by J. L. White
He doesn’t text me either.
I wonder why we don’t have memorials for this kind of thing. Because losing Jack feels like a death.
I spend the next few days at work avoiding people as much as I can so I don’t have to keep saying “Nothing” when people ask me “What’s wrong?” Ashley and Isabella dropped in once, but they didn’t stay long. I’m inconsolable. They don’t know what happened, so they think I’m just heartbroken over Jack.
They’re not wrong.
For the record, I’ve been right this entire time: love sucks.
I stay late at the office because I don’t want to be home but I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been working so much and am so ahead of schedule on my projects, I’m going to be screwed by the middle of next week when I’m just fucking sitting around twiddling my thumbs.
I don’t care.
The girls are busy this evening with one of our group texts. Chloe mentions she hasn’t heard from Jack in a while and he’s not returning her messages. She has some sort of website question for him. The other girls say they don’t know what he’s up to either, but this is really nothing new. He doesn’t chat with them every day like he used to do with me. So they do what they always do when they want to know what Jack’s up to. They ask me.
I don’t answer, trusting the conversation will move on to something else, which it does. Ashley says something about a neighbor bringing over a huge box of peaches from their tree, so she’s going to divvy it up and bring some round to each of us. I don’t reply to that or anything else. I focus on the logo I’m designing instead. It’s the only thing I can do that kind of, sort of deadens the pain.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I expect I’ll spend weeks, months, years, trying to grieve over Jack.
What I don’t expect is coming home from work to see his truck parked out front.
I stop right in the middle of the road. He’s not in his truck, which means he’s in my house. I’m gripping the wheel with both hands, staring at his truck, listening to my car idle in the middle of the empty street.
I take a deep breath, then slowly pull into the drive. When I go through the front door, the living room is empty and the house is quiet.
I shut the door behind me. “Jack?”
He comes into view from the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. He’s got a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. No plate. Dripping crumbs on my floor.
He looks at me and I can only look back. God, he looks like hell. Handsome and making my heart ache, but beat to hell.
He glances at the sandwich. “Sorry,” he says soberly. “I’ve been here awhile. I got hungry.”
I’m still standing by the door. “It’s okay.”
“I thought maybe... you saw my truck and didn’t want to come in.”
Yeah. Kind of. “I had to work late.”
“Ah.” He looks a little relieved, but still sober. “Want me to make you one?” he asks, lifting the sandwich slightly in question.
What are you doing here, Jack?
“Um...” I say, in response to his question. I don’t ever seem to be hungry these days, but I have a headache from the lack of food so I should probably eat. I shrug. “Okay.”
He disappears back inside the kitchen. I stand there for a moment, listening to him open and shut the cupboard door, set a plate on the counter, open the fridge.
I slowly walk into the kitchen. He’s at the island, the accoutrements of a sandwich laid out before him. I watch him spread mayonnaise on a piece of bread. There’s something he wants to say, but I have no idea what and he’s clearly not ready to say it yet. I don’t know what the hell to say either. I just want to undo all of it and get my friend back.
I quietly set my purse on the counter, followed by my keys. As I take a seat at the bar, I’m watching his every move. As he spreads mustard on the other piece of bread—just how I like it—I watch his hands, his arms. I look at his chest and face. I ache.
He adds ham, tomato, and Swiss cheese, then places the finished product in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say. It’s the last thing we say for quite some time. I eat my sandwich and he finishes his and we don’t say a word. We exchange a few brief glances. I can’t read any of them.
Everything’s kind of broken down and I don’t know what to do.
By the time I’m done eating, he’s put everything away, wiped down the counter, and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher, including my plate.
Only then does he lean back against the counter and look at me for longer than two seconds. My heart starts in with the goddamned longing again. Why is he here? Why did he have to come here and be live and in person right in my kitchen? He’s undoing all the work I’ve been trying to do to forget him and when he leaves I’ll have to start all over again.
Not that I’d gotten very far.
