The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  The strain in Leandra’s voice is plain as day, and only a complete bastard would be able to say no to a woman whose fear is almost suffocating. Needless to say, neither Eli or I are heartless bastards, so when we called to check in with Lyric, we confirmed we’d taken the job and gave him what we had.

  Let’s just say, it’s going to be a long fucking month before Leandra goes back on tour, and I for one am not looking forward to it.

  Chapter Seven

  FARRAH

  Stupidly, I did what Jake asked, locking the doors and going to bed naked to wait for him. Why was it stupid? Because he’s not here, that’s why.

  Why after everything we’ve been through, I believed Jake would stick to his word when he has so easily broken other promises – ones which were more important, ones that meant the difference between us continuing our friendship or not – is beyond me. But stupid, foolish, naïve me, did. Not again, though.

  Fool me once, and I’ll forgive you because everyone deserves another chance, right? Fool me twice and that’s on me; it was my choice. But fool me a third time, and we’re done. No more second chances, regardless of how sexy you are, and how irresistible I find you. I won’t be around to listen to any more excuses about how much you wanted to be here but couldn’t be. Just no more.

  The reality is, if a man wants you, he will move heaven and earth to be with you. I’m sure of this because I’ve seen it. With Dante and Faye. Lyric and Harleigh. Eli and Annabelle. I’ve watched as those men bend over backwards for their women, and seemingly wouldn’t have it any other way. And the same goes in reverse; Faye, Harleigh, and Annabelle adore their husbands.

  Sinking back into my pillows, I rest my hands over my ever-growing baby bump and talk to the little bean that’s been kicking up a storm all night. It’s early days still, so what I call kicks feel more like butterfly kisses, but I enjoy imagining my tiny son in there honing his future athletic abilities.

  In all honesty, I don’t even know if Jake and I are having a boy, it’s simply a guess or maybe a wishful thinking at this stage. The image of a little boy with dark hair like his daddy and eyes the color of quicksilver is all I’ve been able to envisage when I dream about what our baby will look like. And even though I have an ultrasound booked for next week, which if bean cooperates, should determine his or her sex, I’m secretly hoping I’m right.

  Closing my eyes, I stroke my belly as I silently beg for sleep to come quickly. After Jake left this morning, I spent the day packing up the apartment I share with Simon. Removing the knickknacks from shelves, my framed photos of us, and a few that had our Grandpa in them too was exhausting. Not so much physically, but definitely mentally.

  Simon and I were only apart for the years he went off to college, but even then he came home to see me every weekend, and sometimes during the week too. His excuse was that he and the guys in his frat house didn’t get along, but I knew differently. Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he missed me, just as I missed him.

  The loss of one parent is horrible enough, but losing both at the same time is devastating, and something I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. However, as sad as it to admit, in mine and Simon’s case, our parent’s death didn’t have the same impact on us as losing our Grandpa a few years ago.

  I’m not saying they were bad parents, or my dad wasn’t, they were just absent. When they were home we rarely saw them unless dad was having business associates over for dinner, and even then, they reminded us that we were to be seen and not heard. The perfect little family. A cohesive family unit, that for all intents and purposes, was all for show.

  Our mom was worse. Far worse. If she wasn’t in her dressing room, reading tabloids and drinking vodka straight from the bottle like it was water, she was out with her friends, at the day spa she frequented three times a week, or actively avoiding us. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that my dad pressured her into having children. Whether it was for appearances sake or to keep her busy so that she had something to focus on other than the numerous affairs he was having, I don’t know, but I am sure of is that our mom never wanted children. She said as much.

  The first time my mom told me that she wished she’d never had me, I was four. I can distinctively remember crawling into my bed and crying for hours before Simon came home from school and found me huddled under my covers. He didn’t say anything after I told him what mom had said; he just sat on the edge of my bed and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. When I eventually woke up several hours later, I heard Simon yelling at our mom, telling her that if she ever said anything like that again he would take me and we would run away.

  As a four-year-old, hearing anyone yell was scary, but hearing my brother shout terrified me. Simon never shouted; he was the calmest person I knew – literally, nothing riled him. But that day there was no denying Simon was angry, furious even. So right then, I knew what I had to do; I would have to keep my mom’s vicious words and slights to myself, no matter how much they hurt. Which is exactly what I did.

  In the years before she died, I can’t count the number of times my mom told me I was a burden to her and my dad, that I was a drain on their finances, and worst of all, that I’m a waste of precious oxygen and that she should have had the good sense to abort me when she could. Those memories make me shudder. To think that she could be so cruel as to say those kinds of things to her own child sickens me. Which is why I promised myself, even before bean was conceived, that if I ever were to have a child I would be nothing like my mom. Nothing at all.

  With that being my last thought before my eyes drift close, I know my dreams won’t be sweet. I’ll be plagued with nightmares of my mom’s face contorted in disgust as she jabbed at my chest with her blood-red painted nail, screaming at me. Her words of hatred and loathing will echo through my head, reminding me that not everyone is born kind and good.

