by J. J. Sorel
The relief on her face, however, was not lost on me.
Why would Aggie be so happy to know about my relationship? Why did that matter to her?
Those same questions revolved in my head the next day when I visited my neglected apartment to find something to wear to dinner with my parents and Bronson. In what was a sad testimony to my disorganized life, I stood by a pile of clothes at my feet. Indecisive as always, I’d also managed to bury my bed in potential outfits.
The thought of my mom meeting Bronson had me on edge.
It had to happen. If we were to take the relationship to that next stage, my parents needed to meet him. I just prayed my mom wouldn’t ask after Justin, who’d charmed the pants off her with his endless babble and self-confidence.
They say one can’t choose their parents. In many ways I took solace in that adage, considering how shallow and social climbing my mom really was. Her only redeeming feature was that she married my sweet father. If it weren’t for my dad, I may have even tried to keep my contact time with her down to those routine occasions like Christmas and birthdays.
Settling for a pink shirt, I stood before the mirror and buttoned it up. My hair hung with sad neglect. A frustrated sigh left me at the thought of ripping through it with a brush. I wondered if Bronson would still like me if I cut it. Running my fingers through the knots, I decided to tie it back into a ponytail. Cutting my hair was another thing my mother kept on at me about. But then, nothing I did seemed to please her. Perhaps it was because I was an only child.
Was it too soon for us to move in together? Where would all my possessions go? Maybe I’d store them at my parents’, I thought. They had plenty of room there. Bronson’s apartment was too small for everything. I would need my books, however.
My thoughts kept buzzing about like bees trapped in a hive, colliding with each other.
Aggie, Bronson, my mom, my possessions, my hair, my life…
“Stop!” I screamed. With my head in my hands, I allowed things to settle. The buzzer at the door made me jump.
I opened it, and Bronson stood before me. His scent hit me first, which made my body tingle, especially as my eyes feasted on him. Gone was that bedroom tousle. In its place, Bronson’s hair was neatly combed back with product, his natural wave sitting at the perfect height for his high-cheekboned features. He wore a tan sport jacket with cream-colored chinos and a white shirt. I could have eaten him. Bronson looked like one of those hunky guys one saw on the cover of a men’s magazine.
With that natural sultry stride, he entered my messy apartment and sat down next to me. Like magnets, we were drawn to each other. Had it only been morning when we had last seen each other?
I buried my nose in his warm neck, sucking in his scent as if starved for it.
He kissed me tenderly.
When we separated, a roguish smile touched his lips as his eyes swept over me. “You look beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I countered, stroking his jacket.
“Is it okay? I paid a pretty sum for it.”
“It’s really stylish, and it suits you,” I said.
He rose and headed to the kitchen.
“Please, don’t go in there,” I warned. I hadn’t had a chance to clean for a while.
“Why? Is there a dead body in there?” His eyes lit up with dark amusement.
When he saw my lips forming a tight line, recalling that dreaded heart in the jar, he added, “Maybe not a good choice of words.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
He rubbed himself against me. “You.”
Bronson seemed more relaxed than me as we drove over the George Washington Bridge. I looked behind me at the sleepless city that was my home. The farther we traveled, the lights blurred and shimmered resembling an abstract work of art rather than a metropolis.
“I haven’t been out of the city for a while,” I said.
“We’re only heading for Jersey,” he said.
A confident driver, Bronson wove in and out of the traffic, putting his foot down when needed. Normally a jumpy passenger, I felt at ease with him at the wheel.
He stole the occasional glance at me. “You don’t seem yourself, Ava.”
“I’m nervous.”
“About me meeting your folks?”
I sighed. “Uh-huh… Dad’s great, but my mom’s hard work. She’ll ask a lot of questions.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
Just as we left the bridge, Bronson slowed the car down. Finding a spot on the side of the road, he stopped.
Turning to look at me, he became serious all of a sudden.
“Ava. Do you want to do this?”
“I want to be with you.”
The tightness in his face faded into a faint smile. “Then I can take it if you can.”
Every time I looked at Bronson, my desire for him intensified. I wanted to lunge for him, but instead, I indulged in holding his hand, which seemed to fuse us together, for it felt like a pleasant current running through me.
My mother, who did not possess a subtle bone in her body, tried to keep her cool as she scrutinized the living daylights out of Bronson, while my father was his usual affable self. He became more so upon discovering that he and Bronson shared many things in common, especially a love of wood.
While Dad showed Bronson around his workshop, my mom led me into the kitchen, where a thousand words a minute poured out of her mouth.
At the end of it all, she asked, “What happened to Justin?”
“What don’t you like about Bronson?” I asked.
“He’s dishy, that’s for sure. Very good looking in that troubled way.”
My eyebrows drew in tight. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s been locked up, darling.” She knitted her fingers.
“Falsely. That was Justin’s doing, I might add.”
“You haven’t got proof.”
“Oh, Mom, get over it. Justin’s not an option.” Frustration fired my speech. “Bronson has just had a housing development he designed approved. That should please you, seeing you’re into real estate.”