He finally opens his mouth to speak
“I...” He hesitates and I’m all of a sudden very afraid to hear what he’s going to say. “I...”
What, Jack? What?
He straightens and frowns and breaks eye contact. “I think there’s a game on.”
I blink in surprise, then watch as he retreats into the living room, out of my line of sight once more. I hear him sit on the couch and turn on the TV.
I walk across the kitchen toward the living room, my work heels clicking on the tiles. I enter the living room. There he is, right in the middle of the couch, staring at the TV. I look to see who’s playing only to find I don’t care.
I’m really too exhausted for any of this. If Jack wants to sit on my couch and watch TV, at this exact moment I just don’t care.
I slip out of my heels, bend down and pick them up with one hand, and pad down the hall to my bedroom.
I toss my shoes in the closet where they land with an unceremonious thud. I remove my silky neck scarf and hang it on its hook next to the others. I remove my earrings and slide out the drawer to my jewelry tower, tossing the little silver baubles in their place as well.
Jack is in my living room. On my couch.
Maybe I’ll just stay here.
I realize I’ve been staring at the open drawer. I slide it shut. When I turn, Jack’s right there in the doorway, watching me.
I startle, putting my hand over my heart. “God, Jack.”
“Sorry.”
This time, when he looks at me and our gaze holds, I get that feeling I’m used to getting, the feeling I know and understand him.
“Oh, honey,” I say sadly.
“I told Emily,” he says.
I nod in understanding. “Yeah. I knew you would.”
“I... told her that I’m... really sorry.”
My heart starts thumping painfully in my chest, little butterflies of panic banging against its walls. “Are you going to try to work things out?”
He furrows his brows at me, seemingly surprised by my question. “No.”
The panicked butterflies start to settle down but I’m still afraid of something. I don’t even know what.
“I probably wasn’t straight with you about how I was feeling about Emily,” he says. “It wasn’t... I shouldn’t have been with her to start with.”
Why not? I want to ask, but he goes on.
“Anyway, she’s not the kind of woman to put up with that shit.”
Good for her, I think. It’s what he would’ve said too, if the situation were different.
“And—” His expression grows more pained, and he’s looking at me differently now. Our eyes lock. I don’t know if it’s desire I see in him, or if I’m just wanting to see that. Whatever it is, it’s all mixed up with regret. That I can see plain as day. “Look, I... I really hate that I did that,” he says, and my heart clenches in sympathy. Then he starts to come toward me, slowly, one step at a time. My body starts to go into alert. My heart starts to pump harder.
He’s shaking his head, coming closer. “But I’m not as sorry as I know I should be.”
There’s
the string. Pulling, pulling, pulling.
Wait. I’m standing my ground. Or trying to. I don’t know what this is.
“It was the worst thing I’ve ever done to anyone,” he says. Closer, closer. Larger than life. I’m stuck to the floor. “It was so stupid,” he says, right in front of me now.
We’re not touching at all, but somehow, I feel him anyway. I can’t look away from his eyes.
“And it was just... selfish,” he continues, tightly. “All I was thinking about was how much I wanted you. Even the way I took you—” I feel a rush of heat, remembering exactly how he took me, “—even that was selfish because I wasn’t making sure you were...” he pauses for the briefest moment, then spits it out, “you know, getting there or thinking about protection or thinking about anything.”
“Me either,” I whisper.
He puts his hands on my upper arms and that’s it. My body starts to purr. God.
“All I could think about was how much I needed you,” he says. “I needed you so much.”
I don’t know exactly if he means need me the way guys need girls, their bodies taking over everything, or needs me the way I need him. Because even though I’m not supposed to, I do need him. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone, and as we hover here, looking at one another, I think he has to know it.
“I still need you,” he says quietly.
His mouth slowly dips down toward mine. I am once again helpless to resist. I thoughtlessly go up on tiptoe to meet him. When his lips press gently against mine, I’m wishing I were lying down again, because I’m nearly knocked over. I bring my hands to his sides, hanging on.
