JAKE (Leaves of a Maple Book 2)

by Haley Jenner

  I push forward in one full, fast thrust. Seating myself completely into her warm, wet heat. Groaning deep in my throat, I tip my neck back at the feeling of her welcoming body tightening around my intrusion. Her neck is much the same, tipped up, throat exposed. Leaning down, I kiss the hollow of her neck before licking the entire length up towards her jaw. I hold her face firmly in my hand, bringing it down slightly to welcome my mouth. I keep hold her there tightly as I power in and out of her body. My teeth snag her bottom lip, dragging it through my bite before I ease the sting of my teeth with a wet kiss. Aubrey's lips remain ajar, breathing in my sharp exhales with her silent cries.

  The acid build-up in my legs makes my frame shake. A sheen of sweat covers every inch of my skin, causing my shirt to stick to me.

  Closing the distance between our lips, Aubrey snakes her tongue into my welcoming mouth on a loud moan. Hand weaving into my hair, she pulls me closer, the nails from her free hand scratching at the skin on my back underneath my shirt. My head tips away from her eager mouth, as I growl in approval at the pleasure that fleeting second of pain brings. "FUCK. Aubrey. Baby. Feels. S-o. Good," I grunt, dropping my lips to her neck, biting down.

  I'm rewarded with a throaty cry. "J. Baby. Ye-es. Like that. So close," she breathes out, her sweat-slicked thighs moving fast under my hands as I lift her off my cock, just to slam her back down.

  "Come for me, Strawb'ries." I push her further into the wall, pinning her body with the weight of my own. The move allows my base piercing to connect harder to her clit and she cries out loudly on impact. Fisting my hardness, tighter than I imagined possible, her walls pulse along my hammering length.

  Dropping my lips to hers, she eagerly accepts the strong stroke of my tongue as her entire body pulls tight on a missed breath before she breaks under my hands on a forceful spasm. "JAKE. YES. YES. OH GOD. KEEP GOING."

  My thrusts power home, her release coating my dick and soaking my balls. I've never had sex so intense. So raw. Every single nerve ending in my body tingles. My skin feels like fire. I'm hot but shiver with the feeling she causes to coast over me. My balls draw tight, painfully so and it feels fucking phenomenal. My movements stutter slightly, the rhythm of our connection breaking at the shake in my thighs. Her body tightens again, and I roll my hips along her clit, attempting to drag another orgasm from her.

  "Got another one for me, Strawb'ries? Wet my cock again, baby.” I lick along her neck and once again, her body breaks into a flurry of shudders as she screams out my name. The squeeze of her muscles on release pushes me over the edge and I explode inside of her on a roar.

  My legs buckle, and I twist our bodies to slam my back against the coolness of the wall before dropping us down to the carpet. Aubrey is still wrapped around my body, my pulsating cock buried deep. My head hits the wall, and I breathe heavily on a satisfied smile, my eyes hooding over in complete relaxation. Her lips, like always, connect to my neck and rest there, kissing along the erratic beat of my pulse. Planting my lips to her sweat-slicked forehead, I kiss her softly, inhaling the scent of her flushed skin.

  I begin to soften inside of her, and as she snuggles closer, I fall from her body, making us both moan out loud at the loss. We stayed wrapped up in one another for a long time, our breathing settling into a quiet and steady rhythm. Our bodies move lightly with each inhale and exhale, completely in sync.

  "I thought I'd inflated the memory in my mind." Aubrey finally breaks away from my neck, her cheek resting on my chest. "What we felt like. Thought there was no way it could've felt that good."

  I breathe out a laugh. I'd done the same. Convinced myself I'd fantasized our night together as something greater than it was. I was wrong.

  "I was wrong," she echoes my sentiment. "That was," pausing, she breathes out heavily, touching her lips to my beating heart before settling back against my chest. "I felt disconnected from my body it was that good. It overtook my entire body. Shit, even my ears felt good," she laughs, and my body shakes with the amusement her words bring me. "I feel like Jell-O, my body wouldn't be able to move, even if I wanted to – which I don’t. I could sleep like this, wrapped up in you and the scent of us."

