by M. S. Parker
I barely even noticed when he stopped. I did notice when he kissed me, though, his lips rubbing against mine. "What am I going to do with you, Michelle?" he murmured.
Lashes fluttering up, I found him still watching me. "Do you know how hard it is to carry these things inside me and have them come spilling out the way they just did? It's...awful. It's humiliating."
"The shame isn't yours," Jake said quietly. "It belongs to somebody else. To the bastard who hurt you, to the people who didn't stand by you. It's not yours."
"It feels like mine," I whispered.
Jake was quiet for a long time, then in a low tense voice, he said, "I killed my mother, Michelle."
I jolted in surprise.
His eyes caught and held mine as I lifted onto my elbows to stare at him.
"I got drunk. I...hell, I don't even know what happened." Now the lines of strain bracketing his face, the tension inside of him made him seem like the one who would break. "I was eighteen, at a party. We'd been drinking. I remember walking to the car with friends. It wasn't my car. I didn't have one. My parents did okay, but they weren't rich. I don't even know how my mother ended up there, unless somebody called her...maybe I did, I don't know. All I do know is that I woke up in the hospital handcuffed to a bed, and they told me she was dead and I was responsible."
He eased me away from him and sat up, staring at the far wall. "I'm an ex-con. One of the reasons I got into this was because it was too damn hard to find any other work. This is something I just fell into."
Out of all of the things I expected to hear him say, that was the last. Slowly, I sat up, curling my knees to my chest and hugging them. What I wanted to do was hug him, but he sat so...set apart, almost locked in on himself
As if sensing my gaze, he looked back at me, eyes shuttered.
"I'm still the same man I was when I walked in here," he said gruffly. "But now you know the weight I'm carrying. My shame is mine. I was the dumbass who went to a party and got drunk...everything that happened after?"
With a shrug, he looked away. "We all have shit in our past. But you didn't do anything to ask for what happened to you, Michelle. It was done to you." He got up, twisting around to kneel in front of the bed, watching me with raw, naked emotion. "You know more about me now than almost anybody. Does it change anything between us? Should I leave?"
The sheer challenge of his words was what inspired my answer and there was only one thing I could do or say. I sat the rest of the way up and threw one leg over his hips. Then, still not speaking, I cupped his face in his hands and bent low to press my mouth to his. "No," I said against his lips. "You're still the same person you were five minutes ago."
His hands closed around my wrists, blue eyes burning into mine. Our faces were close, so close our breaths could have been one. "You're the same woman you were when I walked in the door, Michelle. Stubborn, strong, sweet..." He slid one hand through my hair, tangled it. "And beautiful. Whatever happened to you...it happened to you. You didn't cause it."
His mouth spasmed, and he said gruffly, "Sometimes bad shit happens because of choices we made, but sometimes it happens to others. That's you, Michelle. Don't blame yourself or feel guilty, baby."
Seventeen
Michelle
On my way out the door, I paused by the bathroom and added a bit of lip gloss and mascara, twice as much makeup as I normally wore. The outfit was new...well, kind of. It had been hanging in my closet with the tags still on since the end of year clearance last winter. The sweater dress, combined with tights and knee-high boots was both warm and cute, two things that didn't always work together when you fell into that round and petite category, like me.
The rich, deep blue glowed against my skin, and I thought maybe the color was one of my better ones. It was definitely better than the typical black and gray I had been wearing for so long.
For a brief moment, I studied my reflection and wondered why I had gone to the extra trouble. All I was doing was having lunch with my aunt.
But it really hadn't felt like trouble.
And I looked nice.
Aunt Blair was always getting on me about dressing up a little bit more for our girl dates. I'd surprise her.
So what if it was just a pretty blue sweater dress and a lip gloss? And mascara. A pair of knee boots that showed off the fact that while I might be a bit on the plump side, I definitely had some killer curves.
Grinning at myself, I decided I'd have to wear the sweater dress for Jake sometime. Or maybe one of the other outfits I'd bought and hadn't ever worn outside my house after trying it on at the store and thinking, if only.
I'd had all sorts of if only moments come true with Jake.
I might as well enjoy every single last one of them now.
The taxi ride to the restaurant took fifteen minutes and cost far more than a subway ride would have. Granted, it wasn't like I needed to worry about money. I had a trust fund from my grandma that allowed me that plush apartment in New York City, and I didn't even have to work another job as I built my freelance career.
But that didn't mean I should be careless with money.
Still, I hadn't ever gotten use to the subway.
One of my first excursions had resulted in me getting lost, and I'd never been able to quite convince myself that future trips would be better. Still, I was thinking more and more about asking Blair if she'd go ahead and show me the ropes as she'd offered to do more than once...twice.
I asked her after we ordered, and she was so surprised, she'd dropped her fork. It hit her plate with a clatter that she barely even noticed.
"Okay, honey, you have got to tell me what is going on with you." She clasped her hands under her chin and pinned a hard, penetrating look on me, even as a bewildered smile curved her lips.
I stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"You're all dolled up." She waved a hand at me. "You did your hair. I have to beg you to do something more than a ponytail for the Christmas party at the magazine, for pity's sake, darling. You're wearing make-up and you came strutting in here in those adorable boots like you owned the place. By the way..." Her lips curved in a smile. "I approve."
Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I wished I'd done something more than lip gloss and mascara – foundation or powder would have dulled the rush of color that suddenly flushed my cheeks. "Aunt Blair..."
But she continued, unfazed. "You didn't come scurrying in here the way you so often do. I know you're shy, it's okay. But, today...it's like it's a different you. It's the you that I've always known was buried in there. I just want to know...what brought this out?"
"I scurry?" I demanded. "Seriously? You make me sound like a mouse."
Aunt Blair caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands. "I look like a mouse, don't lie."
"Oh, honey." Aunt Blair leaned in closer and wrapped her arm around me. "It's okay. You're not a mouse. You moved to New York, for crying out loud. Mice don't do that. But you are shy, and you've always been quiet. Some things come more naturally to others. For others, it's harder. But today...well, it's like there's a new you." A delighted smile curved her lips. "What's going on with you? Are you...honey, are you seeing somebody?"
"No," I said, laughing a little. As if, I thought to myself. But my mind drifted to Jake, and I wondered what she would think if I told her I had been having sex with the King of Multiple Orgasms. I had no doubt she would gape at me. Full out gape...her jaw would drop and she'd stare...
No.
She'd be positive she hadn't heard me right.
That was the most likely reaction.
Some impish part of me wanted to say it just to see which one it was.
But that was a terrible reason to do anything, I told myself. Wasn't it?
As she continued to watch me, I said, "No." I even forced my voice to be quite firm. "I'm not seeing anybody."
It wasn't even a lie. Jake and I had a sex thing going on. She was t
alking about a relationship. That definitely didn't describe what was going on between me and Jake, did it?
Aunt Blair nodded slowly, and I could tell she believed me but there was still that small part of me that wanted to mention Jake. And I realized it was because I wanted to talk to her about him. I wanted to ask her about what she thought, see what she had to say...not just because I wanted a reaction either.
What would she think about him? I knew what I thought about him. My heart clenched a little bit when I thought about him and that wasn't just sex.
Other things clenched that were related to sex, but it was completely and totally possible to feel a dozen different things and all of them be real and valid. I didn't even think this was because of something as simple as infatuation either. I'd felt that before, the pangs of a crush, that keen edge that almost felt like obsession, but not quite.
This was...different.
"So," Aunt Blair said, seemingly unaware of my distracted thoughts. "So maybe you're not dating anyone right now. But are you ready to think about dating? Because I was thinking that there is somebody I'd love to introduce you to. He's one of the copy editors, and he seems like just your–"
"No." Cutting her off, I shook my head. "No blind dates. I love you dearly, Aunt Blair, and I know you mean well, but I'm so not into the blind date idea."
She threw her head back and laughed. "Okay, okay. Maybe you're not a brand-new Michelle after all." She leaned over and hugged me. "That's good. Because I absolutely adore you."
I hugged her back, warm inside. "I love you too."
"Now, let's talk about the next article you're going to write." She wagged her eyebrows at me, grinning. Delight sparked in her gaze. "Tell me...do you have any ideas?"
It wasn't until I got home that I really let myself start to think about what had transpired earlier. Aunt Blair and I had come home on the subway, which had been enough of a distraction to keep me from thinking about much of anything else. Including Jake...and my feelings for him.
I did have feelings for him.
But I'd rather think about them when I was alone, not while experiencing the New York subway system. And it was an experience. One that a person had to truly...well, experience themselves to understand.
I hadn't gotten lost this time, although that was because of Aunt Blair, I had no doubt. Near the end of the ride, a group of gentlemen all dressed in dressy black slacks, suspenders and black bowlers got up and started singing.
Once we'd disembarked, Aunt Blair told me that wasn't exactly the normal ride, but it did happen.
She also assured me what happened earlier wasn't exactly normal either.
That, in my opinion, was a plus.
I'd give up the snazzy singers in their excellent hats if I didn't have to witness two women getting ready to brawl because one had talked to the sky and the other woman hadn't liked it.
"Typical New Yorkers ignore crazy," Aunt Blair had said with a sniff. "It's what we do."
She'd been irate that the second woman had been irritated by the woman talking to nothing. In truth, the woman who'd been talking to nothing hadn't been hurting anybody. She'd just been...talking.
And...odorous.
But harmless.
Hell, I often talked to myself too. Just not in public. At least I hoped I didn't.
I'd assured my aunt that I knew all about the rules when it came to ignoring things. After all, I'd lived in the city for years now. I'd learned to ignore plenty.
Now, sitting in the living room of my loft apartment, I studied the subway map without really seeing it.
I was thinking about Jake.
More specifically, I was thinking about Jake and me. Why had he told me about his past? He'd glanced over a great deal, my gut told me, but he hadn't needed to tell me anything. Why had he?
And why had I told him about my past?
Because I trusted him, I realized. Because I trusted him, and I'd wanted him to know. I wanted him to understand.
