by Scott, S. L.
I took hold of her hand, denying her what she originally wanted and giving her what she needed.
I tilted my head and took a long drag, holding the cig between my thumb and index finger. Running my other hand over her smooth ass, I pulled her forward, encouraging her to sit on my lap. I expected her to turn around and rest on me, but she didn’t.
Sexy fucking nymph.
Hannah straddled me and clasped my face between her hands. Kissing me, she urged my lips to part, and the smoke flowed between us.
Her tongue controlling mine, her body started rocking on top of me. She was damp, so wet for me, making me feel possessive, yearning to take her in ways I probably shouldn’t since we’d just met. But damn, when she started grinding harder, my whole body craved her. It would have been so easy to slip inside that slick little pussy, so easy to let her fuck me, her tits bouncing in my face until I pinched those taut pink nipples, causing her to cry out for more.
Fuuuck.
“Get a condom, baby.”
She got up and sauntered across the room, not shy about her body. She had nothing to be shy about. The woman was dangerous curves and tits that begged to be held, squeezed, and fucked.
The needle was moved, and the music began to play again, blending in with the winds that snuck their way in through the crack between the window and the sill.
The moonlight that shone inside highlighted the golden strands of her hair hidden by night. Clustered tips grazed over the pink buds of her breasts as she walked.
When she returned to me, she knelt, her tongue running over her bottom lip. Her grip was tight around my hard cock. Lifting up, she licked the tip but held out her hand again. “Share,” she requested, wanting my smoke.
“No. You’re too beautiful to taint yourself.”
I hated when she fucking looked away, the confident woman disappearing under a cloud of self-doubt. “It’s an illusion, Jet. Makeup, clothes, and alcohol.”
“I was talking about the beauty inside.”
She sat back, seeming to ponder my words as she watched me. I didn’t mind silence except when I was with her. Could she hear the thundering of my heart or see my thoughts? Would she forgive me for trespassing against the façade she had in place? Every touch of her body made me crave another until I was buried deep inside again.
Slender fingers with bad intentions crawled over my thighs and she lifted up. Her mouth covered me again, taking my erection deep inside her.
Setting the remainder of the burning cigarette in the ashtray, I slid my hands into her hair, wanting to get lost in her for hours. It would only be minutes. A mere mortal had no defenses in the presence of a goddess like her.
As good as her lips felt wrapped around me, her tongue teasing, I wanted to kiss her while I made love and watch her pretty face while I fucked her until she released that sadness holding her captive.
Watching her take me deep and slide back up, I wasn’t going to last. She felt too good, too hot, too wet, making me think about how damp she was between her legs.
She’d steal peeks every time she came up and close her eyes on the way down. I remember thinking that heaven can’t feel better.
I was too close, but I managed to stop her, making her wait impatiently until I was sheathed. Then I lifted her by the shoulders until she was seated on my lap, her body embracing the hardest part of me. “Fuck,” I muttered with my head falling back as one hand wove into her hair. Bringing her lips to mine, I didn’t kiss her. I seduced her mouth with mine, my tongue finding a new home in the welcoming warmth twisted with hers.
I came.
I came.
I came when she came, her body choking everything from me—hidden emotions, an orgasm, and a confession that shouldn’t have been voiced. “Stay,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”
. . . Just like that night, my body betrays me too quickly. I don’t find peace in this California bedroom because Hannah may be fifteen hundred miles away, but our unsettled business remains.
I release my cock, my orgasm hitting hard and covering my stomach while I was lost in a past that will only ever be a memory. My breathing evens and my lids are heavy.
Meandering my way into the bathroom, I clean up, and then fall back into bed. Picking up my phone, I text her: I once met a woman who for one night turned my world inside out.
Hannah: You were lucky it was only for one night. I’m still recovering.
A grin slides into place. I thought she’d be asleep, but I’m glad she’s not. I reply: Maybe one day we’ll find a cure.
I’m tempted to add together but don’t.
I wait but no reply comes, so I close my eyes. I’m about to drift off to sleep, but then my phone buzzes in my hand. Holding the phone above my head, her text reads: Maybe.
Maybe is not a no. I’ll take it from the girl with sad eyes. I’ll take that maybe and turn it into a yes one day.
15
Hannah
I have to stop thinking about him.
My body is sticky. My mind still in a haze as my body recovers.
Maybe—That was not a good text to send. It could give hope or imply that there could be more between us. Maybe he’ll take it how it was meant—that one day, I’ll find the man made for me, and my history with my ex and with Jet will be replaced with new memories.
Eileen should know my plans. I’ve not been brave enough to tell her that I’ve decided to work for him. It’s in the name of Alfie, but still, I dread her reaction. No matter how I spin it, she’ll shoot bullets right through it.
My family would tell me it’s wrong to remember that night like it was yesterday, like we don’t have problems and debts to pay.
Jet’s right.
He sees right through me. The conflict I try hard to hide that comes in bouts of anger or softens in the light of his kind eyes. I struggle to see him as bad when I only remember the good.
An ultimatum was thrown down during an alcohol-fueled rage, my aunt and dad worse when they’re together. My father never takes my side, which is one of the reasons I left the first time.
