Chapter 16
Morgan
Another man steps forward.
“How about a water?” he says and hands me a bottle.
Jack snatches it and tosses it back. “I’ll buy her a water.” He grips my arm and leads me away. I stumble to keep up, but he doesn’t slow. Just scolds me. “Don’t accept drinks from men you don’t know.”
“I’m not stupid, Jack. I wouldn’t have accepted it if the cap was broken. Besides, this isn’t a bar.”
“You’re dressed like it is.”
I scoff once more, incredulous, then jerk free from his grip.
“I get it! Ha. Ha. Laugh at me. I’m a na?ve Christian girl who hasn’t been to places like this.” I draw in a long breath to calm myself. “And maybe I shouldn’t have worn this dress, but I think I look pretty. The color is the same red as your tattoos. I thought you’d like that.”
“You wanted to match?” he says, disgusted.
His expression stabs. Nothing I say or do softens him. I sigh in defeat and glance around at the clusters of people and cars. The golden glow of streetlights should soothe, but it only depresses.
In a deadened tone, I say, “I shouldn’t be here. I’m leaving, but I’ll talk to my dad about your brother. You don’t have to tolerate me anymore.”
“For fuck sakes,” he grumbles, then shakes his head. “Don’t be dramatic.”
I step away, but he snatches my wrist and yanks me toward him.
“Jack!”
He brings my back flush with his front and cages me in his arms. It isn’t tight, nor is it gentle.
“You’re right, Morgan. You shouldn’t be here.” His head lowers, and his cheek brushes mine. “Why are you? Because every time I try to figure you out, I feel like the na?ve one.”
“You do?”
“Hell yes.”
I close my eyes as his arms tighten around my rib cage, just under my breasts, firmer and more possessive.
“Want to know what I think? I think you’re a sheltered preacher’s daughter who is curious about men.”
“Oh?” I whisper inquisitively, but he isn’t wrong.
“Yes. Look around. Tons of guys. Like any of ’em?”
I scan the crowd. There is one guy I like here, so I nod.
“Good. Because men will line up to satisfy whatever curiosity you have.”
I peek over my shoulder and gaze into his ocean blue eyes. They’re swirling with something I can’t pinpoint.
“And they’ll kiss the pavement for a chance to hold you like I am.”
My heart skips a beat, but I remain still.
His fingertips drop to my sides and glide down, resting on my hips. His chest expands against my back as he draws in a deep breath through his nostrils, hesitating. After a moment, his hands fall away, and a sense of loss chills me.
“I’ll go talk to him, church girl. Just point at who you want.”
“Then what?” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
“I’ll bring him over. Introduce you,” he answers near my ear. “That what you want?”
“If I let him touch me,” I say and place his hands back onto my hips, “What will he do next?”
I feel the restraint in his touch as his fingertips subtly curl into my flesh. “Depends on if you stop him.”
Firm and slow, his palm floats over the curve of my ass. I hold my breath, but it escapes as his fingertips slip past the hem of my dress and strum my panties. We’re at the edge of the crowd, semi-shadowed by the night and trees, but still very much not alone.
Yet, his frame tenses upon touching me, like this isn’t normal for him.
I whisper his name and stiffen, too. His index finger teases at the elastic. I close my eyes, and my heart thunders in my chest. I don’t stop him. I wait.
Slowly — painfully slow — he moves the fabric to the side.
I swallow.
Hot breath wets my ear as his lips rest against it. “I want you, Morgan. God, I want you.”
I shudder as his words burn into me. I slightly part my legs and tilt my hips back, aching for him. His fingertip grazes along my slit to my entrance, where he draws circles.
I ask softly, “How much do you want me?”
“Anytime I touch myself, I think of you. Only you.”
“Really?”
He nips at my neck and feeds his finger inside to the first knuckle, teasing me. “I fantasize about being the first man to break into your tight little body.”