And he had. More, he had cared.
But what did it mean anyway? And what did we have?
It was more than sex...wasn't it?
Eighteen
Jake
"This is what some might call an afternoon delight."
Michelle sat in front of me, utterly naked, save for the heels I'd found in her closet. I'd found a few other things that were sexy as hell, but I no longer wondered why she tended to shroud herself in black and gray. It was an intent to draw attention away from herself.
I could tell her it didn't work.
With that sweet smile and that beautiful hair, her eyes, she could stand in the shadows of a room surrounded by butterflies and people would notice her – I sure as hell would.
But if it made her feel safer, who was I to take her blanket away?
What I wanted to do was make her feel secure enough to not need the blanket. And somehow, I'd talked her into sitting down on the couch, wearing nothing but the heels I'd asked her to wear while I fed her a piece of Death by Chocolate from a restaurant that served some of the best desserts in town.
She blushed as I slid the fork between her lips.
"I know what you're thinking," I said, winking at her. "You're thinking an afternoon delight would be if I had you spread out under me while I licked my way down your chest, all the way to your pussy, maybe back up again before I sank my dick inside you."
Her blush burned even brighter, and I was tempted to say to hell with the game. But while I'd been teaching her all about sex and sexuality, something we hadn't done enough of was play.
I wanted her to know how to play and have fun with sex. With herself and with her lovers. No, lover, a part of me thought, greedy with her. Selfish, even. The thought of her being with somebody else was enough to piss me off which was ridiculous, considering what I did for a living – and how I met Michelle in the first place.
Forcing my thoughts back to the matter at hand, I cut off another piece of the rich, chocolatey dessert and fed it to this gloriously blushing woman. "Don't worry...we're getting to that part." I licked a bit of chocolate from the fork, staring into her eyes as I did so. "See, when you took the first bite of this, you moaned, and I wondered if you would. I've heard people compare this particular dessert to having sex and a few have even said it's better than sex. The way you moaned reminded me of how you sound when I'm inside you. I'm seducing you, even now." Still watching her, I carefully trailed the fork down the slope of her breast. When it reached the tip, I circled the delicate flesh. "I would say you're already wet."
She squirmed a little on the couch. "Are you trying to embarrass me or just turn me on?"
Leaning in, I pressed my mouth to her ear. "How turned on are you?"
She surprised me by turning her face until our mouths almost met. "I'm not sure I can even quantify that."
"Quantify..." I closed the distance between us and licked her lips, tasting rich chocolate and sweet woman. "How in the hell can you make a word like that sound so fucking sexy?"
Then I kissed her, pouring all the hunger I felt into it as I blindly reached out and put the plate down.
The dessert was almost gone anyway.
The fork ended up falling to the floor with a clatter that neither of us cared about as I rolled forward, spilling her onto the couch while I settled between her naked thighs.
I still wore my suit.
As she reached for me, I guided one hand to the fly and zipper of my pants. "I want to be inside you...right now. Make it happen, Michelle."
Her hands shook as she freed me from the trousers. I could feel the tremor, but she didn't pull back right away and cede control to me. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around my cock and stroked me from tip to root and back, over and over.
That wasn't what I wanted, but I'd be damned if I took that away from her.
Sliding a hand up her thigh, I cupped her cunt and pushed one finger inside. A sharp cry ripped from her, her body arching up under mine.
"I love the sounds you make...the way you move," I whispered against her lips. "And I love it when you come."
Putting the words into action, I pivoted my wrist and added a second finger, working her to a quick, hard climax. Then, before I ended up coming all over her, I caught her wrist and jerked it up over her head, away from me – before I lost it.
Without pause, I thrust deep inside her and slammed my mouth down on hers.
It took...maybe five seconds to realize she wasn't responding.
In fact, she was frozen under me.
Tearing my mouth from hers, I looked down and saw her wide, startled eyes. Tension emanated from her, bordering on fear. And the knuckles of the hand I had pinned over her head were white, bloodless. As if her skin had suddenly become scalding hot, I let go.
"Fuck...fuck, Michelle, I'm sorry." I pulled back.
She shook her head, as if coming out of a fugue and reached for me. "No," she said, her voice breathless, nearly soundless. "Don't...please don't leave me."
The words were broken.
Harsh.
"No." Cupping her face in my hands, I kissed her. The bruising hunger I'd felt earlier had vanished. Now, I felt an ache, a pain that went straight through to my soul, but I couldn't explain that. I could fix this though. Maybe. A little. I kissed her again, soft and slow before murmuring against her lips. "No, I won't leave you."
Slowly, bit by bit, she relaxed against me, under the soft, gentle kiss, and I shifted on the wide couch, rolling until my back was against the cushions. I couldn't penetrate as deep this way, but that was the whole point – I couldn't pin her down either, couldn't hurt her, scare her.
Don't go there, King, I warned myself.
Rocking against the cradle of her thighs, I slid a hand between us, seeking out the stiff, swollen bud of her clitoris. She was still slick and tight around me, the arousal still there.
