by Kelly Moran
Lou looked at her, offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll go and let you two talk.”
“Don’t bother.” Jason rubbed the ache in his gut, but the panic remained. Hot, heavy, and sharp. “I’m leaving.”
“Baby, stay. Talk to me.”
Not now. He was bound to say something he’d regret. “I’ll call you later.”
He turned and strode out of the room, the house, and straight to his truck. Cranking the engine, he pulled onto the road, his mind a riot. Without any concept of direction or location or destination, he drove.
Perhaps rock climbing. He could run home and grab his gear. Or hang gliding. Evert at the hanger would accommodate the whim. Or bungee jumping up at that place on the mountain. The owners typically wouldn’t allow it at dusk or later, but they’d known him for years and might permit it just this once. Hell, he could just call Parker and get shit-faced.
Anything. Christ, anything at this point to stop the anger and madness. The hollowness. The sorrow, gloom, and tense edginess. Worst of them all, the dread that maybe Lou wasn’t the insane one.
Trees whizzed by his window. Pedestrians waved. Lampposts blinked on. A fog rolled in off the banks. He had merely a vague conception as he just drove on autopilot toward…
“Jason?”
Toward Ella. Yes, thank Almighty, Ella.
Huh?
He glanced around, noting her complex’s hallway, that he stood outside her door. How the hell had he gotten here? And when?
She was in button-down blue fleece pajamas with penguins on them. Huge navy slippers were on her feet and her cocoa hair was tied up in a messy knot. The last bit kinda resembled what his stomach felt like.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first.” He ran his fingers through his hair, fisting the strands. “I just…” He didn’t know.
“Come in.” Worry wrinkled her forehead as she moved back, offering entry. “What’s wrong?”
He stepped across the threshold and into her living room where he paced. Dropped his hands on his hips. Paced some more until he about put tread patterns on her hardwood.
“Jason, you’re scaring me.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I came here.” Other than he obviously needed to see her. Of all the things he could’ve done or the people he could’ve gone to, he’d subconsciously picked her. Damn, but he had too much going on upstairs to rationalize that right now. “Were you asleep?”
“No, not at all. I just got out of the bath.”
He nodded. Her signature gingerbread scent must be bath bombs or salts or bubble bath. Whatever it was females used. It was strong at the moment, and a part of him simmered down. Because that’s what she did. Her scent, her voice, her touch, her presence. She calmed the crazy. Made the voices in his head stop and the necessity to keep moving dissipate. Hell if he knew why or how, but she allowed him to breathe. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until he’d met her.
“Jason, are you okay? What happened?”
“I had dinner with my mama and Lou. Apparently, they’re dating. In fact, he wants to marry her. They lied to me. For five years, they’ve lied to me.”
And just like that, sentences flew from his mouth in random tangents that had no beginning, middle, or end. Piggybacked on the ranting were emotions he hadn’t been aware of feeling. Words like damage and treachery and remorse and empty and rejection and utter, utter sorrow were muttered like spilling his guts was something he did hourly. His dad, his mama, and Lou were fragmented amongst the chaos, sprinkled amidst the weight he’d carried around for too long. He paced, unloading on his sweet Ella, and for some ungodly reason, the burden became lighter and lighter the longer this strange phenomenon went on.
Heaving air, he paused in the center of the room, shaking to the point of pain. “I want her to be happy. I sincerely do. Lou also. He’s been good to us and is like a father to me, but…” Damn it all to hell. His eyes burned. “I just miss my dad, you know?”
She erased the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. Warm, comforting, she held him like she could carry his load for him for a while and didn’t mind how heavy the mass. She stroked his back, soothing circles that said nothing and everything in the same beat. That he was safe. That he could let go. That she’d catch him.
Unable to take it anymore, he buried his face in her hair, banded his arms around her, and handed her the reins.
They stood there, caught up in one another, for he couldn’t say how long. Years. Decades. Didn’t matter. Little by little, bit by bit, the pressure in his head and chest eased. His heart found a normal rhythm and oxygen exchange in his lungs renewed. A peace he couldn’t ever remember experiencing established residency.
“What can I do?” She turned her head, resting her cheek on his pec. “What do you need?”
“You.” He almost laughed at the irony or how swiftly the one word passed from his lips. “Just need you.” He stared down at her, held her pretty cherubic face in his hands, and never wanted to look away. “Let me make love to you tonight.”
Not sex. Not play. Not sleep with or screw or have fun.
Make love. The phrasing was not lost on him. Rather, it was almost like being found.
She studied his expression, doubts and questions in her eyes.
He’d erase those, every last one.
She acted as if wanting to say something, perhaps reject him. But, a quiet exhale, and she smiled. Taking his hand, she led him to her bedroom, where they stopped at the foot of the bed.
“Just give me a moment to put on my stockings.”
“No.” He shook his head. No more hiding. He’d just exposed himself for her, showed her areas of his soul that had gone dark eons ago. He could take it, handle whatever result came with seeing her darkness. “Show me. Show me all of you.”
“Jason, I can’t. They’re hideously ugly and no one’s seen them in years.”
He used the only weapon he had in his arsenal. Her own words.
