by Kelly, A. S.
She doesn’t even attempt to reassure me. She isn’t one to lie; she got that from her mother, too.
“But everything has changed, now. You’re here, and we’re together, and I really want to make it work.”
She looks at me, unconvinced.
“And I want you to give me a chance.”
“I don’t know if I want to give you one.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s leave it as a ‘maybe’ for now.”
I guess that’s better than a ‘fuck off’.
“I can deal with that.”
Tyler was probably right: her walls are a defence mechanism. She wants to test me, to work out whether I’m capable of breaking them down, or whether I’ll give up at the first hurdle.
“Your sister called me earlier.”
“Rian?”
“She asked me if I wanted to go out with her tonight.”
“Oh,” I exclaim, shocked. I really wasn’t expecting that.
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t know. She seems okay.”
My sister gets an ‘okay’ from my daughter, while I get an ‘I hate you’.
“I might go.”
“If you want to…”
“Is that okay with you?”
“Are you asking my permission?”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Sure, no problem.”
I imagine my sister will be good company for her. Even though Skylar is fifteen, she needs to be around people her own age – although maybe she shouldn’t be spending Saturday nights with an eighteen-year-old. Or maybe she should? I know fuck all about teenagers.
“Shall we go back upstairs? I want to get at least two walls finished. I don’t want to sleep on the sofa for longer than I have to.”
I get up from my stool. “Ready.”
She gets up, too. “If you want to go out tonight, too…”
“Me? Go out? Where would I go?”
Skylar rolls her eyes.
“You’ll have no hope if you carry on like this, Kerry.”
“Are you talking about…?”
“How the hell did you manage to get all those women?” She shakes her head, leaving me standing in the kitchen as she bounds upstairs.
To be honest, I don’t know how I got all those women. Maybe I’ve forgotten all my moves, or maybe my moves simply have no effect on some women. Women like Jordan.
So what do I do? Do I drop it and move on?
I wish I could forget about her, but she’s so exciting, the way she’s making me work for it. She’s so sexy when she puts me in my place. It’s fun, too, trying to make her give in to me. I’m not the kind of guy who accept rejection – I won’t be put in a corner.
And she’s definitely not the kind of woman that you leave in a restaurant on her own on a Friday night; or the kind of woman you leave to eat alone on a Saturday night, in her apartment.
“Are you coming or what?” my daughter calls from upstairs.
I join her in her room, thoughts bouncing around my mind. When she passes me a paintbrush, implicitly telling me to move my arse, I find myself asking her: “Are you saying all this because you want me out of your way, or because you really care about your lame old dad’s love life?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “Does it matter?”
“Honestly, yes.”
She sighs. “Mum always had trouble with men.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“It’s true what I said last night – no one was good enough for her. But there was something else, another problem.”
“What was it?”
“She was worried about me, about having a man in the house, and the effect it would have on me.”
I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to bullshit her. I’ve realised lately that, sometimes, it’s better to just give in – especially when you’re talking to a fifteen-year-old.
“And I said nothing. And she was on her own.”
“She had you.”
“Yeah,” she says, sadly. “But I couldn’t help her through the last few months. She needed someone else, an adult.”
Oh, Skylar. I’m starting to think that the pain will never pass – especially not if you keep blaming yourself for everything.
“I don’t want that to happen to you, too.”
“Are you scared I’ll be on my own?”
“I don’t think anyone should be.”
A mature, insightful observation; how did no one notice that setting fire to the science lab was a desperate cry for help? Oh, wait: someone did notice. And it’s the very same woman who seems to keep finding ways to pop up in my mind, wherever she can.
“I don’t want it to be too late for you, too.”
Jordan
I open the door, purse in hand, but freeze over at the sight of his face.
“Hey.” He lifts up a paper bag. “I’ve brought dinner.”
“I’ve already ordered food.”
“I know, fish and chips. I bumped into the delivery guy downstairs. Don’t worry, I paid him for his trouble.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Yesterday you told me that you like meat; and judging by the way you watched Skylar devour her burger…” He flashes me a confident smile, before opening the bag. The smell of grilled meat wafts into my nostrils.
My stomach growls instantly, but I ignore it – just as I ignore the fact that I’m happy to see him here, at my door. And I really like the fact that he remembered how much I love meat.
“You can’t just turn up here whenever you want, trying to… What are you trying to do?”
“Have dinner with you.”
I glare at him.
“I swear.”
“That’s not part of the agreement.”
“You’re right, but it’s just one dinner. No one will know.”
“I will.”
“True. I forgot how much you pride yourself on your integrity.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not.”
“Niall…”
“Just one dinner.”
“You still haven’t won the tournament, yet,” I point out.
