I lay before him and he wraps his arm around me. The bulk of his biceps presses against my side, and as I gaze at them, I'm amazed by how wide they are. I've seen them plenty, but resting against me, they've expanded to twice their usual size. He squeezes, as if to make sure I'm still there. It reminds me of the way Todd used to hold me in bed sometimes. It's an affectionate hold. I'm not comfortable with what it suggests, since I still hate Jarek's guts, but that masochistic part of me doesn't mind. She revels in this moment.
As the movie begins, he offers a joke about the funny way the people talk in these old movies, doing a terrible impersonation of Clark Gable that I can't help but laugh at. We share popcorn throughout until it becomes so scarce we're battling each other's fingers. It's a fun game that transports me back to a time before he hurt me. The movie flies by and when the credits roll, I feel awkward about what has just transpired. Did I really enjoy a movie with him? That wasn't the plan. We were supposed to fuck. Now I feel like I'm falling into some sort of trap—like he needs me to fall for him so he can break my heart. Surely he's not that devious or manipulative, but do I know him? I want to believe I do, but I know better than to trust my feelings, because clearly they aren't as accurate as I once believed.
He offers a gentle kiss—the sort of kiss I'd expect from someone like Todd after we've dated for a while. Sweet, affectionate, loving. Not the sort of kiss two people should have when they're hooking up. I don't know how to interpret it. It's hard for me to say we're just hooking up after watching It Happened One Night together.
What am I doing?
I return his kiss with a stronger one, making my intent clear. He needs to fuck me right now so that we can abandon this date-like rendezvous, so I can remind myself what this is really about. Fortunately, my kiss leads to him stroking his hand up and down my side. He kisses me harder and rolls on top of me, pressing his body against mine. He leans back and unbuttons my shirt. Exposing my belly, he leans down and kisses it as he continues undoing my shirt. Once my buttons are undone, he beelines to my breasts. He stops and studies my bra.
“Well, this is nice,” he says. I'm flattered, and at the same time disturbed knowing he must have noticed how shitty I looked in my other bras. However, I don't have much time to focus on this, because soon, he's kissing under my bra, his fingers trailing around to my back. I lean up so he has access, and he unbuttons and removes it so that soon he's kissing and kneading at his object of desire.
This is much better. This is what I need this to be.
As he caresses one hand down my chest, to my jeans, the nerves he touches prick and tingle as a rush of delight runs from the base of my spine to the back of my head. His kisses across my breasts are wide, as if working to get as much of my flesh in his lips' scope. He offers the faintest of kisses, leaving me uncertain of what his kiss will bring next. Then he kisses to my nipple, his tongue and lips moving in an unpredictable rhythm, using just enough pressure to arouse me further. My hips thrust about as a deep hunger overtakes me, longing for him to be inside of me.
He ceases his oral affection, and as I look at him, he's gazing up at me, clearly pleased at his ability to arouse me this much. He should be proud, because he's doing a damn good job. “I should get a condom,” he says, his breath rushing across my flesh, sending a tickling sensation rushing up my back.
We head to the bedroom, where I remove my blouse, toss it to the floor, and grab a condom and lube from the nightstand. A burst of inspiration sends me to the drawer just beneath it. I retrieve a long, black handkerchief. It's a little toy I purchased when I was with Todd, one we'd used to stimulate interest when our sex life started to feel mundane. Todd would tie it around my face, and I'd enjoy not knowing where he was about to touch me, kiss me. The piece has given me an idea.
Jarek starts to remove his shirt. “Uh-uh,” I say. “Did I say you could take that off?”
He stops, his gaze shifting to me, filled with eagerness and surprise, and I know I have him under my control. “No, you didn't,” he replies, releasing the hem of his shirt and letting his arms fall to the side. I toss the lube and condoms on the bed and step before him again, allowing him to gaze at my exposed breasts as I scan his fully-clothed body over. I step around him and sit on the bed, spreading my legs.
He starts to turn. “I didn't say you could turn around, either.” He stops and faces the wall behind him.
