With the cigarette sitting between his thumb and forefinger, I watch his chest rise as he takes the first drag. Exhaling, the plume of smoke travels between us, beckoning me to come closer. The button-up and dress pants from this morning are no longer pressed and sitting perfectly on his body. Rather his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, while the black shirt sits untucked over his pants.
He’s a mess.
A fucking beautiful, intoxicating mess.
9
Jay
It feels surreal to be standing in front of Sasha’s house, with the freedom to take her in, to talk to her. To be in her presence because she wants me here sends bolts of electricity running through me.
On a day where half of me died, and the other is numb, I can’t help but welcome the ripple of warmth flowing through me from being so close to her.
She has no idea she’s offering me the distraction I’m so desperately seeking. The ability to stop time, and let the rest of the world cease to exist. She was always good at it, she just had no idea how much it meant to me. Then, or now.
I straighten my stance and continue to smoke my cigarette. I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but the way she drinks me in, makes me feel on top of the fucking world. She’s all hungry, and curious, and I want nothing more than to give myself up to her and feed her inquisitive appetite.
I tip my chin up at her. “Can I come in?”
In three steps she’s all up in my space, watching me like it’s the first time she’s really seeing me. Two delicate fingers pluck the stick from my mouth, only to put it between her wet, nude coloured lips.
She inhales.
Blowing the smoke in my face with matured seduction, the ragged coughs of the girl who tried her first cigarette with me nowhere to be found. “I invited you over, didn’t I?”
“You also had a bit of time to come to your senses.”
“Don’t act like you know me,” she quips, defensively.
I hold back my smirk, knowing I hit a nerve, because I do know her, and watch her take another drag. She purses her lips around the butt, and I imagine yanking it out of her hand and covering her mouth with mine. Skillfully inhaling her exhale. Instead I keep my gaze trained on her, my attention and focus undivided.
The mood shifts as she flicks the butt past me, and on to the front yard. Her eyes return to mine; soft and sympathetic. “Are you okay?”
Her question wraps around me like a blanket, offering me a haven. A place I can let myself feel.
“I can’t believe Leroy’s dead,” I whisper, my shoulders dropping in defeat.
She reaches for my face, her hands on either side of my cheeks. Just like her, they’re soft and warm, and my eyes close at the contact.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers back.
I force myself to keep the tears I refuse to cry at bay, before meeting her gaze. “Not your fault, Pretty Girl.”
Her eyes are the colour of diluted whiskey; glassy and compassionate. So much more than I deserve.
“We haven’t been close in years,” I confess, guiltily. “But it still hurts like a motherfucker.” I was used to not being around him every day, but after seeing him, day in and day out, even if he wasn’t conscious, everything feels altered. I don’t know what it will feel like when my mind and heart process that he isn’t part of my daily routine anymore. That he’s no longer breathing. Living. Existing.
“What?” She shakes her head in confusion. “You used to be inseparable.”
Memories of Leroy and I, and our ruckus of a childhood slice through me. “Some things can’t survive change.”
She runs her thumb across my bottom lip, staring at my mouth. “What changed?”
I hold her stare, and soak in her touch. “I did.”
“Yeah, you did.” The words come out low and breathless. The acknowledgement tightens my chest, while the raspy sound of her voice makes its way down to my dick.
She repeatedly flicks her gaze from my eyes to my mouth while licking her own. It's the perfect invitation to kiss her. God, how I want to. I risk her rejection and lift my thumb to her lips, mirroring her own movements.
Just one peck. I could turn her hesitation into heat in seconds, and expel every single bit of tension between us with just one swipe of my tongue. But then I’ll lose her. Whatever scrap of attention and pity she’s throwing my way tonight will disappear, and I need to do everything in my power to not make that happen.
As if my thoughts materialise between us, she drops her hands and steps back. I miss her touch instantly. Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows her unnecessary embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
Her voice sounds as pained as my insides feel. The mixture of lust and loss, heady and suffocating.
“Me too.” She doesn't miss the double entendre.
As if she feels it too, she slips her hand into mine. “Let’s go inside.”
I follow her past the threshold, tenderness and understanding between us.
Cautiously I step into her space, aware of how consequential this moment is for both of us.
Open plan living, the main areas in her house seamlessly blend into one another. Her furniture is modern, couches and dining table chairs all covered in light grey basketweave fabric, and bold coloured statement pieces scattered throughout. Her decor is minimalistic, but the house feels very much lived in.
Every corner exudes love, and family. Her huge heart evident in every photo that lines the walls. A collage of all the years gone by. It’s a stark contrast to where I’m living now with Lily. A reminder I don’t want to have to stay in that cold, lifeless house any longer than we have to.
“Can I?” I ask pointing to the pictures.
“Be my guest.”
I release my hand from hers and feel her eyes follow me as I leave her side. I don’t miss a single photo, taking my time perusing every detail.
Captivated by Sasha’s transition from the girl I knew, to the beautiful woman behind me. I feel like a voyeur, on the outside, looking in on a life so removed from mine.
