Soft Spot: A Hale Street Novella

by Amy Knupp

  Sparks ignited, and she gasped because … God. His fingers and his lips, both, knew what they were doing. Feeling his cock press up against her belly, she backed her way to the mattress. She sat back on it, scooted up it, pulling Jackson with her.

  "Just a second," he said as he leaned over her, his arms holding up his weight. He used his tongue in an erotic caress that was torturously slow, from her collarbone down to her breasts, over each nipple, to her belly button and around, and then lower, just for another teasing touch, and then he eased back off the bed and sorted through the clothes on the floor for his shorts.

  A shiver hit her when the air conditioneding reached her damp skin, and then he was over her again, his heat pressing along her side. He tossed a condom packet on the mattress on the other side of her, but she quickly forgot about it when he went back to using his mouth and his fingers on her, all over her, to light her on fire. She did her best to return the favor, exploring his gorgeous, tightly muscled body.

  oOo

  Jackson couldn't get enough of Asia. He lost himself in her softness, the femininity of her curves. From time to time over the past couple of years, he'd scratched the itch with some of the women he'd taken out, and every one of them had been model-skinny, all boniness and angles instead of womanly softness. Asia was nowhere near overweight, just … right. Soft and beautiful and responsive and, hell, the sounds she made were lighting him up, not to mention the feel of her hands on him — everywhere.

  He reached between them and put his hand over hers, which was grasping him, stroking him, making his eyes cross and causing concern that he'd inadvertently end this too fast. Once their fingers were woven together, he centered himself over her, holding both her hands against the mattress up by her head, preventing her from pushing him over the edge — for now.

  He set out, once again, to drive her wild, tasting her, savoring the faint salty-sweet flavor of her skin, relishing the pillowy softness of the globes of her breasts, toying with the pebbled tips, flicking his tongue over one and then the other until Asia squirmed beneath him.

  He cock slid over the curls between her legs, and just that bit of friction made him see stars behind his lids. He maneuvered her legs wide and went to his knees between them, afraid, again, if he didn't, he'd embarrass himself.

  For a moment, he paused, staring at the erotic picture this woman made, all silky pale curves and the contrast of dark nipples, lips, eyes.

  He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, better than any fantasy he could come up with, but he was afraid of what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. Afraid he'd say too much. Because beyond her physical beauty, beyond how hot she made him burn, there was … something. A rightness he'd never felt with any other woman. And that was a crazy thought, because they hadn't even gone on a date yet.

  He'd planned to lavish her with his mouth, but the way she stared up at him, lust-heavy lids half-closed over mocha irises, made it too hard to wait. He'd been waiting for this blond-haired hard-to-get temptress for weeks. With quick movements, he wasted no time sheathing himself and then, running his tongue back up the same trail he'd taken downward, assuring himself she, too, was more than ready as she bucked against him for more contact, he settled over her and finally, gloriously, at last entered her.

  oOo

  Asia curled into Jackson’s side as her heartbeat gradually returned to normal. Or closer to normal, anyway. Might be a while before anything about her was "normal" again after that. After Jackson. She allowed herself to let out a quiet, satiated moan as she ran her fingers over his chest.

  Jackson’s arm was under her head, and he stroked her hair in a rhythm that matched her breathing. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “I have a confession to make,” he said, barely over a whisper.

  “Yeah?” Asia’s voice sounded lower than usual, rusty, as if she’d just been turned inside out — which she had.

  “I may have imagined what that would be like. In minute detail. Multiple times.”

  A lazy laugh came from deep in her throat. “You’re naughty. I like that.”

  “Thing is, that was a thousand times more amazing than I’d imagined. And I’d imagined it would be pretty damn incredible.”

  “I’d say that qualified as pretty damn incredible.”

  “You’re pretty damn incredible,” he whispered, turning on his side to face her.

  “Likewise.” Asia felt herself getting drowsy. If she had her way, she’d stay wrapped up like this for a few weeks, minimum, alternating between sleep and pretty damn incredible sex. “Do you need an alarm set to get up at any specific time tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “My day’s free. What about you?”