I don't know why I'm in such a playful mood, but I like this control. I like knowing I can get him to do my bidding. I want him to be my puppet, doing exactly as I desire. I stand and tie the handkerchief around his face so that it covers his eyes.
“Oh, really?” he asks.
“I don't believe I said you could talk, either.” He stiffens, as if he's being cautious not to make any moves that I could scold him for. As I finish tying my knot, I sit back on the bed. “Turn around,” I instruct. He obeys. “You can remove your shirt,” I say. He grabs the hem and pulls it off, just as he was about to do before I interrupted. His abs and that massive chest, beautiful products of his working out, are exposed for my pleasure. I enjoy the divots between his muscles, the grooves that dip from his chest around his bulbous pecs. I enjoy the fine lines between the muscles in his six-pack.
I catch the upward curl on his lip; he’s surely impressed with himself because he must know how good he looks and how much I'm enjoying it. I wish I could just slap that right off his face. Conceited bastard! But he should know how good he looks, because he's worked hard for it.
“Walk toward me,” I say. He does, but he apparently overestimates the distance between himself and the bed because he slightly fumbles forward as his knee hits the mattress. I chuckle. “There's that bumbling, ridiculous boy,” I joke. He opens his mouth like he's about to make a joke about his mistake, but he quickly presses his lips together. “Good boy,” I say as if he's my pet, which right now, he is.
I wonder if I'm only having so much fun because I see this as some sort of twisted revenge. I cock my head to the side. It's an exaggerated move that almost seems like it's for him, but since he can't see me, it must be what I expect someone in this dominant position to do.
“Why don't you do a little dance for me?” I ask. He pouts, as if he's not sure how exactly to do this, but I press. “Come on,” I say, “You've seen enough movies to know what to do. I want a little lap dance. Let me see this body at work.”
His expression shifts to something cool...more controlled. He squats so that his torso is all I can focus on, and he shifts his pelvis about, twisting his upper body in a silly way that makes me laugh. He stops, his cheeks flashing red, and I can't help but appreciate my involvement in his embarrassment. As the color drains from his face, he slows his movements, rocking his pelvis back and forth, those lines in his six-pack distracting me as they put on a slow, intimate show, just for me.
He rotates his hips, his obliques displaying their own serious definition. He starts to put his hand on my leg, but pulls back. “You can touch me,” I say, enjoying the sensation within me so much. He presses both hands on my legs and continues his dance. He rubs his hands up and down my legs and as he finds my hands he lifts them and sets them on his ever-shifting abdomen.
Now I'm blushing, and I'm glad his eyes are covered. He moves my hands around his torso so I can feel the thick muscles as they expand. I want these all over me. I want to feel them contracting and shifting like this against my body.
“Turn around,” I say. He obeys but continues his dance, swaying his hips. My skin feels as hot as a sunburn. I feel around to his back and lower my hands at his sides, pulling his pajama bottoms down just below his ass, which he sways in my face.
It's the perfect c-shape. I imagine it contracting as he forces himself inside me. I rub my hands across his ass, massaging it with my thumbs so I can feel the soft flesh that I can never get enough of. He pushes it back at me, as if permitting me to enjoy it however I wish. I kiss the base of his spine and slowly kiss up his back, feeling my fin
gers across his sides, enjoying his lats. Soon, I'm standing and kissing the back of his neck.
I walk around him and he ceases his dance. He just stands before me, his penis rock-hard. I'm pleased to see how much this is turning him on.
I want to tease him. I want him to think I'm about to allow him to do whatever he wants to me. I move close so the tip of his penis touches my jeans. It twitches about, as if it wants to get inside me.
I shove him back onto the bed. He's taken aback, but he quickly settles, lying still so that his legs dangle over the side of the mattress. I crawl on the bed, my legs on either side of his thighs as I press my face against his abs, kissing his muscles. I feel up and down his sides, enjoying his torso and then kiss up to his chest before reaching his face. I kiss him and he kisses back, clearly wanting a deep, serious kiss, but I pull away. “Not until I say so.”
