by Evelyn Glass
“Mmm, minty,” I murmured, keeping my eyes shut for a moment so I could enjoy the feel and the taste of him on my lips.
“Ella wanted me to brush my teeth with her. Can’t exactly say no.”
“Well, you taste good.” I laid my head against the side of the couch and fluttered my lashes up at him. I hadn’t much felt like hooking up since that day more than a month ago, and, while Jazz and I had shared a bed, it hadn’t gone much further than cuddling in the mornings for a while. But now, my libido was back with a vengeance—now that everything else was out of the way, I finally had space to get horny over this gorgeous guy once again.
“Not so bad yourself,” he retorted, shifting closer to me. He placed a hand on my waist, his fingers inching up the fabric of my shirt a little so he could trace his thumb across my bare skin. The feeling was exquisite; sometimes, it was the small touches that turned me to jelly more than the big gestures.
He leaned over and kissed me again, and this time, it was with more intent. His mouth moved slowly against mine, and I inhaled deeply as our tongues met. Even now, the smell of him was enough to send shivers down my spine, enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. It was as though his scent was enveloping me, and I couldn’t get over how good it felt. Being this close to him…I had wondered if we’d ever do this again, if the pain of what had happened was too heavy for us to carry. But, as he slid his hand further around my back and pulled me closer, I knew I had been a fool to think it at all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jazz pulled me onto his lap, and I was reminded of the second time we’d made love, that night at the safe house—how good and new and obvious it had seemed them. Well, third time was the charm—I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back. His hands felt strong around my waist, his body hard and comforting against mine. I could have sat there and just kissed him for the rest of the night, like a pair of horny teenagers with nothing better to do—but I knew he had other ideas as his hands roamed downwards to cup my ass. I arched my back forward so I could press against him, and our kiss deepened, promising more.
“Is Ella asleep?” I murmured, and he nodded.
“Out for the count when I dropped her off upstairs.”
I leaned down to kiss his neck, running my lips up the muscle at the side of his throat that seemed to call out to me. He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan—God, knowing that I was getting him off so much was getting me wet already. I moved down, planting kisses across his neck and towards his chest. He was clad in a t-shirt, and, even though it was cold in the house from the month of no inhabitants, he stripped it off quickly so I could continue my journey downwards. I didn’t know why, but I just wanted to please him—just wanted him to know how much I still wanted him, and how nothing that could happen would change that. I slipped further and further down, running my lips over his chest, then his stomach, then the sharp lines that led down towards his hips.
I hooked my fingers over the hem of his jeans and pulled them down—he lifted his hips to facilitate me, and I looked up at him as his jeans pooled around his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. That look in his eyes—both hungry and helpless—sent a sharp shock of shivers down my spine. I trailed my fingernails down his cock, the fabric not concealing his rock-solid hard-on. I gripped it as best I could through his boxers and squeezed lightly, enjoying the power I had over him in that moment. And fuck, did he look good like this—his mouth slightly open, as though mimicking what he wanted me to do. And how could I not oblige?
I pulled his boxers down and wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock, holding him steady. He drew in a sharp breath at my touch, and I smiled up at him—I remembered how he had teased me the first time we had hooked up, and intended to return the favor. I let my mouth hover above his cock for a moment, then flicked my tongue out a couple of times so I could lap up the drop of pre-cum that had oozed out of the tip. He half-groaned, half-growled in pleasure, and let his head fall back as I sealed my lips around his cock and went to work.
I had always enjoyed giving head—there was just something innately powerful about it, something that put me in control. And Jazz was all too happy to let me take the wheel for this, his hands behind his head as I began to slide smoothly up and down the length of his cock. I mean, how was I meant to resist? He tasted so good, filling my mouth, stretching my lips to accommodate him. I flickered my tongue against the underside of him over and over again, matching it to the steady pace of my lips over his erection. He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes, and I looked up at him—his brow furrowed slightly as we made eye contact, and his lips parted as though he was about to say something.
I took him as far as I could, meeting my lips with the top of my hand so I could consume every inch of him. His entire cock was slick with saliva, making it hard to tell where my mouth ended and my hand began; I just wanted more, wanted to feel every inch of him in my mouth.
Eventually, I pulled my mouth from his cock and shifted further down, taking each one of his balls between my lips; he moaned, a little louder this time, and I took that as a go-ahead. I traced the wrinkles with my tongue playfully, cupping them in my hand and massaging them lightly as I kissed my way around the base of his dick. I loved the reactions I got from him at every touch, every new movement—as though it was just what he had been waiting for.
Suddenly, he tucked his hands under my arms and pulled me back onto his lap. I was still fully dressed, but I could feel his cock pressing at me even through my pants.
