Hurrying back to the desk, she set the mug aside and reached for her phone. Opening their message, she clicked on his picture and then fingered the screen to enlarge the image. Blown up, she studied every gorgeous inch. It didn’t hurt that the snap was of just his stomach, groin, and the tops of his thighs.
The ache between her legs intensified.
Examining the well-defined V disappearing into his briefs, she took a couple of moments to admire what she could see of his muscled torso. The man was built, no doubt about it. His skin was also deeply tanned … Arizona, remember? That small nugget of information explained a lot. Like why he was always so buff and bronzed.
Her eyes admired the sturdy thighs covered with light-colored hair that were casually spread wide. Typical man-pose. But the bulge demanding attention? That was far from typical.
Brody Jensen was the fucking Clark Kent of hot guys. Unassuming, the bookish loner played the college instructor part with ease. Clean-cut and button-down, he was the epitome of a modern educator. Conservative, just like her, he drove a bland sedan and carried an old leather satchel that, judging by the looks of it, had been through a lot. Nothing about his public persona even so much as hinted at the virile masculinity hidden out-of-sight.
Clark Kent, indeed. The guy was, as her mom liked to put it, built like a brick shithouse. She wasn’t quite sure what brick shithouses had to do with drool-worthy men, but whatever. It was a cool expression and summed up her odd attraction to the enigmatic English teacher with the secret second life.
CHECKING HIS WATCH, Brody smirked when he saw the time. Almost three. Perfect. Somehow, he’d managed to get some shit done while he kept Heather on pins and needles.
Not sure when she’d amble back on campus after the semester break, he’d made a ten-minute visit to the college on Christmas Eve and let himself into her office. Had it technically been breaking and entering? Sure. But a locked door was hardly an impediment. Not for him.
He’d taken the purple pad from his jacket pocket and carefully placed it right in the center of her desk … noting at the same time what was scribbled on the desk calendar. He shrugged off that he found nothing important because he knew her, and important or not, she’d end up at work before the break was up because she was a lot like him. In the absence of a personal life, what you ended up doing was working.
Afterward, he simply waited to see how long before she figured out he was back and whether she still wanted him.
Was he been surprised when the picture of the panties stuffed in her purse appeared in a message? Shit. She always surprised him. Their entire involvement was beyond fucked-up and about as weirdly mental as it could get and still claim to be in the realm of normal.
In every way that mattered, she’d become his refuge. A personal sanctuary from the darkness in his head. Being with Heather reconnected the dots inside him. Had he been a dick by clinging to that silent loner bullshit well past its sell-by date? Yeah, but old habits were hard to break down. Or justify. Especially considering they’d been sleeping together for three years.
Tossing a pile of clothes he’d rescued from the floor into a big wicker hamper, he let out a troubled sigh. Sleeping together was a polite way of saying they fucked each other’s brains out. No goddamn sleeping was involved. What they had was purely physical—almost animalistic at times.
He wasn’t stupid. They both had some serious and very fucked-up demons nipping at their heels. The sex started as a way of dealing with all that shit. And the silence? It was mutual. She didn’t want to yammer at him any more than he wanted to share his every thought.
But along the way, something was changing. For him. He actually trusted her and that was saying a lot. Outside of Justice, he didn’t do trust. But … miraculously, Heather was the exception. And now look where they were. He was sending cards and acting like a crushing teenager.
Oh yeah, and he was fantasizing about this woman being part of his future.
What the fucking fuck? If he was serious about that, he’d better find the balls to open their relationship up, and quickly. Because time was moving on and in six months, when the spring term ended, he’d be leaving Maryland behind to start a new life thousands of miles away.
At exactly three o’clock, he texted her. Just one word. Continue …
It was playtime.
Bzzz. Heather jumped half a foot when her phone vibrated. Holding her breath, she read his message and swallowed hard. Continue …
Carefully peeling the top note off the purple pad, she added it to the others on her desk. They told a story. A tale of her seduction. A shiver of excitement danced along her nerve endings.
The next note almost made her vapor lock.
Come to me. A drawing of a car was in the corner. She glanced sharply at the clock. How fast could she get across town?
Driven by powerful urges, she hurriedly stuffed what was important into her bag, turned off the lights, pushed the flimsy knob lock on her office door, and headed out of the building. Carefully making her way along the freshly shoveled walkway, she avoided the obvious icy patches and made for her car. If she could have sprinted to the parking lot and not drawn any attention to what she was doing, she would have.
As she walked along, instead of frowning as winter caressed her thighs and bottom, she welcomed the frigid air. Hours of waiting helped fuel an inferno between her legs, which definitely benefitted from some cooling off.
Throwing her stuff onto the passenger seat, Heather tore off her coat … it was too bulky to drive in … and hurriedly sank onto the frozen leather seat. Okay, so she was in the car, door locked and engine on. She’d followed directions and could go to the next note.
Peeling the top away, she whimpered as his next directive appeared.
Are you wet? He drew a naughty index finger raised in a sexy salute.
