The Fisherman Series : Special Edition

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Do you want me to kiss you here?” He brushed his lips lightly over that part of me.

  “I … I … don’t know.” Harsh breaths rushed past my lips as I rested my hands on the side of the pool table to steady myself.

  “No?” He left a tiny kiss there, before navigating up my body, resting his hands on the pool table next to mine while he flicked his tongue over my nipple before standing straight and shrugging off his shirt. “We’ll go until you tell me to stop?”

  My lazy gaze worked its way up his body to meet his gaze, and after a few seconds, I nodded. I didn’t really know my limit that night. Sex didn’t feel right, but stopping felt a little wrong and even a little impossible. All I could do was let him continue and hope that I’d find my limit, that stopping point.

  Fisher grabbed my face and kissed me, our tongues mingling as my nipples brushed his chest. And I needed more. My fingers teased his abs just above the waist of his jeans, and he moaned into the kiss. Then my brave and completely inexperienced fingers moved lower, tracing the outline of his erection, and his hips thrust forward into my touch as he moaned a little louder … kissed me a little harder … and lifted me onto the edge of the pool table.

  It was wrong. I thought. I maybe even knew. But I didn’t want to take responsibility … not yet. The feeling … the drug he became … was too strong.

  After rocking his hips into me a couple of times, he moved his mouth to my neck, sucking and biting as he unbuttoned his jeans. Things started to feel … real. Very, very real.

  My heart managed to beat even faster. Anticipation soared in my head, making me dizzier.

  Stop.

  Don’t stop.

  Gah!

  I was so conflicted—those scattered pieces of paper all over the floor without anyone to pick them up and sort them to make sense again.

  Fisher’s hand tangled in my hair as his mouth returned to mine and his erection, covered only by his underwear, wedged between my legs.

  The friction.

  The wet feeling.

  The heat.

  I wasn’t ready for sex, or maybe I was. I just didn’t know. And as much as I knew, I really knew we needed to stop, I wasn’t ready to tell him to stop. It wasn’t sex, right? We weren’t having actual sex. As much as I wanted more to happen, without actually having sex, I didn’t know how to articulate it because I wasn’t exactly sure what more meant. I only knew I wanted to at least feel him against me, really against me.

  My hand rested on his hip, my fingers teasing his underwear’s waistband. Sliding one finger beneath it, I slowly inched my way to the front. Just before touching him there, putting just enough pressure on the waistband to expose the head of his … cock? Penis? No … Dick?

  Fisher stopped kissing me, and with quick breaths escaping past his parted lips, he glanced down at my finger still curled around the waistband. It was my first glimpse at a man’s … head. That head.

  “I need to get a condom,” he whispered.

  I shook my head slowly. We weren’t having sex. I felt fairly certain of that. I just wanted … well … I wasn’t sure. I wanted to see him and feel him, but not actually have sex. “I want …” I swallowed hard. “I just want to feel you.”

  “God … feel me, Reese.” He grabbed my hand and slipped it down the front of his underwear, closing his eyes as his tongue swiped along his lower lip. He released my hand.

  It took me a few seconds to move my hand, to gently wrap it around him. He was warm and hard, yet smooth and long. I slid my hand up slowly.

  “Fuuuck …” He dropped his chin and opened his eyes again, watching me touch him, his abs tightening even more than seconds earlier.

  My gaze flitted between my hand and his gaze, like I wasn’t fully aware that I was the one giving him that pleasure. Me. Not Teagan. Not the woman upstairs in his bed.

  Me.

  I felt like a queen. A goddess.

  The head was even smoother … and wet … and a little sticky.

  “Reese …” He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if in some sort of agony. “Let me get a condom.”

  “No. I … I just want to feel you.”

  “Fuck …” His mouth landed on my neck and shoulder again, his hand grabbing my breast with a little bit of desperation. “You are feeling me, and it’s killing me.”