  I inhale deeply into her hair again, enjoying the moment. Taking comfort in her words, gratified that her feelings mirror my own. That, just as she said, my body is floating, drowsy with satisfaction. That never in my life have I come close to feeling like I do right now or did a few minutes ago. No gig, no machine, no woman, nothing, has ever given me the overwhelming exhilaration Aubrey just did. I feel drunk with it.

  "It was as good for me as you described, Strawb'ries. Better."

  Her body vibrates with a moan of approval. "God, you smell good." Picking up my hand, she weaves her fingers through mine, pulling them towards her lips to place a warm kiss to my knuckles. "I love your hands. They're well used and rough, they feel nice." Dropping my head to the wall, I close my eyes and enjoy the sound of her voice. "Kinda totally infatuated with that pierced cock of yours too."

  Twisting her head, she rests her chin on my chest, looking up at my face. Opening one eye, she smiles wide, winking at me and my eyes close as my smile deepens. "Fuck me. That dimple will kill me one of these days." Her lips meet the indent in my cheek, moving them to my relaxed mouth before settling back against my chest. "You're very quiet," she whispers.

  "And you're... not?" I test, unsure of this new side to her. Chatty, almost unsure of herself. It’s easy to tell she's filling quiet with chatter and it's so unlike her.

  "I'm worried that if I don't talk, you'll move away. That you'll pull away from me. Me talking occupies your mind as much as it does mine. If you're distracted, you don't have the time to process what we just did and let it settle inside of you," she confesses softly, and tipping my head down, I work to catch her eyes.

  "Strawb'ries, I've been fighting this for fucking months," I laugh sarcastically. "Is what just happened right? Fuck no. Will I feel shitty about it tomorrow? Probably. Regret it? No. Maybe that makes me a shittier person than I thought but right now, I'm all wrapped up in you and I don't want to ruin it. I don’t think tomorrow will ever be ours, so right now let's just be strangers to the world. Let’s just enjoy this moment we were too weak to fight off and deal with the consequences of how we feel when the sun breaks, yeah?"

  Sniffing lightly, she seems cut down by my words, but she nods her agreement into my skin, kissing the center of my chest hard, refusing to let me see the doubt swirling in her eyes. I pull her in tighter, if that’s possible and feel her want to crawl underneath my skin. I want to tell her it’s unnecessary, that's she's already there. Embedded deep. But I don't want her to stop. I want her to need me, to want me as much as I do her. I want her to feel as though she can't breathe without the connection circling us right now. I need her to feel tortured with it. How else can I make her see? Without desperation, without the all-consuming need to be with me, how do I break through? How do I make her see?

  I know I shouldn't let myself fall into the hope of her choosing me over him. I can’t let myself give any thought to what we just did meaning more to her than it did. I'm an idiot if I think a good, solid fuck will make her realize she fits better with me. That it would give her reason to believe I'm worth upending her entire life. It definitely doesn't hurt my fight, because I'm sure what I do to her body is similar to what she does to mine and for me, nothing I've ever felt has even slightly compared. So while a good, solid fuck isn't enough to convince her completely, I let myself believe what just happened was a necessary lapse in judgment. A misdemeanor in morals that helps my greater cause. I know that makes me a dick. It makes me question my character, but like I told Aubrey, right now I’m wrapped up in her, in what we did, and I refuse to ruin this moment. This small piece of time that will be a memory come tomorrow, will be one that I'll let myself wallow over then. Not now.

  The feel of Aubrey's lips distracts my thoughts, gliding along the skin of my neck, her hands pulling at the hem of my shi
rt, trying to rid it from my body. "Let me see you," she speaks into my neck, her tongue dragging along my pulse point.

  "Stand up," I direct and she follows my instruction immediately.

  Following her movements, I clasp her hand inside of mine and pull her towards the bathroom. Inside the small space, I take in her flushed skin, her rumpled clothing and struggle to find a moment in time where I'd seen something more beautiful. More exquisite. More impassioned. "Don't move."

  Moving toward the shower, I turn the water on, feeling the stream on the palm of my hand until it's warm enough. Turning back to Aubrey, she hasn't moved, her eyes fixated on me, unyielding adoration shining from the ice blue of her irises.

