She nods. “Yeah, I actually went to school for it. So did my mom, but she never finished her degree because she got pregnant with me. She made me promise when we found out she was sick to make sure I finished school. Which I did, but since then, I haven’t done anything with it. But it was a promise I made to my mom, and I didn’t want to let her down.”
Thinking back on the little I know of Annabelle, it makes sense. The way her apartment is decorated with so much color—only an artist has an eye like that. And . . .
“The painting on the wall of your apartment—is that yours?”
She nods again. “It was one of my senior projects. It’s my favorite. I’ve had offers from people who want to buy it, but I can’t part with it.”
“And you shouldn’t. Why don’t you paint anymore?”
“I just haven’t had the inspiration. When I first dreamed of moving to Chicago, it was to open my own gallery. But now, I’m happy with my life. I love the café. It’s a good job. Maybe someday the inspiration to start painting again will strike me, but for right now, it’s just something I used to do.”
And right there, sitting on a rock with a woman who has shifted my world on its side, I make myself a promise that I will do everything in my power to help her find that inspiration again.
23
Annabelle
This day has been absolutely perfect. Even the impromptu thunderstorm.
Spending the day with Jaxson has been nothing short of amazing. After we left Millennium Park, we rode around a bit longer and got dinner at a pizza shop—because after our talk about toppings, we were both craving it. And now we’re back in the city.
I didn’t want the day to end, and I really hoped he didn’t either. It was rare for both of us have an entire day off together, and I wanted to spend every minute with him.
I knew when he didn’t drive toward my apartment that he wasn’t ready for the day to end either.
We pull up to a building that looks like an old warehouse, but since I see lights coming from different windows, I assume these are now apartments. His apartment.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to show you where I live,” he says as we get off the bike and remove our helmets. He says it with a slight hesitation, like I would actually say “no.”
“I would love to see where you live.”
He takes me up the elevator and we enter a loft-style apartment. It’s completely open and it looks bigger because there are just the basics taking up space. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that he’s a guy who has just the basics to get by.
“This is very you,” I say as I look around. “I figured you were a minimalist.”
As I look out the window, he comes behind me and puts his arms around me. “I wouldn’t say minimalist. I’m just not here much, so what’s the point of having a bunch of things? I have what I need. Honestly, it’s too big for me, but after where I grew up, I just wanted something more—where I didn’t feel like I was living in a shoebox and needed to have six chains on the door.”
As we stand there, looking out the window, I revel in the fact that he continues to open up to me. I never press hard with him—I just take the pieces he gives me, and they come a little bit at a time. It’s enough, because I know it’s more than he has given to anyone else.
I can’t help but let out a yawn as we stand in each other’s arms. I’m a little tired from the day, but just being wrapped around Jaxson makes me feel relaxed. And safe. I love the feeling.
“You tired, baby?”
Another small yawn escapes. “A little. I didn’t realize a day on the bike would wipe me out like this.”
He guides me to the couch, where he flips on the TV and positions my feet across his lap. I sink down into the leather sofa, almost falling asleep as he rubs my feet.
“Mmm. That’s feels amazing.”
Who knew a foot rub could be such a turn-on? Though my body is tired, it’s now waking up to the sensation of him hitting certain pressure points.
Whatever he’s doing is making my body react. Before I know it, my eyes are closed. I love how it feels when he touches me. My hips are circling, wanting more of anything he’ll give.
He stops rubbing my feet, but his hands don’t leave my body. They start traveling up, slowly, like he’s memorizing every inch. I’m still wearing my jeans, but they are so tight I can feel every touch. He massages my calf before making his way up to my thigh. His powerful hands start kneading into my flesh, and OH MY GOD, HOW IS A SIMPLE LEG MASSAGE MAKING ME SO WET?
“Jaxson, that feels so . . . don’t stop . . .”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to, baby. Just relax and let me explore.”
Who am I to argue with that? Every place this man touches me turns me on more than the last.
His hands are now at my stomach, lifting my shirt so he can feel my skin. Like the rest of me, it’s hot and ready and waiting for more.
His lips join his hands over my belly button, placing small kisses up higher and higher until my shirt is off, showing my black lace bra.
“Fuck, Annabelle, you are so fucking gorgeous.”
His lips continue their journey as he pulls the cups down, exposing my breasts. As soon as they’re free, he begins sucking on one, then the other, flicking his tongue against my nipples, which I’ve discovered is my ultimate turn-on.
My hands are now in his hair, pressing his mouth deeper into my chest. My hips are writhing underneath him, which I can’t help. I need a release soon or I’m going to explode.
“Jaxson, I need to come!”
“Not yet, baby. Soon. I’ll take you there.”
Knowing he will, I let my hands travel down to lift up his shirt. He breaks away from his feast on my breasts for just a second to let me take it off. The feeling of his skin against mine only adds to my want.
He continues his assault on my chest and it’s driving me fucking insane. Needing any kind of relief, I position my legs around his hips, digging my feet into his ass, needing him closer so I can find some sort of friction to help with the ache in my core.