  “Hunter gave me the day off to unpack.”

  “Nice of him.”

  “He’s a good boss,” she said.

  “You like working there?”

  “I guess I must. I’ve been there for over two years. That’s a long time in my industry.”

  His fingers trailed over her side, down the indent of her waist, up over her hip. “If you could do any job in the world, what would it be?”

  “Hmm,” she said, mesmerized by the feel of his touch on her bare skin, the deep sound of his voice in the quiet night. “I worked hard to get promoted to assistant manager. I like it so far.”

  “What about photography? From what I saw, you’re really good.”

  Her whole body warmed at the compliment. “I love doing it, but right now, it’s not practical. I can’t make enough to live on.”

  “What if you could cut down a shift or two at Clayborne’s and put that time toward taking pictures?”

  Between her new rent and covering groceries when her mom’s kitchen was empty, which seemed to happen every other week, there was no way. “Photography’s just a hobby for now.”

  “Your photos are special. There’s a sort of … hopeful feeling in each one that draws me in…”

  He couldn’t have paid her a higher compliment. She hadn’t really planned her photos that way at first, but then Vegas had pointed it out one time, and Asia had realized it was accurate. Her use of color on top of drab, depressing backdrops… Hope. She’d embraced it and now tried to bring that out in every shot she took. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it,” he continued. “You have a gift. You should—”

  She pressed her finger to his lips. Trying to ignore the thoughts that suggested maybe an assistant manager of a bar wasn’t what he wanted in a — what was she? — woman he slept with, she forced a smile and tried hard to keep her tone light. “Is this where you try to fix me? Make my life better?” She held her breath, because his reply would tell her scores.

  Jackson kissed her finger, then sucked it playfully into his mouth, and just that little act had her body responding to him.

  He released her finger and then wove their hands together. In the moonlight filtering through the blinds, he peered at her intently and said, “There’s nothing to fix. I like you exactly the way you are.”

  And that, dear god, was the best possible thing he ever could’ve said. Instead of replying with words, Asia leaned up and kissed him, then pushed him onto his back and showed him how much she liked what he’d said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Naked. Disoriented. Warm.

  Semi-thoughts drifted through Asia's mind as she gradually wakened. Her eyes popped open at the realization that the warmth was coming from the body stretched out along her back. Also naked. And even though it took her a few seconds to process that she was in her new apartment, she snuggled into the contentment of Jackson with a drowsy smile, allowing herself to pull out the memories of last night and revel in them.

  There was the first time, when Jackson, he'd confessed later, hadn't been able to help himself, and their joining had been frenzied, hard, out of control. After she’d pleasured him with her mouth, they'd drifted off until Asia had roused to the sounds of Vegas coming home, going out on the balcony as if to make sure it wa
s still there, then making her way — alone, Asia was pretty sure — to her bedroom on the other end of the apartment. She'd turned to find Jackson watching her in the moonlit room, his lids heavy with sleep but his eyes sparkling, and then he'd returned the favor, driving her out of her ever-loving mind with his tongue, his lips, his fingers before their frantic search for the bathroom box and then the by-the-light-of-her-phone quest through the contents, not helped along at all by his hands on her, all over her, until she came up with an old box of condoms. Luckily not too old. They hadn't made it back to the bed for the end of round two.

  As if two sessions of the absolute, hands-down, no-contest most amazing sex she'd ever had weren't enough, she'd woken up in the wee hours and hadn't been able to resist climbing over him, taking her turn at teasing him until he was rock hard, and then impaling herself on him.

  Trifecta.

  Hat trick.

  Three-of-a-kind.

  Jackpot.

  She ran her fingers over his arm, lodged around her, just beneath her breasts, and the hairs on his forearm tickled her skin even as he slept.

  The sun was fully up but still young, she guessed from the color of the light, and she couldn't think of anything more perfect than succumbing to sleep again.