“Hm…” She began setting the table.
“Do you need a hand?” I asked.
“Bring out that tray of roast potatoes.”
When Bronson and my father returned, I heard my father ask, “Can I get you a beer?”
“No.” Bronson looked at me. “I’m driving. I’m good.”
After we settled at the table, with the meat carved, and our plates full, my mother remarked, “You’re Justin’s brother, I believe.”
Bronson nodded. “Not biological brother.” He looked at me. “I met Ava at a family function.”
“That must have caused a stir,” she said.
“Mom…” I interjected.
Bronson touched my hand and gave me a subtle nod. “Justin and I don’t talk.”
“Ava tells me you’re working on a housing development.”
“I am. We’re building smaller-sized homes on vacant industrial land. It’s what’s known as an affordable housing project.”
“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “This is a bit soon between the two of you. Ava tells me she’s moving in with you.”
“I can understand your concern, Mrs. Rose.” His eyes met mine. “I’m in love with your daughter.”
As I placed my hand in his, tears pricked my eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
BRONSON
Apart from sharing the same stunning looks, Ava was nothing like her mom. Thank God for that. Because even with her awe-inspiring beauty and curves, I would never have fallen for Ava otherwise.
Ava was more like her father, who was a gentleman in the true sense of that word. His vast knowledge of woodwork impressed me so much that my jaw dropped at how similar our approach to working with the grain of timber was. There was definitely potential for a friendship there since I could imagine us spending time together in his workshop, sharing tips over a few
beers.
As we were leaving, I kissed Laura Rose on the cheek, which left a cold tingle on my lips. John stood quietly beside his wife. I figured that was why they’d stayed together. If one was to survive the force that was Laura Rose, a man would need to agree to everything.
In any case, Ava’s father took me aside and whispered, “It’s all good. Don’t mind her. She’s a bit of a ball-breaker. Underneath it all, she’s one hell of a woman.” He nodded and returned a smile as he patted me on the back. “It’s been great meeting you, Bronson. I look forward to seeing some of your pieces.”
When we were in the car, Ava said, “That went well.” Her sardonic tone summed up my state of mind entirely.
Remaining quiet, I drove to the next street and parked the car.
Ava turned to look at me. “Why are we stopping?”
“Did you ever love Justin?” I turned to face her squarely.
Ava looked as though I’d flashed headlights in front of her.
“Um… no.” A line formed between her eyes. “Why are you asking me this? You know how I felt about Justin and how much I hate him now.”
A rough breath left me. “I don’t think I’m going to measure up. I’m not good enough for you.”
I hated how pathetic that sounded, but a churning of insecurities surfaced suddenly.
“I warned you about my mom. She’s like that with most people unless it’s a client that she’s trying to sell a house to. That’s her way. She’s a go-getter. And she’s always been like that about me. I disappointed her a long time ago.”
Ava grabbed my hand and gazed at me with such love that she could have melted the polar ice caps.
“Fucking parents… without them, we’re lost; with them, we’re never good enough,” I said running my fingers through my hair, which returned a sticky stain on my palms. “And I hate fucking hair products. Shit.”
I rubbed my hands on my pants.
Her lips twitched into a smile. “I prefer you with messy, just-fucked hair anyway.”
Ava rarely swore, but hearing that coming out of her pretty mouth made my pants tighten all of a sudden.
“I was just trying to make an impression,” I said.
“You and Dad got on really well. He really likes you. That says something, and you share a passion. I love that about you both. Give me a creative man, anytime,” she said.
As much as I loved hearing that comment, a dark cloud continued to fog my head. “Did you ever love Justin? Did he make you come?”
“What? No. I mean… we hardly ever did it.”
Ava’s eyes glistened with outraged confusion. I shouldn’t have gone there. The past was the past. She hadn’t asked me about all the women I’d fucked. There’d been so many I would never have been able to put a number to it. A fact I wasn’t proud of, and therefore grateful that Ava had never asked me about it.
I puffed out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Ava. Your mom seems stuck on Justin. One would need to be brainless not to have noticed the disappointment on her face after she met me.”
“Listen to me, Bronson. You’re the love of my life. We’ve been together for one minute, but yet I feel as if we’ve known each other for a lifetime. I want to live with you, even though your potential OCD will creep me out over time.”
“Huh?” I studied her to see if there was a smile or a joke brewing. “OCD? I don’t suffer that.”
“Um… Hello… I’ve watched you fold your clothes neatly while you’re ripping off my panties with your mouth.”
I laughed at that ridiculous picture. “Now you’re exaggerating. I’d need four hands to do that.”
“But jokes aside, Bronson. We live differently. I’m messy to a fault. I’m almost allergic to washing dishes. That’s why I chose to live alone.”
“I hate where you live, amongst druggies and thieves,” I muttered. The tension that had been eating away at me dissolved into dull background noise as I stroked Ava’s smooth arm. “Am I really the love of your life?”
“You are, Bronson. As much as I’ve tried to take it slowly, it’s hard when I’m around you.”
