Chapter Four
Sarah
Jasper doesn't even wait for our food to arrive before he throws a bunch of bills down on the table and rises to his feet, his stool scraping against the floor. He reaches for my hand, standing completely still, like he's giving me the chance to change my mind.
Except…I don't want to do that. Maybe it's wrong. Maybe Olive will hate me if she ever finds out, but I want this man more than I've ever wanted anything.
For once—just for tonight—I want to be selfish. I want to be his. I want to be reckless and pretend, just once, that I don't know what it feels like to lose everything.
I place my hand in his, my fingers trembling.
He has me on my feet in seconds, tucking me up against his hard body. I shiver, pressing myself closer just to feel the heat and hardness of his body against mine.
I feel like my feet don't even touch the floor as he guides me out of the restaurant, neither of us speaking. They don't even feel like they touch the sidewalk as he leads me toward his truck.
My breath escapes in a whoosh as my back hits the side of his truck, his body pinning me to the cool metal.
"Can't wait," he grunts, his eyes boring into mine. "Gotta know what you taste like before I fucking die."
I tip my head back, pretty sure my heart might explode in the next two seconds. I'm even more certain when he cups my cheek in his rough hand, his fingers brushing strands of hair away from my face.
"Goddamn," he breathes, his sweet breath washing across my face. "Look how pretty you are, baby."
"Jasper," I whisper, my hands fisting into his t-shirt.
He doesn't make me ask him to kiss me. He dips his head, his lips brushing mine. His kiss is soft, just a tiny taste. And then his tongue flicks out, touching mine.
I'm not entirely sure if he ignites first or if I do, but we go up like kindling, clinging to one another right there in the parking lot, where half of Santa Maria can see us. He angles my head, his growl vibrating through me.
I taste the edge of his desperation and the limits of his control as his tongue tangles with mine, his hands clamping down on my hips. Mine clutch at his broad shoulder, trying to pull him closer.
"Jesus," he groans after a moment, pulling back. Except, even then, he can't stop kissing me. His lips touch mine in sweet little pecks I feel in my soul. "I've gotta stop, baby girl."
I try to pull him closer, not entirely sure I like this plan of his.
"Sarah, baby." His hands tighten on my hips, his fingers clenching in the fabric of my dress.
I feel it inch up my thighs slightly, and then the shock of his rough fingertip against my bare skin.
"We gotta stop before everyone driving by sees me eating this sweet little pussy right here in the parking lot. "
Exhibitionism is bad, right?
My head thumps against the side of his truck, a groan tumbling from my lips.
"I know," he croons, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. "I know. Just let me get you home, and then I'll eat you until you're crying for me."
My core clenches, and I'm not entirely sure I'm going to survive until we're in the truck, let alone somewhere private. But I nod anyway, my breath shaking on my lips.
Jasper kisses me again, a hard press of his lips to mine this time, then wrenches open the passenger door. I gasp as my feet leave the ground, my hands tightening on his shoulders.
Jesus. He's strong. His biceps flex as he lifts me into the truck without seeming to exert any effort at all. I probably shouldn't be surprised, considering the man has spent his life as a Navy SEAL, doing the kind of heroic shit I've only ever read about, but I'm a little surprised anyway.
"What's that look?" he asks, tucking me into the passenger seat.
"W-what look?"
"That one." His fingers brush my cheek.
"Nothing. There's no look."
He goes still, like every bit of attention he has is focused on me. There's something commanding in the way he looks at me, and something so unholy hot, I have to bite my tongue to keep from whimpering out loud.
"Don't hide from me, baby girl," he growls. "Tell me what that look was."
"It was nothing," I say. "I just…I thought it'd be harder for someone to pick me up, that's all." My cheeks burn, so I try to slide my gaze from his, but he isn't having that.
He cups my cheek, keeping me trapped. "Look at me, Sarah."
I focus on the bump on his nose, where it's been broken before. He notices, and a tiny smile flickers at his lips. "I don't remember you being this stubborn, baby." He leans forward until his lips are against my ear. "I'll fuck it out of you later."