This snaps something inside of him, because before I know it, he lifts me off the couch and carries me to his bedroom.
He places me on his king-size bed and we don’t need to say anything. The look in our eyes is fire, and we quickly lose the rest of our clothing, needing to feel each other again more than we need our next breath.
He quickly puts on a condom and is on top of me in an instant. Our lips crash together and our hands are everywhere.
He puts a finger inside me—working me, stretching me out, readying me for more. As he adds a second finger inside, I can’t help it—my center clenches and my orgasm breaks free.
“AHH! JAXSON!”
Still inside me, he brings me down from the high, but when I look in his eyes, I know we’re not done. Not by a long shot.
“Annabelle, do you trust me?”
I nod and my words are soft. “With my life.”
Before I know it, he’s flipped me on my stomach and lifted my torso so I’m on my hands and knees, facing away from him. Oh my God, is he going to—
“JAXSON!”
He enters me from behind and this is a new sensation. I’m filled in a very different, but very fantastic way. Feeling his thrusts behind me, looking down and seeing my tits bounce back and forth—I love it!
Jaxson takes my ponytail, and with just a little force, pulls me to him. I’m now on my knees, with his chest to my back, and somehow, he’s still inside me. He’s in control of me, but I know if I say anything, this will stop right away.
But I don’t want it to. Ever.
“You are mine. Do you hear that? You. This pussy. You are mine.”
“I’m yours, Jaxson. Always yours.”
My words are his breaking point. We both come and collapse on the bed with the smell of sex in the air and words that neither of us can take back.
24
Jaxson
I must say, I think I’m getting the
hang of this boyfriend thing.
Over the past month, Annabelle and I have nailed down a pretty good routine. I make sure to work nights when she does, so I can ensure she gets home safely. And then, of course, that also means I get to have my fill of her at night.
In fact, there haven’t been many nights we’ve spent apart, which is just fine with me. She might have been a virgin when we met, but not anymore. My girl is insatiable, and pretty willing to try new things. I kind of love it.
And if I’m being real with myself, I kind of love her.
I haven’t said those words to her yet. Of course, I know it’s way too soon. But for the first time in my life, I have something more than this gym. The best moments are when I put a smile on her face. Like I did the other day when I bought her art supplies: new paints, brushes, and blank canvases. She started crying and launched herself into my arms, peppering me with kisses and showing me how appreciative she was.
That put a smile on my face. And it gave me another idea that I plan to surprise her with later.
“Yo! Earth to Jaxson. You there, buddy?”
Yeah, when I think about my girl, I tend to drift off.
“Sorry, what were you were saying?”
With a smug grin on his face, Kalum leans back in one of my office chairs.
“I take it things are going well with Annabelle?”
It’s my turn to smile. “Fucking great, man. She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful, and smart, and funny, and so fucking strong and determined. And her painting skills . . . she’s amazing. We went to the park the other day and—”
I trail off when I see Kalum looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“What?”
He chuckles. “Nothing, man. I’ve just never heard you like this before. It’s good. I’m happy for you. I’m just wondering when I can meet this woman who has my best friend . . . well, not being a moody asshole.”
I laugh, because he’s right. I don’t recognize myself some days, but that’s not a bad thing. I’m still not a talker, but at least when members see me around the gym now, I make eye contact with them before giving them a nod.
“Maybe we can meet up for a drink sometime? Bring Maverick. She has a few friends; maybe we can make it a group thing,” I tell him.
He smiles and without missing a beat, asks, “Are they hot?”
I roll my eyes. Leave it to Kalum to go there.
“I only know Tori, and yeah, she’s easy on the eyes. But be on your best behavior. Last thing I need is Annabelle laying into me because you can’t keep your dick in your pants. But you know what? Now that I think of it, Tori might be a little more than you can handle. She’s a feisty one.”
“Feisty, you say? Yeah, I definitely think we should all go out sometime.”
What an asshole.
We shoot the shit a bit longer, figuring out a time when all of us can meet up. Just as we’re wrapping up, Reggie comes into the office. I glance at my phone and realize it’s about time for him to get out of here, which also means it’s mail time.
“All right, Jaxson, here’s the delivery for the day. Oh, hey Kalum. Didn’t see you there.”
The two slap hands as I start going through the stack of papers and mail. Included with the bills and catalogs is an envelope that looks familiar. It looks like the one buried in my desk drawer. And the other one I threw in with it last week.
“What you got there?”
Shit. I must have been holding on to the letter a bit too long, because now Kalum is looking at me and can tell right away something isn’t right. He’s known me since we were five. He knows my tells, and I know his.
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. Try again.”
I sigh. “Fine. It’s a letter from Stan.”
“Stan, as in your dad? I thought he was still doing time?” Reggie doesn’t know as much about my past as Kalum does, but he does know a little about my dad.
“The one and only,” I concede.
“Wait, I saw a letter like that about a month ago. Has he been writing you?” Reggie asks tentatively.