I retrieve the condoms and lube and step off the bed. I get on my knees on the carpet so I'm eye level with his erect cock, which is at a forty-five-degree angle. “I think he should be a little harder, don't you?” I ask, and it stiffens and points more toward the ceiling. I lean forward and lick my tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip, and it pivots nearly to a ninety-degree angle. “Much better,” I say. I remove the condom from the wrapper and slide it onto his cock. I rub some lube on it, stand, and remove my clothes.
When I'm finished, I crawl back over him and lean down until my lips are beside his ear. I whisper, “Now...fuck the shit out of me.”
Before I can even get the ‘me’ out, I feel his grip on my arm, and in a quick, powerful maneuver, he rolls so that I'm lying beneath him, dumbfounded by his display of power and authority. His dick must have some sixth sense about how to find its way inside me, because it appears effortless for him as he slips inside and pushes his pelvis forward. I throw my head back and groan as he slides in farther. He wraps his hands under my legs and pulls me toward him, entering even deeper. Fuck the shit out of me, Jarek.
I want him to make me his, to enjoy me as much as he's capable of enjoying a woman. I don't want him to forget this experience, and when he can't have it ever again, I want it to haunt him through every sexual experience he ever has with another woman, just as he has done with me.
He pushes in deep and moves back and forth. Then he leans down and snatches my wrists, pulling them forcefully over my head, as if demonstrating his renewed dominance.
I love it. I need it.
He holds my wrists tight as he presses in and out of me. I gaze up and down his body, watching his muscles expand and contract, as if he's doing crunches for me. The pressure inside me sends waves of relief rushing through my body. The profound, visceral relief I feel leaves me sure I've needed this for so long, as if I've never been fucked and I've always needed to be.
I wrap my legs around his as he presses his lips firmly against mine, his kiss so intense it's as if he's punishing me for depriving him of my body for so long. My breasts shake and tremble with each thrust he offers. The pain and pleasure that ripple through his movements excite me. I love being under him, having him control me like this. I know it can't last, but I wish we could fuck like this for the rest of our lives. How will I cope when this is gone? How will I find someone who can make me feel like this?
I catch a whiff of his scent, surely a product of this intense workout he's performing on me. I delight in the smell. I can't believe the fragrance is so lovely. How's that even possible? Why is it that every part of me is so attracted to him?
Sweat collects on my forehead. Jarek dips down and kisses my breasts in a frenzy. He's not Jarek anymore. He's a wild animal, a beast taking me, wanting me to have his offspring. As I greet every entry with a push toward him, he must know how much I want his seed inside me.
He teases my nipples with his tongue. His hips' movements surprise me. His heat washes over me and makes me feel whole. My thoughts travel through time, back to our first experience, back to the time when I felt as if he and I were one, and it's as if I'm not just in this moment with him now, but as if I've been transported back to the very first time and am being simultaneously pleasured here and there. My body trembles as sensations from concurrent experiences pulse through me. As he reaches that powerful, forceful grunt and quivers to let me know he's succeeded, I'm concerned since I'm a few beats behind.
Yet he doesn't stop his movements; he continues pressing into me. He leans down. The blindfold scratches against my cheek as he whispers into my ear, “Do you enjoy being mine?" As his breath hits my ear, combined with the feeling of him within me and the collision of past and present experiences, I can't help but feel my body swell with a sensation that swirls through my veins, as if I'm being wrapped in an electric blanket. My muscles jerk in fits. I roll my eyes back as if I'm enjoying a delicious dessert.
The ecstasy consumes me, and the explosion I feel is profound, perhaps more enjoyable merely because I'm primed for my lover's assault. Oh, yes, Jarek, I do enjoy it. I enjoy it so much.
I squeeze my legs around him. It's an instinctive response, as if I want to pull him deeper into me. It just feels so good having him inside me, and I find I can't keep from wanting more.
