by S. E. Hall
I stand at her bed and visions of laying her down and covering her with my body invade my mind. She’d let me touch her tonight, feel her warm, tight pussy, soaked for me; come for me. I need to put her to bed and get the hell out of here before…one of my heads explodes.
Here we go: the ultimate test of my strength and respect for her. “I’m gonna put you in bed. You want me to grab you something to sleep in?”
“Nuh uh, I’m fine.”
I pull back the covers and gently lay her down. “Let’s at least get these boots off.”
“And skirt,” she says softly, rousing enough to take off her vest and toss it aside.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself and my cock, an entity all its own, to settle, and reach beneath her to unzip her skirt, sliding it down her long, silky legs. She’s a fucking goddess. Spread before me in a tank top and panties, deep auburn hair fanned across the pillow, dreamy green eyes looking up at me.
I shake my head and choke out. “Okay, you’re all set. Sleep good, baby. I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“Jefferson.” Swear to everything, my entire body goes rigid, my next breath dependent on what she says next. “I’m not ready to, well, would you like to stay and just sleep with me?”
The Tabernacle Choir starts singing “Hallelujah” in my head and something even more fucked up happens in my chest, my heart…was that a fucking flutter? How do I even know the word flutter? Pull. It. Together. Kendrick.
“You sure?” I ask in a schooled, like I still have a dick, voice of a man.
She nods, scooting over to make room for me, her thin tank top hiding nothing of the way her “D” chest bounces with the movement. Yep, the choir quits singing and my cock hardens—I’m definitely still a man. “You gotta be good though,” she snickers through a yawn. “We’re sleeping.”
“I thought you said before you didn’t hate me?” I tease, toeing off my shoes and socks.
“I don’t,” she smiles. “I love you, too. Very much.”
There it is. She loves me. Girl can’t tell a lie.
“Oh yeah?” I smirk, removing my belt.
“Yeah,” it’s breathy, accented by the slide of her tongue across her bottom lip. She props herself up on her elbows, emerald eyes wide and alert now. “Unbutton your shirt, real slow.”
Goddamn, she’s the cutest thing in the world.
“Does my baby want a strip tease?” I wink.
She bobs her head, sitting up straighter for the show. One by one, I unbutton my shirt and take it off, reveling in her feminine sigh.
“You’re so beautiful, Jefferson. I mean, damn. Are you sure you want to be with only me, forever?”
I chuckle, amazed by her obliviousness. “Baby, take off your tank top and let’s compare. Wanna?” She blushes, bites her lip…and peels her top over her head. Her breasts topple out; huge, firm, gorgeous. Perfection.
“Um yeah, you win, Bellamy. You so fucking win. And yes, I’m sure, and dying to hold you. So hush and lemme finish my strip tease.”
“Yes, sir,” she giggles.
I shed my jeans and stand before her in only my gray boxer briefs, my dick straining against the fabric. “Want me to keep going?”
She shakes her head but her eyes remain locked on my erection. “N, no. Sleep in those, okay?”
“Anything you want, baby.” I refuse to sound disappointed; this is more than I hoped for when this night started and another step forward in our intimacy. I’ll fucking take it.
“Come get in,” she purrs, “hold me all night.”
Nothing could keep me from it.
Thirty-Five
Bellamy
I WAKE UP happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m not disoriented. I don’t need a minute to gather my bearings. I know exactly why I’m hotter than usual and whose big, strong body is wrapped around me from behind, emitting that heat.
“Ah, she wakes,” his gravely greeting is joined by a kiss on my shoulder. “Morning.”
“Morning,” my voice shakes a bit with realization. I just said “morning” to a man. A man in my bed. A man I love, and now fear I may never be able to sleep truly at peace without again. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Nope,” he tightens his arms around me and tugs me to him, impossibly close, nothing between his rigid chest, very noticeable erection and my body except my panties. “Don’t want you going anywhere either. Happy where I am, holding you.”