“Try.” He cupped her shoulders when she started to shake her head. “Try, sweetheart. It’s just me. I’ve got you.”
In time, she’d allowed him to touch her scars over the stockings. Maybe the act of letting him see would erase some of the doubt in her eyes. More than once, he’d gotten the impression she was holding back on him, reserving a piece of herself. More than likely, it was a defense mechanism. He had plenty of those and could relate. But the interesting thing? He didn’t need protection from her. He could only hope her guards would drop, too.
When she didn’t answer, he slid his hands to her neck, then to the buttons on her PJs. She closed her eyes, but remained silent. He undid a button. Two. All of them and spread the top open, sliding the shirt off her shoulders to the floor.
Mercy, she was beautiful. Bronzed skin, full breasts, hourglass waist and wide hips. He bent and kissed one nipple, then the other. She sucked a ragged breath, body rigid.
Dipping his fingers in her waistband, he paused at her whimper and allowed her time to say no. But she swallowed, not speaking, eyes still shut.
Slowly, he tugged her pants over her hips, past her thighs, to pool at her feet. He kept his gaze on her, waiting. She trembled, brows wrenched, and respirations through the roof.
“Sit, sweetheart.” Hands on her shoulders, he encouraged her onto the bed.
She succumbed, fists clenched by her sides, and tears leaking from her shut lids.
He’d deal with that soon. Once they got past the initial reveal, she’d know she had nothing to fear from him. Still, it yanked his heart to see her cry. She’d probably shed countless tears in her life. She should never have to for him.
Squatting in front of her, he braced himself to look. Except nothing could’ve prepared him for what he’d uncovered. Nothing.
Her pants were around her ankles, caught on her slippers, but he’d exposed her calves. And it was mordantly crushing. Just below her knees, the beautiful golden brown s
kin changed to red and white. Discoloration and thick woven scars created a horrifying maze. With violently shaking hands, he removed one slipper, then the other, and slid off her pants the remainder of the way.
Ah, no. Holy Mary Mother, no. She’d told him, had described the injuries, and yet he just hadn’t computed the severity. Or maybe he’d forcefully forgotten.
There were no toes. The scars continued on both feet, darker in color and significantly thicker. Pock marks and chunks of missing flesh showed the pattern of the flames, that she’d been standing right in the fire.
A visual of a younger version of her came to mind, the scenario she’d lived through and had somehow survived. The horror and terror she must’ve endured. The pain she’d had to bear.
And he couldn’t hack it. A searing, lancing slice right through his middle all but crippled him. Shredding followed, ripping at him from the inside out until there was nothing left. A boulder wedged in his throat, and he choked.
Setting his hands on her thighs, he bowed his head. Eyes burning, sinuses prickling, he closed his eyes like she’d done. Brave, sweet, funny Ella. Oh, the monstrous thing that had happened to her. He hurt, with everything in him, he hurt for her. His chest hitched. Cracked wide open.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice broken. “Please just give me back my clothes. I told you they were ugly. I—”
“Just…” Ah, mercy. “Just let me cry.” He hadn’t wept since he was a boy. He was probably long overdue and, heaven knew, someone needed to cry for her. “Ugly,” he muttered, but then was unable to get the rest of his sentence out. Hot tears trekked his cheeks and he shook his head.
Her breath hitched. She whimpered again and moved as if to stand.
“No.” With more bravado than he thought he possessed, he lifted his head and looked her in the eye. “Not ugly, Ella. Not even in the same realm, sweetheart.”
He stared at her, those golden brown eyes and thick lashes and bow shaped mouth and arched nose. Her amazing silky hair and curvy frame. She was attractive. Seductive in an unsuspecting way. But her true beauty was in the details not seen to the naked observer. Her strength to get back up when life knocked her down. How she appreciated little things the general population took for granted. That she was so appreciative of the smallest gestures and surprised by kindness tossed her way. And though not naïve, she was trusting. One of those rare souls that, despite her circumstances, still believed there was good in people. She was kind, took care of others, and put them before herself.
Ugly? He didn’t know where she’d picked up that term, but no. A thousand times, no.
Rising to his feet, he reached behind his neck and removed his tee. He toed off his shoes and kicked them aside. The jeans and boxers came next. All the while, he kept his gaze locked on hers so she’d know, without a smidgen of doubt, that he was only seeing her. He was here with her, right where he wanted and needed to be.
He held her face, wiped at the wetness on her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. I’m going to show you.”
Chapter 16
Shocked to the bone, Ella stared at Jason, his face close to hers as he stood naked before her, wiping her tears with such gentleness, such reverence, that she wanted to cry more. He’d called her beautiful. Had wept when he’d looked at her scars like her pain was his also. And instead of being repulsed or disgusted, he’d shed his clothes as if trying to demonstrate he was as vulnerable as her.
Bent over her while she sat at the foot of the bed, he kissed one of her eyelids, then the other. Still holding her face in his huge warm hands, he sealed his lips to hers. Not demanding. Not seducing. Not even asking. Just showing. Tender brushes and affectionate presses that seemed to reiterate he cared even if he was incapable of saying so.
