by S. Ann Cole
Oh, how I wanted the lines to not only be blurred, but rubbed right out.
“Breathe, Sassy, breathe,” he whispered with his wicked crooked smile. “It’s just fascinating to watch, that’s all.”
Untangling myself from around him, I leaped to my feet and shot him an accusatory glare, pointing a stiff finger at him. “Don’t tell me to fucking breathe! You always do and say things like that to me, then you tell me to not be affected.”
Shifting over onto his back, he looked up at me, still wearing that damned grin. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you to breathe. You’ll either breathe or die.”
“I don’t want to breathe,” I shrieked, flinging my hands up in the air. “I want you to take my goddamn breath away! I want to pant and fucking scream, not breathe!”
Jahleel leaned up on one elbow, looking semi-normal, though still a bit pale. “You get excited too easily, Sassy. I say a couple of words, and you go all wide-eyed and asthmatic on me.”
He purposely, deliberately, wilfully, completely spoke around all I just confessed, refusing to acknowledge my desire, my need, my craving for him. Jesus Christ, he was exasperating!
Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I tried to calm down. “Because you’re you, JK,” I retorted in defense of my actions. “Is that so hard to understand?” I’m in love with you, douchenizzle!
One shoulder moved up in a shrug as he simply responded with, “You’re Saskia Day.”
Sending my eyes heavenward, I waved a dismissive hand at him and made to exit the room. “Whatever, man. I’m going to make breakfast.”
I ignored his chuckle on my way out.
As slowly as he was recovering, the infuriating a-hole in him was coming back. Well, did it ever actually leave?
Whenever I wasn’t working, the place I spent most of my time was in the kitchen. I loved to eat, even though at this point in time, I had to maintain a diet to be in shape for my upcoming tour. But aside from ‘preparing for tours’ diets, I dwelled in my kitchen, cooking and eating until surfeited.
Jahleel’s kitchen, like mine, was a dream to be in. Very rarely did one find much of anything in a single man’s kitchen except beer, water and overnight takeout. But Jahleel’s kitchen was stocked, piled and loaded. He must cook a lot. In his kitchen, I was like a kid in a candy store.
For breakfast, I prepared a hearty meal of baked beans, thin-sliced ham, poached eggs, mushrooms, sausage and toasts.
Just as I poured a cup of coffee for Jahleel, he appeared in the second entryway of the kitchen, propped on the wall with one hand. Refusing to acknowledge him, I moved the mugs to the tray and dunked a Lady Grey teabag in my cup. I was still in hate mode.
“Gonna use the bathroom,” he unnecessarily announced.
I focused my attention on the task at hand and apathetically responded, “Thanks for the update.”
“Aren’t you gonna help me?”
That got my notice, and I glanced up at him standing there, eyes twinkling with mischief and a repressed smile. In my judgment, he seemed perfectly capable of going to the bathroom himself. The man clearly took pleasure in screwing with me.
“Sure,” I caustically stated, “You want me to hold your penis while you wee-wee, too? Shake it after, yeah?”
“You’re the worst caretaker ever,” he pouted, lips twitching as he struggled not to smile.
“Piss off, JK,”
“Someone’s in a bitchy mood,” he grumbled as he shuffled off.
When he was gone, I allowed myself to smile, knowing he couldn’t see. I was still obsessed, of course.
By the time Jahleel returned, his face somehow fresh and revived as if he had healing water running from his taps, breakfast was set up on the coffee table in the living area so he could eat from the couch.
“Wow…what a spread,” he commented, nodding at the food as he sat beside me on the couch. Picking up a piece of toast, he bit in, and while chewing, said, “You’re amazing, Sassy. Thanks again.”
Stuffing food in both corners of my mouth, I ignored him.
“Still in bitch mode?”
No reply.
On a shrug, he gave up and dug into his breakfast, eating every last drop of food on his place. When the plate was clean, he looked at the cup of coffee on his tray and frowned.
As I lifted my cup to my mouth, he asked, “Can I borrow that for a minute?”