“I know – we have a date on the cards, remember?”
“And what would you call this?”
“You can call it whatever you want.”
I sway nervously in the doorway.
“I picked it up from The Harbour,” he says, winking.
“I noticed. Their name’s on the bag.”
“Listen, my daughter’s gone out tonight with my sister. My parents have gone dancing, Tyler’s working late…”
“So I’m your last choice?” I ask, almost offended.
“I thought we could have dinner together, that’s all. As friends.”
“How did you know I’d be home alone? Do I really seem that pathetic?”
“No, Jordan. I didn’t know; I hoped.”
I’m as unconvinced about his words as I am about letting him in; but the smell coming from that bag has completely clouded my senses.
“Dinner. Just friends,” I warn him. “Just tonight.”
He smiles, satisfied. “Deal.”
“Hey, you have more fries.”
“No, I don’t,” Niall says, defensively. “You’ve just eaten half of yours already.”
“Are you trying to tell me I eat like a pig?” I ask, shovelling the last piece of burger into my mouth.
Niall laughs, then slides closer to me on the sofa.
“What…?”
He lifts his hand and brushes one finger along my lip: leftover sauce.
I still don’t feel entirely comfortable, so I sit, alert.
“You eat like a woman who’s hungry.”
Damn it. I wish he’d said something to piss me off; then I’d have had a reason to kick him out.
I shouldn’t be looking for a reason – I should simply tell him to leave, like the reasonable woman I am. Maybe I should neve
r have let him in in the first place. But I was hungry, and the smell of meat made me confused. Besides, he’d sent away my dinner. What was I supposed to do? Die of starvation? Probably, yes; especially after our kiss the other night.
We had five minutes left of our truce, we’d had a perfectly lovely evening. But he had those eyes, and that mouth, and those hands – those damn hands – which I still dream about every night.
I’m in big trouble, and it’s all my fault. And, apparently, I have no intention of getting out of it.
“What are you doing?”
“Mmm?”
“You’re pulling strange faces.”
“Really?”
“It’s like you’re talking to yourself.”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He bursts out laughing as he reaches for the bottle, pouring me another glass of wine.
“Only half,” I tell him.
I need to stay focused tonight, or I’ll end up riding him again…
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’d be much better if there were a dessert in that bag, too.”
He laughs again, reaching inside and pulling out two plastic containers. “Apple crumble or chocolate cheesecake?”
“Definitely the chocolate one.”
He hands me the dessert. “You’re lucky I love anything with apples in it.”
“Does that mean you wouldn’t have let me have the chocolate one?”
“That depends on what I’d have got in return.”
I clear my parched throat and grab my glass, drowning my response with wine. Niall Kerry is a bad influence on me, especially in my own house. Especially on my sofa – where I believe we stopped off briefly during our wild night last week. And especially if I’ve drunk a few glasses of wine; even more so after dinner and dessert. I have absolutely no hope of coming out of this alive if he looks at me again with those eyes.
Why didn’t I like him when we were at school? What’s changed? Sure, he’s charming; and the way he talks should be illegal. Maybe it’s nothing to do with him or what he does. Maybe it’s more to do with me.
When I was younger, I tried so hard to be the best at everything, to excel in everything I did. I always wanted to make the best decisions, to be a good girl, who made her parents proud. And he would have led me astray, irreparably broken my heart. Well, now my heart is already broken. I’ve lived through every possible type of disappointment. I feel as if I have nothing to lose – letting go every once in a while might be good for me. I think I want a bad boy, for once.
I think I’ve drunk too much.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Pulling those faces.” He gestures towards my expression. “Are you talking to yourself?”
“Maybe…a little.”
He laughs, then gets to his feet.
“Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly saddened at the thought of him leaving.
“We need two forks,” he says, nodding towards the desserts.
“Right.” I feel heat radiating from my cheeks. “They’re in…”
“The top drawer.”
I look at him.
“I’ve already been here. Remember?” he says, suggestively.
How could I forget?
He heads off into the kitchen as I get to my feet. No, I tell myself. I can’t do this. I can’t give in. I signed an agreement: I was the one who wrote the damn thing! I can’t just go back on my word because I feel lonely, just because of the way he’s looking at me now, from the kitchen doorway, as if he knows the effect he’s having on me. I’m in battle against myself: the self that has to do what’s right, for my job.
“You should go,” I tell him suddenly.
“Why?”
“You know exactly why.”
He comes back into the living room, his gaze never leaving mine. She starts to shake her head.
“We can’t.”
“No one would know apart from us.”
He’s suddenly beside me, lifting a hand towards my hair. He slowly pulls out my hair band, letting it tumble over my shoulders.