I gasp, my entire body clenching when his teeth sink into the shell of my ear, delivering a stinging little bite I feel all the way to my clit.
"Jasper," I gasp, my gaze flying to his.
"That's more like it." He grins at me, satisfied with himself. "You look at me, Sarah. Don't hide those pretty eyes when you're telling me your secrets."
"I…I wasn't telling you a secret," I protest, the only thing I can think to say.
"Yeah, you were." He tips my chin back. "It turns you on that I can pick you up, doesn't it?"
"I…yes," I breathe.
"You thought you were too big?"
My gaze tries to slide from his before I remember that he really doesn't like that. I snap it back to him, earning another of those tiny smiles, like he's proud of me. I don't say anything, but I don't think I need to say it. I'm sure he can see it written all over my face.
I've been a big girl my whole life. Eventually, you just get used to the way the world treats you when you don't look the way they think you should.
Maybe that's the saddest part about living in our world—not that people are cruel, but that we condition ourselves to accept the cruelty in order to survive it.
Jasper has never been cruel. He's always looked at me like the number on the scale and the size of my waistline are the least important things about me.
He releases my chin, laying his palm flat against my chest, right between my breasts.
I arch up toward him when he slides it downward, his gaze still tangled with mine.
Somehow, he touches me everywhere, like he's branding every inch of me, conquering and laying claim to it.
I feel his brand like an electric pulse through my dress, burning me up.
"There ain't a goddamn thing about you that's too big, baby girl," he murmurs, his breath ragged as his hand settles between my legs, cupping my pussy like he owns it. "I've been fantasizing about this pretty little body and the things I want to do to it for a lot longer than I should have."
"H-how long?" I gasp, my legs parting slightly.
He grinds his thumb against the seam of my panties, and I know he can feel how wet they are. I see that knowledge flame in his eyes like a solar flare exploding. "Since the day I met you."
I gasp his name, shock running through me in a current. He's wanted me for that long? Really?
He doesn't give me a chance to ask before he grinds his thumb against me again. The pressure hits my clit just right, and I detonate with a startled gasp, my entire body going boneless.
"Jesus," he growls, his eyes locked on my face. "Did you just come for me, baby girl?"
"I…yes," I moan, still shivering through the aftershocks.
"Good girl," he breathes, something wild and satisfied in his eyes. "You needed that, didn't you?"
"Yes." I needed it so damn bad. I've needed it for the last three years—ever since I walked into Olive's and saw him standing in the kitchen. No amount of touching myself ever eased the ache. No toys ever scratched the itch. Nothing.
He crushes his lips to mine again, kissing me breathless before he pulls back again, his eyes so dark, they're no longer gray. They're black with need. "Good girl," he practically purrs. "You're going to be doing a whole helluva lot more of it tonight."
Before I can even say anything, he wrenches himself away, slamming the door. I fall back against the seat, gasping, trembling. Shaking so hard I think I might vibrate apart at the seams.
This is happening. It's really happening.
Jasper's place isn't far from mine. It's a beautiful old farmhouse with a massive yard and great bones.
"Are you fixing it up?" I ask as he leads me up the steps with his hand firmly locked around mine.
"That's the plan." His keys jingle in his hand. "Figured I'd need something to do now that I'm retired."
I smile at the thought of him retired at his age. He's not even forty yet. It doesn't seem old enough, but he's spent his entire adult life in the Navy. I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate mine.
I think that's one of the reasons I've always been so afraid of him finding out how I feel about him.
I just want to exist in my books and my silence and my little bubble where it's safe.
But he's fought wars, trained sailors, saved lives, taken care of his sister, and carried more responsibility in a single day than I can even fathom.
He has his shit together in a way that I don't think I ever will.
He makes it look so easy, exactly as if those broad shoulders of his were meant to fit the width of the world.
He never stumbles under its weight or falters.
He just keeps moving, in a way that seems effortless.
I know it's not. I know he probably fights battles and has demons that I'll never even begin to comprehend…
but he has this ability to make it look so easy.