Befuddled, I paused and frowned at him. He took the opportunity to steal the cup from my fingers and sipped my tea.
“Lady Grey,” he muttered, nodding in approval.
With my cup, he leaned back on the sofa, pulled up his feet on the couch like a five year old, picked up the remote and switched on the television.
“Um,” I dragged out, looking at my confiscated cup and back to him, “what’s wrong with your coffee?”
Eyes on the television, fingers working the remote, he absently replied, “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Then why do you have a coffee maker and a 27ounce bottle of Folgers in your darn kitchen?”
“Krissy.”
I’d thought it odd finding boxes of Twining’s tea in an American kitchen. They were supposed to be coffee lovers, but I didn’t pay it much mind at the time. I just assumed he was a coffee drinker instead of asking. “So, are you going to give me back my tea?”
Without looking at me, he shooed me off with the remote, “Get your own.”
Batting down the urge to punch him, or kiss him, or rape him, I cleared the trays and washed the dishes.
I poured two glasses of ice-cold water and dropped two of the Vitamin C tablets in each to dissolve. Mine was quaffed in one go. I brought Jahleel’s to him, setting it down on the coffee table. “When you’re done with that, drink this. All of it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The doorbell rang just then and I started for the door, knowing it was Thomas.
Jahleel’s voice stopped me. “You’re leaving already?”
When I swivelled back around, he was watching me from under his lashes—a look I was positive he used whenever he wanted to win one over. He wanted me to stay.
“No. That’s Thomas dropping off clean clothes for me,” I told him. “I’m staying until tomorrow…if you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He sounded relieved. “But, don’t you have shit to do?”
“Yes, but I had my assistant shift around a couple of things on my schedule so I would have today free.”
“Ah.” He sipped his tea and peered at me over the rim, eyes devilish. “Well, you’re welcome to stay, but you have to stop being mean to me…”
My mouth opened and closed like a sock puppet as I gaped at him, stammering, “I-I-I’m being mean to you?”
“You were being a bitch earlier.”
“You were being an arse!”
“Oh,” he mumbled, choking back a laugh. “My bad.”
“Really, JK?”
Did he have to be such a thorn in my side? And why did I fall even more in love each time he acted like this? Maybe I loved it when he screwed with me as much he revelled in it? Not to mention the way he taunted with such seriousness, making it hard to tell whether he was messing with me or not.
“Bad manners to keep someone waiting at the door, Day.”
Mouth still agape, I stared at him, searching his face for something, anything which hinted he was being humorous, but found nothing. He was serious. But he couldn’t be. He was a damn good actor, that’s for certain.
Doing the only thing I could think of since words were failing me, I flipped both middle fingers up at him, spun on my heels and flounced off to answer the door.
Thomas had a damn suitcase, and I took one look at it and knew Amanda had crammed it with a crap ton of extraneous items. She could be a tad extra at times.
After giving me a quick brief on what was going on at home, Thomas left and I proceeded with my suitcase down the hall. Stopping at the entrance to the living room, I popped m
y head in. “I’m gonna shower, okay?”
“Thanks for the update,” he said, mimicking my earlier response.
“Is…” I hesitated. “I’m only telling you because I want to know if there’s anywhere I’m prohibited from going?”
Slowly, he turned and peered at me over the edge of the couch. “You serious?”
I nodded.
“Sassy,” he said, most patiently assured, “You came over and found me on my last leg and stayed without being asked. You’re solely responsible for me being better. You’ve been making your way around here taking care of me as if you’ve lived here all your life. And now you ask me this?”
He turned and directed his attention back to the television. “You wanna clean a fuckin’ drawer out and make it yours, I’m not stoppin’ you. You fit. Perfectly.”
I stared at the back of his head, gobsmacked. Now, now what was that supposed to mean? Was he being literal or just bringing a point across? Surely, ‘getting a drawer’ with Jahleel Kingston couldn’t be that easy, especially since he was refusing to sleep with me at all cost.