  “No. I want to feel you …” I pushed down a fraction on his erection, forcing his underwear down a little more and positioning him extremely close to the center of my spread legs. “Here. I want to feel you here, but … just … on the outside.”

  “Reese …” He rested his forehead on my shoulder and dropped his hand to the edge of the pool table again as we both focused on my hand bringing him so incredibly close to me. Taking the tiniest of steps closer, the head of it touched me there.

  “Stop.” My breath hitched.

  The warmth and silkiness felt out of this world.

  After hearing him gulp a loud swallow, I rubbed it against me. It felt so good. Everything about him felt good … maybe even right, from his lips at my shoulder to his right hand on my knee, gently pushing it out to spread my legs a little wider.

  With micro movements, he dipped his hips forward a fraction of an inch, hitting my clit, then back. Forward again. Back again.

  It wasn’t sex.

  It wasn’t sex.

  It wasn’t sex.

  That chant played on an endless loop in my head.

  “God …” I closed my eyes and said a quick apology prayer for using the Lord’s name in vain, but I somehow ignored the obvious apology for sitting naked on the edge of Fisher’s pool table while we rubbed his cock along my … area.

  His movements sped up a bit, becoming ragged like his breathing.

  “Fisher!” I gasped, digging my fingernails into his shoulders as he stilled.

  He stilled because the head of it went in the wrong direction. It went in … a fraction. Fisher was inside of me, literally a quarter of an inch, at the very most. But still … he was there. And he could have moved. He could have jumped back. But he didn’t.

  I could have moved. I could have scooted back that quarter of an inch. I could have pushed him away. But I didn’t.

  “I’m so—” He started to apologize. I thought. I wasn’t sure. Things were a little foggy at that point.

  “No. Don’t … move.” I think I meant to say “don’t apologize,” but I didn’t. I had bigger issues than that. I didn’t want him to move toward me at all. But … I also didn’t want him to step back. I liked him there. Too much. And if he would have moved forward and pushed farther inside of me, I know I would have let him, but the regret might have been too much. Yet the thought of him stepping away felt nearly as excruciating.

  “Reeeese … I can’t fucking stay here.” His breaths were little staccatos along my cheek as he dragged his lips from my ear to my mouth and bit my lower lip kinda hard.

  Because I couldn’t make up my stupid mind, and he was running out of patience, I grabbed it and moved it up to my clit again. That time I didn’t let go. I made sure every time his pelvis rocked forward, it didn’t go inside of me.

  But I wanted it to go there. And that was a part of my brain I couldn’t control. I couldn’t pray away those thoughts. I wanted to have sex with Fisher Mann nearly as much as my lungs wanted oxygen.

  “Lean back.” He pressed a hand between my breasts.

  I couldn’t lean back without letting go of him. And if I let go of him, things were sure to happen.

  Fisher saw the concern on my face and shook his head. “I’m not taking your virginity … tonight.” He smirked.

  I didn’t trust him. Then again, I didn’t trust myself. So I moved forward with another bad decision. I had a whole stack of them that night, and I leaned back onto my forearms. Fisher rested his hands on my knees and spread my legs wider.

  “If you let me put my mouth on you…” his gaze landed between my legs “…I could make you scream.”

  Bitin
g my lip, I shook my head at least a half dozen times.

  Oral sex.

  Nope. It had sex in the name. So I had to pass.

  As if God were applauding me at that point for showing restraint.

  Fisher leaned forward, rubbing me in the perfect spot with his erection, again and again, as his mouth found my breasts. As the pressure built, I shifted my hips, but not on purpose.

  “Fuck!” He stilled again. And again, he was inside of me, a little. A little more actually, but only maybe a half inch this time. “You can’t move like that.” He breathed heavily.

  I wanted it.

  In that moment, I made the decision to … go to Hell maybe. But I wasn’t going there a virgin. I was going there with the naked fisherman inside of me.

