Chapter 9
Julian
Six Years Ago
“Taya?” I hear her voice the moment I step inside the barn. Not words though. My heart drops at the sound of her sobs, then slams into my ribs and hammers like it wants out of my chest.
“Go away, Jay. I just wanna be alone.”
“Not gonna happen.” I find her sunk into the corner of Sugar’s stall, legs pulled up to her chest, cradled by her arms with her forehead pressed to her knees.
Unlatching the gate brings her head up, and her waterlogged sea-glass eyes break my heart.
Dropping to my knees in front of her, I clasp her face in my hands and raise it to mine. “Talk to me, Tay. Tell me what it is.”
“She did it. She finally did it. She got out. She’s gone.”
“Who, Taya? What happened? Your mom?”
She barely nods her head within the confines of my hands as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
“Where’d she go?” Her broken sobs give me my answer, as much as I hoped it wasn’t so.
Mandy Bennick struggled with depression since before Taya was born and never bounced back from postpartum psychosis unless aided by drugs that left her comatose or manically happy.
Either way, she checked out of her life long before Taya was old enough to know any different.
Her dad, Rusty, pulled out all the stops to keep her happy or at least able to portray happiness to the town he unofficially ran.
Today, her mix of pills and cocktails turned fatal.
And while Taya always proclaimed she liked the freedom of a checked-out mom, I know she wished their relationship were different. We shared that sentiment.
Taya rises up onto her knees and scoots onto my lap, straddling me.
I drop my hands from her face, resting my soft fists on the hay floor.
She grips the sides of my neck and jaw, curling her long fingers into my hair, and pulls my face to hers. She kisses me frantically, and I let her for a moment.
I rub my hands up her body, neck, stopping when I get to her cheeks. I softly pull away from her lips, locking gazes with her.
Eyes glazed, she leans in, trying to resume her kisses.
“Tay.” I try to reach through the haze of her grief.
“Stop, Jay. I don’t want to talk. Just kiss me.”
I hold her face in my hands and stare into her liquid green eyes. What I see there tells me I won’t penetrate her pain with words. I sigh and pull her lips to mine. I deepen the kiss, mimicking her urgency—an urgency I don’t feel but sense she needs.
She peels my shirt up over my torso, and I lift my arms, letting her drive the fabric over my head.
I reach behind my neck and yank it up and off.
She crosses her arms over her stomach and yanks the hem of her Guns N’ Roses T-shirt over her head in one motion.
Then she’s kissing me again, skin to skin except for the thin fabric of her bra.
Within minutes I’m not thinking about talking or stopping.
I don’t care that the hay pricks my skin when I pick her up and lay her back, covering her body with mine.
It’s soft enough, and the sweet smell reminds me of her.
Her scent always smells faintly of horses and hay and green grass.
Underneath, her shampoo or soap or maybe lotion teases a hint of coconut but never overpowers the essence of the outdoors.
She’s pulling at my hips now. Pressing hers up into mine. We’ve made out before. Lots of times. But we always stop before we go too far. Before clothes come off. This time is different. She won’t stop.
Somewhere inside my brain, a faint voice tells me I should stop. But she’s kissing my neck. Her warm breath and soft raspy voice fill my ear, raising the hair on my arms and neck. Goosebumps follow.
“I want you, Jay. Please, just make me forget.” The reminder of her mom brings me back to earth.
“We shouldn’t. Not now. Not like this.”
She braces her hands on my shoulders and shoves with everything she’s got.
I roll off her onto my side as she sits up, resting her forearms on her raised knees.
She lifts her hands and drags them through her hair at her temples. Without looking at me, she says, “Go away.”
“C’mon, Taya, don’t be like that.”
“Don’t fucking tell me how to be. She’s dead, Jay. She’s not in the other room ignoring me like usual. She’s fucking gone forever. Okay? I just wanted to numb the pain. Even if it was just for a little while. You don’t wanna help me do that, then leave.”
I stare at her profile, racking my brain for the right words.
A tear slides down her cheek, and I reach for her.
I rest my fingers lightly on her shoulder and place a soft kiss there.
She turns her face until her cheek rests on the back of my hand.
Looking into the broken green pools, I know I won’t deny her anything.
“Okay, Taya, it’s okay. I’m right here. I got you. ”
She throws herself into my arms, the force knocking me back onto our hay bed.
Straddling my thighs, she begins unfastening my jeans.
I watch through hooded lids as she slides them down my hips, lifting to give her access.
She stands quickly, pulling her sports bra over her head as I push my jeans off each calf with my feet.
She shimmies out of her jeans, kicks them to the side, then repositions herself on my thighs.
I reach up to timidly hide her breasts, covering them in each palm, but my touch has her arching into my grasp, her nipples hardening at the contact.
My hands squeeze instinctually. Her body rubs against me, and moisture glazes the growing stiffness between my legs.
My hips rise to meet the pressure of hers.
The friction isn’t new, but our complete nakedness makes the sensations new, more intense, and somehow more real.
We’re floundering in our inexperience but eager and urgent.
My hands clamp hard onto her hips and drive the grinding motion, causing our breaths to hitch and our hearts to hammer. I slide them up her torso, circle her nipples and pinch them between my thumb and finger, hard. I sit up, take one in my mouth and suck. My pulse throbs in my crotch.
She’s moving her hips back and forth along my length, and it gets more slippery with each thrust. With my free hand I reach down to touch the wetness of her center.