His quiet strength is so beautiful to me. I envy it. It's certainly not something I've ever had. I've always been a mess of fears and anxiety, trapped in a net I can't seem to fight my way free from, no matter how hard I try.
"Are you going to take a job somewhere?" I ask, curious…nervous. I'm not sure I'll survive if he decides to leave again.
He turns to look at me, the keys in the lock. "You worried about me leaving again, baby girl?"
"No, I just…" I swallow, glancing down at my feet. And then I remember what he said in the truck, about not hiding from him when I tell him my secrets, so I drag my gaze back to his. "Maybe a little."
His lips curve up at the corners, his hand brushing my cheek. "I love it when you use that voice of yours, Sarah. I haven't heard nearly enough of it."
My heart stutters with pride. "I…um…I guess I struggle to talk to people. To men." I lick my lips. "To you."
"Why is that?"
Maybe I could have talked to other men if I'd tried. But I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to give them pieces of myself that I couldn't even give to Jasper. I wanted to save my words for him and the silent hope that, maybe one day, I'd be brave enough to give him all of them.
"I don't know," I whisper instead of voicing that truth. It feels too big, like too much, too soon. He's been fantasizing about me for three years, but I've been head over heels in love with him for that long, desperately trying to keep it hidden so I didn't lose Olive or him or my own mind.
It's hard to form words when you're terrified you'll say the wrong ones, and everyone will know that you want the one thing you shouldn't—that you're in love with someone who feels like they're miles out of your league.
It's hard to form them when you're afraid the one person who matters will see you—really see you—and realize that you're a quivering, terrified little mess, just making it up as you go.
His lips kick up into a grin, his expression soft. He leans down, brushing his lips against my forehead. "You do," he rumbles, "but that's okay. I'll let you pretend you don't. At least for now."
His hand settles on the small of my back, and I shiver, pretty sure he's going to wreck me in ways so permanent not even the enormity of the universe can compete.
Some small, quivering part of me hopes I brand him the exact same way, just leave an indelible mark on his soul that he never, ever forgets, no matter what.
He leads me inside, the door closing behind us. Like the outside of the house, the inside is old and worn, in need of a little TLC, but with so much potential. The massive fireplace in the corner was probably gorgeous in another life. I hope it will be again someday.
His living room is mostly put together, but there's a small stack of cardboard boxes in the corner, waiting to be broken down.
I have a feeling that stack contained all of his worldly possessions.
He isn't a man who has ever needed much, not a minimalist, just a SEAL with a duty to his country and a steady stream of shipping orders.
I tremble again when I feel him press up against me from behind, his body hot and hard. I want to turn and burrow into him, just melt into him until I forget that I'm even supposed to breathe without his scent in my lungs.
Instead, I melt back against him, groaning at the way he catches me, one arm lashed around my waist, the other tugging my hair aside. His beard scratches the side of my throat and the sensitive flesh of my bare shoulder, right before his lips follow the same path.
"Jasper," I moan, leaning into him.
His teeth scrape my skin, and I moan again.
"You sound sweet when you're begging for me, baby girl," he breathes, his lips at my ear. "Are you hurting for me?"
"Yes. So bad."
"Right here?" His hand slides up, brushing across my nipples.
I groan, arching into him.
"What about here?" His hand drifts back down, gliding over the fabric of my dress. I expect him to press his hand between my legs again, but he bypasses my center, sliding it onto my thigh instead. My dress inches up beneath his fingers until the cool air of the room brushes my wet panties.
His hand follows, his touch strong and confident as he tugs my panties aside. His fingers slip through my folds, hot, insistent.
"Yes!" I choke out, my hip rolling against his fingers.
"You're so wet for me, Sarah." His breath rasps in my ear, shaking like that fact is driving him wild. "Do you need me?"
"So bad," I groan, bucking into his hand. "Please, Jasper. Please." I'll beg if that's what he wants to hear. I'll sob and plead and cry if that gets me what I want—whatever it takes to get him inside me.
He growls, the sound so loud it hurts, and then I'm in his arms, his lips on mine again as he storms down the hall, his step so loud the floorboards rattle under his feet.