Was he kidding? Of course, she was wet! Making her wait and wonder for hours pretty much guaranteed she’d be dripping. And now, he wanted her to touch herself. Frankly, she wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. It had been six months since they’d been together. He knew damn well that once they started, after waiting so long, it wouldn’t take more than a few swipes across her clit to lose herself.
A bit of defiance wrapped in aching need made her peel off the top note and go straight to the next.
Don’t deny me. You know what I want. The doodle was of a wide chest, arms crossed.
Damn. He knew her too well. Knew she’d try to cut corners. He also knew when he took control, she’d willingly submit. Groaning helplessly, she checked her surroundings and assured that she wasn’t in anyone’s line of sight, Heather slid her hand beneath her skirt as she scooted her butt forward to the edge of the seat. With her head on the backrest and thighs spread, she let one finger drift softly along the seam of her lips.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned. Wet didn’t quite do justice to what she found. A thick slickness clung to lips that parted easily when her finger headed for home. If she got anywhere near the tight bundle of nerves that governed her response, she was doomed, so giving in to his demand without any extras, she held her breath and pushed the finger deep.
She swallowed and twitched. “Oh, my god.” He was killing her.
Not lingering, she withdrew the finger slick with her arousal and swiftly went to the next note.
Taste good? That was an easy one to fulfill. Sucking her middle finger into her mouth, she tasted nothing but excitement. But there was no doodle as a clue. Should she go to the next note? What do I do? She examined the note again. Nope. No clue.
Thump, thump, thump. Her heart beat so heavily, she almost started to panic. Aware that she was losing it, Heather sagged against the seat and released all the air in her lungs. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly and deeply. Hanging on to the breath, after a few seconds, she let it go … repeating the process until she felt less frazzled. Less likely to spiral out of control.
Think, lady, think.
Okay. Her mind cleared.
He asked a question, right? Well, a question needs an answer. She’d text and then wait for his response.
Nervous fingers opened their message and then she hesitated. Something was different about this, and she didn’t just mean that he’d appeared out of nowhere. Worry. Excitement. Both ran riot inside her.
Yes.
Why did her fingers shake while typing three simple letters?
His answer came swiftly. Continue …
Her breath caught and she shook off the feeling that whatever was on the next note was some sort of foretelling. She was about to look into the future and nothing ever scared her more.
A cynical sounding snort filled the air. She, Heather Clarke, had a unique relationship with fear, having spent so much of her life embroiled in a personal terror that eventually fried her soul. Being scared only made her heart thump erratically. Groaning, she peeled the note free; she shut her eyes against whatever awaited her and took another deep breath. On the count of three, her eyes snapped open.
Three … two … one …
Missed You.
Whoa. Her head wobbled on a neck suddenly struggling to hold her up. She looked at the words he’d written again.
Missed you.
Oh. Um …
Then she noticed the doodle. It was two clocks showing the time three minutes apart. He wanted her to wait three minutes and then continue. An avalanche of messy emotions came tumbling into her thoughts. Crying was definitely a possibility. She might secretly have wanted Brody to miss her, but it was the last thing she needed.
When the three minutes were up, she ripped the note off like she would a Band-Aid and stopped dead.
Miss me? The doodle was of a keypad. He asked a question and wanted a direct answer. She froze, struggling to keep it together.
The frost on the driver’s door window sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight. A steady stream of warm air came from the vents. Those two things were complete opposites, yet here they were, right in front of her eyes, together. A little like her feelings for Brody.
Of course, she missed him. As fucked-up as their relationship was, he was still important to her, but she’d been clear about one thing when she went into this. It was just sex. Nothing emotional. She had to keep it that way no matter how much she longed for something more. She couldn’t make it about her because that wouldn’t be fair to him. When all bets were in, she’d always be on the outside. Nothing could change that she was horribly damaged—mind, body, and spirit—and had nothing to bring to a relationship.
The thought of lying or pretending, though, never got any traction. How could it? She might not be able to nurture a real, adult relationship, but that didn’t stop her from opening the door to trust. And with Brody, she trusted him completely. For that reason alone, she knew only the truth would work. She’d deal with the consequences on the other side.
‘I did,’ she typed. Her finger hovered over the SEND box. “Please don’t let this be a mistake,” she whispered.
The reply came so fast she jumped. Then come. Prove it.
She almost laughed. Almost. She was sparring with an English teacher, and he’d chosen his words with delicious intent. Did he want her to come and prove it … or come … and then prove it? Clever.
If she were the adventurous type, this would be fun. But so far, he’d claimed her panties, made her wait for hours and then made her touch herself … all for what? First, the card, and now, what felt like a declaration. He’d missed her. Where was this going and why was she still playing along?
Texting ‘Continue?’ she waited. This time, it took long minutes for him to respond. Was he also questioning what the hell they were doing? This was dangerous territory for two people who’d made such a thing out of not getting emotionally involved.
Across town, Brody sat on the edge of his sofa, his forearms resting on his thighs as he hunched over the phone clutched in his hands.
A big part of him couldn’t believe what he was doing … or that she was responding. He’d set something in motion that was going to have a profound effect. On both their lives.