  “Fisher …” I rested my heels firmly on the edge of the pool table and lifted my hips a tiny bit.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Stop!” He grabbed my hips and pushed them back down to the pool table. “I don’t have on a condom.”

  “Then get one.”

  He closed his eye and shook his head. “They’re upstairs.”

  With Angie.

  “Fisher …” I tried to lift my hips again.

  Again, he shook his head and held me down while pulling the head of his erection out of me. Then he used one hand to give me an orgasm while using his other hand to give himself one—the result of it landing on my stomach. That part was sort of weird for me.

  “Damnation is in your future, little girl.” He pulled up his underwear and jeans before sauntering to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

  “Then you’re going with me.”

  He shook his head. “Only after Rory murders me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I still had eighty percent of my virginity. It took some complicated math to come up with that. It also meant I still had an eighty percent chance of going to Heaven—one hundred if I followed the once-saved-always-saved philosophy. That was probably the best way to go at that point.

  My guilt held on with more permanence than what I’d hoped, but my remorse declined a bit since the dry humping in my bed incident. That brought me to tears afterward. The pool table? No tears. I think I was in shock that I wanted to go all the way. Fisher stopped me. The crude, naked fisherman. I never imagined that. He said we’d go until I said stop. I never said stop. If anything, I had my own little cheering section in my head chanting, “Go! Go! Go!”

  Creeping along the side of the house, I made my escape the next morning. A little Sunday morning gospel to cleanse my soul.

  Tiptoeing along the side of Fisher’s truck, I hid from sight in case he was watering his plants.

  “Off to confess your sins?”

  I jumped and glanced at the garage with both doors wide open and Fisher bent over his weight bench working his triceps.

  No shirt, of course.

  “Um …” I cleared my throat, eyeing Arnie’s Escalade. Did it mean Angie was still there too? “Yes. I’m going to church.” I tightened my grip on the clutch purse I’d used the previous night and took slow steps into the garage.

  “You look nice.” He eyed me in my simple white romper and silver Birkenstocks.

  “Thanks. Is…” my gaze signaled to the door to the house “…Angie gone?”

  “Nope,” he replied with a strained voice as he continued his workout. “In the shower.”

  “Oh. Did you … sleep on the sofa or in a spare room?”

  “No. It’s my bed. Why should I have done that?”

  Swallowing hard, I clenched my teeth and shrugged with stiff shoulders. My entire body tensed with anger. “No reason.” I managed to eke out the words. “Later.” I pivoted, holding my breath—holding everything that tried to pry open my lips to be set free.

  “You want to know if I had sex with her, huh?”

  My feet stopped in place, but I couldn’t turn around. “No.”

  “No? Really? Well, we did. Full penetration. There’s really nothing better than being buried balls deep in a woman. No holding back. No fragile hymens. No guilt. Just raw fucking.”

  Tears stung my eyes before I had a chance to flinch at his vulgarity, and I forced my feet to make speedy, gigantic strides out of the garage.

  “Not so quick.” I heard the thunk of weights hitting the rubber mat, and in the next breath he grabbed my arm and whipped me around to face him. “It’s a joke.” He shook his head and grinned as his other hand blotted the wet corners of my eyes.

  “It’s a terrible joke,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.

  “Probably. But Rory comes home in a few days.” He blew out a long breath. “And you said it would stop then. You said you didn’t want her to know. So if we’re a few days from ending whatever this is … then you need to get ahold of yourself.”

  That confirmation? The one that said his feelings toward me were way different than mine were toward him? It sucked.

  Jerking my hand away, I finished wiping my eyes before a new round of emotion made its way to the stage. “I have ahold of myself. I’m just not emotionally dead like you are. Not because I’m eighteen. It’s because I’m a good person with real emotions, and that will never change. So excuse me if the idea of you screwing someone immediately after consuming me like some tasteless appetizer is a little disheartening, but it’s only because I don’t offer myself up to just anyone like you obviously do.”