  But worst of all, I’m all too aware that I’ll wake up with the same feeling of emptiness I always do when I dream about her. Not because she died or because I didn’t have a mother figure during the years I needed one most, but because the only thing I ever wanted from my mother was her approval, her acceptance, and her love. All things I never got and never will.

  ***

  I awake with a start as Jake’s rough voice rasps in my ear and his hand glides over my hip. “Don’t move, baby. Just let me touch you. Let me make you feel good.”

  Droplets of water from his freshly washed hair hit my shoulder, rolling down my chest and between my breasts. Jake’s warm breath puffs against my neck as his tongue darts out to capture one, then detours up the length of my neck, sucking and biting as he goes.

  “I want to taste you so bad, Farrah. Your skin is so soft, so smooth; it feels like silk,” he groans, running his fingertips up my side to cup one of my achingly heavy breasts.

  My voice leaves my throat in a whimper when he pinches a nipple between his fingers and twists gently. “Jake. Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking him for, but whatever it is, it isn’t for him to stop.

  “Roll over onto you back, and spread your legs for me, baby. I want to lick your pussy until you come all over my face,” he instructs, arranging me exactly how he wants me.

  “Oh, God,” I moan as Jake crawls between my thighs and grins at me. He is already naked save for his black boxer briefs, and the only way to describe his body is phenomenal.

  Jake has always been what people refer to as ripped, but never like this. Every muscle is defined and honed to perfection. They ripple beneath the surface of his darkly tanned skin, bunching and tightening as he rakes his gaze over my body. A wave of embarrassment hits me when I imagine what I look like through his eyes. I’m not as small as I was when he took me up against the wall five months ago, not even remotely.

  While my breasts are bigger and fuller, so are my thighs and my ass. I have cellulite dimpling the backs of my legs, and stretch marks marring my previously smooth skin. I haven’t been able to get my u
sual Brazilian wax since finding out I was pregnant with bean, so I have been making do with shaving. However, even that is becoming more difficult the larger my belly grows.

  I have never considered myself to be beautiful or pretty even, but the way Jake looks at me gives me pause. The hunger in his eyes. The way he takes his time perusing every inch of my body, including what I see as flaws has me questioning my view of myself. Surely a man a sexy as Jake wouldn’t waste his time with me if he didn’t see something he likes, would he?

  Spreading my thighs wider, Jake squeezes them gently, asking, “What are you thinking about that put a frown on your face, baby. If you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word and I’ll lay beside you and hold you all night while you sleep.”

  Jake kneeling between my legs is so freaking hot, making me feel like I could spontaneously combust, but not even that is distraction enough for my brain to switch off and enjoy what’s right in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I hedge, hoping Jake isn’t getting the wrong idea. It’s not that I don’t want this, I absolutely do; I’m just scared. Scared that I will give myself to him again and he’ll leave. Scared that as soon as he finds someone better, someone prettier that I will be left behind, and I don’t think I can handle that. In fact, I know I can’t.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby, but you’ve got to tell me what you want,” he gently coaxes. “I’ve been dreaming about tasting your pussy, Farrah. Since the very first time I saw you in that club, sitting on a stool in that sexy as fuck, tight blue dress, I’ve craved the taste of your cream on my tongue. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to let me eat your pussy until you’re screaming my name, or do you want me to stop and we’ll talk instead?”

  Chills run up my spine and goosebumps break out over my skin as Jake’s words sink in. The predatory look in his eyes, and the way his thumbs are brushing the apex of my thighs ramps up my arousal ten-fold. However, I know Jake, and he won’t give me what I’m aching for until I answer him because he’s always had endless patience when it comes to getting what he wants. And in this case, what he wants is me.

  I won’t lie and say that I haven’t noticed men glance in my direction before, in particular, at my body, but the sensation of feeling so utterly claimed and devoured by a single look is completely foreign to me. Sure, I used to attract some attention from the opposite sex when I went out to bars and clubs with Sophie, but she was always the star of the show. With her long legs, perfect curves, wavy blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, Sophie makes every other woman in the room look plain in comparison.

  But it’s not Sophie here with Jake, it’s me I chastise myself. Jake has had plenty of opportunities to try and seduce Sophie if he had wanted to, and he hasn’t. Thinking back on it, on all of the times the three of us have been in the same room, Jake’s eyes have always been on me. Of course, since Jake was raised to have impeccable manners, he greets Sophie and asks how she is, but afterward, his attention is focused wholly on me.

  That thought makes me shiver, which Jake takes as his signal to lower a hand to my mound and swipe one long finger through my slit. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans, glancing down at where his finger is caressing the heated flesh between my legs.

  Lowering his head, Jake separates the lips of my pussy, inhaling deeply. “And you smell so fucking good, baby. So sweet,” he says his heated breath send shivers of desire directly to my core.

  My eyes connect with Jake’s just before his tongue swipes the length of my sex and I find myself enraptured by the look of love in them. I’m entirely focused on Jake and the way he stares at me, as he laps the wetness from the inside of my thighs and then circles my clit. Not once does Jake look away; I don’t even think he blinks as he sets about driving me out of my mind with pleasure.

  Jake doesn’t let up when I begin moaning his name and thrusting my hips up to meet his mouth. He doesn’t slow his relentless torture when I beg him to let me come, either. In fact, as I’m about to promise him anything he wants if he will just finish me off, Jake inches away from where I need him most before stopping entirely.