A mixture of milestones, candid moments, and somewhat tributes to people that aren’t Sasha and her daughter; I tuck away my own assumptions about Sasha’s life thus far.
Peeling my eyes away from the photos, I turn to a very fidgety Sasha. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Dakota.”
I nod and turn back to the photos.
I don’t ask about the father, or how old she is. It’s obvious she’s the product of a Michael twin, and as petty as it seems, irks me enough to see their faces dispersed among all the family photos.
But the growing question is where is he now? Why isn’t he taking care of his family? Warming her bed at night? There’s no way in hell I would leave Sasha alone with another man if she was mine.
“Why are you here, Jay?” The closeness of her voice gives away her proximity. She’s behind me, staring at me with trepidation I wish she didn’t have every right to feel.
I look back and forth between her and the display of her life behind me. She has a picture perfect life that I don’t need to ruin with memories of a time that’s so far beyond where she is now. No matter how much I want her absolution.
So, I lie. I say the words that I know will eradicate any progress I may have made since I arrived at her doorstep. “I was hoping we could distract each other. Like old times.”
She narrows her eyes at me, the shock I expected nowhere to be found. “I thought you said you wanted to talk?”
“There’s more than one way to do that.” I trail my fingers down the curve of her cheek.
“Jay. I can’t.” With the way she shivers under my touch, I call bullshit. I lower my mouth to her ear. “Not yet, but soon.”
She shrugs me off and steps back. There’s no scowl or look of disgust. Instead her teeth dig into her bottom lip, while her eyes trace the length of my body. Her gaze returns to mine, as she shakes her head. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
The reto
rt comes out before I can stop it. “Oh, Pretty Girl, I’ve heard that one before.” I know she can give as good as she gets and I’ve immediately transformed into Jay the horny, smart-mouthed teenager. “If I remember, it only took a few orgasms with my fingers to sway you.”
She spins on her heels, and heads to the kitchen, but not before I catch the flush of heat creep up her neck and settle on her cheeks.
“Where are you going?” I call out.
“I’m getting wine. It seems I’m going to need something to help me deal with your multiple personalities tonight.”
Well, she hasn’t kicked me out.
Anticipating her usual uptight and oppositional attitude, I follow her in shock. Wondering if she’s teasing because she doesn’t think I’m serious or teasing because she thinks I am.
“Do you want a glass? Or something else? I ha—”
“I’ll have whatever you have,” I say, cutting her off. No longer feeling the alcohol from earlier, I decide one glass won't hurt.
She walks back my way and gestures to the dining table. Placing the wine glasses on opposite sides from each other, I’m grateful for the ability to watch her, and I know as intrigued as she is, she’s seeking the distance.
We both take our seats, and she takes what appears to be more of a gulp than a sip.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting with you. In my house.”
“There are worse things.”
She blanches.
“Really? Nothing worse than me?” I lean forward to touch her but pull back at the last minute. “Try not to overthink it. We’re just talking.” She raises a knowing eyebrow, and I raise my hands in defence. “Talking... Until you want something else.”
She covers her eyes with a hand, hiding her most honest feature. “This is my space,” she explains, her voice lacking the sarcasm from earlier. “I can’t have you taint this place.”
It’s a slap across the face, but I deserve it. There’s nothing but truth to what she says, I do tarnish every single thing I touch.
“I know it means next to nothing, Sasha, but I won’t do that to you. Not again, and not here.” I slide my forefinger and thumb up and down the stem of the glass contemplating how I’m going to have her believe how sorry I really am.
I push away from the table, giving myself room to get up. Walking around the table’s whitewash wooden edges.
She twists in her seat, and I kneel down in front of her. Her eyes widen at the intimacy, but it feels necessary. If I don’t open myself up to her, she’s never going to believe a word I say.
“This is why I’ve wanted to talk to you,” I start. “After bumping into you the other week, I couldn’t get you off my mind. All the things that happened. What was said, and what wasn’t.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder, interrupting me. “I appreciate what you want to do, or at least what I think you want to do, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
I shake my head. “I do. There are things I should’ve told you.”
“It won’t make a difference.”
I put my hand over my heart. “For me, it will.”
She turns back into her seat, breaking our connection. “And then what?”
Giving her the space she seeks, I stand and make my way back to my almost empty glass of wine. Once seated I answer her question. “And then I’ll walk out of your life, and return to Melbourne.”
Her head snaps up, and her brows furrow together. “Melbourne?”
“Yeah.” I scrub my hands over my face as I realise there’s so much she doesn’t know about me. “That’s where I live now. I’ve lived there for the last seven years.”
“Oh.” The expression on her face turns even more serious. “So, you came back for…”
The cloak of pain returns, heavy and uncomfortable, as I nod and say his name. “Leroy.”
Now it’s her time to rise. She’s up and beside me in seconds, mirroring my position from earlier. Her eyes become pools of sympathy, looking up at me, as reality comes crashing down.