His hands travel from my arms to my back, never leaving my body. He gently pulls me to him and I go where he wants me to go, because I am his to control. Our bodies press together, chest to hip to knee. I lean against him, knees softening, and he holds me tighter.
He pulls away just enough to look at me with those deep brown eyes of his. God, Jack.
I should ask him what he’s thinking and what this means but I don’t want to talk. I want Jack to kiss me. I want him to take me. I need him to. I slowly slide my hands under the hem of his shirt, softly touching his skin. My blood is coursing through my body. I look at him tentatively, asking.
There’s a half second pause, then he bends his knees slightly and lifts me in his arms. My heart swoops up and I let out a little gasp, reflexively wrapping my legs around his chest. As many times as Jack’s picked me up, it’s never been like this. My god, already he’s sweeping me downstream again. Tsunami Jack.
He gives me that heated look and I try to keep my wits about myself. I lean in to kiss him and that’s when I know it’s a good thing he’s holding me. No way could I stand on my own two feet. I’m tumbling away, right here in Jack’s arms.
His arms tighten around me as we open to each other. Not like the hard, desperate kisses from before, this is a softer, exploring kiss. It still takes me from hot to blazing in a matter of moments. Then it is hard. And it is desperate. He turns and carries me toward the bed and I respond by holding him tighter, indicating my approval of this plan.
When we reach the bed, he sets me on the mattress on my knees, facing him. He’s standing in front of me. Panting, we lift the hem of each other’s shirts at the same time. I remove his first, then lift my arms so he can remove mine. His eyes sweep over my breasts, then he cups me with both hands, over the black lace of my bra. I let out a shaky exhalation. Everything he does to me is like lightning.
I put my hands on his bare chest. His skin is hot to the touch. Keeping one hand on my breast, he reaches around and unhooks my bra quicker than I can do it. The straps slide off my shoulders and the material slips off my breasts. He exhales in appreciation, glancing at my face as he tosses the bra aside, then dips down and takes me into his mouth. I gasp and grab the hair on the back of his head. I’m gripping his shoulder with my other hand and he still has me in one arm, pulling me in closer by my lower back.
Even on my knees, I’m sinking. My breaths are short and ragged. I’m hot and soaked and ready to ride. His strong arm supports me as he sucks and caresses my breast, working me into a frenzy before swinging over and sucking on the other side. I’m gripping his shoulder hard, my chin tucked down so I can watch his tongue sliding over and encircling my hard nipple. He takes me into his mouth and gives me a long, lingering suck, pulling my breast outward slightly, before letting go and circling my nipple with his tongue again.
“God, Jack,” I breathe.
Still attached to my breast he looks up at me. Then he reaches up, pulls me down slightly by the back of the neck, and makes short work of moving from my nipple to my hot and eager mouth. Jack’s tongue is expertly working with mine. His hand slides up the outside of my thigh, under my skirt, and to my ass, where he squeezes me hard. He slips his fingers under the lacy elastic of my panties, running his fingertips along my soft folds. I hitch my knees farther apart. I’m suddenly dying to find out what else Jack can do with his tongue.
As if reading my mind, he picks me up again and throws my legs around his waist so he can lay me on my back. He’s lowering his face between my legs, which I’m opening wider, and he doesn’t bother removing my panties. He hooks two fingers around the material of the crotch, yanks it to one side, and dives his tongue into me. Holy god. My legs spread further and my head arches back in one, joint movement. Jack’s tongue is all over me, licking and sucking and teasing and circling. One hand is gripping my side, just above my hip, and I’m gripping his arm.
I’m exhaling sharply, over and over, curling inward and bringing my legs higher. He stops for a second so he can yank my panties off. I’m aching for him every half second I’m without his touch, but it isn’t long. He dives back in, this time also teasing my opening with the tip of one finger. He circles my clit with his tongue, and slowly penetrates me, gently moving that finger in a circle too, so he’s pressing all around the side of my walls.
