Jagger: A Caldwell Brothers Novel

by Mj Fields

  It’s all gone. The time is gone. It can’t be given back. Time cannot be erased, and the past cannot be changed.

  My mother died protecting me. My father died at the hands of me.

  Standing, I rush to the bathroom, where I throw up. Livi stands in the doorway as I try to fight back the dry heaves. Then she comes over and wets a washcloth and begins soothing me by wiping my face.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “I killed my father. I’ve never laughed until Caldwell’s. I don’t know what family is,” I start rambling all my secrets. “I have pretended not to speak English to avoid the truth. I will probably get sent back to my country, a place I haven’t been to since I was in diapers.”

  “Slow down, sister.”

  “Sister,” I whisper. “I’ve never had one of those. I’ve never had anyone.”

  “Well, you have the Caldwells now. There aren’t a lot of us, but we are growing every day.” She rubs her belly for emphasis and smiles. “You aren’t alone, Tatiana. You also didn’t kill your father. I don’t know what happened, but I do know the Caldwell brothers. There’s no way Jagger would have me here”—she jabs her thumb at her chest—“if you”—she points to me—“killed anyone. Heck, there is no way he would have me over here if you even killed a bug.”

  I give her a half-smile.

  “Get cleaned up. It’s time to talk about one of my favorite things…panties!” She smiles, and I can see in her eyes she genuinely cares for me.

  She exits the bathroom to give me privacy.

  Is that how real families are? Easy acceptance? I’ve read about unconditional love, yet never thought it could be real. I don’t know what love is, but I do know that, in the last six months, Jagger Caldwell has cared more for me than anyone in my entire life. I don’t know how to describe what I feel for him. Just thinking about him has me tied in knots. I crave his time, attention, and touch.

  I clean up and head back out to find that Livi has spread out all sorts of panties on the bed. They are different cuts, different colors, and some even have words!

  She holds up a pair, and I read the letters on the backside: Be in the Moment. She tosses them to me.

  “Today’s special.” She laughs, but I don’t get the joke. “I use my panties for empowerment. The sayings help me remember good things and stay motivated to move forward in the tough times.”

  Holding the fabric in my hand, I get it, so I smile at her. Then I go over and look at the wide array of undergarments: lace bras, silk panties, boy shorts, bikini cuts, and thongs…oh my. I feel like Victoria’s Secret may have vomited the spring catalog on my bed. I have seen the ads when I’ve been online for school. Vicki doesn’t keep much a secret.

  “Livi, is all of this really necessary?”

  “Totally! It’s not about what you wear, Tatiana. It’s how it makes you feel. The pieces closest to your naked body are your bras and panties, so they’ve gotta make you feel good from the beginning. If you have on uncomfortable”—she gasps—“or ugly panties, you won’t feel good, even in a designer dress. Confidence starts from the inside and finds its way out. What’s underneath always matters more than the exterior of anything. Panties are crucial.”

  “Well, okay, then.” I want to add, if you say so, but I don’t. What she says makes sense, even if it sounds crazy. I’m beginning to understand that is simply Olivia Caldwell. I have never cared about clothes before or my undergarments as long as they were clean. Really, it’s not like anyone was going to see me.

  After going over them, she helps me pick out my outfit for my birthday and tells me Jagger will be here to celebrate with me. Apparently someone close to him passed away, so he can’t come see me any sooner.

  My chest literally aches for him. I want to be there to comfort him. I want to know who he lost. I want to know everything and anything about the man who has given me so much.

  Olivia stays for dinner and dessert, during which she opens up and tells me about some of her own secrets. It has been nice not to spend my entire day alone.

  One more night, and then it’s my birthday. My birthday, on which I will finally see Jagger again.

  I settle into bed after soaking in a bath. The silk material of my new nightgown feels like heaven as I wiggle my toes in my slippers. I don’t have to hide them anymore, and I don’t have to sleep in them, but somehow I do at the same time. They have been my piece of Jagger with me every night for all these months. If he can’t be here, then these are the next best thing.

  When the champion song echoes from the nightstand, I pick up the phone and smile on seeing Champion flashing on the screen with a picture of Jagger.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Totty,” he greets. “How was your day?”

  “Interesting. I’m sorry for your loss,” I begin and Jagger stops me.

  “Don’t wanna talk about that tonight, little one. Did you have fun with Livi?”

  I want him to feel like he can talk to me. I don’t want to push and I don’t want to make him sad. For now, I will give him the distraction he seems to be seeking. “She’s crazy!” I laugh. “But in a good way,” I start to explain.

  “Trust me, I know. She’s the best, isn’t she?” His admiration is evident in his tone.

  “You’re the best, Jagger Caldwell.”

  “I’m just a guy who had a momma teach him right, Totty.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  “Thank Momma Caldwell. I’m her legacy.”

  His tattoo immediately dances in my mind. “You’re something else, Jagger.”

  “Family is everything, Totty. It ain’t about blood. It’s about love and standing together on that.”

  “Livi needs panties for that.” I laugh, and he gasps.

  “What? I don’t know that I want to hear about my sister-in-law’s panties.”

