That Guy

by Kim Jones

  His cock jerks inside me, but his body doesn’t move. “Be careful what you wish for, baby.”

  Shit. He’s right.

  “Just…Don’t…Well….”

  “Say it, Penelope. I can’t read you like this. When you’re thinking too much. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. When I do, you’ll forget everything. Then I won’t need your pretty little mouth to tell me what you want. Your body will.” He places a kiss right behind my ear. And just like in the books, that’s the spot.

  “Slow, Jake. Fuck me slow. And touch me. Everywhere. I like when you touch me.”

  He does just what I ask. Slow thrusts. Deep and measured. Hands all over me. Caressing this. Cupping that. Lips here. Tongue there. But something isn’t right. And though I know exactly what it is, and have known the entire time—thanks to that voice in my head—I can’t bring myself to say it.

  I don’t want him to see me as weak. I don’t want him to know how bad he hurt me. And I’m not sure if that’s because I’m ashamed of how he made me feel, or because I don’t want him to regret making me feel that way.

  “Talk to me, baby.”

  God I want to.

  “Just say it, gorgeous.”

  Even the endearments aren’t helping.

  He stills inside me. Kisses me softly. Looks at me even softer. Then the words I needed to hear fall from his lips like the sweetest kind of pained melody that has the power to twist you up inside and make you long for something you didn’t realize you were so desperate for.

  “Trust me, Penelope. I’ve got you.”

  Without giving it further thought, I surrender. And for the second time tonight, I give a little piece of myself to this man.

  “I want this. But I don’t want to feel like I felt last night. That’s not who I am, Jake. I’m not…them.”

  Them.

  The Miss Sims.

  The others.

  The women before me.

  The hired whores left alone on a couch.

  Fucked and forgotten.

  I may not mean more to him than they did.

  I may not be more to him than they were.

  But I can’t let him treat me like I’m just a piece of ass.

  Not again.

  He hasn’t said anything. Not a word. Just pinned me with that stoic, thoughtful gaze of his.

  Fucking hell.

  I knew better.

  I flatten my hands against his chest and avert my eyes. “Look…I….” I let out a breath of nervous laughter. I hate being this exposed. This vulnerable.

  Stupid fucking trust.

  Stupid fucking voice.

  Stupid fucking Penelope.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

  He cuts me off with a kiss. A searing kiss that bruises my lips and completely negates the way he cradles my face in his hands like porcelain. It makes my head spin. His breath is controlled but a little harsh when he pulls away and whispers against my lips, “You are not them. Do you hear me?”

  I nod.

  He captures my mouth again. This kiss sweeter than the last. Softer. Slower. He wraps my hands around his neck. My legs around his waist. Keeps himself buried inside me as he stands with me in his arms. “You will never fucking be them.”

  Every few steps he kisses me. My lips. My neck. Cheek. Nose. Corner of my mouth. Temple….

  Gah.

  Those temple kisses….

  I kiss him too. His jaw. Ear. Chin. Neck. Mouth…that is now claiming mine. I’m dizzy with lust and swimming in warmth that has to do with something that has nothing to do with sex. But I don’t shake it away. I revel in it. I live in the moment. I let go so my pretty mouth doesn’t have to speak and my body can do the talking.

  And I learn very quickly that I should let my body do the talking all the time.

  I’m on a bed. A large hand pins my wrists over my head. The other touches me in that way I love to be touched. It slides down my chest, across my breast, over my ribs and curls around my hip.

  I look down at the sight before me. The body above me. The wide, chiseled chest dusted in hair. Ripple of eight pack abs that disappear into the V. And beneath that V, the thick, beautiful—for a cock—shaft that slowly pulls almost all the way out of me. Then Jake lifts his hips, pulls me to him and drives back in.

  Over and over. Until I can’t hold my head up anymore. Until I squeeze my eyes closed and move my body to meet his. Until I shatter beneath him when he tells me, “So fucking perfect.” And when he says, “I’m not through with you yet, gorgeous,” I mewl and cry and beg for mercy and more and something and everything until I have it all.