“Yeah, you got that right. It’s always hard when you’re around me,” I said with a flicker of a grin.
She tilted her head and smiled. “Well then, Mr. Clean Freak, let’s get back so I can see just how hard it is to resist your animal charms.”
Starting up the engine, I laughed for the first time in days.
I pressed the play button, and “Born To Be Wild” came on—hard driving just like me. Moving my head back and forth to the driving rhythm, I tapped the steering wheel.
“My dad loves this kind of music. I grew up with it,” said Ava.
“At least we can escape into his workspace. I can see why he needs to hang there for long periods.”
“He loves my mom. And she loves him,” Ava defended.
“Then why is she trying to foist a dirtbag lawyer onto you? That’s hypercritical, isn’t it?”
“When have you ever noticed humans not being that?”
“True. Wise, beautiful girl.” I flashed a smile.
Tension, it seemed, where Ava was involved, generated such an insatiable need in me that we barely made it to the door. Her bra was already unclasped. After seeing her nipples prickling through her blouse, I crept my hand up while we rode the elevator. Just as her full breasts fell into my palms, another person jumped on. I took a deep breath in order to still the charge of blood heading for my groin.
When we stepped out of the lift, my mouth ate at hers with such ferocious need that I nearly fell against her on the wall. While my tongue burrowed deep into her mouth, I reached for my keys.
With one arm around her waist, I pushed open the door, and we fell into the room. The lights from the street gave us just enough to see as we made it onto the couch.
I pulled off her jeans and ran my fingers up her sticky thighs.
Lowering my face onto her pussy, I caressed it while ripping off her panties. By now, Ava was used to my need to taste her. I preferred her at the end of a day for some reason. Her flavor was sharper, sexier.
My tongue fluttered over her bud. Arching her back, she responded with an elongated sigh. Her clit swelled against my tongue as I licked up and down and around until she wiggled in my hands and came loudly.
I undid my trousers. My cock throbbed with such intensity it hurt.
As I clasped her firm, curvy butt, her hot tight muscles flooded my finger as I entered, while Ava managed to undo the buttons of my shirt and ran her hands up and down my torso.
I opened her legs and thrust deeply into her.
Her eyes hooded and lips parted as my cock was met by a contracting wet mass of hot, tight muscles.
“Ah…” left my lips, while my heart thumped against my chest as blood raged through me.
“I need to take you from behind,” I said, squeezing her ass.
We fell onto the rug, and she positioned herself on all fours. I lifted her hips and entered her deeply.
While our heavy breathing filled the air, I pumped into her, my hands cradling her heavy tits. As with each time we fucked, it was so sensual and erotic that I found it difficult not to blow quickly.
“I need you to come for me, Ava,” I rasped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
AVA
“Ah…” left my lips. The friction caused that delicious climb to the top as one wave of sensation overtook another. Overwhelmed with arousal, my sex convulsed around him, making him feel so large that he stretched me beyond bliss. His hot breath gusted over my neck between bites. With each entry, a burning throb threatened to finish me off.
Every inch of my skin tingled, and I was showered by one euphoric wave after another until an almighty eruption brought tears to my fluttering eyelashes.
Digging my nails into his hard biceps, I cried out.
His body shuddered along with a loud groan. He injected deeply into me as if aiming his seed into my brain.
Taking a mome
nt to get my breath back, I remained on my back, waiting for the stars to fade away.
Bronson turned to face me. His lips curved, making his cheeks dimple and giving him that irresistible boyish charm that made my heart bubble over.
“What?” he asked as I smiled back at him.
“I’m just thinking how sweet you look after an orgasm.”
“It does have a purging effect on me, I suppose,” he said.
“You make it sound like a laxative.”
He laughed. “In a way, it’s an emotional one, I suppose. I always feel light and fantastic afterward. Only with you…. have I…” He pushed back a curl from his forehead.
“Only with me, what?” I asked, leaning up on my elbow.
“I feel safe. I know that sounds weird. But before you, I lacked grounding. I couldn’t imagine ever belonging to anyone.”
“You belong to me, Bronson. I’ve got you.” I nodded.
“And I’ve got you, angel. I’d kill for you.”
His eyes, having gone a dark shade of intensity, sent a shiver through me.
“That’s hopefully not going to be necessary,” I said, trying to make light of something that was anything but.
It was my second visit to Aggie’s that day. After Bronson departed for work, I’d decided to pay a visit so that I might speak to her staff in the hope of gaining some fresh insights.
That hideous thing in the jar was foremost in my mind, as it was in Bronson’s, given the family connection. In any case, he wasn’t going to allow the mystery to remain unsolved. And after that hair-raising comment stating that he’d kill for me, I knew that Bronson had a closer relationship to the darker side than I could ever have.
On my first visit to Aggie’s, I stood before the locked entrance scratching my head. Everything within and around it seemed so lifeless it was as if the building had been condemned. Not that it was run down. If anything, the pretty gray brick building shone like a jewel among its sharp-edged glass-walled neighbors.
When I arrived at my regular hour, later that day, the glass doors, as always, opened as I pushed on them.