  “Consent is”—I pause, my accent suddenly heavy—“fuckin’ required.”

  “What, little one?”

  “Livi gave me panties that say ‘Consent Is Fuckin’ Required.’ I think they are my new favorites.”

  “What do you know about consent and fucking?”

  “I know about good touch and bad touch. I know Livi hasn’t had it easy, and consent wasn’t always given.”

  “Oh, hell, you two definitely had a good day together. I don’t know about this conversation, little one.”

  “Well, I know that tomorrow is my birthday, and I want you to know…” I pause, not sure if I can say the words. “Consent is fucking given.”

  Chapter 15

  Jagger

  It’s a damn good thing, I think to myself as I lie back on the couch in the apartment above the gym. It’s a really damn good thing consent was fucking given because I can’t even hear her voice without nearly busting out of my jeans.

  Regardless, I’m not going to go balls deep, not at first, anyway. She is too damn eager, and that scares the shit out of me. Being raised like I was proved to be hell, but I had Momma, and I had my brothers. She didn’t have shit except an abusive fuck who beat on her. I need her strong—first for her and then for me.

  Some men need to break a woman to build them up the way they want them. I watched my old man break my mom down over and over. When she got stronger, he beat her more, trying his best to own her. I always thought that was just the way it was for some people. I also always knew it wasn’t fucking right.

  You hear shit at school, on TV, or read about how if you were abused, especially men, you will likely be an abuser. Even though Momma stayed—I assume out of the fear she would lose us—and many looked at her with pity, she always took pride in what she had, and what she had was us, her legacy. It was her choice to stay, and the hell she endured made us stronger. Not in the physical sense, but in knowing right from wrong and the loyalty and brotherhood the three of us always had for her and one another. That shit is unbreakable.

  I watched my brothers
and the way they dealt with the girls they were drawn to by something stronger than a need for a fuck or the physical release of pumping come into a warm, available pussy. I never wanted that responsibility. The fear of becoming an abuser by buying into the shit those shrinks and so-called experts spewed did me in. I wasn’t like Hendrix, who could walk away for self-preservation, or Morrison, who would take blow after blow from a drunken fuck like the old man or walk away when he knew it was what was best for someone. I fought back, and when I wanted something, I fought for it too.

  All that changed six months ago when I saw Tatiana cowering in a corner. For six months, I had a need that superseded logic, desire, or reason. I had a need to take care of her the best way I knew how. The best I know how is to make her strong on her own. Then, and only then, will I allow myself to give in to the craving to kiss her, taste her, touch her, everywhere.

  I hear Kid in the kitchenette and stand up, adjusting the semi I got that’s straining my workout pants, and walk around the corner. He catches me out of the corner of his eye and grabs the bottle of pills on the counter, shoving them in the pocket of his sweats.

  He swallows something down and glares at me. “I don’t need a babysitter, Caldwell. You can go.”

  “What did you just take?”

  “None of your business.”

  “They Shaw’s or yours?” I ask as he brushes past me, avoiding answering my question.

  I grab the back of his shirt, and he turns around, swinging and nearly hitting me upside the head.

  “You better be quicker than that, motherfucker,” I snap at him.

  “Don’t ever grab me from behind, Caldwell. As a matter of fact, don’t ever grab me again,” he snaps back.

  “How do you think he’d feel if he knew you were popping his pills?”

  “He’d understand I’d had enough and needed some fucking sleep.” He turns and storms to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  “Fuck this.” I look at my watch, seeing it’s eleven o’clock at night. I yell, “You have my number, man. Keep in mind, he thought a whole hell of a lot of you, so don’t disrespect him, dead or alive! We have a service to plan, so you better be ready to do that when I come back!”

  I grab my keys and my hoodie and head out the door, needing to blow off some steam. I open the door to the gym, throw off my shirt, and hit the elliptical.

  I need to get my head on straight. I need to grieve, protect, and move the fuck on.

  Life is sometimes a shit storm, and today is one of those days.

  Five miles in, I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. I see her.

  —

  I look down at my watch. It’s five till midnight. I have flowers in my hand and a fucking Happy Birthday balloon with a little fucking pink unicorn. They seriously need a better selection at the corner store. A fucking unicorn? I should just pop the bitch, but I don’t. I resume pacing. Four minutes and twenty seconds left.

  When it’s finally time, I hit the door harder than I expected, three times, but shit happens. Nothing, no answer, so I grab my key card out of my pocket and swipe it. Then I open the door and immediately understand why she didn’t hear me.

  Rock-hard isn’t nearly a strong enough phrase to explain what it feels like to see Tatiana sitting in a tank top and slippers with her long brown hair piled in a sloppy bun on top of her head, a bag of microwave popcorn between her legs that are twisted in a pretzel, and her jaw nearly unhinged as she sits on the floor, looking up at the television.

  Each moan that comes from the television, each groan or sexual sound that comes from the speakers makes her cheeks flush. Hell, she even covers her mouth.

  I decide it is a hell of a lot safer to simply lean back and observe her as she watches Skin-A-Max than to walk within arm’s reach of the girl who already gave me verbal consent to fuck her.