  Unfortunately, her cell phone rang into the silence from the nightstand, proving the universe wasn't down with her plan.

  Springing up from her nest and grabbing her phone, she saw the time was 6:07 a.m. Not a single good thing happened when the phone rang at 6:07 a.m., and her pulse took off as her mind jumped ahead, knowing too well whose number was flashing at her.

  Her mother's.

  "Mom," she said as she rushed to the adjoining bathroom in an attempt to let Jackson sleep. "What's going on?"

  A groan was the first thing she heard. Confusion. Pain. "Hello?"

  "Mom! It's me. Talk to me."

  "I fell. I… I can't…"

  "Where did you fall?" She went into her walk-in closet in search of clothes and found nothing but sealed boxes. "Are you okay? Did you call an ambulance?"

  "I'm…" Several sounds came over the line — thunks, static, interference, as if she'd dropped the phone.

  "Dammit! Mom, talk to me. Where are you?"

  Asia was back out in the bedroom now, Jackson's sleep forgotten as she searched the room for something to put on. Anything. Spotting the suitcase next to a stack of boxes, she whipped it on its side and unzipped it.

  "Home," her mom managed, sounding out of it. She was often out of it, but that didn't decrease Asia's alarm. "Bedroom."

  "Do you think you're having another stroke?"

  Underwear. She pulled them on and saw Jackson hop out of bed and head for his pile of clothing. Bra next, and then she pulled out the first T-shirt she came across plus some shorts.

  "I'm… I'm okay, I think," her mom said, her voice stronger. Less confused.

  "I'll be there in ten minutes, Mom, and I'm calling an ambulance right now."

  "I can't … pay."

  She couldn't afford an ambulance ride, Asia knew, but they could add it to her medical tab, hopefully. If she ended up needing it. If it wasn't an emergency, Asia would take her to the ER herself. She'd figure it out when she got there.

  "Just stay put. Ten minutes." Asia ended the call and rummaged through the suitcase for a pair of flip-flops but came up empty-handed.

  "Your mom?" Jackson asked, somehow fully dressed and looking wide awake in the morning light.

  "She fell. I need to get over there right away."

  "I'll drive you."

  She didn't have time to argue. Nor would she wake up her sister until she knew what they were dealing with. There were frequent false alarms, and Vegas and her mom fought hard enough… It was much better to handle it herself for as long as she could.

  After she grabbed her tennis shoes, purse, and keys from the living room, they rushed downstairs to Jackson's friend's truck and hopped in with no debate because it was blocking in her car anyway. She dialed 9-1-1 and reported what little she knew to the dispatcher as he drove them down the alley. The only words she and Jackson exchanged on the drive over were her mom's address and directions.

  When he pulled up along the curb of the godforsaken dump her mom called home, Asia had the door open almost before he stopped.

  "You can stay here," she said as she rushed toward the eyesore apartment building similar to the ones on the way to Spring Meadow. Maybe more run-down.

  Without knocking, Asia tried the knob of door number three. Not surprisingly, it opened right up. Frannie Knowles rarely remembered to lock her door. Was usually not sober enough to think of it. The only thing her mom had worth stealing was whatever liquor she hadn't gotten to yet, but that didn't mean someone couldn't come in and harm her, and the thought, as always, sent a cold chill down Asia's spine.

  "Mom?" She headed toward the bedroom on autopilot and stopped cold when her mother's voice reached her from the couch.

  "Right here."

  Heart pounding, Asia looked her mother over, expecting … God knew what. Blood? Bruises? What she saw was a woman who looked seventy-five instead of fifty, with hollowed-out, bloodshot eyes, short hair a tangled mess, lips dry and cracked. She wore a light yellow floral robe or muumuu or something baggy, whatever you wanted to call it. A large stain — coffee? Whiskey? — discolored the material over her ample chest. She was unkempt and looked like her usual level of hell, but she appeared unharmed.

