9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
A dam
For weeks I avoid her, leaving early in the morning for work and staying extra hours at the gym in the evening. I’m already lean, but with this workout schedule I’m burning so many calories I might just disappear. When I come home at night, Jessica’s door is closed and her lights are off. She’s probably dreaming about the time she was crowned prom queen. How she smiled and waved. I watched it from the crowd, a random face she doesn’t remember.
My dreams are all nightmares, which is why instead of sleeping I prowl around my condo like a detective trying to solve a case. There’s evidence of Jessica everywhere. It’s not that she’s messy. She does her dishes and puts away her trash. It’s more like she’s distracted and leaves a trail of items behind her.
I find lipstick on the kitchen counter, pink like cotton candy.
Why was she putting on make-up? To impress some guy?
An aluminum tin of spicy-smelling mints on the end table. I sniff them, then sneeze so hard my eyes water.
Why does she care about her breath? Is she kissing someone?
Butterfly earrings in the bathroom, with a matching necklace. I hold them up to the light and inspect them, observing how the tiny rhinestones glimmer.
Are they special to her? A gift from a boyfriend, perhaps?
These questions drive me crazy, so much that I turn to the security cameras that cover every inch of the condo. They’re discrete, hidden in bookshelves or high in the corners of the room.
Jessica doesn’t know about them.
She also doesn’t know what’s in the locked room next to my bedroom. I told her it was my audiovisual equipment, but that was a lie. The room contains a row of TV monitors to observe all those security cameras. It also has some other…pieces of equipment in it. Things I doubt Jessica is ready to experience.
Late at night I go into that room and lock the door behind me. Like a peeping Tom, I review footage from her day. I expect she’ll be gone most of the time, probably out on dates with men I’d like to throttle. It turns out that she’s a bit of a homebody. She goes to work in the morning and is home by 4:30 p.m. every day. Then she spends her time grading papers, reading books from my library, or texting on her phone while sipping a single glass of white wine.
Whoever she’s messaging must be hilarious because one time Jessica giggled so hard that she spilled her wine on the couch cushions. She immediately jumped up, cursing, and, after a furtive look around the empty condo, wiped the droplets off with the hem of her shirt, revealing the smooth curve of her waist. I’d replayed that tape several times, mesmerized by that strip of bare skin.
Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I have to know who is on the other end of that phone, so I wait until 4:00 a.m. and creep into her bedroom. She’s asleep, her lips pursed and hair tangled. One arm hangs off the side of the bed, her wrist bent at an awkward angle.
Her phone is on the nightstand, plugged in and charging. It emits a faint ding when I disconnect it. I freeze, my heartbeat loud in my ears, and watch to see if the noise will wake her. She doesn’t stir. I slink to the top of the spiral stairs and shut her door enough to block the light from the phone as I fire it up. I’ve zoomed the security footage in close enough that I know her security code. I’ve watched her punch it in countless times.
131313.
I gasped in disbelief when I saw that. It was the easiest code to crack in the world. Who lives like that? So trusting and vulnerable? If it wouldn’t reveal my invasion of her privacy, I’d have a serious discussion about cybersecurity with her.
I tap the passcode into her phone, shaking my head with disapproval, and scroll to her text messages. Based on the timestamp, the ones that made her laugh are to someone she’s labeled as M.
Who the fuck is M?
Michael?
Matthew?
Miguel?
Jesus, can’t she spell the entire name out?
I run an aggravated hand through my hair, then look over the rest of her call log. More time talking to this mysterious M. The night before Brad tried to beat down her door, Jessica spent two hours chatting with this person.
Another name catches my attention. A missed call from a Stewart Stralla, who lives in Las Vegas. I drag a hand over my face. Crap . Who is he? A sigh of relief when I see in the notes section under his contact information it reads, “Cousin Stewart. Son of Aunt Marie (deceased) and Uncle Johnny (deceased).”
Thank God.
Just a cousin.
Besides that, Jessica occasionally talks to some other women. Another cousin named Sarah. A Meredith, Samatha, and someone who’s labeled as “Julie from work.”
No one that interests me, besides this M.
I scroll through her texts, my teeth grinding as I see the string of messages to M. They’re hidden under her phone’s private settings. Why? What are they talking about? The thought of her keeping secrets from me, of her laughing with someone else, twists my insides.
Frustrated that her phone hasn’t satisfied my curiosity, I return it to her bedside. I’m about to go down the staircase when I pause with one foot lifted. Two steps and I’m back inside, staring at Jessica like a stalker. She’s beautiful, there’s no doubt about it. Lightly flushed cheeks and rose petal lips. Tangled hair that begs to be wrapped around my fist. Asleep, she looks younger, more like the girl I used to furtively watch from across the school yard.