  Mercy, when his thrusts become a little harsher so that the dull, distant, slow burning throb inside me becomes a crescendo.

  More, when he shifts our bodies and finds that spot deep inside me so that the feeling is prolonged.

  Something, turns out to be a pinch of pain when he pulls my nipple between his teeth and then soothes it with his tongue followed by a breath of cold air.

  The everything both scares and delights me. It’s the forbidden. The one place his mouth touches when he flips me to my knees, and then his finger finds when his cock is once again buried inside me. I pull away—shame overpowering desire.

  “Easy, baby.”

  Easy for him to say. He doesn’t have a finger in his butt.

  “Stop thinking. Feel.”

  I do feel…a finger in my fucking butt.

  Then I feel a deep thrust that steals all the air from my lungs. Sensation in my toes. And thoughts from my head.

  I come so hard I collapse face down. Ass still up. He’s still fucking my brains out and I can’t find gravity. I don’t want to find gravity. Fuck gravity. Unless gravity is Jake Swagger. Who can put whatever he wants in my butt as long as it feels as good as this does.

  He comes on a warrior cry that has me arching my brow—wondering if maybe he’s a descendant of Arminius. Or part werewolf. Not just from the cry either. But from his never-ending stamina. He has to be exhausted. He’s done all the work. So werewolf or warrior descendant is the only explanation for where he finds the strength to kiss his way down my spine, then back up again, flip me over, position me in the bed so my head is on a pillow and walk to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

  All I did was grunt and I can’t get these heart palpitations under control.

  I’m almost asleep when he crawls into bed, pulls the covers arounds me, leans over and kisses the corner of my mouth. “How are you feeling, baby?”

  The question strips me of my humor. I wear it like armor and without it I’m a coward. Which is why I pretend to be asleep so I don’t have to answer because I’m afraid I might tell him the truth. And I’m not sure what he’ll do with that truth. How he’ll feel about it. Or how his reaction will affect me.

  He doesn’t ask again.

  He doesn’t leave me alone either.

  He lays down beside me. Curls an arm around me. Pulls me to him and buries his face in my hair. Kisses my head. I feel his whole body relax against mine. It’s in that moment I find my courage.

  I want him to ask me again. I’m not strong enough to say it on my own, but if he asks, I’ll tell the truth.

  I pray that he asks.

  My prayer is answered with his silence and the slow, deep breathing that tells me he’s asleep.

  So I stuff my truth into my bottle of emotions and save it for the next time he asks me how I feel. Which is nothing like Miss Sims.

  And just like I’m falling in love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily is so selfish.

  A good friend would have rationed the food in the apartment, so she could stay out of sight like I asked. But not Emily. She just had to go to the grocery store in broad daylight where she could’ve been seen by anyone. My mother wasn’t in the store, but she was in her workshop when Emily got back to the apartment—the one located directly above my mother’s workshop.

  “I just c
an’t believe you would go to such extreme lengths to lie to me. And to involve Emily…Penelope how could you?”

  I throw my arm across my face and groan. “Mom. It’s fine. Emily is fine. I’m fine. She needed some time alone and I needed some time away from her so I could do some book research on my That Guy.”

  “Penelope Lane Hart!” she whisper-shout-hisses. It’s so loud, I have to pull the phone from my ear. “Are you still in that man’s house?”

  I peek from beneath my arm to find Jake lying awake next to me wearing an amused smile. I guess he heard.

  She starts in on me again. And instead of me getting up and barricading myself in another room so he can’t hear her, I turn on my side to face him and put the phone on speaker between us. Her voice fills the room mid-sentence.

  “…could be a sex offender. You just never know about people these days. Especially people from up there.” Jake lifts a brow and I grin. “They’re not like us. I don’t care how many fancy parties he takes you to or how rich he is or how nice Emily promised me he was, I don’t trust him.”