He rests his head beside my neck, his torso pressed against my belly, his chest against my breasts. As he shifts his head slightly, I can feel his breath against the side of my face.
With his hands still binding my wrists, I gasp, descending from my high. My thoughts settle on how much I want to be trapped under him like this always...how I want him to control me like this whenever he wants. However, now that I'm back in my right frame of mind, I know this is a fleeting moment and that soon I'll long for it like an addict for a drug. Only this isn't a drug I can get from any dealer—only Jarek, the one who will be leaving me soon.
He leans down and kisses me again. It's cruel, because the act makes me feel as if there will be more to us than these experiences, and I know the kiss is surely just an instinctual response, but it feels like it's intended to make me imagine us as more than these moments together.
A tear in my eye blurs my vision. I'm not sure if it's from the delicious experience or my fear of losing all this so quickly again. All I know is I'm relieved he can't see me. My pain is invisible to him.
Chapter Eight
The following day, I meet with Janet.
“Sorry about this weekend,” she says as she slides onto the stool across the table from me. She sets her latte down and glances out the wall-length window beside us. I sip on the tea I ordered before she arrived. As she plants her purse on the table, I gaze at her with an expression that surely conveys the worry I've felt since the night before last.
“Janet, what's wrong?” I ask.
“Everything's fine,” she says, but I can tell by the look on her face that it really isn't.
“Seriously.”
“I just wanted to have a good time.” A lie. But what am I supposed to do?
“Have you seen your therapist recently?” Janet sees her therapist two Thursdays every month. It's not something I'd normally bring up, but considering how sloppy she was at the bar, I can't help but be concerned.
“I saw her last week,” she replies.
I can't help but wonder if that's a lie, too. When did my sister become so secretive? I recall her being quiet as a child, but not deceptive. It didn't seem to set in until after college. I wonder if somehow my prodding in college gave her a reason to resist honesty. “And?”
“Same as usual. I don't see what your problem is.”
“You were wasted, Janet. Like sorority party wasted.” She appears apprehensive. I know I risk my freedom to hang out with her, but I feel like it would be irresponsible of me to ignore her behavior.
“I'm fine,” she says. “I can deal with my own issues. Now, please. Let's not make this into a big deal when it's not. Tell me about Jarek. How did it go? Any rekindled flames?”
She's trying to change the subject, but I have to acknowledge she isn't budging. Not today, and
I'm sure I'm just a few probing questions away from being iced out of her life yet again. Perhaps a wiser strategy would be to continue talking to her, sharing with her, and wait until the right moment when she can't refuse my request to understand her life.
“Nothing's there,” I reply.
“Oh, please. You like him. You've always liked him. Don't lie to yourself.”
“We're just friends. Like we've always been.”
“Mmmkay. Has he mentioned why he left like that?”
For someone who doesn’t want to talk to me about any of her issues, she's sure quick to interrogate me about my most vulnerable areas. “Not really. He just told me he moved out west.”
“It was probably the stress of what happened to Daddy. He'd done so much for him. I guess he just couldn't be around there because it reminded him of those memories. If I could have gotten out of there for a while, I would have.”
“But you would have said something to us about it.”
“He told Mom.”
“You think he shouldn't have said goodbye to us?” How can Janet be so flip about this when I dwell on it?
“I guess if he needed to say bye to anyone, it would have been you,” she says. “Me and Kelsey weren't all that close to him. You know that. Kelsey was always off doing stuff at school, and I was always hanging with my friends. You were the ones who just had each other. Am I wrong? That's what it always seemed like on the outside.”
“You're not wrong,” I say bitterly.
“So why wouldn't he have said goodbye to you?”
Considering the night I shared with Jarek, this question makes me nauseous. Allowing him back into my life has been a terrible mistake. I knew that when I started down this path, but how could I have let it get this far? How could I have been so stupid?
“Who knows?” I say. “It's been so long. He may have said bye and I just didn't remember. There was so much going on back then.” She eyes me skeptically. I wonder if I was looking at her like that when she was avoiding talking about therapy.
Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1) Page 11
