Jessalyn #2
“Shit.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Uh, I mean, that’s a relief.”
Instead of bitching about my language, Justin chuckled. “Anything I can do to help? Or do you want me to read out the comments?”
“Only the nice ones.”
“That’s a given.” He scrolled again. “Can you bake the potatoes in the same dish you’ll bake the moussaka in?”
“Absolutely! That saves time cleaning up.”
“If you don’t like eggplant, can you substitute something else?”
“Yes, you could try mushrooms, or zucchini, or your ex’s tiny useless dick. Crap! Bleep that last bit out.”
Justin was trying not to laugh. “How do you feel about stifado? That came from Saylor, and I’m not sure whether it’s a genuine question or a euphemism.”
Saylor! I had two options: play along or die of embarrassment. And today, I chose violence.
“I love stifado. You can’t beat nice, tender meat.” I kept my face straight for about three seconds, then collapsed into giggles. “Does that make me sound like a cannibal?”
“You can eat me any day, babe.”
“Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” I muttered.
“Not yet. Don’t you have to make a sauce?”
This was going to be the world’s quickest moussaka. “Pass me the can of tomatoes. And the can opener. And a pitcher of ice water.”
“What’s the water for?”
“To pour over my head.”
I leaned in to check my phone. There were eight thousand people watching me lust after Justin Norquist, and the number was climbing steadily every second. Then suddenly, it jumped. And I saw a new notification.
Violet Miller is sharing your live-stream.
Violet Miller: Save some for me!
Violet Miller: The moussaka. I meant the freaking moussaka.
I might have lost my old life, but I had a whole new one, and my heart felt so full.
Fuck Ridge. Fuck the police. Fuck Levi Sykes and his mind games.
“Violet! Once the podcasters have gone home, I’ll definitely make you dinner.”
More questions were coming, and I scanned through some of them. Can you freeze moussaka? If I use regular-sized eggplants, how many will I need? What kind of meat do you prefer? Okay, act professional, Jessie.
“I like beef, but you could use lamb if you want a stronger flavour, or venison, or even lentils if you’d prefer a vegetarian version. Now, the meat we’re using today is pre-ground, but if you buy a steak and grind it yourself, that can be real satisfying.”
Justin’s hot!
Oh my gosh, the abs…
Ridge who?
Is Justin a serial killer?
Heck, the podcasters had found the feed. But my caption was sitting under the comments, and I took the words to heart.
John 3:19-21—This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.
Everyone who loves evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.
But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.
“No, Justin isn’t a serial killer. But one of his colleagues went missing after she left work last Wednesday, and we’re very worried about her.
Just to be clear, Justin is on video leaving the office alone, and I was with him for all except sixteen minutes of Wednesday evening.
The police are clutching at straws because they don’t have any other suspects yet.
I’m going to post a picture of Amie Carlson in the comments—if you’ve seen her or have any information on her whereabouts, please call the police. Anyhow, back to the moussaka…”
Moussaka was best slow-cooked, but that day, I could have added it to my five-minute meals series.
I burned the beef a bit, threw in seasoning haphazardly, and made the world’s lumpiest béchamel sauce.
Finally, I shoved the dish into the oven.
I hadn’t missed the bulge in Justin’s jeans.
It had been there since the stifado comment.
“Done?” he asked.
“I hope I’m about to be.” I leaned closer to the camera. “And that’s a wrap, folks. I’ll answer more questions next time.” The comments were still pouring in. “Maddie wants to know if my next recipe will be inspired by Justin? Well, I’d have to get bigger eggplants.”
He reached past me and stopped the stream, then threw me over his shoulder, fireman-style.
“The oven! The oven!”
“Turn it off.”
I twiddled the knob, and he didn’t break stride as he carried me up the stairs. Shiro looked slightly put out when I told him to stay in the hallway, but we didn’t need an audience for the next part.
“Who knew food could be such an aphrodisiac?” Justin whispered as he nibbled my neck.
“Wait until you see what I can do with chocolate.”
“Does it involve sucking it off my cock?”
“I mean, it could.”