First it was that enraged kiss, then the promise he forced out of me, and now this? His mixed signals were confusing. Maybe he truly wanted me to be his platonic friend, but one who didn’t sleep around?
I don’t know. I honestly didn’t know what his deal was.
Dragging along my suitcase, I headed to his bedroom.
The sensible part of me assured me he wasn’t being literal about the drawer statement, so I wheeled my suitcase over to a corner in his bedroom and popped it open.
As suspected, it was stuffed with a lot of crap, including a long strip of condoms situated on the top. That damn Amanda. What part of platonic did she not understand?
Selecting a black Bob Marley tee, red Nike shorts and frenchies, I tossed them on the bed, grabbed my toothbrush and shower gel, then stripped down as I made my way into the shower.
Gratefully, there were no pictures of Krissy on this side of the house, or I’d be forced to ruin them. The bathroom was all-white and glass, extra pristine, creating the illusion that it was larger than it actually was, with the only colour being the red towels and washrags on shelving, and a vase of red roses on the centre of the vanity.
A large tub sat on one side of the bathroom, a long rectangular-shaped shower on the other side. After cleaning my teeth at the sink, I opted for the shower.
Around ten minutes passed after I showered but I lingered under the soothing shower as I tilted my face up under the warm water.
Had to admit, I enjoyed being in Jahleel’s shower more than my own—not because it was better, but simply because it was Jahleel’s shower.
At the sound of the shower door sliding open, I stilled. The hell?
Snail’s pace, I opened my eyes and turned around, the water still beating down on my head. I stopped breathing altogether. I forgot how to.
What were the mechanics of exhaling and inhaling again? How exactly did the lungs work? Would I die if I didn’t breathe? Because, at the moment, I couldn’t. Not with Jahleel standing in front of me.
Naked. Bloody naked. Not with a flaccid cock, either. Oh no, that sucker was standing to attention, saluting me: ‘Ma’am, yes, Ma’am!’
“W-what are you doing?” I managed, running my eyes all over him.
I didn’t know where to look first. Jesus Christ, he was even hotter naked.
A very well-defined V shape went right down into his smooth brown curls. His abs, good God, his abs were rock hard and conspicuously boastful; it was like you could reach out and pluck one off his stomach. His pecs round, formidable. Shoulders, broad and intimidating, now that they weren’t downplayed by a simple T-shirt.
In fact, naked, his body was a lot different than one would guess: taller somehow, wider, stronger…the way he dressed in casual, rugged wear, did indeed deemphasize his physical perfection.
It was all quite a lot to take in, especially when he moved in closer until his dick was touching my leg. One arm reached around me as he picked up his body wash and squeezed some on his wash rag.
“Showering,” he answered to my long forgotten question.
We were a hair’s breadth apart, his cock still touching my leg as he watched me with his washrag in hand. But I was too occupied drooling over his body and the warmth of his dick head against my inner thigh to care about his intense gold gaze.
This man here, he was real. Real hard. Real fierce. Real hot. Real sexy. Real tempting. Real torturous. Just fucking real.
Moving in closer, I lifted a hand to feel the smattering of hair on his chest, but as quick as a wasp, he slapped my hand, leaving a sting behind.
“Don’t touch me,” he asserted gently.
“W-w-what?” I stammered, taken aback. “You came in here, buddy.”
Reaching around me, he wet his rag under the shower and began lathering his skin, keeping his eyes on my face and nowhere else. “First off, this is my bathroom. Second, I haven’t showered in three days.”
“You couldn’t wait until I was finished?”
“For some reason, I grew pretty desperate for a shower all of a sudden. Felt intolerably dirty, you know?” Smiling secretively, he shrugged. “You were takin’ too long.”
“I want to touch you,” I said, not in the mood for his games.
“No.”
“Well, then, you can’t touch me either.”
He held up his hands, “Not touching you.”
Arching a brow, I cocked my head to the side and slowly lowered my gaze down to where his dick rested comfortably against my inner thigh.
He, too, tilted his head to the side and commented, “Oh, that…that has a mind of its own. What it does or doesn’t do is not on me.”