“Me too,” I whisper, trying desperately not to ruin this magical moment by overthinking. Damn female hormones…always demanding that every little thing be dissected, examined, discussed and put back together again. Does it make us the smarter of the sexes to think so much…or the true masochists?
“You tensed up on me, and I can smell the smoke,” he laughs groggily. “Whatcha thinking about? And before you say ‘nothing,’ how ‘bout you just tell me? You can tell me anything, baby.”
He’s right; I know I can open up to him and while he may be a tiny bit of a smartass, because he simply cannot help it, taught to him like a second language—he won’t mock me. And “love?” Pretty sure communication is a key component.
“I was just wondering, how you feel, in the light of day?”
“Good,” he squeezes me and brushes his nose along my bare skin. “Damn good. Why?”
“No, I mean…” I chew on my lip, hoping to taste courage.
“Bellamy,” he rolls me over to face him…and I forget everything but him. All sleep-rumpled and sinfully sexy. Half-lidded eyes, mussed hair, the hint of dark stubble along his jawline. And let’s not forget the bare chest and shoulders, still fragrant with the lingering hint of his cologne, tan and taut with lean muscle. Damn. I bite my lip harder. “Are you feeling weird about us sleeping together?”
I shake my head, gaze unwavering from each and every ridge of his torso, so I can’t be sure if he’s afflicted by the same problem—eyes on bare chest or not.
“Are you anxious, thinking I’m gonna try something?”
Again, I silently answer no, subtly shifting so the sheets follow suit and bare more of him, lower.
He doesn’t seem to notice, or mind, being ogled and keeps guessing. “Are you nervous to go away with me? You know we’re heading to my Uncle’s today.”
“No,” I auto-reply, trailing that “V” with my eyes, imagining exactly, in great detail, what it leads to, my breathing accelerating. “I love being with you, and I could use some practice driving.”
“Baby, I’m out of guesses. And I’m having trouble thinking about anything other than the way you’re staring at me like a meal you wanna eat, while your sweet lil’ nipples are an inch from my mouth. Which, are both totally acceptable,” he chuckles. “Dig in anytime you’re ready. I’ll catch up.”
I dart my eyes up to his, my cheeks flaming. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You’re just so tempting.”
“Says the beautiful woman with the most gorgeous breasts in the world and barely there panties on,” he groans. “Yeah, I think I know what ya mean.”
“Want me to get dressed?” Yes, I’m being a tease. I know the answer.
“I would rather get my dick stuck in a wood chipper.” He says it so unemotionally, I have to giggle. “I feel like we’ve gotten a little off-track here. I wanted to know what you were stewing about and somehow, we ended up on wood chippers and my dick. So unless you’re gonna devour my body with more than your eyes, let’s get back to what had you worried before.”
It was a fun little detour, and soon, very soon, I’m gonna go exploring on that work-of-art body of his—but there’s something eating at me. I give him a kiss, closed mouth (‘cause morning breath) then pull in a long, deep breath through my nose…turning my head to exhale (‘cause morning breath).
“Baby,” he laughs, “we both have morning breath, so they cancel each other out. Now give me a real kiss,” he scarcely gets it out before claiming my mouth in an easy, drugging kiss that sends my belly swirling wildly.
His tongue traces my lips, delves inside to overpower mine and after a few sweet caresses of his lips, he leans back. “Time’s up, gorgeous. Talk.”
“I wanted to ask, discuss, whatever,” I roll my eyes at myself—if you know you’re being a dramatic loon you should probably shut up—but no…I go on, “us. Now that the sexy music, darkness, stars overhead and vibe are gone, and we’re just laying here in daylight, with morning breath and crusties in the corners of our eyes,” he smiles at that, “I wanted to give you a chance to retract your ‘I love you.’”
Rut ro. He’s sitting up, back against the headboard, the taut muscles in his jaw twitching while his incensed yet saddened dark eyes bore into mine, before I can think. Not quite the reaction I was expecting.