  When the man on the screen gives the girl a facial, she gasps, covers her mouth, and giggles. Fuck. It’s priceless, but it also makes me even harder if that’s possible.

  “Oh my God,” she says when the credits start rolling, and she stands to turn off the TV. “Wow, just—”

  “That good, huh?” I chuckle.

  She jumps ten feet in the air, popcorn flying everywhere as she screams.

  “Shit, little one. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Have you ever seen anything like that?” she gasps, pointing to the TV.

  I don’t respond, only look at her.

  Her mouth slowly falls open. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

  I clear my throat before I speak. “Happy birthday, Totty.”

  She looks at the clock, then back at me as I walk over and hand her the white roses and the balloon.

  “For me?” A smile that could bring daylight to the midnight sky spreads across her face.

  “Of course for you.”

  She takes them and smells the flowers, then lays them on the table, pushes herself up on her toes, grabs my sweatshirt, and lays her soft, full lips on mine.

  “I would have gotten you more, but I hadn’t planned on showing up until morning,” I mumble as she rubs her lips across mine.

  “Good touch,” she whispers with a wink.

  “Yeah, that’s good touch.”

  “You’re good touch, Jagger Caldwell.”

  I pull back, and she runs her fingers over her lips.

  “That feels good, right?”

  She looks at me in confusion.

  “Your fingers on your lips, little one. That feels good.”

  As she nods and looks down at my bulging erection, her face flushes. She glances up into my eyes and then back down before she licks her lips and starts to kneel.

  Quickly I grab her arm. “Come up here. Eyes on me.” I lift her chin so she’s looking at me. Then I rub my thumb across her lips. “That feels good.”

  “I want more,” she says with no hint of shyness in her voice. It makes me chuckle, and she smiles softly. “I want you.”

  I am in predator mode. With one wrong move, she will get exactly what she’s asking for and then some. With one wrong move, I will never get back this moment and the ability to give her strength.

  I take her hand and groan. “Come with me.”

  She follows behind as I move to sit on the couch. She sits on my lap, and I groan again when the buck-ten she is pushes against my dick. I hoist her up, throw my leg on the couch, and drop her between my legs. My dick is still pushing against her, but not the damp fabric covering her sweet little pussy.

  My prey.

  I pull her head back against my shoulder, and she looks up at me. “I’m eighteen, Jagger.”

  “I know, Totty.”

  “I gave you consent.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Unable to control myself, I lean down and kiss her hard on the mouth. I seek entrance aggressively with my tongue, and her lips fall apart, giving it to me. I taste her, tease her, suck her, and lick her.

  I am feeding.

  “Mmm,” she moans, and I growl in response.

  She lies back and maneuvers herself so her back is on one of my arms and she is looking up at me. “More,” she whispers in a sultry rasp.

  While I rub my tongue up and down hers slowly, but with more pressure, her arm crosses her body, and her hand seeks my cock. She moves her fingers lightly up and down the fabric, and I feel the knowing burn.

  I continue sucking her tongue as I take her hand in mine and place it on her sweet little tits. I can’t feel them since her hand is my shield and my tool to show her how to feel.

  I lead them in a slow circle, and she whimpers into my mouth. Then I squeeze my hand around hers, and she cries out, “Again.”

  I regretfully pull my mouth away and look into her glassy, lust-filled eyes. “Show me, little one. Show me what you like. Show me what you want.” When her hand moves to my dick again, I capture it and bring it to my mouth, kissing, licking, and nibbling on it. “Tell me what you
are feeling.”

  “Heat,” she whimpers.

  “Where, little one?”

  “Everywhere,” she says, and I seize her lips again. As I kiss her, I set her hand on her tit.

  “Show me,” I say against her ear.

  “Here,” she says, looking me in the eye as she lifts her shirt.

  “I want you to touch them, find out what you like best, and tell me exactly what it feels like.” She hesitates. “Show me.”

  “I’ve never…” She bites her bottom lip. “Not in front of anyone. What if I’m doing it wrong?”

  “If it feels good, it’s not wrong.” I reassure her.

  She rubs her hand across like I did and then harder. Then she looks down at her little pebbles. It hurts, I can tell. I want to ease that. I take her hand to my mouth and lick her fingers, then set them on her tit.

  “Squeeze gently.” She looks confused. “Show me, Tatiana. Show me.”

  She squeezes her dark-red little nubs and cries out again, confusion showing on her face.

  “Don’t you fucking stop, little one. Show me more.”

  And she does.

  With her eyes glued to mine, she tweaks, rubs, pulls, and cries out. She lifts her fingers to my mouth, and I give her what she wants. I suck them, and then she continues.

  “So sexy, Tatiana. So fucking beautiful.”

  As she looks up and tilts her head, something flashes in her eyes, in her expression.

  “Little one, I have never seen a woman more beautiful.” I lean down and kiss her.

  Her breath becomes shallower, and I fucking know she is on edge. She just needs a little something more.

  I take her hand and slowly run it down her stomach. Using my finger to lift the waistband of her panties, I then guide her hand under them, and she gasps. I move our hands up and down slowly at first, and she tenses as her eyes open wide. Then her legs start to close, and she pulls her hand away.