They’re not good solo but get them together, and they’re vicious. Two bitter and angry individuals . . . I’m terrible. I’m a terrible niece and a worse daughter. I have to remember that Eileen is grieving. She just makes it so hard sometimes.
I just can’t play along anymore. This turmoil is destroying me, stealing my sanity. I hate the hate I’m expected to feel toward him, but they’re determined to make Jet Crow enemy number one of the Barnett and Nichols families. I’m told I have to save Alfie from the big bad wolf.
I’ve realized there are days when I’m not exactly certain who that is. But I’m torn.
I’m so torn between the two sides, the divide too great to bridge.
Would he really abandon Cassie when she was pregnant?
Would he walk away without a second thought of his child? He said he didn’t know about him.
Not the man I see, the one I’m getting to know. Jet would have been there for her, like he is for Alfie now. How can I doubt him, though? From the moment he believed Alfie was his, he has fought for him. Fought to keep him. To raise him. To love him. He’s a good man.
But can I really be considered a good judge of character? Especially when sexy musicians make me lose my better judgment. For the family, it’s probably best if I keep things strictly professional.
Is that even possible? I’ve seen him carrying the burdens of the custody case. And I’ve witnessed happiness etched on his face so deep that I smiled just because he was while teaching Alfie to play guitar, and eyes with fire inside burning with desire for me. I’ve seen so many sides to this complicated man that sexy musician seems shallow compared to who he really is.
Two minutes in his presence has me surrendering my heart. If I had to choose, I’d choose him, and that’s not what’s expected of me. I have to keep my secrets safe inside. I have to hide my true feelings for him from him and them.
Alfie wasn’t given a choice when he lost
Cassie. I want his future to be full of hope and full of choices.
Swinging my robe around my shoulders, I sneak out of my room at the early hour and go to the bathroom to shower. I need to wash away the memories of that one night we had together, a night where two people were free to be whoever they wanted, sharing their bodies and forgetting their worries.
For one perfect moment in time, Jet Crow was a great distraction from my problems . . . Now he seems to be at the root of them.
As I glide the bar of soap across my skin, parts of me still tingle with need for the real thing. The relief from loneliness I find by reliving that night, touching myself as he once did until the clenching loosens and my body relaxes, is temporary.
Is he?
Doting father, respectful to women, dedicated to his work and his family—is this just an act he’s putting on for us? Surely not. A girl he picked up at a bar is one thing. The woman a judge is forcing him to get along with is another. Either way he sees me, I’m one thing.
Alfie is another altogether. Only the cruelest of monsters could look in the wide expectant eyes of a six-year-old and break his heart.
Not even six in the morning and my mind is buzzing with theories and questions. I’ll be facing my aunt soon, and no other argument than “he seems like a good guy” has been handy. I don’t want to be made a fool by defending someone who eventually reveals his true colors as any other than what I’ve seen.
I wrap a towel around me and go back into my bedroom. It’s cold in here. I guess I didn’t notice earlier since I was heated under my sheet with naughty images of Jet on my mind.
I’m shameful.
Thank God, Eileen and my dad don’t know about my past with Jet. Yep, secrets and lies are all that will keep me safe and in Alfie’s life.
Hurrying to dress, I toss my towel on the bed. It falls and takes my phone with it. The phone is lit when I reach down to pick it up, the text messages we sent an hour or two ago still on the screen, my “maybe” still glaring back at me. “Let it go,” I tell myself. I set the phone down and finish getting ready.
It calls to me, my attention divided between my last reply and what shirt to wear. I grab The Crow Brothers tee and pull it over my head. As if I’ll be busted any moment, I pull on a sweatshirt that reads “But first, coffee” over it. No one has to know I’m wearing it underneath.
Taking my phone in hand, I’m about to shove it in my back pocket but don’t. I stop to read the exchange again. Before I can talk myself out of it, I confess my fear and type: I don’t think there’s a cure for my broken parts, but I could use a little glue.
Am I insane? What the hell am I doing?
I try to reason myself out of the reprimand. Logically, I know he’s asleep. Maybe that’s why it was easier to type this time. It’s six here so four a.m. there.
Even though I shouldn’t have sent another message, I still can’t help but feel a little disappointment when I don’t get a response.
“Shake it off.” I put the phone in my pocket like I should have done in the first place and regret sending that last text. He’s going to wake up and read that . . . God, what have I done? I’ve opened it up for a conversation like he’s going to be able to do anything other than realize I’m not worth the trouble of even working with now. Have I jeopardized the job?
I’ve got to stop running everything around in my head over and over again. Alfie. I need to focus on him instead. Today is Sunday.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask him an hour later when he comes out of his room and parks himself on the sofa with Teen Titans Go! on TV.
“The zoo?”
“You just went to the zoo with Jet.”
“Hannah!” I’m cautioned the moment my aunt appears from the hallway. “Do not say his name in my house.”
Fury takes hold of my body as my mind races with all the things I shouldn’t say, especially not in front of Alfie. This is life here now, now that Cassie is gone—arguing and anger.