I liked her back then because she was pretty, but even more because she seemed kind. She floated around, talking to everyone, jocks and geeks alike. I daydreamed she would cast those green eyes on me. That she would laugh at my jokes, maybe touch my arm in that unselfconscious way she had. Whenever she came near, reality would hit. I’d duck and hide, like the coward I was. I couldn’t stand the thought of her laughing at me the way everyone else did.
For a fleeting moment, I imagine climbing into bed, letting her wake up with me already buried inside her. She’d be startled but helpless beneath me— no —I can’t do it. She looks too sweetly peaceful, so I discard that plan. Instead, I gently lift her arm, then tuck it in next to her side. Moving slowly and quietly, I pull the covers higher until they cover her chest, which rises and falls with shallow breaths.
For longer than I’d like to admit, I watch her sleep, marveling at her delicate beauty, unable to believe she’s here in my home. Like a fantasy brought to life. She’s grown even more gorgeous with age. I can’t be the only one who’s noticed. Imagining those lips touching another man, like this M guy, makes my fists curl by my sides.
Part of me wants to possess her in the most brutal way.
The other part wants to protect her, even from myself.
I wonder which will win?
Jessica
He’s avoiding me. It’s been weeks, and I’ve barely seen him. This morning, I deliberately set my alarm for earlier than usual, hoping to catch West before he leaves for work. I make it to the top of my stairs just in time to see the front door drift shut. I run after him, out the door and into the hallway, wearing only my short nightgown, but it’s too late. The elevator shows the numbers going down, level 12, 11, 10, until it reaches G2, the underground garage where he parks. I return to the empty condo with a disappointed sigh.
My phone chimes with an incoming text message.
Sarah: Any news?
Jessica: No, which is bad. If I got the job, they would’ve responded by now.
Sarah: I’m so sad. You’ll apply for a different position, right?
Jessica: Of course. I’ll keep you posted.
Sarah: Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll find something for you here.
Jessica: We totally will. I need to get to NYC.
Sarah: I know. Love you.
Jessica: Love you back.
I sigh and set the phone aside. I should be devastated that I haven’t heard back from the school I applied to in New York, but honestly, with all the Brad drama and moving in with West, I’d almost forgotten about it. I’ve been so distracted looking for a new place to live here in Chicago that I’ve let my job hunting in New York slip.
No more, I tell myself. You can’t live like a queen here forever. Soon, West will get tired of you cramping his style. He’ll want to bring other women here. He’ll ask you to leave.
My vision blurs as I contemplate that moment, when West says he doesn’t want me here anymore. That he doesn’t want me . Maybe it’s already happening. Maybe that’s why he’s never home.
Confront him . That’s what I need to do. Living here and not seeing him is driving me crazy. I’ll talk to him tonight, I decide over my morning coffee.
He can’t hide forever.
Adam
It’s 3:00 a.m. I’m in my study, researching a new cryptocurrency I’d like to buy, when she walks in.
Jessica .
Dressed only in a short white nightgown, so translucent I can see the outline of her legs, illuminated by the tall floor lamp by the door. I like it bright, even though by this time of night my eyes are dry and the contacts I wear all day burn. I blink, watching as she crosses the room, headed straight to me.
“Aha!” she cries out, waving her finger in the air. “Gotcha!”
She sways unsteadily, and I suppress my smirk. I already reviewed the security footage from the evening. She drank three glasses of wine tonight, and, judging by the glassiness in her eyes, this lightweight is tipsy.
I put down my pen and lean back in my chair, letting it tilt. “It’s late. What’re you doing up?”
An exaggerated pout from her plump lips. “Can’t sleep. My mind keeps worrying about everything.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Like what?”
There are two large leather chairs in front of my desk. She flops into one dramatically and slings a leg over the armrest, followed by her other leg, until she half reclines, lying sideways. I try to ignore the flash of pink panties I got during that movement. My dick definitely noticed, though. It twitches and stiffens.
“I need a place to live. I can’t mooch off you forever. But there’s nothing I can afford. The neighborhood by the school is awful, and anything beyond that is too expensive. It’s all renovated brownstones and modern apartments. I don’t want to commute two hours every day, but that’s what I might have to do.” She sighs mournfully.
“You’re fine here,” I counter, alarmed by the idea of her moving into that derelict neighborhood or so far that she has to spend hours on the bus. “I’ve arranged for that car service to take you to school and back. Isn’t that working out?”
“It is, but I can’t accept your handouts forever.” She slumps further in the chair, her chin falling to her chest. “Besides, you don’t want me here. You’ve been dodging me.” An accusatory pointing finger jabs my way. “Don’t try to deny it, mister. I’ve barely seen you.” One leg slips off the chair and again I get that tantalizing flash of underwear. A thong from the looks of it.