Should he continue? Man, he better be fucking sure before answering. And just like that, with one thought, he was back in the war.
Stillness came over him … familiar and disturbing all at once. Reminded him of laying motionless, staring through a scope. Eyes on target, he’d push everything else away. Totally focused, his senses on lockdown, the only thing he’d let in was the calm murmur of his spotter feeding an endless stream of information into his ear piece.
That was how this felt. As if his finger was paused over the trigger as information poured into his consciousness. Being sure of what he was doing drove every waking moment of his existence back then, so it wasn’t all that difficult to revisit the habit now.
Admitting he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing was the easy part now that he’d thrown in the towel on keeping Heather on the back burner. He knew he wasn’t ready to walk away from her. And that it would be a complete dickhead move to fool around with her over the upcoming months knowing he would be leaving. For good.
Shit was changing in his life; there was no doubt about that. And he wanted Heather to be part of those changes.
Time to let the safety off and see what happened.
Deciding he rather liked this game, he imagined turning it into a naughty scavenger hunt. Shit. There was a worthy scenario with very definite possibilities, but first, he needed to focus on what was right in front of him.
She was probably freaking out about how long it was taking him to answer. He smiled. Couldn’t be helped. Messing with her just a little seemed like a challenge and a half, so he slowly typed, ‘If you think you can handle it, drive to the crossroads and text me.’
He tried to imagine her reaction to the wicked taunt. She’d already confessed to being aroused. Wet, he believed was how she phrased it. Reminding her of his uh, girth … was a bit self-serving but a guy had to use whatever was in his sex arsenal. Right? And having a serious shlong that was more thick than branch-like was most definitely one of his blessings.
Brody laughed when her response came through. ‘Recalculating …’
Yeah, Heather Clarke was fucking awesome.
WHAT AM I doing?
No, seriously. What the hell am I doing?
Her mind was crowded with questions and all of them led to one place. What the goddamn fuck am I doing?
Who knew? She sure as hell didn’t. That damn Christmas card was a glitch in the matrix or something. She felt like Dorothy wandering the yellow brick road with no idea what awaited her at the end. Where the hell were they headed?
Realizing she was driving like a maniac in her haste to be with him, Heather slowed down and paid attention before she slid off the slippery roads and spent an evening in a ditch. Instead of under Brody while he …
Snap out of it. Pay attention!
Ha! What a joke. Having her go to the crossroads was deliberate—she was sure of it. Before he left last time, they’d met up at that spot. Leaving her car parked in the lot of an apartment building, she’d gone to his only to end up rather aggressively taking her pleasure right there where anyone could have come upon them. Though the fuckfest continued long into the evening, it all started at the crossroads. He’d stared at her face the entire time she rode him, claiming her mouth at the end when she’d come undone and a scream threatened. That time was all about her, and her complete loss of control obviously pleased him. He’d know that having her return to that spot was going to turn her on. Big time.
Oblivious to everything around her, she quite literally Tokyo-drifted her car on the slippery road surface into a parking spot at the crossroads. Slamming it into park, she hastily texted.
‘Continue?’
‘Indeed,’ was the reply.
She ripped the top note away and read on.
I plan to be inside you 10 seconds after you arrive
Holy shit. Her heart was beating wildly, and the ache betwe
en her legs became full-on agony.
This is how it’s going to happen …
Oh, god. Okay. Dot-dot-dot, that meant continue. On the next note were instructions.
The door is unlocked. Leave EVERYTHING in the living room before you come to me. Text when you’re naked and ready.
With her carnal autopilot engaged, she peeled out of the parking lot and made it the last few miles to Brody’s building in record time. She took nothing with her when getting out of the car, except her phone, and had to backtrack from the sidewalk to lock her stuff up when it dawned on her that she was getting ahead of herself.
Safety first. Old habit. One she’d never let die. Hard or otherwise. It wasn’t until she was in the elevator going up to his floor before reason intervened. Checking her reflection in the polished steel walls, what struck her first were her eyes and unmistakably swollen lips. One could only do so much lip chewing. Beyond that, she looked like she always did. Conservative. Professional. And horny times a million.
She heard her boot heels tapping on the floor as she approached the apartment. She never questioned whether she’d go to him. She had to. And not just to satisfy a craving. He drew her in—that was the only way to explain the last three years. Knowing that he wanted her, what else could she do?
Apartment 403. Unlocked. When she was on the other side of the door with it closed and secured, she stopped and let his scent invade her senses. He smelled of something with a hint of spice and a double helping of m-a-n.
Tugging off her boots, she wiggled out of her dress, draping it over the back of the sofa. The stockings were next. Preferring thigh-highs to pantyhose, she quickly peeled them down her legs, conspicuously aware that she wore no undies. Finally, just her drab bra was left, the plain cotton reminding her that she hadn’t been expecting Brody and was in no way prepared.
Oh, well.
Tempted to take off running down the hallway, she pulled back and remembered to text him first.
Instead of sending words, she scrolled through her emojis and found the one depicting several droplets. Knowing he was so close sent subtlety right out the window and got her juices flowing. He wanted her wet? What a joke.
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 3