But I refuse to let her demean his father in front of him. I stand to talk to her privately in the kitchen, but Alfie asks, “Why can’t Hannah say Jet’s name in your house, Grandma?”
From the mouths of babes . . .
I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow, letting her take the heat for her rudeness. Her voice goes up a few octaves higher, and she feigns innocence. “Oh, sweet boy, the man who calls himself your father was not nice to your moth—”
“Eileen!” I shout, hoping she doesn’t finish that sentence. “Alfie, go get dressed. We’re going to have a busy day. Wear something warm.”
His gaze flicks back and forth between us twice before he scoots off the couch and goes down the hall. “Close your door, Alfie,” I add when he disappears into his bedroom.
When I hear it close, I walk into the kitchen, trying to contain my rage, but everything about her pisses me off right now. Dropping my head down, I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. Raising back up, I take a deep breath and narrow my eyes. “Do not ever speak of his father that way again, or I’ll make sure you lose him.”
The slap comes fast, the sting across my face registering before the realization that I was hit. A look of horror crosses her face, one that surely matches mine. My gasp is all wrong, not vocal enough with my words caught in my throat.
Grabbing my hands that hold my cheeks in shock, she pleads, “I’m sorry, Hannah. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I just—”
I back away out of her reach. “Get away from me.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
Tears form from anger, and I state, “You hit me.”
“I didn’t mean to, but—”
“There are no buts.” I move back even more, but she keeps closing the gap.
“Please. You can’t defend him. My daughter died—”
“Not because of him.”
I turn to go, but she grabs my arm to spin me around. “You are turning your back on your family, a family that has given you everything.”
Shrugging out of her hold, I ask, “Where were you two years ago when I needed someone to help me?”
“You made your bed . . . with that loser,” she snaps. “You had to lie in it to learn a lesson.”
“I was broken and you shut the door in my face. You didn’t care about me until you needed me.”
“Cassie needed you. Alfie needed you. He still does. Hannah, you’re upset. You need to calm down.”
“It’s so clear now.” I scoff, staring into her eyes. “I laid in that bed you said I needed and suffered. I paid the price for making a bad choice back then.” I add, “It must be nice to be so perfect that you can stand in judgment of my personal sins, mistakes that affected no one but me in the end, or to be so stuck in your grief, or whatever this is, that you willingly hate a man who has only shown love to his son.”
“I’m protecting Alfred from what I know is coming. That man will walk away from him and never look back just like he did to my daughter.”
“The only problem is that you’re pushing us away as well.” I walk to the hall but stop, still giving her the courtesy she has never shown me. “I’m taking Alfie to the zoo because it makes him happy, and his happiness is mine.”
Other than a flicker of regret after she hit me, I see worry creasing her face. “What time will you be back?”
“You had me take responsibility for his well-being. The judge gave me shared custody. With that in mind, I will keep him safe, healthy, and happy. Nothing else is your business.”
She knows she’s holding the losing hand, so she backs up and pretends none of this has happened. “I’ll have dinner ready by five thirty.”
Walking to Alfie’s room, I say, “We’re eating out. Don’t wait on us.”
She’s wise not to say any more. My mind is made up by the time I reach his door. When I open it, I say, “Grab your backpack.”
“Am I going to school? I don’t wanna.”
“No. I’m taking you to the
zoo, but we’re going to be out late, so I want to be prepared for the morning.”
He nods, but then pauses to look at me. Reaching up, his small hand touches my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
His gaze lowers with his hand and guilt is written across his face. “You fight because of me.” Looking back up at me, he says, “Does your cheek hurt?”
My heart hurts. “No. I’m fine.” I lie because he should never have to bear the burdens of adults who can’t get along. “Go ahead and get ready. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
I move to my bedroom. Grabbing a large tote bag, I stuff an outfit and some personal items inside and move into the bathroom to pack my toothbrush and other toiletries.
Just outside his door, I hold my hand out. Alfie, with his backpack on, takes my hand, and we walk back through the living room to the front door.
Eileen says, “I’m sorry, Hannah.”
Leading Alfie outside before me, I look back at her. Coffee in hand and toast with jelly in front her as if we didn’t have a fight at all. Like life hasn’t changed in the least bit, she stands there with a tapping, impatient foot and faux smile on her face.
I reply, “So am I,” and close the door behind me. But I’m not sorry for the same shallow reason she is because I’ve seen her true colors.
I’m sorry I didn’t see her more clearly prior to now. I’m sorry for some of the things I said to Jet, but I’m not sorry for fighting for Alfie. I’m not sorry I left the sad life I was leading in Dallas. I’m not sorry I met Jet before I heard the stories. I’m not sorry I slept with him or spent the time to get to know him. No, I’m not sorry for anything she would shame me for, the same things I was shaming myself for not even an hour ago.
I’m only sorry I didn’t do this sooner.
16
Hannah
Sitting on a picnic bench, I watch Alfie run wild. The kid already has so much energy, but the popsicle sends him over the edge. I just need to outlast the sugar rush.
My phone buzzes, and I look down. Jet.