“You’re right.” I rip my eyes from the sight. “I’ve been staying away on purpose.”
She stares down at her toes and asks in a small, sad voice, “Why? Do you not like me?”
“Come here.” I hold out my hand and beckon.
Jessica rises and comes over to where I sit. I grab her by the wrist and pull her into my lap so suddenly that she lets out a startled yelp.
Raising my hips, I press my erection into her rounded backside. I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Does it feel like I don’t like you?”
She shivers deliciously in response.
“Just because that one part of you likes me,” she says, pushing her butt down on my hard-on as I groan at the sensation, “doesn’t mean the rest of you does.”
She grinds against me, and it releases something primal in me, making my heart rate spike. For the past few weeks, I’ve been holding back. I’ve suppressed my desire for her, worried about getting too close, but now with her in my arms all that lust roars to life. I stroke my hand from her cheek, down her neck, and finally to her breast, which I cup. Her eyelids flutter shut, and her breathing picks up at my touch. It’s a powerful thing, to affect her like that.
“All of me likes you, Jessica,” I breathe into her ear as she swivels her hips, digging into me harder. “I’m just not used to sharing my space. I haven’t lived with anyone since I was fifteen.”
That makes her eyes pop open. “Fifteen! Why so young?”
Crap . I don’t want to explain about my mom and my shitty teenage years. Not to her. I shift my hand and slide it beneath the thin strap of her gown. Her skin is warm and soft. Her heartbeat thrums against my palm. Moving slowly, so she feels every caress, I stroke the tender skin along the underside of her breast, then shift higher, moving closer and closer to her nipple. When I finally reach it, she arches and moans, letting her head fall back on my shoulder.
I’m tuned into her response. Every shift of her hips, every little whimper that falls from her lips, make me harden even more until it’s too much. My restraint shatters. I stand, pulling her along with me, then shuffle us to my desk. Firm pressure applied to the back of her neck bends her forward over the desk’s surface. She throws her hands out, palms flat and fingers spread to stabilize herself. The hemline of her nightgown rises, showing the half-moons of her ass. I was right. It is a thong. I run my index finger along its embroidered edge, then hook it and pull it to the side so I have access to her core, which is already slick with arousal.
I rub my hand into that wetness, let it coat my fingers so I can tease her clit with no resistance. My fingers catch on that sensitive bundle of nerves and circle it slowly. Then, using two fingers, I penetrate her and pump in and out. Trembling, she moans and bucks against my hand, riding it. I adjust the pace to synchronize with the rolling of her hips, letting her guide how hard and fast she wants it. With one hand on her back and the other fingering her, I have her completely at my mercy. Once she’s so close to orgasm that her walls flutter around me, I pull away.
She makes a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat and breathes out a pleading, “West.”
I chuckle, delighted at the sight of her bowed over my desk with her hem shoved up to her waist, her ass on full display. I give it a light smack with the flat of my hand, enjoying the sting.
“Ow.” Jessica looks over her shoulder with a frown, uncertain why I did that. I can’t explain to her my frustration over the past few weeks. The torture of having her so close and not knowing every thought in her pretty head. I have questions, and I know exactly how to get the answers I want.
The desk drawer next to me slides out easily. I fetch a condom from it and quickly fit it over my swollen dick. I’m throbbing for her, my tip leaking with pre-cum. It would be so easy to satisfy us both with a couple of quick thrusts, but I’m good at denying my pleasure. I wait and bide my time.
Two tugs and her panties slide down her legs. I lean over to help her step out of them, bringing my face to the globe of her ass. I gave it a quick nip, which makes Jessica jump in surprise and half-rise to look at me. My hand on her lower back, I inch her back down until her cheek presses to the hard wood of the desk.
With my foot, I widen her legs so there’s plenty of room for me to step between them. My cock presses into her center with little resistance. I enter her, and she moans loudly. I pull out slowly and then slam into her as far as I can go. She cries out, and it’s the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. With a brutal pace, I take her from behind, seesawing my dick in and out of her wet pussy. She feels fucking amazing, tight and hot. She’s vocal, which I love, crying out as I move within her. My dick is so hard it feels like the skin might split. I push her harder against the table, lifting her slightly. At this angle, the table edge should be brushing against her clit with each thrust. It doesn’t take long for her to tighten around me.
That’s when I stop. Our combined harsh panting fills the air. Leaning forward, I wind my hand into her long hair and give it a light tug, asking, “Who’s M?”
“Wh—what?” Lust-dazed, she’s slow to understand.
“On your phone. Who’s M?” I repeat, anger and frustration buzzing under my skin. The thought of someone else touching her like this makes me want to set the world on fire. I’d rather burn it all down than share her. Deliberately, I loosen my grip on her hair and slow my breathing.