He wasn’t a man of many words, and sentiment was obviously hard for him to vocalize. The truth was in his actions. Countless times, she’d followed his lead and paid attention to the details. The way he ran his fingers through her hair while they’d watched movies. How he always told her what he was doing before proceeding during intimacy to give her time to say no or prepare her due to her lack of experience. The cadence in his voice when he issued compliments. That he always, always smiled as he arrived for a date like he was happy to see her. He texted her goodnight and hello.
And kissed with all the deep, pent up emotions he didn’t know what to do with or understand.
He eased them back on the mattress, sliding his arm under her. He lifted and planted her higher up the bed. Watching, he settled between her thighs. Their bodies aligned, and the contact made her instantly aroused.
Skin on skin.
His hard to her soft.
Warmth meeting warmth.
His woodsy cologne surrounded her, and suddenly, there was nothing but her and him.
He smiled, a barely there curve of his lips, as his gaze traveled over her face. “I won’t do anything to hurt you. We’ll go at a slow pace. It’s just you and me here, okay?”
Gah, he was something else. Darn this man. Nodding, she returned his smile and held his jaw. Scruff grazed her palm, the scratching sound loud in the quiet of her bedroom.
“Whatever you do, keep touching me.” He lowered his head and spoke against her mouth. “It’s the hugest turn-on. I love your hands on me.”
Love? No, he hadn’t meant it like he loved her, but he’d never, not once dropped that word in regards to anything or anyone except his mother. Actually, he’d been over-cautious not to use it at all.
He kissed her neck, and a shiver of interest skated across her skin, causing goosebumps and heat at the same time. He toyed with the shell of her ear, then moved to the other side and repeated the tease.
Shifting to her breast, he swirled his tongue around her nipple while lightly tracing the other with his fingertip. She threaded her fingers in his hair and held him to her. He groaned and sucked the bud. The slightest sting heated the area and she arched, wanting more. Smiling, he did the same with her other breast, looking up at her over his task.
He placed his palm on her belly, still watching her, and splayed his fingers. Down, he traveled until he reached between their bodies and cupped her heat.
She gasped. The heel of his hand created pressure on her clit while his fingers did an oxygen-stealing, bone-melting trick. He spread her wetness, alternating between firm strokes and light brushes that quickly had her halfway to crazy.
Rising onto one forearm, he continued his torment between her legs, building tension, creating havoc on her system. The smirk on his face implied he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he didn’t intend to stop. He stretched out the frustrating form of pleasure an eternity. Every time she’d get close, he’d slow down or pause long enough for her lose it.
Gripping the sheets by her hips, she ground against his hand, all but begging.
That seemed to trigger him into action. He slid two fingers inside her. Her wheeze had barely echoed in her ears when he curled his fingers, stroking inside while his thumb circled her nub.
Her lower belly clenched. Her back bowed. And a tingle down her spine was the only warning she got before she exploded. Lights blasted behind her closed lids. Her body tightened, seizing his fingers as she quaked.
Unlike before, he didn’t ease up. Harder, faster he worked her, and she didn’t think she could handle any more. It was too much. Not enough. An infinite orgasm he wouldn’t allow to end.
“Please,” she begged. For what, she didn’t know. But her system was in overload.
Tremors wracked her, and just as she was about to beg again, another pang slammed into her and she cried out. Stronger, more powerful currents rendered her at his mercy. As they tampered, and it had taken days, she soughed air and opened her eyes.
His face replaced the view of her ceiling, grinning like a fool. “I could watch you come undone all night.”
Trying to catch her breath, she
moaned. “I don’t think I can do that all night.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Gosh, no. But I think I might be dead.”
He chuckled. “You’re not.” He placed his palm over her chest, right on her heart. “Beating strong and steady.” He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. “We haven’t gotten to the best part.”
Before she could question that statement, he grabbed her thighs, spreading them wider, and thrust his long hard length against her already sensitive wet folds.
And she’d thought she was too exhausted for more. Her body had other ideas. Wicked, delightful ideas. Trembling, she held the back of his neck and met his hazel gaze. Saturated lust stared back at her.
“I want you, Ella. So much I can barely think straight.” His eyes darted between hers, his expression indicating he hadn’t been prepared to admit those words. He shook his head the slightest bit as if baffled. “What is this thing between you and me? What are you doing to me?”
“We are whatever we want and I won’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to.” It was the simplest, most basic answer she could provide.
He nodded, a swallow working his throat. His shallow exhale caressed her face as he rubbed the back of his index finger across her temple. “It’s rather nice, not having to think.”
She slid her hand up his back, using the other to weave her fingers in his hair. Perhaps it was time he just start feeling. She lifted her head off the pillow and pressed her lips to his.
Tilting his head, he took the kiss deeper. Long, languid strokes of his tongue had her drowning in him, the weight of his body on hers welcome.
He shifted and reached between them, aligning himself. Nudging her opening, he dropped his forehead to hers and they shared air. Gazes locked, he entered her, painstakingly slowly and with utmost care.
The first and only time she’d had sex, it had been painful. Though it didn’t hurt with Jason, he stretched her, causing a dull ache. Reflex caused her to tense and tighten up.