Knowing I won’t be able to talk my way out of this one, and that neither of these pricks will give it up, I reluctantly answer.
“Yes, it’s actually the third. And a collect call from the prison the other day that I didn’t accept. But I’m not opening them. And I won’t take his call. Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
I throw the letter in and slam the drawer shut.
“I’ll take that as my cue to go. See you tomorrow. Kalum, good to see you.”
Reggie walks away, which leaves Kalum and me staring at each other, knowing neither is likely to break the standoff.
I don’t know why he’s looking at me like I’m nuts for not opening the letter. He was the one who found me drunk and nearly unconscious after Abigail died. He knew about the fights and the gambling that Stan was fixing.
Out of anyone in this world, he knows why I want nothing to do with Stan.
“Before you say anything, like tell me to go fuck myself, hear me out,” he says. “I know your dad is the definition of trash. He should rot in jail the rest of his life for what happened with Abigail. But just so you don’t have questions, or make any assumptions, maybe you should op—”
“Go fuck yourself.”
I can’t believe he’d even suggest it.
“Believe me, I get why you don’t want to. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably be doing the same thing you are. I just know that pretty soon, those letters are going to build up and burn a hole through your desk drawer. Maybe it’s just easier to rip off the Band-Aid.”
He stands up and walks out, knowing there’s nothing more to say.
I hate the fact that he’s right. The letters have already been on my mind every time I’m in this office. If it were just one, I’d be able to ignore it. But this is the third letter, and the curiosity is almost killing me.
I take the latest letter and shove it in my gym bag. Annabelle wanted to cook me dinner tonight, and I’m not letting Stan ruin a night with my girl.
25
Annabelle
“What smells so good in here?”
I can’t help but smile as I hear Jaxson coming in the door.
If you would have told me a few months ago that I’d be in Jaxson’s apartment, cooking him dinner because he’s my boyfriend, I would have told you to go have yourself checked out.
But here I am—in his kitchen, using the appliances I’m pretty sure he’s never touched. This whole thing feels very domestic. Normal.
He comes behind me, circles his strong arms around my waist, and places a kiss on his favorite spot on my shoulder. It’s downright cliché, but I don’t care.
I kind of love it.
Correction: I absolutely love it.
And I’m pretty sure I absolutely love him.
I turn around so I can slip my hands around his waist. We see each other nearly every day, but it doesn’t make me miss him any less when we’re at work.
“How was your day?” His shoulders seem tense, almost like how he stood before we got together. While he hasn’t reverted to the shut-off, moody version of Jaxson since we’ve been together, something feels different tonight. Recently, he’s been more relaxed, and it shows in the way he holds his body, but at this moment, he’s a little more on edge.
“Fine.”
It doesn’t matter the gender. “Fine” never means fine.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Instead of answering me, he nuzzles his nose into my hair, trying to distract me, and maybe himself, from this conversation. It’s almost working.
“Baby, you keep doing that and dinner is going to be ruined,” I tease.
“Don’t care,” he mumbles into my neck as he continues to place kisses along my shoulder.
“Well, I do. This is the first time I’ve cooked for you, and I don’t want a horror story that we’ll tell for
years about how I burned the pork chops,” I say as I wriggle out of his hold. He’s all but pouting when I free myself. The puppy-dog look on this strong, hot-as-sin man is just too much to handle.
“You, sir, are ridiculous. Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes. And don’t think I’m going to let go of whatever is bugging you.”
His pouting continues as he leaves the kitchen, placing one more kiss on my cheek before heading to take a shower.
I stopped our nuzzling session just in time, because the pork chops are cooked to perfection. The recipe was one of my mom’s that she used to make all the time. She said it was my dad’s favorite and that it was the first meal she made him. He always joked that he only married her for the pork chops.
When I said I wanted to cook him dinner, I knew this was what I wanted to make. It made me feel like my mom was closer to me. I so wish I could call her right now to tell her all about the guy who’s stealing my heart.
“So, now I ask you, what’s going through that head of yours?” I didn’t even hear Jaxson come back into the kitchen.
“Just thinking about my mom. I do it from time to time when I miss her.”
We make our plates and sit at his table. It’s not big—just a small table that can sit four—but it’s perfect for the two of us.
“What made you think of her today?”
“The pork chops. The recipe is hers. She always made them for my dad—his favorite.”
He takes a bite and all but moans as he swallows. God, that was fucking hot.
“I can see why. This is delicious. Thank you for cooking.”
“You’re welcome. I liked it. Thank you for letting me use your key to get in. Helped to have this all ready so we weren’t eating late.”
“Speaking of . . .” He takes another bite and then a big breath. “I wanted to ask you something.”
What does he want to ask? We were talking about cooking and the key and—
Oh my God, is he asking me to move in with him? I mean, I want to, but I know it’s too soon. Tori would slap me. We need to check off a lot more boxes before that can happen.
Damaged: South Side Boys Book 1 Page 9
