by Ruby Lang
Her body stretched up slow. “I think you’re a bad influence,” she said, her voice close to his ear.
She put that hand up again and let it hover in the small space between them. They were both watching it carefully. Her finger arrived at his pec, and he let out a grunt as if she’d hit him with a blow to the gut.
“You didn’t stop to chat with my parents. You just came in and swept me away. And they let you get away with it because you fooled everyone. Everyone thinks you’re good.”
“I am good.”
He pulled her dress up and off in one swift movement. He unsnapped her bra ruthlessly in the next, balled up the pretty lace, and tossed it over his shoulder. She shivered, and he blew a breath over her. He loved her breasts. He loved the shallow dip that divided her ribcage so warm and soft, the nap of that skin, the delicate, flared architecture of waist and hip, the alluring shadow of dark hair between her legs. His fingernail traced every line gently, so gently that when he took it away, he pulled a gasp out of her. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you’re so good, why did you make me deviate . . . from my list?”
He grinned. In a sudden movement, he forced his legs between her thighs so that they were now wedged wide to him. He wasn’t quite there, at the center of her, where he knew she wanted him to be. She tried to squeeze herself together and rub herself against him, but she was perched on the edge of a spindly table. She was off-balance, and he liked that.
He leaned down deep and lapped her collarbone, and she arched so far back that her head hit the wall. She grabbed his back for balance and tried to haul herself against him, and finally he let his arms come around her and pressed himself right there, right where she wanted and ached.
She gave a little scream of frustration, and he twitched with suppressed laughter—and some pain.
“Damn you,” she said, before biting right into his shoulder.
That was too much for him. His hips thrust, and the poor yard-sale table gave a dangerous creak. The keys crashed to the floor. In a panic she wound her legs around him.
She was nose to nose with him now, and he felt an unkind grin stretching at his features. “Danger follows me everywhere.”
“You—”
But she kissed him. While their mouths moved together, he pulled her off the rickety table. He backed her against the cold wall, and she gave a startled yelp. He took advantage of her movement to bring his mouth to her breast, then down, down further.
He forced himself to calm down. To slow. Between lazy licks under her breast, he looked up and said, “You know, I think I’m going to start my own list.” His voice was impressively steady. Good. “Because,” he added, “I’ve never eaten anyone out against a wall before.”
She panted. “You don’t seem to need any instruction from me anymore.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m learning. But we’ll see.”
He eased her thighs apart, rubbing his palms against their faint dampness. He wanted to just nuzzle her, to rub his cheeks against the tender inner skin and absorb the sharp scent of her into his pores. But she was already trembling, trying to grip the walls, and she wouldn’t last long. So he pushed his lips against her and licked. She shuddered and sank down slowly. He gripped her thighs with two hands to steady her and sucked and licked again.
She sank lower and so did he.
It was quick after that. Her thighs flinched—just the quickest movement of her skin. He ran his thumbs along the taut grooves of her legs, up that gorgeous swell of her ass as he licked steadily, right there in that delicate spot, the precise point that made her cry out.
They were naked in the front hall on the floor now, her back straight against the wall, her legs clamped over his shoulders. She still wearing one shoe, and it thumped wildly against his back as he pulled and sucked. Then she screamed and he felt her pulse around him, and she gripped him tight between her legs.
The house creaked with its old house noises. But otherwise, it was quiet. Illicit.
He let go of her briefly to scramble for a condom. As he rolled it on, she reached her hand out, traced a line around his pectoral, and dotted his nipple gently, like a kid drawing dirty pictures in class. She was admiring him, and it hurt so damn much to be admired by someone as wonderful as she.
“Can you stand?”
“I can try. I’ve never done this against a wall either. I’m going to write it on my list to cross it off.”
“Don’t overexcite yourself,” he growled.
He pulled her up again. Then in one surge, he was all over her hot skin, nipping at her neck as he rocked against her, or was she working herself on him, up and down, with all the hard and soft pieces of their bodies providing friction and heat. He pushed into her until it felt like he couldn’t go deep enough, and then turned her so that she faced the other way and he bent her down and dug his fingers into her hips.
She slapped her hands on the wall and whimpered. It was such a terrible support. He clamped an arm around her waist and slipped his other hand down between her legs, seeking her clit clumsily and blindly because she was going to have to come again. She had to.
It was enough. She cried out again, arching up, higher and higher until she was almost on the tips of her toes. The blood was surging through him, making him lightheaded, almost incandescent with pleasure and panic. They were going to crash, and he wasn’t going to be able to save her. Her head flew backward almost into his shoulder, and her mouth opened on a silent cry. He groaned. That was all it took. His arms were around her, but he had let go.
• • •
After cleaning themselves up, they stumbled into bed for an afternoon nap. Sarah couldn’t sleep. Jake lay on his stomach, his leg latched through hers as if he knew she was going to try to crawl away. His breaths came deep and long and comforting. She wanted to smooth his hair back, but she couldn’t lift her arm. They had exhausted each other.
