Chapter 28
Jed
Every time I kissed her, that raging hunger possessed me. To know her, to understand her, to “get” her. And this time, to comfort her, even though it was the last goddamn thing I knew how to do.
I lifted my head, panting for breath, and the words just burst out of me. “I know how it feels.”
“How what feels?” Her voice quavered.
“Being left,” I said. “I get it. I do.”
In the dimness, he could just barely make out her eyes. Her expression, the little crease of perplexity between her finely shaped dark eyebrows.
She threw up her hands. “Well, yes,” she said, a little impatiently. “You were an orphan, like us, right? That was one of the things you and Shane and Ethan bonded over, back in your Army days.”
“Yeah,” I told her. “Did Shane ever tell you about my parents?”
“You told me about your dad,” she said. “That he died in that accident when you were ten. I don’t know anything about your mom, other than that she died when you were in high school.”
“She left me a long time before that,” I said. “To all intents and purposes.”
“Ah.” Her voice was low and careful. “And how is that?”
“Booze, mostly, but not only. The last few years, I supported us with the money I made working after school and weekends. It took her about seven years to kill herself, after Dad’s accident.
It’s like, she couldn’t be outdone by him.
When she finally did herself in, I sold the trailer and her old beater car.
I used the money to cremate her. Then I went straight to the recruitment center, and enlisted. ”
She looked as if she was waiting for more. “And?” she prompted.
I felt needled. “What do you mean, ‘and?’ That’s not enough for you?”
“That’s dry bones, Jed,” she said gently. “Nothing about you.”
Well, fuck me. “Whoa, sorry I’m not juicier,” I snarled. “I don’t give a shit about entertaining anyone. I choose not to think about it. That’s my coping style.”
“I understand,” she said. “I’ve made extensive use of that coping style myself over the years. But what I don’t understand is why you told me at all. Because this information does not help me. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Maybe it’s not about you, Frey,” I flared. “You don’t have a monopoly on abandonment, okay?”
She stiffened in my arms, pulling away. “You asshole! I never said I did!”
I hung on to her. “You act like it,” I said. “So grow up.”
“Fuck you, Jed Clearwater!”
She was inhaling to yell at me some more, so I just kissed her again.
I was taking my life in my hands, and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I was grasping for a lifeline. I was desperate, pleading, ravenous for some more of her sweet lips, her hot body, so lithe and strong and vibrant against mine.
She was life, she was hope, she was my future.
I had to protect that promise of a future somehow, or I was toast.
I was so grateful when she gave in and grabbed on. She held me tightly, nails, biting hard enough to draw blood, and kissed me back, fiercely, angrily. Our tongues dancing, probing, seeking each other’s essence.
She turned her face away from my lips after a moment, gasping for breath.
“Damn you, Jed,” she said, voice shaking. “Stop fucking with my head.”
“I never invited you to jump into the middle of this clusterfuck. That’s on you, Frey. Own it.”
“For a guy who wants to get lucky, you sure are being a huge pain in my ass!”
I grasped her waist and hoisted her up onto the edge of the big, heavy trestle table in the middle of the kitchen. “Then I’ll use my mouth for a better purpose.”
I pulled the bodice of her evening gown down with a tug, and what the neckline had been teasing all night came to pass.
Her gorgeous tits popped out the top, and whatever she’d been starting to say disintegrated into a whimpering moan.
I buried my face in them, worshiping them with my mouth, suckling, swirling with my tongue.
Long, deep pulling suction around those tight little nipples, fingers stroking the full, plump curves, so hot and velvety and springy soft, perfumed with her scent.
She shuddered and sighed, clutching my shoulders.
My body vibrated with need. I loved those low, whimpering gasps that jerked out of her mouth.
I ached with lust, but I held back, because it had to be perfect for her.
Every time had to be the best time. Every time had to surpass the last. That was the rule.
Every time I touched her perfect body, I wanted to venture deeper into that dangerous but irresistible undiscovered territory that was Freya Masters.
Infinitely dangerous, mysterious, complex, incredible.
I wanted to live there. Explore it endlessly.
That was what I’d been seeking, that would finally make it all come together and make sense for me. Yeah. That would be a life well spent.
