by Lisa Swallow
Jem and me take a downstairs bedroom with doors that open out onto a private terrace, overlooking the pool; and as I acclimatise to the surreal world I’m pushed into, and after weeks of stress and fear, the calm takes hold instead.
This is our second day lost in a place out of time. We’ve spent days together in Jem’s London house, wrapped up away from the outside world, but this is a step further removed. The drive to the nearest village is twenty minutes but the small Spanish settlement only has a couple of shops and a bar. Real civilisation is several hours away.
“Here is so weird after London,” I say.
“Life has taken on a lot of weird the last few months. There’s you…”
“Weird?” I interrupt with a laugh. “The pot calling the kettle black much?”
“No! Everything. Being sober, no Blue Phoenix, meeting a crazy girl who stole my heart. Shit, I doubt life could be any more opposite than a year ago.”
“Don’t, Jem.” I squeeze his hand.
“I hardly remember a year ago, but I do remember things were going downhill for everyone in the band; and in the middle of it all, I was lashing out in every direction, hurting people.”
I softly place my lips on his. “Haven’t you read my tattoo recently? Yesterday’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Hmm… maybe I should take a look to remind myself?” Jem’s eyes glint in the fading light as he slides a hand beneath my loose t-shirt.
I’m bra-less and he closes his hand over my breast, gently rubbing my nipple. I shift; whenever he touches me, it’s as if Jem has a magic ability to trigger a hardwired need for more. As he slides his other hand teasingly across my skin, the spreading desire for him shifts downwards. The knowing smile he gives shows how aware he is of the effect he has with barely a touch.
“Plus, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to wear t-shirts with other band names on them.” He pushes the t-shirt upwards. “I feel as if you’re cheating on me with Queens of the Stone Age.”
I giggle at him as he pulls the black t-shirt over my head and dumps it on the floor next to us, then digs his fingers into the back of my hair, and pulls my face to his. I move my head back. “Go and grab me a Blue Phoenix shirt, then.”
“If you want to be covered by something Blue Phoenix, I can do that job,” he whispers.
Jem runs his tongue slowly along my bottom lip. My lips part in anticipation of one of Jem’s kisses that empty my mind of anything but us. The communication of his kiss fills the gaps of what he refuses to say - what we both refuse to admit - that we belong together as much as any other couple, other couples who spend their days telling the world they’re in love. We gradually piece together our shattered pieces; the kisses and touches, the times in bed melding our bodies is the glue that holds us together. We’re still fragile and the mended parts could easily come apart again but every day the bond strengthens.
Sometimes the gentle isn’t enough and Jem’s awareness of my past means he holds back until I make it clear I don’t want him to. I hold his head, our mouths moving together. He tastes of the sweetness of orange juice, and of Jem.
Jem pulls his t-shirt off too and lifts me onto his lap, his eyes level with the inked words. He runs a finger along the tattoo on my side, and up to the quote beneath my right breast. “Oh, you’re right. I remember now.” He circles my nipple with his tongue.
I grip his hair, and he runs his hand over my bare legs, squeezing my ass in both hands. “You drive me fucking mad the way you do that.” He pulls away and looks up at me. “Always wearing just t-shirts and nothing but panties. I deserve a medal for the self-control I have every time you walk past me.”
Holding his face, I kiss his cheeks across to his ear. “I know.” I nip his earlobe.
He inhales sharply. “Why do you do it?”
“Because I feel comfortable around you, and it’s comfy for me.”
Jem holds my hips firmly and pushes against me, his arousal pressing between his jeans and my lace panties. “Quite often it’s not very comfortable for me.”
I smirk and wriggle against him a little more so he groans. “Sorry.”
“Ruby…” he warns.
“Yes?”
“You know how you said this morning I didn’t have to be so cautious about what I did to you?”
I run my fingers lightly up and down Jem’s back, pushing myself closer so his mouth almost touches my breast. “I did.”
“If you don’t stop teasing me, I’m not going to be cautious.” Jem presses his hot mouth to my skin.