  "You're…" Asia sputtered, her brain trying to reconfigure around the latest information, shifting from my mom might be dead to my mom is fine and sitting on the couch. "I thought you couldn't get up. You sounded…" like someone with a legitimate medical emergency.

  But this was Frannie Knowles. She did have frequent medical emergencies, but whether they were legitimate depended on your definition. Alcohol-induced, self-induced…

  "Have you been drinking?" Asia looked around for a bottle, checked the end table, coffee table, floor. Every surface was its usual cluttered and filthy, and there were numerous empty liquor bottles scattered around. She was pretty sure they’d been there for a while.

  "Everything okay?" Jackson came up behind her, and she swallowed down the horror — now that her mom appeared fine and dandy, relatively speaking — of having him follow her in here.

  "Yes. You're okay, Mom?" she asked, drowning in a combination of relief, frustration, shame, and yes, flat-out anger. The usual stench of the place hit her then — cigarettes, alcohol, mildew, dirt. She burned with mortification.

  "What happened?" Asia's voice was anything but calm.

  Her mom, who had been sizing up Jackson, turned her attention back to Asia, breathing a little heavily, but that was the norm anymore. "I had to use the john," Frannie said slowly, her voice rusty and low from years and years of cigarettes. "I got out of bed and stepped on something. Lost my footing. Ended up facedown on the carpet. Scared the cock-witting hell out of me. I… I panicked. Phone was in my gown pocket where you always tell me to keep it, so I called you. I'm okay though."

  She was about as far from okay as the sun was from the North Pole, but it was a status quo messed up. Not the results of face-planting in her room.

  Asia took in a slow, wit-gathering breath, trying to regulate her heart, quell the spill of adrenaline into her system. In the distance, an ambulance siren screamed.

  "That for me?" her mother asked.

  Asia nodded absently, knowing the paramedics would come in and check her mom out, which was for the best. She looked around the place, seeing it through the eyes of someone who hadn't been exposed to the reality of Frannie Knowles before. The paramedics, sure, unless they got someone who'd been here previously, but more importantly, Jackson Lowell.

  Her stomach sank and then knotted up. Every surface of the paltry little apartment was covered. Papers, unopened mail, candles — most of which were burned to the bottom — dirty dishes, glasses, paper cups, tabloids… Who knew what else? The floor was dirty
and stained, as was the threadbare couch, which was the only place to sit. The once-white walls were a dingy gray and dotted with scuffs and holes and stains.

  Rage built inside her, burned up her chest and into her head, made her want to scream at this woman to try to get through to her, but she already knew, it was no use. She'd been trying for years. More than a decade.

  Asia used to clean for her mom. She'd come in every week and picked up all the trash, stacked the mail, vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom. Her mom had never once lifted a hand to help, and during an argument, the woman had told Asia she had no right to intrude on her life the way she did, so Asia had stopped. The cleaning, anyway. Though she knew it might be wise, she could never quite make herself walk out of her mom's life for good. Images of her mom suffering another stroke or a heart attack alone, possibly dying alone, and no one knowing… She'd imagined her mother lying there decaying for days with no one realizing it. In spite of all the anguish her mother had caused her and Vegas all their life, Asia couldn't completely cut the woman off and forced herself to stop by once a week. Most times, she found the kitchen empty of food, and she would buy her mother a few groceries—never give her money for them, because it would end up at the liquor store instead of the Family Value Market.

  A knock came from the still-open door, and two paramedics rushed in, one of them carrying a bag of equipment. After briefing them on what had happened and agreeing that they should check her mom out, Asia stepped back, her stomach contracting tighter, throat clenching. She stepped right into Jackson, having forgotten, for the time being, he was still there, then wishing he weren't.

  "You should go," she told him as the EMS team checked her mom's vitals and asked her questions.

  "I'm fine," Jackson said. "Don't worry about me."

  The words irritated her, like rubbing alcohol on a fresh cut, and she stiffened. Turned toward him and spoke more loudly. More pronounced.