  “Mom—“

  “What kind of man looks like that and isn’t married?”

  “Mom—“

  “Emily showed me a picture on the Google.”

  “Mom—“

  “But she won’t tell me how to do a background check.”

  “Mom—“

  “I’ve already made a pie to bribe the sheriff.”

  “Mom!”

  “Are you having sex with him, Penelope?”

  Geeze Louise.

  “Mom, you’re at a nine. I’m gonna need you to bring it down to a three before you get your blood pressure up. Take some deep breaths.”

  While she does that, I share a smile with Jake. Usually, we’re either arguing, flirting or fucking. But this feels normal. Comfortable. A little awkward considering my Mom is chanting a breathing exercise.

  When I think she’s had enough, I ask, “Better?”

  “Much. Yes. Okay. I’m good. I’m still not good with you being there with that strange man but I’m putting it in the Lord’s hands. Thank heavens the Bible tells us He always listens to our prayers for those who are living in sin. If that wasn’t the case, He’d never hear me when I prayed for you.”

  Jake smirks at that.

  “Thanks, Mom.” My tone is dry.

  “You make sure he knows that you have a mother who is going to be checking in on you regularly. So he better not try any funny stuff. I read in the newspaper, you know that column Connie writes about how to be an aware woman in a dangerous world? Anyway, just last week she said most pedophiles don’t target women who have an active relationship with family and friends. They mostly target those who live lonely lives. Like…” her voice drops to a whisper, “whores.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. Jake rolls his eyes and gives me the finger.

  That finger.

  “He’s a nice guy, Mom. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m a mother. My job is to worry, Penelope.” The sadness in her voice tears at my heart.

  Jake reaches out and caresses my temple with his thumb. I force a smile that he doesn’t return. He’s thoughtful a moment longer. And then he does something really stupid.

  “Ms. Hart?”

  I dive for the phone but he grabs it and holds it out of reach. “What the fuck are you doing?” I mouth, but he ignores me.

  “Ms. Hart this is Jake Swagger. Penelope has been staying with me?” He’s all amiable and smooth. Voice warm and smile big even though she can’t see it. But it falters when my mother’s tone loses its sweet southern charm and becomes matter-of-fact.

  “What can I do for you, son?”

  I lean back and smirk. This may turn out to be pretty entertaining.

  “I just wanted to let you know that Penelope is safe here with me. And she will be as long as she’s in Chicago.”

  A beat of silence passes before she answers.

  “Jake, was it?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, Jake, I appreciate that. And while I have you on the phone, there’s something that I want you to know.”

  Oh Lord.

  I know that voice.

  “If my daughter comes home hurt, harmed, sick or crying…I’m holding you personally responsible. You do not want me to come to Chicago, Jake. Do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll take care of her.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, young man.”

  Jake grins. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Hart.”

  “You say that now. But Penelope can be a handful.”

  “I am quite aware, I assure you.”

  “She’s been that way her whole life.”

  “I’m right here, Mom. And my phone is about to die.” Before she can say something about that, too, I snatch the phone from Jake, tell her I love her and hang up—not giving her a chance to respond, or Jake a chance to say goodbye. Which he chastises me for with a narrow, disapproving gaze.

  “I’m hungry. Can we call Uber Eats?”

  His face softens and he smirks. “You don’t call Uber Eats, sweetheart. You use an app. And I’ve already ordered us something.” He grabs his phone and swipes his finger across the screen then turns it so I can see. “It’ll will be here in five minutes.”

  “Then I should get dressed so I’m not naked when Alfred brings it up.” I roll away from him and untangle myself from the covers.

  “Alfred has the morning off, but even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t come all the way up here and see you naked.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes. I do. Just like I know Vance, the other doorman who is working today in Alfred’s place, won’t come in here just to see you naked, either.”

  “Whatever. I’m going down to meet the Uber.” I wince as I stand. Everything south of my bellybutton is sore. And just like yesterday, there’s nothing delicious about it. This just can’t be normal. “I don’t know Vance. He might be a pervert.”