Her thoughts were confused, though, and every time she managed to drift, a tickle of worry had her eyes fluttering open. She was glad that he’d taken her away. Yes, she could deal with her parents—it hadn’t been all bad—but sometimes it was so nice not to have to always be the one who said something. Sometimes it was good just to have someone who didn’t think she was overreacting to two harmless-seeming elderly people.
But she just didn’t know what to do with it—what to do with Jake, who was becoming more and more different from the Jake she had known. She was the one who’d told herself she had to change after her cancer scare, but he was the one who was really turning himself inside out—he had taken her words to heart. He was all in.
Was she?
And this afternoon, the way he’d just pulled orgasms out of her, she didn’t know what to do with that—a normal person would just enjoy it. And she had at the time—really, really enjoyed it. A lot.
But now she just couldn’t leave it alone.
Who was he going to be at the end of this? And was he going to need her at the end of it all? She’d tried so hard to become self-sufficient, and now—she was with him, and that whole strained line that connected her to her family was a web. They were so intertwined already—because they’d grown up together, because they were together now.
At one point, he’d draped his arm over her waist, but she’d wriggled free so that she’d feel less bad about tossing and turning. But she didn’t quite want to stop touching him. Even now, she moved her restless foot up and down his calf, feeling the strength, feeling the calm.
For all her bluster about not caring, she had been the one playing along with her parents’ visit and letting them do God knows what to her house and psyche. But he had been willing to cut ties in his life. He’d done the hard stuff. He’d gotten the divorce. He’d been plain and direct with his father. He was willing to face up to it.
She admired him, which was a cold and distant word for what she actually felt. She also felt grateful, which seemed like an even scarier, colder word, full of cringing, and yet that wasn’t how
it was for her either. How she felt was flower petals on her skin and rushing warm lust and this even stronger throb of love somewhere deep in her chest.
He’d been courageous. She wasn’t sure she was brave for all her bravado.
For the first time in a long time, she was going to have to take a hard look at what she wanted—not what she thought she wanted or what she was supposed to want, but what she really wanted.
And she was afraid that it was Jake.
She must have twitched, because Jake’s arm came over her again, pulling her close. He was warm, and he smelled like a little bit like sweat and a little bit like that manly man’s masculine shower gel she’d made fun of him for buying. He was nuzzling her, still mostly dozing, and it made her feel wonderful and miserable at the same time.
But he must have been more awake than she thought, because he said, “Can’t sleep?” and rolled her into a firmer position at his side. He acted like he was not going to let go.
Chapter Sixteen
Jake got Sarah back to the house a little later in the evening than he’d planned. Well, there wasn’t much of a plan. He really had started out wanting to take her to do something new and interesting—something she could cross off that list. Maybe he should feel accomplished that they had done something new, considering exactly how many new things she’d tried (once) over the last months.
Instead, they showered and tried not to look too blissful, lest the gods and/or Sarah’s parents rain judgment upon them. They brought Mulder back with them and put her in the backyard before heading into the house. The furniture was gone from the porch—and no doubt assembled in a new arrangement inside the house—and the smell of cooking permeated the air.
“You’re late,” Mrs. Soon observed as they breezed in.
“We didn’t settle on a time,” Sarah singsonged.
Nonetheless, Jake felt her grip tighten on his arm.
Mrs. Soon watched them but didn’t say much. Her silence sobered him. He’d known Mrs. Soon—Fai Soon—all his life, which only increased his wariness.
They ate efficiently—making their way through piles of greens in relative silence. Jake was going to help Sarah with the dishes when Mrs. Soon held him back.
She led him to the front porch and fixed him with her eye. “Are you planning to marry her?”
Well, that cleared up which tack Mrs. Soon was planning to take. The question was—what did he want? “It’s early. I think we both need to take our time. We’ve only been seeing each other for—”
“You’ve known her for more than thirty years. It is not early. Are you only with her because you’re lonely after your divorce? You think you can have a party with her?”
“A party. That’s what you think. No. I am with her because I want to be with her.”
“You’re using her.”
“If you think that, then you don’t know me. And clearly, you don’t know your daughter well at all.”
She drew back. It seemed he had scored a direct hit. But he felt no pleasure in it. He knew he was lying on some level. He did want to be with Sarah—wake up to her in the mornings and walk the dog with her. He might even want to marry her. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. Sarah wasn’t ready for him. If he asked now, she’d say no and she would cut him right off. Right now, the knowledge that she wasn’t there yet was only a dull ache. But he couldn’t tell her mother that.
“Even your father is dating again. A girl.”
Jake wasn’t aware of all the nuances at play, but the way Mrs. Soon said “dating” and “girl,” drawing out the last consonants, seemed to indicate that she didn’t approve—although whether it was of dating or this particular girl—woman, thirty-something professional physician, he corrected himself—he didn’t know. “Why should it matter that my dad is dating?”
“Well, what would your mother have said?” she murmured to herself.
He considered being flip. He thought about pointing out his father wouldn’t have been with the girl if his mother were there. But Mrs. Soon looked perplexed and thoughtful.