I love the hoarseness of Jem’s voice, the way he looks at me when I’m turning him on. The feel of his hard-on against me, his heat, touch, kiss… everything Jem. What we have is real, an intense physical need for each other that pushes colour into our world.
“Okay, I’ll stop. Pass my t-shirt.” I swing my leg to climb off Jem but he grips my hips and holds me in place.
“Um. No.”
I giggle and fight to climb off him, but he wraps his arms around my waist in a vice-like grip, mouth on my breasts. As he sucks on my nipple, I gasp and dig my nails into his back.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says as he pulls away again.
“Really?” I run my fingers into his hair, holding his curls so he can’t put his mouth back on me.
“Really.” Jem stands and I hook my arms and legs around him, expecting Jem to take me back to the bedroom. Instead, he backs me against the wall of the house and presses against me.
The bricks scrape my back and I wince. “Ow! Jem… That hurts; you’re not doing this here.”
Jem doesn’t reply and glances around, his hold on me firm. The remnants of our meal rest on the smooth marble table nearby, plates and glasses, a half empty bowl of salad. Jem strides over, and one arm around my waist, he pushes everything to one side and sets me on the table.
“Here.” Before I can respond, Jem covers my body with his, eager mouth and hands harsher than usual as he pushes me backward against the hard surface. I gasp as he nips at my neck, runs his hands across my breasts, and rolls my nipples beneath his fingers, hands not leaving me for a second.
I’d protest about being outside, and so exposed in the fading sunlight, but Jem switches everything off but the need for more. He pulls my legs to the edge of the table and opens them; pressing against me, his jeans and my panties barriers I don’t want. I make an involuntary sound in my throat and wrap a leg around his waist pulling him closer. In response, Jem slides his hand up the inner thigh of my other leg, parting them further.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he says and runs a finger along my panties. I suck air through my teeth, the barrier too much. Jem silently agrees, hooks his fingers around the edge, and pulls them down, the black lace rough against my thigh as he does.
As I kick them off, I sit and quickly unbutton his jeans, pulling out his cock. I run my fingers along the hard length, circling my hand around the base. Jem groans, fingers finding my wet centre, and I cry out as he pushes one into me, then shoves me back onto the table, so I’m forced to let go of him. Gazing down, Jem slides his finger out and rubs along the seam of my sex, thumbing my clit. I squirm, at the intensity of the touch and discomfort at Jem seeing me so clearly, so exposed.
“Fuck, you look…” Jem swallows and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom.
As he opens the foil, I watch as he slides the condom on. Before I decide whether to help, he’s done; the thick tip of his cock already against my sensitive flesh. Jem watches as he slides himself along me, breath ragged.
I sink back, head against the cool marble and look up at the emerging stars, the ones in the sky and my mind, my chest tightening as my breath shortens too.
“I want to go slow, but I fucking can’t.” Jem’s voice is hoarser and he places a hand on the table next to me, leaning down to kiss my face.
“It’s…” I barely get the words out and Jem plunges into me, hard and fast, stretching, and fi
lling me. There’s more friction than usual, I’m turned on; but without as much attention from Jem, I’m not as aroused as usual. “Fuck!”
“You okay?” He stills.
“Yes!” I push my hips against him. “Don’t stop.”
Jem moves back and places his hand on my stomach, then pulls out, sliding in again teasingly slow. “This looks so fucking hot,” he says, breathlessly, unable to look away from where we meet.
I shift and grip Jem with my legs, partly because I want him to stop staring at me, but also because the tighter they wrap around him, the more intense the sensation. Jem pulls my leg up, thrusting hard and pushing against the spot that guarantees me a place in the stars. I moan and Jem takes this as his green light, pounding into me hard and fast, propelling me to the magic place and tearing away any remaining shyness about being screwed in the open air by Jem. I can’t hold back the groans I normally try to, and I get louder as the tingling spreads through me, pushing me closer to the building orgasm.
Jem stops.
“Don’t do this again!” I complain, propping myself up on one elbow to give him a filthy look.