I lifted her skirt, tossing up the mass of slippery fabric until I managed to slide my hand between her thighs, looking for the hot, secret sweet spots.
She wore no stockings, just silken skin and tender dampness along the seam of her perfect pussy.
I jerked the panties down, teasing and coaxing with my fingers until she opened for me, moving against my hand.
Welcoming me into that sweet, wet warmth.
Lifting and moving, hands clutching, showing me with every shivering wiggle just how to touch her, what she needed to get where she had to go.
I sank down and put my mouth to her. God, she tasted so hot, so rich and deep and inebriating.
I licked around the tight little bud of her clit, sucking it carefully, sliding my tongue along the flower-petal folds, the sticky-sweet perfection of her pussy lips, caressing her with my hands.
I wished the light was on, to better see every fine shading from pink to red to plum.
I slid my fingers inside her, seeking out that secret magic spot that made her go wild, and whoa… yes. I found it. Oh fuck, yes.
She arched, writhed, crying out, and came explosively. Her hot, tight little hole seemed to suck on my fingers. It made my dick ache with jealous anticipation.
I could’ve done this for hours, but I was already late, and we were living on stolen time tonight. I lifted my head when the pulses of her orgasm subsided, wiping my mouth, and unfastened my belt. My dick sprang out, rock hard, desperate for action.
Freya had pushed herself up. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around my waist to clutch me closer. Grabbed my shoulders. Still panting. Still shaking.
“Now?” The voice that came out didn’t even sound like mine. It was rough, scratchy. Shaking with need.
“Now.” She tightened her thighs, pulling me closer.
“I love you, Frey.” The words burst out of me as if they had to. As if they’d hurt me if I didn’t let go of them.
She stroked my cheek. “I love you too,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper.
We moaned together, foreheads touching, while I eased my cockhead with exquisite slowness into her slick, hot crevice.
I loved that perfect moment when it met the clutching resistance of her body and then yielded, taking me in, like a clinging, lingering kiss.
As I sank into her, I knew, for the first time in my life, without a single doubt, that I was in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing.
Freya grabbed the lapels of my tux, pulling me closer.
Letting out low, sobbing, wordless sounds as we sought out our perfect rhythm.
Deep, sliding strokes, each thrust sweet, scalding perfection, following more perfection.
Endless escalation. Every moment better than the last. There was no end to it. Just further, just deeper. Forever.
I kept it as slow as I could, but my self-control melted away as we merged into one wild, hot glow.
The strokes grew deeper, more frenzied. We clutched each other closer, held tighter.
The table squeaked and juddered, and the crashing rumble inside me grew.
Something cataclysmic, that would change me for all time. No stopping it.
It overwhelmed me. Took me down. So far. So deep.
When I came back to myself, my face was pressed against the fabric of her skirt, and my face was wet. Damn.
I withdrew from her perfect body, reluctantly, grateful for the darkness. Dropped a kiss onto the soft skin between her breasts. Felt the throb of her heart, still racing.
“I have to change for the meeting,” I muttered, and fled for the bedroom.
I felt as if I’d chickened out with that strategic retreat. But for fuck’s sake, baby steps. I had never been good at stuff like this.
But I’d said those words again. I love you. They reverberated like a plucked string. I had to say it. Had to be sure she knew it before I walked away into God knows what. Just in case. No matter what happened, she would always know it.
My last words to my mother before she died were still ringing in my head. I heard them every damn day. Me, screaming at her. Fuck you, you junkie bitch. Get out of here. Go kill yourself. You’ve been trying for years, so fucking finish the job.
There had been extenuating circumstances, of course. She’d driven me over the edge for the umpteenth time. Once again, she’d found and stolen my meager hoard of cash, the one I’d saved up to pay the electricity bill, and used it for meth and a couple of gallon jugs of vodka.
Mom had taken me at my word. She’d gone to the closest high bridge she could find, and jumped off, to her death. Jesus, what was it with me and bridges?
I hadn’t told her that I loved her. At least not since I was a dumb little kid who didn’t know any better. But that night, she punished me forever, dying like that. Making damn sure I would never have a chance to fix it.
But I could learn from my mistakes. At least that.