  Fisher’s head jerked backward. “First…” he held up a finger in my face “…you didn’t really let me taste you, so the tasteless reference is unfair. And second…” he held up another finger “…if you’re insinuating Angie is just anyone, then you need to check your facts again.”

  My face scrunched into my most menacing expression, which probably only made me look constipated. “You are … you’re …” My hands balled into tight fists.

  He smirked.

  Gah!

  I hated him for smirking at me when there was nothing funny about anything we were discussing.

  “For a cruciv—cruciferous whatever that made-up word was you called yourself, you sure lack in vocabulary when the pressure’s on.”

  My hate grew. First his smirk, then his stupid fumbling of the word cruciverbalist. I didn’t want to smile. It wasn’t okay for him to steal my anger with his intentional or unintentional humor. Yet there I stood, with my hands still fisted and an unavoidable grin climbing up my face.

  “You’re so stupid. Never again do you get to reference my age since you just called me a botany term denoting cabbage family plants. Not the same thing as cruciverbalist—one who constructs or is good at solving crossword puzzles.” I added an eye roll for good measure.

  “Broccoli. Cabbage. Cauliflower. I know. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Again, you just don’t get my humor.”

  “I’m going to church.” I turned on my heel and continued toward the Outback.

  “Say hi to the virgins for me.”

  “Jerk,” I mumbled—but not without grinning because Fisher Mann was so … extra.

  “Welcome back. It’s good to see you again.” A somewhat familiar face greeted me as I took a chair in the Sunday school classroom. “It’s Brendon.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I remember.” I didn’t really. “Thanks. We missed you at the singles’ Bible study on Wednesday night.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well. Headache.” The hardest part about having a church family was the accountability which led to truths they didn’t want to hear or lies they happily swallowed while God knew. He always knew. Like earlier that morning during the sermon, I wasn’t thinking about the words echoing through the sanctuary. My mind replayed the previous night. With my Bible open on my lap and people all around me responding to the day’s gospel with “Amens,” I squeezed my thighs together and thought about Fisher between my legs while silently saying my own kind of Amens.

  “Well, I hope you’re feeling better now.” Brendon sat next to me.

  “Much better. Thanks.”

 
“Would you like to have lunch with me today?”

  Brendon wasn’t terrible looking. He had a great smile, and he was taller than me which was always a bonus. But … there was Fisher.

  And … there was Rory coming home in a matter of days.

  “Just lunch.” Brendon chuckled as if he could read my mind. “I don’t have that many friends.”

  “Okay. Lunch would be great. I could use a friend too.” If Fisher had Angie in his bed … in whatever capacity … I could have lunch with a male friend.

  After class, we raced to the parking lot to beat the crowd and congestion of vehicles trying to maneuver out of the tight spaces.

  “Shoot. I’m trapped.” Brendon frowned at his car blocked in a parallel parking spot at the west end of the lot. He barely had two inches in the front or the back to maneuver. “Guess I’m waiting for the crowd after all.”

  “Leave it. I’ll drive and drop you off after lunch.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded.

  He followed me to my car and gave me an extended glance over the top of it as I unlocked the doors. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.” I unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat as he got in on the other side.

  “Really? Wow. I thought you were older.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  I wouldn’t have guessed that. Maybe twenty. “You look young for twenty-four.” I smiled, giving him a quick sideways glance as I backed out of the parking space.

  “Good thing this isn’t a date. I’d feel a little weird with you being eighteen.”

  “I’m an adult,” I said my new and thoroughly recycled mantra.

  We settled on a Mediterranean restaurant and a large booth near the open kitchen.

  “We’re just a few blocks from my house. I’ve passed this place many times on my walks.”

  “You live in this neighborhood?” He narrowed one eye. “With your parents? It’s just … a really nice neighborhood. I couldn’t afford to live here by myself or even with a houseful of roommates.”

  I sipped my water then shook my head. “I live with my mom. And she rents the basement of a house. So I can’t afford to live here and neither could she if it weren’t a basement rental situation.”