Chapter 36 #2
“Jase.” I take a step forward into the room. The door slams shut behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you. I was worried about you.”
“Why?” His tone is dismissive, and everything inside me tenses. He’s hurt, and I know it’s not because of me, but I still can’t help the fact that it stings.
“You know why. You didn’t answer any of my calls or messages.”
He runs a hand through his hair and swears softly. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I take a step toward him, hold out my hand, and lower it again. I want to ask him if he’s all right, but that feels unnecessary when he’s obviously not. “Do you want to talk about it? What’s going on?” I ask gently. But Jase shakes his head.
“No, I . . . Oh, fuck!” He whirls around, and his fist hits the wall between the round windows so hard that he must be bleeding. I’m shocked for a split second, but then I’m next to him, holding his face between my hands and making him look at me so he’ll talk. He does.
“Dad wants me to come to Mom’s stupid party,” he says through clenched teeth, “and they didn’t even invite me properly. I’m just supposed to show up and pretend that everything’s okay.”
“You don’t have to go.”
He exhales loudly. “I know. But I do. I have to.” I want to ask why, but something in his eyes stops me.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I say instead.
He shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “You really don’t have to put up with that shit.”
“But do you want me to come with you?” I stroke his cheeks, and my thumb comes to rest on his lips.
He whirls us around until my back is against the wall behind me and props his hands next to my head.
His gaze is dark and still angry, but it’s now also full of desire.
My heart skips a beat, heat shooting through my body as he stares at my mouth.
A voice reminds me that I should be afraid because I don’t have control right now. But still, I feel safe.
All I want is for him to answer me. My skin tingles, and my whole body throbs. For a second, all I can think about is how badly I want to explore every inch of his body with my mouth right now.
“Jase, do you want me to go with you?” I ask, a little hoarse and out of breath.
He leans his forehead against mine, and my hands slide automatically over his shoulders and down to his chest, pausing over his heart. It’s racing.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Okay, then I will.”
Instead of answering, he kisses me. Hungrily.
Wildly. Desperately. I return his kiss without hesitation, even though I have a thousand questions.
Even though I know so much about Jase, even though he’s told me so many secrets, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to his anger than just this party. I pause.
“Jase,” I whisper against his lips. “Why are you so angry?”
He pulls back to look at me. Anger is still flickering in his eyes. But beneath it, I can see his pain. “Please . . .” He swallows hard, “Please, Pixie, I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Okay.” I nod, and he kisses me again, hard and deep. I taste his salty sweat on my tongue, and I realize that this is not the time for questions and secrets. Jase doesn’t want to talk, and to be honest, I don’t want to talk now either.
His hands slide under my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders.
He finds the zipper of my dress, and a moment later, the fabric parts and slides down my chest to my waist. I’m only wearing a thin lace bra, and Jase hesitates for a second to make sure I’m okay with it.
I want him, here and now. My body is begging for more.
He pulls the thin straps down my arms. My eyelids close as his lips find my nipple, and then his tongue.
A whimper escapes me, and I thrust my hips toward him.
Jase’s hands roam over my body and cup my butt.
He lifts me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his hips.
I can feel the throbbing of his own desire against my center, and I wish the thin fabric of my tights and underwear would just melt into thin air.
Jase backs away a little, and I feel his breath on my cheek. Goose bumps.
“I hate them,” he says. “Mom, Dad, Lia, Sam. Everyone but you.” His husky voice sends a shiver down my back.
“You can hate me. It’s okay if you hate me a little bit.”
He smiles grimly. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Today you’re allowed to for a moment.
Really. I’m strong—you said it yourself.
Let me catch you. Let it out. Please.” I pull him close, and our lips collide.
He groans and presses himself against me.
I writhe under his touch until he lets go again, this time to take off his leggings and help me out of my clothes.
Then he’s with me again, lifting me up and pressing me against the wall between the windows.
The bricks feel cold against my naked skin, but the cold only intensifies the heat inside me.
My body thrums; my skin glows. I scratch Jase’s back with my fingernails, and he moans desperately into my mouth.
“Hate me,” I breathe. I guess I’m losing my mind. But that’s exactly what I want to do right now.
Jase loses control at my words. I can feel it. A tremor runs through his body; the muscles in his back tense. His hand slides between us, and then he enters me with a powerful thrust. I whimper again, and my back rubs against the cold, rough bricks every time Jase thrusts into me.
It’s crazy and exciting at the same time, the slight pain on my skin, and the desire flooding my body. Strangely, it feels incredibly good. He’s angry, and I absorb his anger, again and again and again, with every furious thrust, and each time his fingers touch my skin.
And then . . . he stops. He just stops. My whole body is throbbing in protest, because I need more. More of him. More of this.