“God, Jordan.” His voice is low, raw. “Let yourself go.” He runs his hands through my hair. “Set the wild part of you free: the part you’ve kept locked away for so long.”
“I don’t have a wild side,” I say uncomfortably.
“Yes, you do. And I like it.” He moves closer again, his face in my neck. “I like it a lot.” His mouth is pressed against my skin.
“Niall…”
He lifts his head, his eyes landing on mine.
“One last time.” I can’t believe I really said that. “Just tonight,” I repeat, more for myself than for him. Apparently, the problem isn’t him, what he does or says, the way he looks at me.
The problem is me, and the way I react to each breath he takes.
“Do I need to sign a contract for this, too?”
“Absolutely. But not yet.”
“Aren’t you in a hurry?”
“I think we can wait a while.”
“How long?”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frazzled nerves.
“All night.”
Niall
With just one word from her, my secret weapon has come back from the dead, in perfect shape, ready for war. And, yes: I really do mean war. Because there is no other way to win over this woman. I have to fight against her before I can fight alongside her.
I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her gently towards me. Her hands press against my chest, trying to keep a little distance between us.
“I could get in so much trouble,” she says under her breath, as I smile, smugly. “And not the kind of trouble you have in mind.”
“Well, last time you used me. So I’d say it’s time to return the favour.”
“I didn’t use you.”
“You smacked me on the arse and told me to trot like a horse.”
“Oh, my God.” She tears her eyes away. “I really did do that.”
“Yep.” I brush my nose against her cheek to make her face me again. “And it was crazy, and exciting. You’re crazy and exciting.”
Her expression grows serious. “I’m not that woman, Niall.”
I look at her questioningly. “Then what woman are you, exactly?”
She shakes her head, embarrassed.
“Actually, tell you what,” I say, bringing my other hand behind her neck and pulling her face into mine. “Don’t say anything. I want to find out for myself.”
She sighs, waiting for my mouth. “What if you don’t like the woman you discover?”
I press my body against hers. Jordan tries not to giggle when she feels just how much I like her, and everything that’s about to happen.
“Is that proof enough for you?”
“I don’t know. I’d need to see it up close to be sure.”
“That can be arranged.”
I lift her up by her hips, and she wraps her legs around my waist, her arms linked around my neck. I move towards the sofa and sit down, with her on my lap.
“You really liked the whole cowgirl thing, didn’t you?” she teases, and my dick presses longingly against my jeans.
“If I’m being completely honest, Headmistress, I liked everything. Especially your nerdy glasses. You can take off everything, but not those.”
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“If you want, I could get down on one knee and ask?”
I move quickly on the sofa, flipping her underneath me. I slide to my knees on the floor, my hands on her thighs.
“What are you planning to do, Kerry?”
“You know exactly what I have in mind, Headmistress.”
Her eyes are suddenly aflame, hope and anticipation spasming through me. If she continues like this, I’ll come before I can even get my pants off.
I grab at the elastic o
f her tracksuit bottoms and tug them down over her legs. Jordan watches me, without trying to stop me. I go back up to her waist, my fingers sliding under the lining of her underwear. She watches me, holding her breath, as I slowly slip them over her hips and down to the floor.
“Keep them on,” I tell her, pulling her further down on the sofa. “If you keep them on,” I say, panting against her trembling skin, “I promise you won’t regret it.”
I press against her thighs, then brush my mouth lightly between her legs. Jordan stretches out against the backrest behind her, grabbing at the sofa, her eyes glued to me. I feel her sigh, watch her move around in anticipation, as I kiss her slowly, making her want something she’s probably never had. I’m happy to give it to her: a man, on his knees in front of her, who can’t wait to have her to himself for a whole night.
I part my lips against her clitoris and suck it desperately. Jordan’s hands move to my hair, running through it as I nibble at her, brimming with desire and anticipation at the sound of her pleasure. I stroke her with my fingers as I slide my tongue inside her; her hips move against me. Her taste is in my mouth, her breathing filling my mind. She won’t stop touching me, turning me on; I’m aching with unbearable pain, but I can’t stop. I want to hear her enjoying this. I want to feel her as she lets herself go, loses control.
I want to her remember what it means to have my mouth on every inch of her, every time she calls me Mr Kerry; every time she pretends there’s nothing between us.
She moves against my mouth as my fingers slowly start to slip inside her.
“Come on, Headmistress,” I whisper between her thighs, before biting gently her labia.
“Oh, my God…”
She moves manically above me, trying to increase the pressure of my touch.
“Show me how much you like it.”
She brings her hands to the back of my neck and pulls me in towards her, making me feel it – and making herself feel it, too. The headmistress comes, wildly and freely, a few murmurs of ‘fuck’ escaping her lips. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