  Shifting back into her space, I undress her slowly. My hands circling her body to draw the zipper of her dress down slowly. It falls easily from her delicate frame, pooling on the tiled floor and leaving her in only her panties and bra. Pulling my shirt over my head, her hand reaches out to brush along my chest, resting slightly over my heart before it drops away. Stepping from my pants, I move toward her again, my fingers flicking along the front clasp of her bra and watching it fall away. She shrugs it off her shoulders, arms stretched backward to allow it to join her fallen dress. Dropping my boxers, my cock springs out hard and needy, brushing along her hipbone as I reach out to remove her panties. I drop to my knees dragging them down and she steps from them slowly, hands resting lightly on my shoulders to stop her from stumbling. Placing a soft kiss on her hip, I stand, leaning down to kiss her slowly. My tongue massages hers and she welcomes the feel on a soft cry. Pulling back, I kiss the color shading her cheeks before taking her hand and moving us into the warm rain of water.

  I wash her body, my hands moving over every milky inch of her skin. My eyes follow their path, watching the soap being rinsed from her body, replaced with a soft blush. Her eyes close softly as my fingers drag over her nipples, and they harden immediately, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. Leaning down I flick my tongue against each of them, and she arches into the touch. Her hands fly to the wall when my hands dip between her thighs, dragging along her pussy. I move my hand back and forth once or twice before pulling away.

  Body clean, she begins offering me the same attention. Her small hands skate slowly across my skin, lathering soap over my body. It washes away quickly in the spray of water, and I groan loudly when she massages her soapy hand over my balls before coasting her fist up and down my painfully erect cock.

  My body clean, we stand in silence, watching one another as the warm water streams over our skin. I know in this moment, even after only the short snippets of time we’ve stolen, I love her. In this moment, I feel content. Happy. At peace. Loved. I can't be certain her feelings extend to the length mine do, but I know they'd be close. Her eyes give that away. But unfortunately, at the same time I see how much she cares for me, I see her sadness too. I hate that. Hate that in the moment I realize that for the first time in my life I've truly been in love, it's returned with sorrow.

  Not wanting to see that look anymore, I move into her space, kissing her softly. My hands glide down her arms and entwine with her shaking hands. I spend time exploring her mouth, tasting her lips, feeling her tongue. I show her the love I have for her through my kiss, and she reciprocates with confidence in her own feelings. She can't tell me how she feels, probably never will, but she can show me. That's safer. That's not as reckless as blurting it out into the open air.

  I make love to Aubrey in the shower and our mouths remain connected through it all.

  Through the touching.

  As I enter her body.

  Through every muted cry.

  Through every silenced groan.

  Through every push and pull within her body.

  I kiss her and she kisses me back. We make love and as we reach it together, wrapped up in one another, showered upon by a constant spray of water, our lips remain connected.

  I decide it was safest this way. This way I don’t vocalize how I feel. I don’t push her away by telling her she owns my heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Aubrey

  I pace the length of the darkened living room, trying to determine what warring emotion is coming up trumps. I'd long since discarded my heels, my feet padding lightly along the wooden floor in a soft rhythm.

  I guess I should feel hurt. But do I? My feet stop their incessant movements, pausing briefly as I consider that thought. Hurt? No. I don't think so.

  Disappointed? Yes. If I'm really honest with myself, I'm disappointed. Did I expect more? No. Not really. Coming second to his work is no surprise, but he promised. He made certain I didn't make any other plans, and I reluctantly agreed to keep the peace. He succeeded in isolating me from the people I count most important, and as he seems so apt at doing, he’s made me feel utterly alone.

  I definitely feel overtaken with guilt. The shame I've been feeling for Jake. I haven't felt bad for David and I know that makes me a bad person because my guilt is for Jake, about the person I've become. The dark and twisted mess inside of me has finally turned me into someone I no longer recognize.

  But more than my guilt, more than my disappointment, I feel swallowed by my anger. Blood boiling, skin itching, festering anger. Anger that here I sit, correction – pace - feet bare, when I may add, they should be encased in the shit hot heels I'd treated myself too, alone. On my birthday. Because David had unsurprisingly bailed. Canceled the dinner that he'd insisted on, a dinner he'd guilted me into, via text.

  Text.