His shirt tore when I pulled it over his head, but he didn’t complain. Hell, I wanted him. I needed him. I’d just live-streamed a freaking cooking show as foreplay, and my panties were soaked.
“Kiss me,” I choked out.
He obliged, pulling me down onto the bed, gripping my hips as I straddled him, my dress bunched up around my waist. His hard length rubbed against my core and sent ripples of pleasure through me.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, his voice husky. Not too fat, not too thin, not uptight, not needy or neurotic or irrational. Perfect. The way Justin said it, I almost believed him.
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“I need you.”
I fumbled with his belt buckle, then pushed his jeans down far enough that his cock sprang free. Damn, it was…big. More of a butternut squash than an eggplant. I wrapped my hands around the shaft, but he shook his head.
“Condom.” Oh, right. “In the drawer.”
I leaned over to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer, but it was empty.
“There’s nothing in here.”
“No, there’s a whole box… What the fuck? Where is it?”
We both came to the same horrible realisation at the same moment.
“I don’t believe this,” he groaned. “Cockblocked by the police.”
“You’re sure they took them?”
“They were here, and now they’re not.”
I hated them. Hated them. Not just for taking Justin’s stuff, but for thinking he could have raped Amie and used a condom to cover his tracks. Because that was what they suspected, wasn’t it?
“Assholes,” I muttered.
“I still have fingers.”
But everything felt weird now. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned my head on his shoulder, feeling drained, and not all because of the missing condoms.
“The whole world is conspiring against us.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
He stiffened, and not in a good way. “What?”
“I… The condoms might not even matter. I have fertility problems. And I don’t know where this thing with you is going, or what your life plans are, or what my life plans are, but it just…
it just feels like we fit together, and maybe that will push us apart.
So…you need to know that. In case it’s important later. ”
“Jessie…” Justin kissed my hair, my cheeks, my tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“I always figured I’d be a mom someday, and then Ridge decided the time was right, and it just…didn’t happen. They haven’t worked out what’s wrong, not yet. One of Ridge’s golf buddies is a doctor, and I had a bunch of tests already, but I was supposed to have more.”
Ridge said his plumbing was fine, so the problem must be mine, which had caused even more arguments between us. But deep down, a part of me was glad I’d failed to conceive because what if there were a child involved in this mess?
“We’ll worry about it when you’re ready, okay?”
“Is it…is it a deal-breaker?”
I’d always known we’d have to have this conversation at some point, but not right now. Not before we’d even started. Today was a real rollercoaster of emotions.
“No, Jessie. I’d like to have kids, but it isn’t a deal-breaker. I want you more.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “This is such a mess. At least I’m certain I don’t have any STIs. They tested for those.”
“I got tested after my second ex-fiancée cheated on me, and my third ex-fiancée insisted on using three kinds of birth control because she said having a child would ruin her figure. Full disclosure: I had a single one-night stand recently, which I sorely regret, but I did use protection.” He kissed the tip of my nose.
“We’re an unmitigated disaster, but I’m also halfway in love with you, so there’s that. ”
“What?” I stared at him.
“Too soon?”
Was it? I gazed into his soft brown eyes and saw myself reflected back. I looked vulnerable. And raw. And…happy.
I shook my head. “It’s not too soon. This is real, isn’t it?”
“This is real.”
I didn’t take my eyes off him as I raised my hips enough for him to slide inside me. Holy cannoli, he felt so big. So solid. So…so mine.
I ground against him, and he let me control the pace as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.
His fingers got everywhere—tangling in my hair, whispering across my skin, massaging, stroking, circling…
He knew exactly how to play me. I came before I was ready, unable to hold back, and he groaned my name as I clenched around him.
“Jessie, fuck. That’s three-quarters of the way.”
“I want it all.”
Ridge had always told me I was selfish, and maybe he’d been right?
Then I was on my back, my legs spread, Justin’s hips rocking against me as he searched for his own high.
But he was in no hurry. I felt another orgasm building, building, until I detonated again, this time in a supernova.
Heat spilled into me, and we collapsed in a sweaty mess, limbs entwined, minds blown, sanity lost forever.
If only I could have stopped the clock.
Frozen that moment.
Because happiness was fleeting, and hell was snapping at its heels.