“Can I fuck you yet?” he asked, murmuring the words into my ear as he slid his hands all over my back and down my legs. I nodded, rendered speechless by the feel of his fingers against me.
Without any further encouragement, he flipped me over, so that I was leaning over the edge of the couch, my ass in the air. He pulled down my pants and my panties, and landed a sharp slap on my butt; I wriggled with excitement as I heard him pull out a condom and sheath himself quickly. I was already wet, and made a mental note that the quickest way for me to go from zero to sixty seemed to involve blowing him till he couldn’t resist me anymore.
He positioned his cock at the entrance to my pussy, and eased himself inside of me; even though he could have just started to fuck me there and then, he seemed intent on taking his time, and I was hardly going to complain. I let my head fall forward as I bit my lip to keep from crying out, and then he began to move inside of me.
I had forgotten just how good he felt—in fact, in that moment, all I remember thinking was how on Earth we’d lasted so long without doing this again. He moved his hips in shallow circular motions, his cock hitting every inch of my pussy as he moved—it was as though he was reminding himself how I felt. I shuddered with pleasure, my fingers digging in to the arm of the couch, and I arched my back and pulled myself up so I could grind back against him.
“You look amazing like this,” he murmured into my ear, leaning down so he could grope at my tits through his shirt. It wasn’t making love, like before—no, it was about as far removed from that as it could possibly be. He began to move faster, harder, pushing himself deeper inside of me and stretching my pussy lips out around his cock. This was cathartic—after the build-up of all that stress, all that anger, all that confusion, here we were, fucking over the side of the couch like nothing else mattered but getting off. I slid my hand between my legs, using the other one to prop me up, and began to play with my pussy. My teeth were clenched, my muscles tense, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Going from having zero libido to a full-on horniness left me teetering on the brink of orgasm pretty much right away, it turned out.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he sighed, as though reminding himself as much as me. He moved slower but went deeper, as though he could see how close I was and wanted nothing more than to make me come there and then. He wrapped my hair around his hand and tugged lightly, tipping my head back, so he could watch me—and the mix of pleasure and p
ain that coursed through my body was enough to tip me over the edge.
“Ah!” I cried, trying my best to keep my voice down so as not to wake Ella. My pussy milked his cock hard, the intensity of my climax causing spackles at the edge of my vision. I slumped down on to the couch, unable to hold myself up any longer, and Jazz moved his hands to my hips to hold my steady while he thrust into me with more purpose before. I could picture his face, even though I couldn’t see it. The tension in his jaw, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips tight.
He came hard, thrusting into me one last time and holding himself there while his cock twitched. He didn’t make a sound, but his fingers dug into me hard and I knew he was holding back peals of pleasure. He slowly withdrew, and I turned over—he leaned down and kissed my cheek lightly as he pulled off the condom, then got off the couch to dispose of it properly. I readjusted myself, and straightaway felt my eyes growing heavy as I lay back on the couch. I yawned widely as he returned, and held his hand out to me.
“Bed?”
I nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. He tugged me against him, wrapping his arms around me. He was still naked, and his cool skin against mine felt so satisfying. I ran my hands up his bare back, and looked up at him.
“I love you,” I blurted out, and my eyes widened as soon as the words passed my lips. It had just felt so right—so obvious. But I wished at once that I could take them back. They were true, but now wasn’t the time to say it, not after—
“I love you too,” he replied, and kissed me again—this was a chaste kiss, one that simply confirmed the words that we had exchanged. He looked down at me for a moment, and then let go, reaching for his clothes where they lay next to the couch. I stared down at him, wondering how the hell I had just pulled that off. I supposed after everything that had happened, there wasn’t much room to hold back on the important stuff any longer.
We made our way upstairs and headed to bed—I peeled off my clothes, with Jazz watching me from the bed appreciatively—I could feel his eyes on me, and had to admit it was pretty damn good having this sexy-as-fuck guy view me the same way. A sexy-as-fuck guy who I was in love with, and who loved me back. I crawled into bed next to him, and he held out his arm so I could curl up against his chest. He turned to press his nose into my hair and inhaled deeply, and then let out a satisfied sigh.
“I’m so happy right now,” I murmured, and it was the truth. I had never felt anything as good as that moment—maybe it was because we’d had to work through so much to get there, but in that second, I couldn’t imagine anything or anyone better suited to me. I let my eyes drift shut, and sleep came over me; and I knew I wouldn’t be kept awake by nightmares or fear or the panic of seeing Ian again. No, this was it—it was over, and there was nothing more anyone could do to fuck things up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I woke up, it took me a second to realize what had pulled me out of my slumber.
Mona was still lying next to me, sleeping deep, her back turned in my direction. I touched her bare shoulder, and tried to figure out if it had been her—but she was in such a deep sleep that she couldn’t have made a sound.