  No phone call. No apology. Just a simple, Stuck at work. Can you cancel the restaurant. That's it. That is the exact extent of the message I received. On my birthday. Maybe I should be grateful I received the text. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stand me up.

  Hence, the pacing, the anger and the complete disappointment in a day I should be celebrating.

  Something to know about me? I love birthdays. Freaking LOVE them. Love that for one day a year, everyone wants to make you happy. That's their sole goal. It’s a day when the people you love most want to shower you with the love they have for you. For no other reason than to celebrate you existing. For being a part of their lives.

  But today, for the first time ever, I resent my birthday. Resent that I feel alone when I didn't need to. I could've been surrounded by my family, my friends, with Jake. But I said no. I told them David had made plans and I'd see them another time. I feel like a fool. I knew this would happen. Deep down, I knew it. I knew his promise would break and I’d be left to pick up the pieces. I guess I’d hoped he’d surprise me.

  I could call everyone. They'd be here as quick as traffic would allow. But David has succeeded in taking the joy out of my day.

  I feel sad. Not to be confused with hurt, because my feelings aren't hurt by his actions. No. I'm sad. I feel low. I feel like a day I look forward to every year, a day that I enjoy every moment of usually, has been stolen from me.

  Stopping my incessant pacing, I take a deep breath, holding my eyes closed tight against the sting. Tears. NO. I cannot cry on my birthday. I will not allow it. I will not let today become the first time I've shed tears on my birthday. For the wrong reasons. I won't let sadness, disappointment, and anger declare war on my emotions and release in a flood of tears.

  Steeling my composure, I pull my shoulders up in a long, deep inhale of air, before dropping them on a relaxed exhale. Spinning on my heel, I move fast to the bathroom, ready to eradicate the unfulfilled and dashed plans, from my evening.

  Sitting in a hot bath, surrounded by bubbles and alternating between my tequila and the melting tub of Ben and Jerry's I'd supplied myself with, I begin to relax. I let the water covering my skin remove the frustration of my day as I remind myself that the beauty of birthdays is that they come around every year. This year may have been a write-off, a blight in the history of happy memories but that can be fixed. Next year. The year after that. I've learned my lesson and going forward, I won't let myself forget that today is
about me. No one else and their demanding plans.

  I soak for close to an hour. Until my skin has wrinkled and the water has cooled. Insignificant reasons, but my drink is finished and my ice cream not far behind. Alas, removing myself from the tepid water is a necessity.

  Throwing on my robe, I dry my feet before walking onto the wooden floors of my apartment. Let's not add a sprained ankle to the unpleasantness of my day. Trudging through the apartment, I grab my phone and dial for pizza.

  Tequila, melted ice cream, and pepperoni pizza. Sounds delicious, no? Pity party for one. Check. Now I just need a tear inducing romantic comedy, and I'll be set. Who said Aubrey King didn't know how to celebrate her birthday solo? This is turning into quite the evening. Pathetic, lonely, but it could be worse. Really, I could be sitting in a stale restaurant, drinking my boredom and awkwardness away with copious amounts of booze. In turn, embarrassing my stiff and hard-hearted significant other, earning me a scorned level of criticism for the weeks following. Yay. Happy birthday, Aubrey. No, I guess when I think about it, this was the far safer option of the two. More enjoyable anyway.

  Pizza ordered, I consider my bottle of tequila. Readying to pour myself another glass, I pause for a moment before shrugging and discarding it to take a deep sip from the neck of the bottle. It burns on its way down, and I shake my head against the sting, blinking widely.

  Bottle clutched to my chest, I wipe my nose along the sleeve of my robe, heart breaking for Hilary Swank's character, dressed in her dead husband's clothes, accosted by her insensitive family about her wallowing and, the poor thing, the way she smells. Seriously? Who does she have to shower for? Gerry doesn't care anymore. He's dead. Assholes.

  This movie breaks my soul in two. Makes my heart feel like lead in my chest with the agony of the storyline. I cry every time. No matter how many times I've seen it. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. Not a quiet sniffle either. Not a few drops of tears onto my sad smiling face. No, I ugly cry. You know the one, blotchy skin, hiccupped breathing, snot, blurred vision and puffy eyes. That type of crying. I love it. Call me what you will. I'm a sucker for it.