  Despite Jake’s laugh, I can feel the burn of his stare as I make my way very slowly and very nakedly across the room. “And no sex today,” I say, doing my best to avoid looking at him sprawled out in bed wearing nothing but a sheet that’s tented by that damn light pole he calls a penis. “Or tomorrow. Or maybe for the rest of my life.”

  He chuckles. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “Nope. It’ll probably take that long for my vagina to shrink back to its original size.”

  His groan is low and pained and I’d bet anything he’s stroking himself.

  Men.

  “Don’t say vagina, Penelope.”

  “It’s the appropriate medical term, Jake.”

  The guest bathroom seems a million miles away. I’d use his, but I need my toothbrush. ASAP. And as bad as I want to be just like every other typical heroine in a romance novel, I don’t want it bad enough to use Jake’s toothbrush.

  There are some things I just won’t do.

  The blinds in Jake’s room are closed, but the ones in the guest room give me a full view of the ominous gray sky. It looks like a scene from The Day After Tomorrow. Everything is still. Cold. Creepy. It pains me to look at it. But not as much as it pains me to see my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  I have that just-fucked glow without the glow. My kissed-too-hard lips are a little dry. Messy and crazy, thick, untamed curls are everywhere. Day old mascara clings to my lashes and is smudged beneath my eyes.

  Not that I’ve looked at it, but I’m pretty sure my vagina is in the same just-fucked state as the rest of me. I fear it may be ruined. I’d hike my leg up on the counter to visually survey the damage if I weren’t so scared of what I might find.

  Mouth clean, bladder empty, I dig through the Miss Sims wardrobe hanging in the closet in search of something normal. I spot something gray toward the back and get excited. I think it’s sweat pants.

  Please let it be sweat pants….


  It’s…pants. Comfortable looking ones. With a matching top that has a C looped through a backwards C logo on the front. I feel like I should know what that is. I’m pretty sure it’s Coach. I look at the tag.

  Chanel.

  I thought they just sold perfume.

  “Oh my God this feels amazing.” I can’t stop from running my hands over the fabric. It’s so soft. I don’t even know what kind of material it is. But I love it.

  I find some Chanel slipper shoe things and slide those on—over socks, because I’m fashionable—and head to the elevator.

  Nose to the wall, humming my song, I distract myself by thinking about what food Jake ordered. I hope it’s not anything healthy like an egg white omelet or turkey bacon. He looks like the kind of guy who eats that shit. Although he is also the kind of guy who cooks real bacon shirtless. So, what do I know?

  The lobby is warm and welcoming. The man sitting in his car honking the horn? Not so much. I thought he was supposed to come inside the lobby. Does he? No. He’s a dick. And I’m forced to walk outside in the snow and meet him at his car.

  And it’s minus forty-two degrees.

  The young punk that can’t be a day over fifteen rolls down the window and I want to snatch the food, give him the finger and tell him to go to hell. Then I remember I have to pay him. And I have no money.

  “I f-forgot your m-money.” I wrap my hands around me to hold in the warmth while he stares at me like I’m stupid.

  “You Mrs. Swagger?”

  Mrs. Swagger.

  Well, now…that has a ring to it.

  “Y-yes.”

  “You paid with the app, lady.” He holds his phone up like I’m supposed to understand the shit on the screen.

  “Oh, w-well in that c-case....” I snatch the food off the seat. Give him the finger and stutter the best insult I can manage with frozen lips and jittering teeth. “G-go f-f-f-fuck yourself, you l-little shit.”

  “Penelope?” I straighten to find Jim Canton staring at me. Then his eyes move to the Uber driver. “Is everything alright?”

  “Y-yes s-s-sir.” Shit. Fuck. Damn.

  “You better get inside, girl. It’s freezing out here. Where is your jacket?” He holds open the door and ushers me inside, casting uneasy glances over his shoulder until the car drives away.