  “Please don’t stop,” I mewl, trying to pull him back to me.

  “Give me a second, baby,” he grins, pushing his boxer briefs over his hips and down so that he can step out of them. “Now, where were we?” He asks, climbing back onto the bed.

  Jake’s cocky grin disappears as he pauses to softly lay a huge hand on my stomach. Bean immediately rolls and gives a small kick as if he knows his daddy is close, and I watch as Jake’s eyes widen in shock.

  “Jesus, Farrah. Did you feel that?” He chokes out. All I can do is nod because seeing Jake’s eyes fill with tears, feeling his baby kick is almost enough to make me cry too.

  “That’s fucking beautiful, Farrah. Feeling our baby move inside you, knowing that he or she is growing stronger every day, and that I had something to do with that makes me the happiest man alive.”

  I’m not used to Jake sharing his feelings with me, or anyone for that matter. Usually he’s so closed off; I’d go as far as to say, cold sometimes. Even when we were close he didn’t open up to me like this, so I don’t know what to say. Opening and closing my mouth a few times, I settle with a soft smile and running my hand up his arm.

  Jake seems to shake off his trance, his eyes once again connecting with mine. We’re both quiet for a long time, my body still thrumming with arousal and his pulsing against my leg, but it seems neither of us is willing to break the comfortable silence.

  Clearing his throat, Jake speaks, and when he does, I can’t help the overwhelming emotions that bombard me or the tears that spring to my eyes. “My biggest regret is letting you leave that night before explaining what I meant, but if you’re willing to listen, I’ll set the record straight right now.” At my indecision Jake adds, “Give me one more chance, Farrah. Just one. I won’t promise you that I’ll leave if can’t bring yourself to forgive me, because that’s not happening, but I can promise that I’ll keep apologizing until you do.”

  And I believe him because when Jake wants something, he gets it. The only question left to ask myself is am I prepared to let him have me?

  Chapter Eight

  JAKE

  I would have missed it if I weren’t paying close attention to every movement she makes, but the subtle nod of her head and the way her fingers tighten on my biceps tells me Farrah is giving in. That doesn’t mean she’ll ultimately forgive me, but it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

  For months I’ve gone over how I was going to tell Farrah everything, but couldn’t come up with shit. It wasn’t until my twin brother, Lucas, called and told me what an asshole I was for hurting his favorite girl, and I knew then that I had to come clean. Lay all my cards on the table and let Farrah decide where we go from here.

  Lucas wasn’t a fan of this plan, not in the slightest. However, that might have something to do with the hard-core crush he has on Farrah. Since the day they met – the day after me, seeing as he was away at football camp – Lucas has had it bad for my woman. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve threatened to kneecap him or break his throwing arm if he touches her, but every time I was answered with a cocky smirk or a ‘go fuck yourself.’ Thankfully, Lucas never took what he feels for Farrah any further than an arm slung around her shoulders, a friendly hug, and some occasional flirting or I would have followed through on my threats of violence in a heartbeat.

  Truthfully, I’m not sure Farrah is even aware of how Lucas feels about her, and if she is, she hasn’t said anything about it. One night when Lucas and I were getting hammered off a bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch our dad had been saving for a special occasion, I came right out and asked my twin why he hadn’t told Farrah he loves her. Yeah, I knew alright. I saw the same look on Lucas’ face when he looked at Farrah that I saw staring back at me in the mirror every morning. Lucas loved Farrah; that much was crystal clear.

  “Don’t ask me shit
like that when you know you’re not gonna like the answer,” Lucas slurs, hitting me in the shoulder with the half empty bottle.

  “No, I want to know,” I insist. “If you love her so much, why not take the risk and tell her? You saying she isn’t worth it?”

  “Fuck you,” he spits angrily. “She’s worth every damn ounce of my pride and dignity, and you know it.”

  “Then fucking why not say something you stupid asshole?” I roar, finally losing my patience with him.

  “Because she’s yours, you prick. Farrah always has and always will be yours. As much as I wish it were different, that I was the one she looked at the way she looks at you, that’s not the case, brother. Farrah loves you, not me. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a glutton for punishment, Jake. Unless it’s on the football field, that is,” he says with a hint of a smile. “It hurts enough to know that she won’t ever feel the same way about me as I do her, but another entirely to hear her confirm it. Hearing Farrah tell me she doesn’t see me like that would break my fucking heart, Jake.”

  Until that moment, I hadn't considered how alike we were. Sure, we look identical, but our personalities couldn’t have been more polar opposite if we came from different families. However, right then, at that second, I saw the truth of Lucas’ words reflected in his eyes. It was hurting him deeply to watch Farrah love me from a distance, but it was killing him to see me fall more in love with her every day. We might not have been together – in public or in private – but Lucas knew down to the depths of his soul that it was only a matter of time before we were.

  The only thing that comes to mind is, “I’m sorry. Truly fucking sorry, brother.”

  “Yeah, I know you are,” he nods, taking another long swallow of scotch. “Promise me something, though, Jake.”