His stern, agonized voice cuts through the silence in a single slice. “What. The. Fuck? Do you want to retract yours?” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s not done. “You think I said that lightly? That I just go around saying ‘I love you’ when I’m feeling extra friendly? No!” Both hands fly back through his hair and an angry rumble rips up his chest. “I said it to you, only ever you, because I meant it, with all I am.”
“Je-”
“Not done, woman,” he holds up a hand to stop me. “When Brynn told me I’d said it, yes, I admit, I freaked out for a sec. But then I thought about it. Really thought about it. Put it to scientific test.”
“How’s that?” I manage to slip-in while he huffs and puffs some much-needed oxygen.
“My dad told me something a long time ago that stuck, and I applied it. While you were dancing, laughing and enjoying the concert, I was thinking. Love is an uncontrollable imprint, unquantifiable. The only way, within reason, to define something unquantifiable is to measure it against something that is. The value versus the value. I thought about stupid shit first, like my car. Didn’t come close to meaning as much to me as you. My money, I’d throw it all out a window to be with you. And then, I considered myself, ‘cause I’m pretty damn valuable in my own mind,” his faint laugh is facetious and forced. “My life, the only one I have and cannot replace,” his eyes soften and seem to look through me, “I’d give it, without a second thought, for yours. You, Bellamy Jill Morgan, are the imprint that needs no other explanation. The embodiment of why my life is worth living, or sacrificing. So no, I don’t want to retract anything. I love you. Quantifiably. Unmistakably. Forever.”
Tears flow in torrents down my cheeks, the tempo of my heart erratic and exhilarating. My head is spinning, replaying each impossible word he just said and meant. I love him beyond reason and am ready to show him, with every part of me. I lunge for him…only to land in the still-warm, empty space now left.
I look up to find my man stomping around, getting dressed as if headed to, or away from, a fire. “Where are you going?” I croak, fear building fast within me.
He snaps his head toward me, a mask of incredulity hiding his handsome face. “Thought I’d run out for donuts.”
Oh.
“Not really, Bellamy! I’m leaving. Thunder, that’d be me, angry and about to lower a boom, and lightning, that’d be you, my light, even though I’m pissed, do not make a good combo. Trying to avoid one helluva storm.” He sits to put on his shoes. “Love you, still my baby, but mad as fucking hell. I’ll call and cancel our trip; maybe we’ll take it some other time. Try not to drive in the meantime, ‘cause… you’re bad at it! See, saying mean shit, gotta go. We’ll talk,” he sighs, “when we talk.”
And he leaves.
And I curl into a ball of big-mouth, press-an-issue-that-doesn’t-even-exist stupidity and cry ‘til I’m out of tears. He opened up, fully, vulnerably, for the first and only time ever— for me—and I cast doubt over it. Took a beautiful morning of loving embrace and ruined it.
Should I call him? Beg for forgiveness?
A memory springs to life and I jump out of bed, running to the window. Maybe he’s still parked outside, like last time. A severe neck crane to see from my now third-floor confirms…he’s not.
I get that I hurt him, but really? All I did was ask a question. Was it not a valid one? I just wanted to make sure before I free-fell. Is that so wrong? Country music and twinkle lights do weird things to people.
And I’ve never done this before.
But neither has he.
Damn.
I grab my phone and call him, but he sends me straight to voicemail. So I send him a text.
Me: Jefferson, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or doubt you. I’m just… scared. I love you. And I know you love me. What you said, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, come back.
Without censor or pride, I hit send. And wait.
And wait some more, eventually making a quick, small breakfast since my stomach’s in nervous riot, then go take a shower. Still no response when I’m done, so I get ready for the day…to do what, I have no idea. I clean my apartment, refusing to make the bed where we slept, and pretend to comprehend any part of what little bit of T.V. I watch. I think it was Carrie. Or Say Yes to the Dress. Hard to tell.
By afternoon, my stomach’s grumbling for lunch and he still hasn’t responded. I’m out of shit to do and any ideas how to fix this, so I do the opposite of what would seem to make sense, considering where that got me.
I pull out their numbers and start a separate group text.
Me: I screwed up and am clueless what to do. Need advice, thought I’d call in the troops. Anyone free?