“What—” I say, stopping as Jase backs away from me, panting, and my legs slide off his hips. I feel the wooden floor under my bare feet, cool and smooth, and I reel in confusion as Jase rests his forehead against mine.
“Fuck! I . . . can’t. I can’t hate you,” he murmurs, his lips caressing mine.
They trace my jawline, and I forget that I want to reply.
“You’re the only one I can’t hate.” He backs away a little, turning me toward the mirror until I can see our reflections, with red cheeks and shining eyes.
“You’re the only one that gives my life any kind of sense.
” He slides behind me, tall and warm, until his chest touches my back.
He still has one arm around my waist, and the other hand rests on my thigh, tracing lazy circles on my naked skin.
My body reacts to his touch with a hot tingle, and my heart reacts to his gaze, his words.
Longing. Fierce. In love.
“Why do you make so much sense?” He kisses my neck, biting gently, just enough to make me whimper again. My head tips back. I close my eyes and press up against him, so close that I can feel his erection on my bottom. At the same time, I push my hips forward so his hand can slide deeper.
“Because you do,” I reply hoarsely. I moan as his thumb circles the center of my desire, which almost hurts with longing, and I see stars.
“Open your eyes,” he says, and I do, because I would do anything he tells me right now. “Look at yourself.”
I blink until my vision clears. Until I can see us. But I can’t look at myself. I can only see him. Jase, who’s standing behind me, big and strong and beautiful. He commands the entire room with his dark gaze and the haze of anger that still surrounds him.
“Look at yourself,” he repeats, more urgently this time.
He increases the pressure between my legs, and I can’t help it.
I sigh yearningly, rub myself against his hand, and watch his eyes seeking mine.
The girl looking back at me from the mirror is obviously me, but she seems strangely unfamiliar.
And at the same time, I know her too well.
Red cheeks and swollen lips. Gleaming eyes, full of lust.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
I shake my head, and finally, he slides a finger inside me. My muscles tighten around it of their own accord, my eyelids flutter, wanting to close again, but Jase’s grip on my waist tightens.
“When I’m with you, I can forget all the shit for a few minutes.
When I’m with you, I feel so damn alive that it scares me sometimes.
” His mouth moves over my neck, and my lips pulse with desire.
I want to kiss him, taste him, but I don’t get a chance to turn and face him.
His grip on my waist is too tight. He wants me to watch what he’s doing to me.
And I want that too. The realization hits me hard. I want it desperately.
I move, writhing my hips, moaning as his finger slides out and back in hard.
The girl in the mirror arches her back, pushing up against his hand.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, tugging at the blond strands.
Jase smiles. His thumb hits the place I want it to be again, where I need it to be.
My whole body thrums with desire. He thrusts into me again.
Faster, harder, more urgently. He presses me so close to his body now that there’s no escaping.
I’m in free fall, all because of him. I come with a stifled cry, watching myself, and see how something in my gaze snaps.
Jase holds me tight as the muscles inside me contract again and again. My heart is racing, and my body feels too small to contain everything I’m feeling right now. For what he’s made me feel.
He doesn’t let go of me even when I slowly come to rest. He holds me very close and kisses my temple. I turn to him, because we’re not finished yet. I’m intoxicated by him, and I want him to feel like I do right now. That’s why I drop to my knees in front of him.
“Pixie, you don’t have to—” Jase abruptly falls silent when I take him in my mouth and let my tongue glide over the tip of his hardness. He exhales with a hiss, and if I could, I would smile.
“Fuck, you don’t have to—” He stops again as I suck on him. I always imagined this would feel different. Like I’m not in control. But I am, completely and utterly. And I want that. I want him to feel good. I want to give him an outlet for his anger and pain, because he did the same for my fear.
He buries his fingers in my hair, and then he loses the rest of his self-control and thrusts into my mouth. It’s almost too much and not enough at the same time. Now he sees both of us in the mirror as I feel his yearning. For me.
“Pixie, I’m about to come, you don’t—” He wants to pull back, and I know why, but I don’t let him. He comes with a deep groan, and I swallow by pure instinct as he holds my hair more tightly.
I look up when he’s done, and he strokes the corners of my mouth with his thumbs. His gaze is soft and apologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I wanted it. All of it,” I reply, because I have the feeling he needs to hear it. I stand up.
He pulls me close and kisses me, and I taste him, and me, and us.
Then we hold each other tightly, and we don’t talk about his anger or pain or anything.
We just hold each other in this little studio, in the middle of the night, in front of the mirror.
And I’m hopeful. I don’t know what I’m hoping for.
Maybe I’m hoping that tomorrow, everything will be all right.
But somehow, I don’t believe it.