My palms sweat at his naughty words.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” His finger slides in deeper. “I know it isn’t me. You said I would be a regret. Who will it be?”
“I... um,” I stammer as he hits a sensitive spot inside. I clench down and he groans as my arousal gushes out. Everything about him sets my body on fire, causing me to blurt out, “I lied at my house, by the pool. I wouldn’t have regretted it. It’s you, Jack. You’re the only guy I like here.”
His mouth hinges wide as he tastes my neck and pumps his finger deeper and harder. He breathes heavy through his nose, reflecting his hunger.
I shudder and exhale a soft moan, which makes him grip me harder. I love it, fear it, and want more.
Desire consumes my senses and I reach behind me, but hesitate.
“Can I touch you?”
His cheeks rise as he smiles against my neck. “Fuck yes.”
Cautiously, I find the waistband of his jeans and slip my hand down. I hold my breath as I lace my fingers around his hot shaft. It’s thick and rock hard, yet smooth as silk.
He releases a low groan against my skin upon the contact. “You have no idea how the feel of your hand on my cock is being seared into my memory.”
I blush, feeling strangely proud.
But I don’t know what I am doing. I am self-conscious, too, afraid someone might see us. Not just because of appearances, but because I thought moments like this are supposed to be private. Something sacred. Nothing is like I imagined, yet with Jack, I am unable to stop myself.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, then clasp his jaw and lead his mouth to mine.
I kiss him like I wanted to at the pool. I kiss him like he’s important to me, because he is. He’s an addictive secret, and I don’t want to share.
When our lips part, he asks, “Wanna finish what we started?”
Even I know what that means.
I turn around, forcing him to withdraw his finger from my body.
“Um, I need to know something. If we slept together, would you discard me after?”
He doesn’t seem shocked by the question. He simply cocks his head and stares down at me.
“Probably,” he answers, then tastes my arousal still coating his finger.
My eyes widen, in awe he just did that.
He continues, “Isn’t that what you want? Don’t fool yourself, Morgan. Your father hates me, you’ll marry someone of the same faith, and your congregation won’t follow you if you’re with an atheist.”
“That’s true,” I mutter bitterly.
I need time to let those truths really sink in. I want to believe if we slept together that night on the couch, I would be fine after. However, I’m impulsive with Jack. I know I am. My body’s desires cloud my judgement. I just don’t understand why guilt doesn’t follow after he touches me.
I take his hand. “I’ll think about it.”
It lasts for just a second, but I catch him cringe like he just lost his chance.
“I’ll keep texting you, though,” I add.
That perks him up. “I’ll settle for that.”
But if I am being honest with myself, I want to give him more than texts. I know he wants the same. I just need to decide if I can handle the aftermath: us eventually cutting ties.
Because when he kisses and touches me, it feels like giving him a piece of myself, and I like that feeling.
“Want to show me more cars?” I ask, so I can stay by his side.
He nods and takes my hand, like I originally hoped. The small act of endearment makes my heart race faster than when we were touching each other.
As we slip through the crowds and watch races, he rarely lets go.
He keeps me close to his body, holds me in his arms, explains things in my ear, and occasionally, he steals a kiss on my neck or on top of my head.
I can’t be sure, but I think he’s holding back, because his lips linger longer each time.
He’s sweet in other ways, too. He asks what I think of the cars, tells me he likes my smile and laugh, and insists on buying me drinks and snacks. He won’t let me pay, as if it’s a date.
Ingrid passes me teasing smiles whenever I am blushing.
Sometimes, she even says, “tsk, tsk,” because she knows I’m high on Jack.
Every moment carries a sense of euphoria. For once, I feel human. Not chosen for something greater than myself. I’m wanted for just being me.
But then, it’s over.
“See ya, church girl,” he says and steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets.
No goodbye. No kiss. No hug. Just flipped to his old self, as if nothing happened.
He simply walks away. A fairytale night without its ending.