Fuck.
“More,” I gasp. “More.” And he does slide into me more, then more. So deep. Then again, with two fingers. “More.” Then again, slowly, with three. Then harder and faster.
Oh god.
Legs trembling as Jack fucks my cunt, I want to cry out, but I’m literally afraid I’m losing my mind, so I bite down my cry. Tongue circling and sucking my clit, fingers pumping me fast, Jack draws me higher and higher. With his free hand, he rubs the hot skin on my stomach and squeezes my breast. I squeeze the other one myself as every part of me that can arch, is arching. Neck, back, hips, legs, I’m straining open and trembling as Jack takes me right over the edge.
Lights burst behind my closed eyes as I climax against him. He doesn’t slow and that only makes me come harder, and draws it out longer. I’m still trying to bite back what would be a scream and manage just to whimper instead, over and over again. My body is thrashing helplessly and I don’t think I’ve ever, ever felt anything like this.
It takes a moment, but I finally come down in powerful, crashing waves, until I’m left limp and panting on the bed. I weakly look down at Jack, my mouth parted slightly. He looks up at me and gives me a satisfied half-grin. I have a feeling that man knows exactly what he just did to me. And all I can do is gape back at him and try not to be a puddle.
He wipes his mouth and stands, looking down at me. His chest muscles flex as he undoes his pants and brings out a raging erection.
He whips out his wallet and extracts a shiny, foil packet before tossing his wallet on the floor. I shock myself, because I want to tell him not to bother. I bite my bottom lip. He rolls the condom on and, once again, I’m wondering where in the hell he’s been hiding that massive specimen of manhood he’s got. He strips the rest of the way then, pulling my skirt off too, and crawls up the bed to me, both of us fully nude.
I never realized before what a vulnerable thing that is.
But then I see Jack looking at me and feel him tucking me into an embrace and I feel safe in his presence.
Except for the tsunami part. Because as soon as his cock slides into me, oh so slowly, I’m carried away again. I’m all ablaze, again. I’m clinging to him desperately and he’s rocking me with more and more passion, again. His body is weighing heavily on my stomach and bare breasts. His hot cock is filling me completely, hitting my spot perfectly. All I can do is rock my hips too and hungrily taste his neck and shoulders and hang on for the ride. I feel like I should be showing him I actually have some moves, but Jack’s rendered me helpless. And in some ways, this is all I want. Him, inside me, holding me, sweeping me downstream even though it terrifies me.
He hooks one arm under my knee and brings me up higher, giving us even more friction.
I’m gasping again. I press my forehead against his shoulder, my wet pussy getting hotter and hotter as he makes me climb again.
“Do you like that, sweetheart?” he says thickly.
My heart swoops at the sound of his voice. I nod urgently against him, whimpering because I’m climbing even higher.
“I loved eating you out,” he says, the pleasure in my body spiking hard just at the sound of his voice. “You tasted so good, Sam.”
“Oh god,” I bite out, because I’m getting ready to come. “Fuck, Jack.”
“Damn right,” he says.
His arm that’s wrapped around me readjusts so he’s gripping the top of my shoulder from underneath. He’s pulling down on it firmly, so he can ram me even harder. I throw my head back. Oh god, so close. I’m hotter and higher as his thick cock works me. I curl in again, my whole body straining, my cunt pulsing. So close. He slides in and out of me, slick with my juices, the base of his stomach pounding my engorged clit again and again and oooh Gooood. My climax takes me hard, thrashing me helplessly as Jack continues to ride me.
Oh fuck.
I clutch his back and bite his shoulder as my pussy pulses in ecstasy. Again and again, waves of pleasure crash through my body and I’m whimpering and panting helplessly. Jack’s getting harder and pumping me faster. The grips of my orgasm start their first release and I gasp for breath. Then Jack climaxes too. His shuddering movements push me back up into a fresh wave and I contract hard around his pulsing cock.