Jem grins then puts his thumb in his mouth, wetting the tip, not speaking. As soon as he touches my sensitive clit, I don’t care that he’s stopped. His thumb jolts the hardwiring that sparks into every nerve ending. He slowly thrusts into me again, smug smile on his face.
I gaze at Jem as he watches what he’s doing, mouth parted. He responds to each sound I make, joining me with noises of appreciation as he carefully moves in and out. This is torture, I attempt to cling him to me again, but he pushes down against my thigh. “Come for me, Ruby,” he says, hooded eyes on mine. He licks his thumb, making a noise of pleasure before rubbing me again.
The sensation blinds, taking me by surprise and I shout out his name. Immediately, Jem removes his hand and grips my ass, thrusting into me harder and faster as I climax around him, pleasure pulsing through as my tight grip on him intensifies with each push. Jem’s fingers dig harder into my skin, breathing heavier as he swears repeatedly under his breath; eyes closed until he pushes himself to the hilt one last time and let’s go a shout of his own.
Jem sinks onto me, kissing my mouth hard, before switching to soft kisses as he strokes damp hair from my face.
He bumps his nose against mine. “And that, Ruby Tuesday, is why you don’t tease me.”
The position is awkward but we lie together for a moment, caught in the afterglow as our sticky skin cools in the breeze. Never in my life have I trusted someone so completely with my body as I do Jem. Now all I need to do is trust him with my heart.
****
I busy myself cutting up fresh watermelon and strawberries and add to the bowl of breakfast fruit salad before setting it on the large wooden table. Jem watches me running a tongue along his teeth.
“Didn’t you listen to me last night?” he asks.
“Which bit?”
“You’re in a t-shirt and panties again.”
“No, this is a bikini.” I lift up my t-shirt to show him the plain black two-piece.
“Huh. I never thought I’d see you in a bikini.”
“Never thought or don’t want to? How else am I supposed to swim in the pool?” Do I look that weird?
“The sexy as fuck thing is still happening, don’t worry about that.” He runs an appreciative gaze along my almost naked body. “So, you can swim?”
I throw watermelon peel at his head. “Cheeky! Yeah, we had to learn at school in a bloody freezing pool.”
“I couldn’t swim until a few years ago.”
“Really?” I sit opposite and pour the coffee.
“Nobody ever taught me.” He focuses on the coffee pouring into his cup. “And I was umm… away from school for swimming lessons. Or too sick to swim.”
Setting the pot down, I’m aware of the harder tone, the one Jem uses when he gets lost in his past. “Too sick or too many bruises?”
He looks up sharply. “How can you know that?”
“I’m guessing. You said something about shit parents when I told you about my past. Did your mum…”
“No!” He clears his throat. “Not her. The dickhead she lived with. The one she left with.”
My throat tightens and I drink the coffee, attempting to moisten my mouth. Wasn’t I the one saying yesterday doesn’t matter? “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.”
Jem sits back in his chair and pulls his long curls away from his face. “Don’t be. I always promised I’d tell you after you explained about Dan, but you’ve probably guessed most of it.”
“Abusive childhood.” I reach out and place a hand over Jem’s, rubbing the back.
“Oh, yeah, temporarily from mum’s procession of boyfriends who came and went. Not mum though, I guess people have to be around to abuse you and I was on my own a lot. Eventually my mum fucked off for good with her boyfriend and that was it. Just me on my own.”
“How old were you when she left you?”
“The last time, I was twelve.”
I refuse to hide my disgust. “Your mum left you to live on your own when you were twelve? What the hell? What happened to you?”
“I managed to keep it hidden for a few weeks; she left and came back all the time and I guess I was hoping that’s what would happen. She didn’t. They tried putting me in foster care, but I kept running away in case she came home and I wasn’t there. When I was fourteen, I got pissed off with the constant merry-go-round and finally accepted Mum was gone for good. I agreed to stay with a family. They were okay, had a house full of foster kids nobody wanted, so I could blend in and avoid any attempt to fix me. I was never around much, spent most of my time at Dylan’s or Liam’s house. Then Blue Phoenix happened and I left St Davids.”