They had been best friends, his mother and Mrs. Soon. He remembered his mother had been glad to have someone to talk to, even though his mom was from Taiwan and Fai Soon was from China. In their birthplaces, it might have made a difference, but together in the United States, they could form a bond. Not that either woman had been shy or retiring. Mrs. Soon talked with people all day at the hardware store, advising them on the best nails to hang drywall and barking on the phone to see if the orders of barbed wire had come in. His mother was a paralegal and had taken an interest in town politics—he seemed to remember a lot of talk between the two about streetlight design.
The illumination of Main Street was as good a thing to cement a friendship as any, he supposed.
“Your dad is a minister. I suppose he knows what he’s doing,” she said. “But it is strange to think of your father with someone other than your mother.”
“For me, too.”
“How do I know you won’t be like that with Sarah? That you’ll forget her if—if something happens to her?”
Fury simmered in Jake’s chest. “So what is it? Am I not good enough for your daughter, or am I too good for her? Make up your mind.”
She didn’t answer. He almost laughed—almost—at the delicate calculations she was trying to make.
“I don’t want her to be hurt.”
“Now you’re protecting her?”
She drew back. Apparently, he could surprise her. But she recovered quickly. “You need to be more respectful.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize—it was conditioning. But anger was boiling in his chest, and he wouldn’t mean it. Sarah wouldn’t have done it. “And here I thought you were going to tell me that I’m too good for her, the way Winston does.”
“No.”
“You say that, but you still don’t know how good she is. You don’t appreciate the value of her.”
“Sarah has not had it easy, but she never made it easy on herself. It could have been different if she did not fight me all the time.”
“So you want her to just roll over and have no opinions and not decide what she wants to do.”
She was indignant. “Of course that’s what I want for her. Having opinions is terrible. It makes you unhappy with everything in the world.”
“You have a lot of opinions.”
“I’m old. I’m allowed. I am hard on her because the world is hard and she needs to learn how to deal with it. What do you know about difficult anyway? Softhearted boy. Your mother was my good friend, but she and your father were too easy on you. Which is why you help people as a job.”
Definitely disdain.
Well, he was getting tired of it from this family. First Winston, now her. “Yes, Mrs. Soon, every day I see how hard the world is and, as you say, I help people for a living. You don’t have to tell me how difficult life can be, because I know something about what it’s like, and I am tired of people like you, Mrs. Soon. So fucking tired. You weren’t the outside world for Sarah. You didn’t need to be hard. But you were. And because you decided you needed to make existence even worse for your kids, you can step back and stop pretending that Sarah needs you, because you never gave her anything. So stop cleaning her house, because it’s not yours. You weren’t even here when she was sick.”
Mrs. Soon recoiled again. “She said she wasn’t that sick. She said she didn’t want us.”
“I don’t blame her. When have you ever been here for her? And now, you wait until she’s recovered, and then you come out here and tell her what to do? I don’t even know what to say to you.”
He didn’t even bother to look at her face. He was far too angry, and he didn’t want to spend any more time on the porch with her. He walked down the steps and around into the backyard. In a minute, he heard the door open, and Sarah stepped out.
She put her hand on his arm briefly, and then it was gone. “I heard everything.”
> He forced himself to sound light. “Even the sexy growling at the end?”
“You know how to make an eavesdropper pay attention, that’s for sure.”
He was silent. He wasn’t sure how she’d taken his words with her mom. She hadn’t wanted to be defended—he’d known that. He’d known that even as he berated her mother.
Jesus. He’d berated Mrs. Soon.
He sneaked a glance at Sarah, but she was turned away from him.
He ventured, “I think I may have even won the argument.”
“She plays the long game.”
“I know. Your mom is kind of a ruthless asshole. A well-meaning, completely horribly misguided, and unrepentant asshole.”
Sarah laughed, but it sounded so sad that his heart made a long, queasy flip. “Not always well meaning,” she said.
He rubbed his face. “It was less satisfying telling her off than I thought it would be. I usually keep myself in check. But I’m angry with her, and I almost feel like rolling around in my anger and going inside and rubbing it all over the furniture. I mean, how have you lived with her for twenty-four hours? How is it even possible?”
“See? Long game. My mom might break you yet.”
Her voice was light, but she still wasn’t looking at him.
“She may have winded me, but I got in a few good ones, too.”
“More than a few.”
Another pause.
She turned very deliberately to him. “You didn’t have to tell her any of that, you know.”
She said this almost wistfully, and his heart gave one loud painful thump.
“But—I hear a but in there.”
“But I also don’t need you to do this.”
“Don’t need or don’t want? Tell me this, Sarah, why am I always trying to draw us nearer and why are you always moving away? Your mom is worried that I won’t care for you, that I won’t be here. But it always seems like the opposite to me. You don’t want to come close.”
“I want to. I want to so much.”
“There’s that but again.”
A pause. “This stuff is more complicated. At a certain point, I have to fight these fights myself. You think you know me and my life—”