“So, does that mean I can touch it, then?”
He bit his lip and shook his head.
“This sucks,” I grumbled, turning back around under the shower.
Except it was harder this time, knowing there was a naked Jahleel behind me, and my core was wetter and hotter than the water spraying from the shower above us. I was exponentially aroused and needed to have an orgasm, lest I explode.
I felt Jahleel’s washrag passing over my bum, soaping it downwards. “You’ve got a curvy—”
Fast as lightening, I spun around and shoved him hard against the chest. He moved back a mere inch. “Don’t touch me, you spiteful, torturous, son of a dicksucker!”
“It’s son of a pastor, actually,” he corrected, grinning.
“This is not a joke, JK!” I shrilled, feeling like crying. “You can’t keep doing this to me. I’m human. And of the opposite sex. With a vagina. A vagina that desperately needs this monster against my leg inside it!”
“Calm down, woman,” he chuckled. He handed me the washrag, “You can bathe me, but that’s all.”
My scowl deepened. “How exactly will that have me screaming your name in ecstasy?”
“It won’t,” he replied, smile melting as seriousness supplanted. “Platonic, remember?”
Waving a hand between us, I hissed, “This is not platonic.”
“This is my kind of platonic,” he shrugged, nonchalantly, “As long as you don’t touch, touch me.”
Out of fight, strength and words, I reached up and started soaping his shoulders, down to his pectorals, as platonically as I could manage. “You’re not being fair.”
“I know,” he whispered, all serious now. “But it’s for your own good, Sassy.”
I lathered him in silence, taking my own sweet time, even though I could feel his eyes on my face instead of my body, studying, searching for who knows what.
Taking pleasure in admiring every inch of his body, I slowly soaped the intricate tattoo designs on his side. A swirl of vines and thorns and something resembling an open Bible choking in the midst of it.
Moving across the hardness of his abs, I soaped the inscription on his left arm that started from his shoulder down to his wrist. I’d never gotten the chance to s
ee his tats up close before. The inscriptions were a jumble of questions being repeated over and over, from shoulder to wrist:
Why don’t you ever speak to me? Is it because I’m bad? What can I do to be good? Will you talk to me then? What is faith? Is it real? What’s my fate? Are you real? Why don’t you ever talk to me? Is it because I’m bad? What can I do to be good? Will you talk to me then?…
On and on it went. When I sneaked a peek up at him, he was still watching me. Was this tat about Krissy? I wanted to ask, but I was afraid it would ruin the moment, and the opportunity of soaping Jahleel Kingston’s naked body would be lost.
“It’s not about her,” his spoke above me, somehow knowing the thoughts in my mind.
Guess he figured out that I’d figured out he had feelings for his sister. “What’s it about, then?”
“Nothing I wanna talk about.”
The tone of his voice told me to let it go, so I dug no further and continued soaping him until I reached his cock. The thing was fucking beautiful. I estimated it to be over seven and half inches long. Perfect.
As I took him in my hand, I peered up at him from under my lashes for permission, and he shrugged, saying, “You’ve got to soap all of me, don’t you?”
Lowering my head to hide a smile, I gently moved the sudsy rag over his wide, engorged head, red with blood. Using my other hand to glide the soap down his venous length, I sighed at its steely hardness beneath my fingers.
Above me, I could hear Jahleel’s breathing faltering as I moved my palm over and down his length and back up, before circling my thumb around the underside of gorgeous head.
This hard, beautiful thing needed to be in my mouth. Inside me.
I must have been soaping that particular area of his body for too long, because I heard his ragged voice command, “Move along now, Sassy.”
“Boo,” I whined, letting go of his dick and soaping his hips, down his thighs, spending little time on his legs, lest I be tempted to slip his cock in my mouth.
I paused only long enough to study the tattooed inscriptions on his right leg, but it was written in Greek, so I came right back up and tugged him under the spraying shower with me, taking him by surprise.
He laughed out when his body collided with mine. “Whoa!”
