Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JENSEN
We stop at the gas station on the way back. She stands by the meager options, staring at them and worrying her lip. There isn’t much but dry goods. I wait around, then get a pack of gum and head out to fill up the gas tank.
Way back in the day, I dipped for about a year. To quit, I started putting a bit of mint gum in my back teeth just to feel something there. It helps me relax and fixate on something else.
I push the nozzle into the tank and snap it on. Using my tongue, I crush the gum and push it between my molars. It seeps down my throat, syrupy sweet and so minty it’s cold.
A car speeds by, kicking up dust.
The nozzle clicks, signaling the tank is full. She’s still inside when I go in to pay. It takes me a moment, but I find her by the freezer section. She’s got a bag of rice, Crisco, and a jar of canned greens in her arms.
I stare at that Crisco, mint on my tongue.
“Can we stop at the farm stand down the road?” she asks brightly.
I blink, jerking myself out of my head. “That where you got the meat?”
She nods. “They had pork belly last time. How’s that sound with the greens and rice?”
I jerk my head, taking the items from her arms and carrying them to the front desk. The clerk is zoned out at the register. I clear my throat, and he jumps, tapping at the keypad with one hand and reaching for a paper bag with the other.
“I got twenty-five bucks on the gas pump too,” I say.
He nods, putting everything into the bag.
The rice is the same brand Cherry used to buy, the same Holly kept in her kitchen.
It’s a white bag of the material chicken feed comes in, red lettering and a picture of a barn printed on it.
Cherry kept a bag of it on the sink, in a gallon Ziplock to keep the weevils out.
And the fucking Crisco—is there really no other cooking oil to buy in this town?
We leave the gas station, and I watch her ass sway across the parking lot to the truck.
What am I doing?
She hops into the truck, flashing her panties under that tiny skirt.
Oh, yeah, that’s why. Because Jensen Childress can’t say no to beautiful women, especially not this one.
I get in the driver’s side, jaw tight, and we head down to the farm stand.
There, I stand by her while she picks through the cooler, and I pay up after she finds some pork belly that satisfies her criteria.
We go home, and I take care of the horses while she cooks. When I get back in, she’s about done making the pork, rice, and canned greens up.
She’s subdued. Whatever Brothers said to her was upsetting, but she won’t reveal a word of it. I know it had something to do with her son. I haven’t been out to Brothers’ house since the day I left. Seeing it again was surreal. I’m shaken too—by going back, by seeing the rice and Crisco tin.
She turns off the stove and removes the pots.
I’m standing by the table, watching her.
Her brows rise, asking me silently why I’m staring at her like this is our first time meeting.
The house settles, creaking. I glance up, thinking I saw something that isn’t there hanging on the wall, but no, just a knot in the wood.
“You loved what I did to you the other night,” I say finally.
Her pupils spread. “I…I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, Della.”
Her throat bobs, lips parting. “I liked it.”
“How much?”
She shakes her head. “Enough to come from it.”
I take a step closer. She lays down the rag slowly.
“I like your pain,” I say. “But only if you like it too.”
Her breasts heave. She’s still in her tight little dress, the fabric clinging to her curves.
“Strip,” I say quietly.
She obeys, eyes enormous. Her dress peels up and falls to the ground. Underneath, she’s wearing the same bra from the night we met. Her panties are cotton edged with blue lace. They remind me of curtains, but I’m not sure from where. Maybe back home, a long time ago.
She unfastens the bra, dropping it. Her nipples harden as her breasts hang free, naked in the cheap glow from the ancient bulb in the ceiling.
“You know what word to say if it’s too much,” I say.
She nods.
“Out loud, Della.”
“Yes, I do.” She lifts her chin. “I’ll say red if I want out.”
“Good girl,” I murmur. “Take your panties off and show me your cunt.”
Her slender fingers dip beneath the fabric, loosening until it falls.
She steps out of them. I soak her in. She’s a wet dream, breathtaking in a raw, intimate way that makes me see red, knowing Leland had her too.
Part of me wants to hear everything he ever did to her body.
The other part knows it would only make this jealousy worse.
“Get down on your hands and knees,” I order.
She bites her lip, hesitating. Then, she sinks down.
Her spine elongates as she settles into position, tilting her head up to look at me.
From my pocket, I take a knife. The half used bag of uncooked rice sits to my left.
I pull it to the edge of the table and stab it, quick.
Grains pour out, covering the aged floorboards.
