not allowing him to fully withdraw as her answer. The angle of his cock and the depth he reached meant pure ecstasy. She could sense him brushing up against her g-spot and she bit down hard on his shoulder to hold back a yell that would have surely reached the ears of everyone downstairs in spite of the blaring music. Her body took over completely; seeming to need something from this man who’d ripped her world apart, but who would not leave her in peace.
“Christ, Sara, I,” he moaned again, his thrusts harder and even more urgent, owning her, possessing her. She felt him let go, knew when he was on the edge. His body shuddered, eyes closed, until he opened them and glared at her and groaned, filling her as her own body spasmed around him.
He stayed still for a solid minute. His breath calmed as he remained hard inside her while her own body twitched and pulsed, milking him, possessing what it could of him. He pushed himself up on his hands and stared at her,
the look on his face something Sara had never seen before. It was searching, almost questioning; dare she say–needy?
He started to speak, his breathing still ragged. “Sara, I…we…” he trailed off and hung his head down between his shoulders.
She reached up to pull him close for a kiss, when she heard a small voice from downstairs:
“Jack? Jack? Where are you? They’re about to hand out the prizes.”
He rolled off her, yanked his shorts back up, and ran his hands through his hair; seeming to regain control of himself and whatever emotion had shown itself mere seconds before.
“Yeah, Jack, you scurry back to your date, K?” She hissed at him as she pulled her shorts back on.
“You didn’t answer me.” His voice was low and on the verge of an outburst, she could tell.
“About what?” She kept it cool. Had to, as a self-protective measure.
He gripped her bicep hard, which forced her to look up at him. He stared deep into her eyes. She drew her last reserve of control and scoffed. “Oh, right. Yes, what do I want from you? Well, I think you gave it to me just now, no?”
They looked at each other for a several seconds, each waiting for the other to speak, or break eye contact.
“Jaaaaack?” she could hear Heather getting closer, coming up the stairs.
“Uh, hang on a minute babe,’ he yelled out not taking his eyes off of Sara’s. “I’ll be right out–must have had a bad bite of guac or something.”
Sara pulled her arm out of his grip.
“You don’t know what you want from me either. You think you do. You think you can buy your way into a relationship with an obnoxious diamond, but you’ve already proven to me that you aren’t capable of anything beyond that. So don’t ask me questions you can’t answer yourself.” She gritted her teeth. “Trust, Jack. That’s all I required. The ability to trust you. But you can’t give that, can you?”