These responses require no torturous wait.
Brynn: On my way. I got the ice cream.
Presley: Gimme 30 and I got the refreshments.
Skylar: In which case, I’ll bring food because she means liquor. Do I need to send Judd to kick his ass?
Me: No. I’m the one who messed up.
Presley: Scroll up, Sky. She already said that. Why are you always trying to get Judd in a fight? Do you doubt his manhood? Just sayin’.
Skylar: No bitch, my MAN proves himself nightly.
Presley: The hell. You do not fuck nightly. You’re married. Sell that shit somewhere else.
Okay…we seem to have taken a slight detour off-course.
Me: So, I’ll see you guys in a little while?
Brynn: IDK about the TMI TWINS, but I’m in your parking lot. You’ll have to explain to me why you included them when I get up there.
Presley: You’re right, Brynny. Should’ve left it to the two virgins to figure out. No offense Bellamy.
Me: Um, none taken?
Well…at least I won’t be alone, obsessing over his non-response. That’s something, right?
Thirty-Six
JT
I HEAD TO my uncle’s land anyway and take Sutton with me, mostly because I’m a glutton, but also because he likes to shoot as much as I do. As I knew they would be, my aunt and uncle are there; no way Whit could resist “dropping by” when Ev told her I was bringing Bellamy. But she’s not with me, and neither of them ask…simply giving me frowns of concern. I think the guns, targets and frustration rolling off me in tidal waves answer their unspoken questions.
I empty another round from my Glock and pull out my earplugs. “You want to fire this one?” I ask Sutton.
“Nah. We’ve been at it, what, couple hours?”
I shrug. “Dunno. It matter?”
“I gotta pick up Pres at some point and anyway, sun’s setting. Surely you worked out whatever crawled up your ass by now,” he laughs.
“Maybe.” I pull my phone out of my pocket to read her message again, see if I feel any differently yet…and feel dreaded suspicion slither up my spine.
Bellamy: Fineignor me hvg fun out u
Bellamy: Yur posed 2 stayfight
I think she said “fine, ignore me, I’m having fun without you.” Then “you’re supposed to stay and fight.”
I dare try and decipher the next one.
Bellamy: Lovufmle
“I love your family” is my best guess. And ac
cordingly, the cause of my building dread.
“Sutton,” I grit past teeth currently being ground to dust, “where is it you have to pick Presley up from?”
He’s gathering our stuff, loading it back in my vehicle, but stops, giving me a look of true confusion. “From your girl’s place. Figured you knew. It’s all of them; yours, Presley and both your sisters. Big hen fest and a whole lotta alcohol. Presley made me stop at the liquor store so she could load up, and we still had room for all the Condomnation shit on the bike. Can you believe that?”
“It’s condemnation,” I enunciate correctly, then tilt my head…what? Now I’m confused.
“No, it’s Condomnation. I assure you, I know the damn name. I have a punch card, for Chrissakes. The sex shop on 5th Avenue? You mean to tell me you’ve never been?”
Dear God, help me to abstain from shooting him.
“So, just to recap, you took Presley, a bunch of alcohol and something or things bought last minute from a sex shop to my woman’s?” I take a deep breath, trying desperately to convince myself this is not the end of the world. Just real fucking close. “And while we’ve been together all fucking afternoon, you didn’t think to mention it? Not even once?”
“I said, I thought you knew. Don’t you know everything she does?”
“Get in the car.”
“What?”
“Get in the fucking car! Presley’s got Bellamy, booze, and dildos. What could possibly not go wrong?” I let out some hysterical, crazed noise and jump behind the wheel. “Here,” I toss him my phone. “Try Brynn. Get somebody sober on speaker phone, now.”
“What’s the passcode?” he asks.
Jesus Christ. “It doesn’t fucking have one, Sutton!” I swear, I may weep a little. “Never mind.” I punch Bluetooth, which I should’ve done in the first damn place, but I thought my co-pilot could manage and I could concentrate on hauling ass. Fuck that plan. “Call Brynny.”