“I don’t want to die with a list of regrets, Sasha. I buried my brother today, and I will wear that black mark over my heart’til the day I die. I don’t need a matching one with your name on it.”
My confession knocks the wind out of both of us, and I stand, pulling her up with me. Her chest rises and falls as I move in closer. The staccato sound of her breathing the only noise between us.
Her amber eyes don’t leave mine, water filling them up as each second ticks on by.
“What are you thinking right now?” I ask.
Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back and exhales before looking back at me. “How that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
I cradle her face in my hands. “I’ve got fifteen years worth of nice things to say to you.”
It’s in this moment I realise just how much I want her. How badly I want to erase the heartache that is so glaringly obvious every time I look at her. Whether it was my fault or not, I have this aching need to fix her.
Maybe it’s my own grief and sadness motivating me; coaxing me into actions I can’t take back. I want to wrap myself around her, and delve into the world she’s always kept so close, and never come out. I want to mark every inch of her. Overwhelm her. Consume her. And make sure she’s thinking about tonight for the next fifteen years.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I tell her. She closes her eyes, her lashes wet and thick, and licks her lips like she’s waiting for me.
There’s no protest. No argument. Not one single reason why we shouldn’t do this.
My body sings a song of desperation, but I ignore it. I push away the ever growing need to ravage her and use this moment to teach myself a lesson in restraint.
Good things come to those who wait.
Holding her, I move closer, teasing her mouth with mine. Brushing my lips over hers; again and again.
Delicate. Gentle. Tender.
Softly pressing my mouth to hers, my lips offer the lightest touch.
Simple. Soft. Safe.
I kiss her the same way you would hold cracked glass to avoid it breaking in your hands. Cautious, yet full of purpose. Just like dancing, I take the lead and she follows. Slow and sensual, I give room for her need to build. My tongue sweeps the seam of her lips, and her pulse flutters against my hands.
Opening up for me, I lick the inside of her mouth, enticing her tongue to come out and play. With each stroke, familiarity overrides her fear, and we become an explosion of wet, hot, and hungry. I tease her, and she tastes me.
Our lips rub raw, as we make out like the teenagers we once were. Teetering on the edge of more, unable to settle for anything less.
Releasing my tight hold on her face, I drag my fingers down her exposed arms, and settle my palms on her hips. Slowly, I guide her so the back of her thighs hit the nearby furniture.
Insistent on not breaking the kiss, my mouth remains glued to hers, as my hands grip the back of her legs, and I lift her up enough that her arse sits on the edge of the table.
Her legs widen, inviting me closer, and I step inside. Standing at full height, I feel her body arch under my touch. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulls me down, closer to her.
She clings on to me, trying to wrap her legs around me. Her desire for me has me achingly hard. Begrudgingly, I pull myself off her but stay millimetres away from her lips.
“Don’t move,” I command. “Don’t open your eyes. Keep. Fucking. Still.”
I take a step back and take in her exquisite form. Her breathing is loud and heavy. Her neck’s arched, her back bowed, and her cheeks flushed.
“Even my wildest dreams couldn’t have conjured you up as fucking sexy as this.” I tug at the elastic band that holds her hair together and watch it cascade down her back.
“Please, Jay,” she begs as she opens her eyes.
Needy, and pliant, she is the beautiful side of desperation.
; And it’s all because of me.
My dick throbs at the sound of her, and I palm my length seeking reprieve. I seal my mouth to hers and hoist her up off the table. Lowering us both, I sit on the dining chair, and with her legs on either side of my thighs she straddles me.
I groan the second she slides over my cock. Slipping my hands under her shirt, I hold her waist as she grinds on me.
I glide my lips over her jaw and down her neck. She threads her fingers through my hair, holding my head to her skin. I couldn’t separate my mouth from her, even if I wanted to.
My hands rise up her torso, cupping her breasts. I give them a quick squeeze before biting them through her clothes, and she whimpers.
“Are you going to let me get my mouth on them for real?” I ask her.
She rocks against me, and I take it as my answer. My hands continue to explore the curves of her body before hooking my fingers into the waistband of her leggings.
I need more of her. More touch. More taste. More everything.
I slip inside her panties, two fingers sliding down to her wet slit. She spreads kisses along my neck. Sucking, licking, biting, as I begin to circle her clit.
“Can I make you come, Pretty Girl?”
“Please,” she whispers hoarsely in my ear.
“Look at me,” I order.
Complying, she untangles herself off me and meets my gaze. Not a stitch of clothing has left her body, yet when I look into her maple syrup coloured eyes, I see nothing but naked desire.
I dip one finger inside her and watch her face enjoy the intrusion.
She expels a loud “fuck” when I add another digit and slowly thrust them in and out of her tight heat.
“I want to see every part of you as you fall over the edge for me.”
My free hand grips her neck before weaving my fingers to the back of her head. I tug on her hair ‘til the length of her throat is on display. The rest of her body bends, the rainbow after my storm.
Rectify (A Redemption Novel Book 3) Page 10