She keeps still. I step back, boots crunching, until there are a few yards between us.
Then, I sink to a crouch.
“Crawl to me, you filthy little bitch,” I say quietly.
Her lips part in shock.
“Focus, Della,” I say, bringing her back with her name. “You know how to keep me from going too far. Say you understand.”
“I understand,” she whispers.
“Now, do it.”
She starts crawling, her cheek twitching at the pain. I’ve done this before, with other women, but not here, back where I was pretending to be somebody I’m not.
She’s wincing, but she moves until she’s at my feet, gazing up at me, waiting.
“Sit back on your heels,” I order.
She does, gasping at the pain. Her eyes are huge, her cheeks flushed.
Without meeting her gaze, I circle the rice and step outside.
She hung the washing on the line earlier.
Some of it, worn out towels, are still there.
I take one down, removing the two wooden clothespins that hold it up.
When I return, she’s sitting there like a good girl, not moving a muscle.
She loves this.
I crouch before her and brush back her hair. Bending, I kiss her forehead gently. She whimpers, breasts heaving. Then, I take her breast in my hand and pinch her nipple until it fully hardens. I clip the clothespin on it parallel to her body.
She inhales sharply. Her pupils blow.
“Good girl. Look at you,” I murmur.
“It hurts,” she gasps.
“Too much?”
She shakes her head, shifting her weight. “I’m…very wet.”
I reach between her thighs and, fuck, she is soaked. It’s halfway down her leg, so wet that when I press two fingers to her tight cunt, I slide inside with ease. Her body tremors. I stroke the swollen spot inside her pussy, torturing her before pulling free.
“Open your mouth,” I say.
Her lips part, and the eroticism of her exposed tongue isn’t lost on me. Waiting, receiving freely. I put my two fingers on it, pushing inside. Her eyes meet mine as she closes her lips, lapping up the underside and sucking her arousal from the tips.
My God, she’s extraordinary.
I pull back, clipping the second pin on her other nipple.
She gasps, palms on her thighs, head bowed.
All the noise in my head is silent. I see her like a beam of sunlight in the darkness.
My desire is a sadistic underbelly I once rejected.
And yet, she lets me feel things I’ve pushed down for decades.
This time, I don’t want to reject myself.
I want to consume, just as I want to be consumed.
To give pain so as to take it.
She lifts her head, beautiful and ethereal. I take off my shirt, unfastening it one button at a time until I can pull it free. Then, I sink to a crouch and cup her chin. The tension is a hushed, shared breath between our mouths as I bend and kiss her. She tastes sweet—like Della, like home.
I press one palm to the ground, rice stinging my skin.
Carefully, using my core to lower myself, I unfurl my body between the steeple of her thighs.
Cradling her hips, I press her up until she’s on her knees again.
There’s space for my head to rest between them.
Pain sparks against my scalp, like fingernails down my back, as I sink against the rice covered floor.
I lean up, stroking my tongue over her cunt.
Sweet, soft. Euphoria.
“Does it hurt?” I murmur.
“Yes,” she gasps.
I moan deep in my chest. Her hand skims against my pecs, barely reaching me. I work one hand free and gather her wrists, tucking them behind her back.
“Keep those there.”
“Yes, sir.”
My cock jerks hard in my pants, and I feel precum spill against my skin.
Hot, uncontrolled. She wobbles as I lift my head and flick her clit.
I push up on my elbows, rice digging into my forearms. Fuck, she’s right—it hurts.
The pain is pure mental clarity right to my brain, waking my every sense.
Breathing hard, I press my face up into her cunt, burying everything in the sweet, wet softness.
She moans, then she whimpers.
I know it hurts to kneel on the rice, and I’ll kiss every mark on her knees and shins when I’m done. But for now, I need her pleasure to flow like a river. My head is empty and crystal clear. There’s nobody in this world but Della and me in this house that reminds me of home.
I lick her clit, lapping at it. Arousal runs down my chin, down my throat. She trembles, getting closer with each stroke. My tongue flicks again and again, pushing her, testing her limits.
She shakes, she’s so close.
Her pleasure hits her, bending her back until I have to cup my hands around her thighs to keep her upright. Her pussy constricts over my lips, holds, then releases. Wetness fills my mouth, spattering my face like a dam bursting. Exhilarated, I pull my lips back and bite her on the hood of her clit.
She screams, but she doesn’t try to get away.
And she doesn’t safeword me.