“What? How?” she mumbles, then catches her breath as I move in and out of her in tiny centimeter-long motions, just enough to remind her I’m there. To motivate her.
“M,” I prompt, with my mouth close to her ear, slowing down the pumping of my hips.
She groans, frustrated that she’s so close. A huff from her with a furrow in her brow as she thinks.
“Jessica…” I don’t hide the threat in my voice.
“Oh! Monica. My best friend. I didn’t remember her name the first time we met, just that it started with the letter M.”
Her best friend…or is she lying?
Without warning, I give her ass a hard spank. A surprised squeak flies out of her lips.
“Why is M set to private?”
Another smack, this time softer. Already guilt churns in my stomach. I like spanking women, but only when it’s consensual and out of passion not anger.
Get your shit together.
In my own pathetic way, I made amends by stroking her wet pussy until she’s moaning again, her fingers scrabbling against the desk.
More gently I repeat, “Why would your text messages to M be hidden, if it’s just your friend?”
Another thrust and Jessica gasps out, “She sends me thirst trap videos of masked men all the time. I don’t want the kids at school to accidentally see them.”
A wave of relief pours over me, shocking me with its intensity.
That actually makes sense.
Thank God.
I place my forehead on her back and rest for exactly ten seconds, counting in my head.
1, 2, 3, 4…
Then my hands move to her hips, one on each side, and I give her a sharp thrust angled upward so I can go as deep into her as possible. She groans, throwing her head back. “Yes. Oh my God. That feels so good,” the words drag out. I continue to fuck her, experimenting with speed and pressure. I’m learning there’s a spot that makes her gasp aloud every time I hit it. I aim for that location, making sure to drag my tip along it. Within minutes, she’s screaming my name into the wooden surface as her walls clench and pulsate around me. I had planned on making her come again, but the sensation takes me over the edge right along with her. I empty into the condom so hard I have to grab onto the sides of the desk so I don’t lose my balance and fall over.
Chest heaving, I pull out and stand with a twinge in my back from being bent over for so long. Jessica’s hair is tangled and sweaty at the base of her neck, I brush it aside and help her stand, straightening her nightgown. Then, I fall back onto my office chair, dragging her back onto my lap.
Jessica snuggles against my chest, tucking her head under my chin. She gives a contented sigh, which makes me smile. We sit in silence for a few minutes, as our breathing slowly returns to normal.
She breaks the quiet with the question I was waiting for. “How did you know about my phone? About Monica?”
I’d practiced my answer in my head several times earlier this evening, preparing for this exact moment. Jesssica is a smart woman. I knew she wouldn’t let it go.
I lie. “I heard a buzzing from your room one morning. I came up to check it out, and it was your phone. You were sleeping with it going off right next to your head.” I chuckle lightly as if this is just a silly anecdote I’m sharing with her. “I shut it off so it wouldn’t wake you. The message was from M, so I wondered who that was, calling at such an early hour. I tried to read the text to make sure it wasn’t an emergency, but it was set to private.”
She shifts, sitting up to look at me with the corners of her mouth turned down. “I don’t remember that.”
I brush a lock of hair back. “Of course not. You slept right through it.”
Jessica looks like she wants to argue, but before she can begin a huge yawn splits her face. Her hand rises to hide it. “Sorry,” she mumbles once it’s passed. Her head drifts back down to settle against my chest, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s letting the topic drop, at least for now.
“I can hear your heart,” she tells me, pressing closer.
“What’s it saying?”
“That you’re going to start coming home.”
I laugh at that but don’t make any promises. The reality is that I can’t decide which is worse—ignoring her or being obsessed with her.
Another yawn. This one smothered against my shirt.
“I think it’s time for bed.” I scoop her up in my arms and stand.
“I can walk,” she protests, squirming to get down.
I grip her tighter. “You’re drunk on wine and orgasms. I’ll carry you.”
That makes her giggle, the sound light and happy.
“Besides,” I continue, “you’re the one who once pointed out that the staircase is dangerous if you’re under the influence.”
That settles her down. Jessica wraps her arms tighter around my neck. I take her up to her room, winding around the stairs carefully so I don’t trip. By the time I get her to her bed, she’s almost asleep, her eyes drifting shut with long, slow blinks. I tuck the covers up to her chin. I’ve just turned away when she says one word that makes me freeze.
“Stay.”
I turn back to her. “You know I can’t.”
“Not can’t. Won’t,” she argues, words trailing off at the end as she fights against her drowsiness.
I sigh. “It’s just not something I do.”
“No exceptions?” she asks plaintively.
“ None .”
As I leave her room, closing the door behind me, her words echo in my mind. She’s right.
It’s not that I can’t stay.
It’s that I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.