I picture Jem as a little boy, hurting and alone. “She left you more than once?”
“All the time,” he says, not looking at me. “I could never figure out what I did wrong, why she kept going.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one in the wrong. You don’t piss off and leave a little kid to look after himself.”
Jem’s disappearing, retreating into his mind as his shoulders stiffen. “As an eight year old, how else would I see it? I guess at least she used to come back to start off with.”
“Fucking hell, Jem!” I half-shout. “Eight? Is that how old you were the first time she left you alone?”
And he’s gone, staring at the table and mouth turned down by the memories he buries deep.
I push my chair back and cross to sit on his lap. Jem blinks in surprise and I pull his head against my chest, desperate to take away some of the pain surfacing. Somebody should have held him back then, told him this wasn’t his fault, and loved him. No wonder Jem’s so fucked up. He’s spent years convincing himself he’s unlovable. Shit, I went through those childlike rationalisations when my mum left, but my brother was there. Quinn held me through the tears, filling the emptiness with his love, and the gentle explanations that her behaviour wasn’t my fault.
Jem had nobody.
Any words I have right now would never express the intense anger and despair adequately. If only I could go back to the twelve-year-old Jem and tell him it’s not his fault. Jem wraps his arms around my waist and crushes me, resting his cheek against my side. I hold him, rubbing his back.
“If my own mother didn’t think I was worth her time, who else would?” he says. “I lived with that thought until one day everybody wanted me. The whole fucking world loved me, but I was still empty. The past hung over me so I kept people at a distance by behaving like a selfish dickhead. It worked.”
“You let me in,” I whisper, the awareness what a massive thing this was for him hitting me fully for the first time.
“Mostly,” he says. “Even though you have my heart, there’s a part locked away that I can’t give you, Ruby.”
“I know.” I brush my lips against his forehead. “You have all of mine though.”
Jem releases my waist. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll trash it; it’s inevitable.”
“No, it’s not inevitable. Nothing in life is. I believe we’re more than that; you know we are.”
Jem sighs and looks up at me, face pale. I brush his curls from his eyes, willing him to see the truth. “I can never replace the love you lost as a kid, Jem, but I can love you now.”
My heart thumps into my ears, at the fact I told him the one thing I swore not to. Jem’s face remains inscrutable and our new world drifts away with each second of silence.
“Don’t. I can’t say the words you want to hear.”
Tears prick at my eyes at Jem’s admission and I climb from his knee. Jem watches me warily as I return to my seat and pick up a slice of melon. The reason my tears don’t fall is because Jem didn’t deny he loves me; he just has the truth locked away. How much time before I can unlock this? Will I ever be able to?
“Sorry,” he says quietly, “you do know how important you are though? How much you mean to me?”
“I just dredged your mind of painful memories, a world where love didn’t have a place. It’s all good.”
Subject closed, we finish eating. I can switch off too. I have as much practice. I’m not spoiling my peace and happiness of this place with Jem, or the calmness that surrounds us by obsessing on unspoken words.
We have a long path ahead. Time will tell if we can navigate it together or get pulled away by the control of the past.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jem
Six weeks with Ruby.
Forty-two days of somebody living in my life and head, consuming my every day.
How do I feel about this?
Torn.
I live and breathe her; and I’m terrified this air supply to my emotions will be cut off, and I’ll be suffocated by the vacuum again. Each day this worry lessens, but it’s there.
Tonight, I watch Ruby on stage and she thrills me as ever. Jem Jones is fucking lucky to have what he doesn’t deserve - the love of this amazing, talented, sexy chick that the world is sitting up and taking notice of. Ruby Riot has done a couple of press interviews recently where Ruby refused to dress in anything suggested by PR for the photo shoot. She wore her striped leggings and baggy sleeveless top, and I smiled when I saw this was a Blue Phoenix t-shirt, faded grey with the sleeves roughly cut off. I hung around, let her vent the frustration over being told what to do for the shoot; but in her eyes, I saw the anxiety. My beautiful girl is out of her comfort zone, moving into a world that I’m going to guide her through.