When my thumb finds the bundle of nerves, she throws her head back in a deep moan.
I’m mesmerized by her long blonde hair falling over us, her soft tan skin against mine, moving and responding on pure instinct.
On my own instinct, I dip my finger into her heat.
She rocks into the invasion in a clear invitation of more, and I oblige by adding another.
Her rocking turns to grinding as I plunge in and out, but I can tell what I’m doing isn’t enough.
I slide my fingers out of her, clasp her hips and lift her.
I turn and lay her beneath me, kissing her softly.
She doesn’t want to be soft. She sucks my bottom lip into her mouth and nips it almost painfully.
Before I kiss her, I pull back and look down into her eyes, dark emerald now. “Are you sure, Taya?”
“I want you, Jay. Now. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Please.”
I kiss her deeply, quickly. “Okay. Okay, Taya.” I’m scared to cross this line, but I’m more scared not to. I want to be here for her, give her what she wants, even though I know it’s just a crutch. My choices sucked. Leave her alone in her grief or give her this crutch. I won’t refuse her.
Taking myself in my hand, I guide it into position between her legs and into the slippery heat. I meet resistance and ease up.
But Taya is single-minded in her resolve. She locks her hands onto my hips and, with surprising force, pulls me into her. Her wetness helps, but I feel the pierce. The short cry that rips from her throat tells me it hurts.
I freeze. She lets me. I rest my forehead on hers, panting, fighting for control over my urge to keep driving.
“It’s okay, Jay. Keep going.” I know without knowing she welcomes this physical pain, hoping it drowns the emotional pain.
“Shh, Taya, give it a second, okay?” I rain little kisses on her face—temples, forehead, cheeks, lips. She lies still under me, eyes closed, while I kiss her. When I stop, she opens them, and we stare at each other. I slowly move inside her.
She reaches her palms to my cheeks, rubs tenderly, encouragingly.
She tries to hide the wince of pain. But I also feel when it stops hurting because I slide in and out more easily.
Her eyes glaze over just before they roll up and her lids shutter down.
Her lips part on a long exhale—part moan, part breath, as her hips rise to meet each thrust. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back, or if I’m supposed to.
Instinctively, I know there is more I could do to give her what she wants.
My inexperience has my carnal impulses taking over.
I want to slow down for her, but she won’t have it.
So I drive in and out, over and over, until the buildup becomes too much.
Her nails dig into my hips, leaving divots.
I relish the pain as a fair turn for the pain I caused her.
I groan into her neck as my orgasm rips through me and pulses into her.
As my brain returns to earth, the first thought that slams into my mind is that we didn’t use a condom.
Fuck! We are the typical stupid, irresponsible teenagers.
Fuck! I can’t change it now. I’d been carrying one around in my wallet for a while.
I just didn’t think to get it. Stupid! But I can give her a release I know she didn’t get with mine.
I don’t know how exactly, but I’ve never wanted anything more.
I need her to feel good, great, loved. I think I do love her.
We’ve never said it, but I think it must feel like this.
I’d do anything for this girl. I’d take her place right now, trade my mom for hers.
I push that chilling knowledge from my mind.
Instead, I focus on kissing her neck. She arches, giving me better access, and holds my head to her, encouraging my attention. Pulling out, I trail kisses down her body until I’m between her legs. I place featherlight kisses to her center.
Her body responds, a hardening bead. I suck it gently into my mouth, flicking my tongue over it.
Her body arches off the ground as my name floats out of her mouth, her voice low and husky.
Pushing my hands under her, I lift her to meet my lips more fully.
I don’t use my fingers for fear she’s too sore, but I make up for that with my mouth.
Her legs lock tight around me.
I increase my intensity and pressure, causing my body to reawaken. I ignore the urge to plunge into her, but I do test a finger, slowly penetrating her soft heat.
A gasp rips from her lips, followed by a long, “Yesssss.”
I nip the bud with my teeth and add a finger.
Her legs lock like a vise as she pulses around my fingers.
I slow my motions, mouth and hand. Her fingers in my hair pull slightly while holding my head in place against her as she pants through her orgasm.
When her arms and legs go limp, I rest my cheek on her lower abdomen and she pets my hair idly.
I scoot up until I’m lying even with her.
As reality sinks in, I cringe inwardly that our first time was on a stable floor. But I don’t have long to dwell on it.
Taya interrupts my thought spiral with, “C’mon, let’s go to the drugstore and get Plan B.
And some condoms.” She rustles the hair on my head playfully.
Gone are the torment and pain of losing her mother.
I know what Plan B is, but I’ve never known anyone to need it before.
I wonder if we should go to a nearby town where no one knows us—knows her.
No one knows me already. But everyone knows her.
We sit up, side by side, not looking at each other now.
“What about Rus—your dad?”
“He’ll be busy with . . . the formalities.”
I turn my face to hers. Even in profile I see hers fall, eyes filling with fresh tears. “I’ll drive, okay?” I grab her hand and stand her up, then hug her naked body to mine, threading my fingers through her hair.
“Okay.” Her chest rises and falls with her deep breath. And just like that she tucks her pain back in. “Thanks, Jay. I . . . I love you.”
“I love you back. I mean it, Taya. Always. Okay?” I vow naively. Completely believing every word I say.
She nods against my chest, takes another deep breath, then steps away and begins collecting her clothes.