I pulled myself upright, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Something was wrong.
Calm down. I tried to reassure myself. This was just a hangover from everything that had gone down over the last few months, my brain’s way of attempting to keep the lot of us safe now that the danger was done with. Ian was locked up; no one was posing a threat to us anymore, and I needed to remember that.
And that’s when I heard it—the sound of a footstep in the kitchen downstairs.
I sprang from the bed, hard enough that I woke Mona up. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, but any vestiges of sleep vanished at once when she saw the look on my face.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, and reached for her clothes. I was already dressed and on my way out the door.
“There was a noise downstairs,” I said, heading out the door. “Can you check on Ella?”
Mona hurried out of the room and towards Ella’s bedroom as I sprinted towards the kitchen. We’d probably laugh about this later, about my paranoia, about how I heard noises in the middle of the night and they turned out to be nothing at all.
I had never felt the kind of fear I had when I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked over at the kitchen. A cold wash of it, enough that it made me sway on the spot, as I tried to keep myself upright by gripping the banister.
A pool of smashed glass was lying on the floor, glinting in the light of moon outside; it had come from the window above the counter, the one that Mona had seen Ella fleeing out of the first time she’d come around here. Is this what had woken me up? I scanned the place to see if anyone was hiding in the shadows, but I couldn’t make out any figures in the dark. My heart was pounding so hard against my ribs, I was certain it would burst out at any moment, and I called up to Mona cautiously. I knew what the answer to the question was going to be, but I had to hear it out of her mouth before I could believe it fully.
“Mona, is Ella there?”
There was a long, long pause, the silence hanging in the air between us in agonizing tension as I waited for her to respond.
“No.”
I lunged for the door, throwing it open and peering out onto the street—it was still and silent out there, except for the sound of a car tearing down the road. It was right opposite the house, and I gave chase as best I could. It took a second to get up to full speed, and in that time, I caught up enough to see who was in the backseat.
“Ella!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, loud enough that it must have woken all the neighbors. But I couldn’t have cared less—as soon as I laid eyes on my daughter, sleepy and uncomprehending but still as scared as I’d ever seen her, I couldn’t hold it back. I sprinted after the car, reaching out as though I could pull it to a stop right there in the street in front of me, but it was gone before I had a chance.
I stood there in the street for a second, right in the middle of the road, staring at the space where the car had been. It felt as though my feet were rooted to the spot, as though I might never take another step again. Then I heard the door to the house bang open behind me, and Mona strode towards me. Her face was etched with panic and fear.
“What happened?” she demanded, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. I stared at her for a moment; only a few hours ago, everything had been perfect, and now, it had all gone to shit. I thought the worst was over, but it turned out that the worst was only just beginning.
“They took her.” I waved my hand after the car blankly.
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. None of this made any sense. Ian was locked up—who else did he have on his side who could have done this? Who would have dared? How could we have been stupid enough to think that this was all over when we were clearly in so much danger?
“What the fuck are we going to do?”
I was still just standing there, not sure what I was meant to do next. My brain was blank, etched with the image of Ella being driven away from me. Why hadn’t she screamed, or cried out, or let us know some stranger was in the house and taking her away? How hadn’t I heard the window smashing, or the person coming up the stairs? How could I have let this happen? My brain spun with recriminations, and I suddenly wanted to smash my hands against the tarmac below me, something, anything, to wake myself up. My brain was on autopilot, with just enough juice left to keep me standing upright and breathing.
“Jazz!” Mona yelled, grabbing me by the shoulders; I suddenly realized that my legs had crumpled out below me. She did her best to keep me standing, but the feeling of her hands on me was enough to drag me out of my reverie and snap me into action.
“We need to call the police,” I began, gripping her as I pulled myself upright. “I’m going to chase them. See if I can catch up with them.”
“Did you see what direction they went?”
“Mo
stly.” I made for the garage where we’d parked up the night before. Mona hurried back into the house and I tapped in the code to open to the door to the garage. I didn’t care about getting my helmet or my leathers or any of that shit—I just wanted to get on my bike and go after my daughter. I had tunnel vision, only able to see her face, praying that wherever she was she was still alive and that I still had a chance to get her back.
I switched on the light and strode over to my bike—but as soon as I got there, I realized something was wrong. I took me a second to figure it out, but when I did—
“Motherfucker,” I snarled. The tires had been slashed. Whoever had done this had planned it out well. They must have known that I would try and make chase. I checked Mona’s car, and found that the same had been done to her tires, too. I pressed my head into my hands and let out a yell, a cry of despair and fear and anger that I couldn’t do anything about what had just happened. I wanted to rewind time, to sit up all night next to the door and put a bullet in the head of anyone who tried to hurt Ella.
