Текст книги "Revealed to Him"
Автор книги: Jen Frederick
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAKE
I rub her back until her breathing evens out and deepens. One of the skills they teach you in the army is how to fall sleep in a minute no matter what your circumstances. You learn to sleep in a ditch, on top of the crate boxes, or in a hellishly loud helicopter. If you don’t rest while you can, you’ll be too tired to function, and tired people are dead people. Of course you never get enough sleep, which is why everyone ate the instant coffee and popped Ephedra like it was candy.
So I know I could fall asleep even though it’s early. But I don’t want to.
Instead, I want to enjoy the feel of her lying next to me. Her head rests on my shoulder and her hand has slid from my elbow down over my forearm. I work it out daily and above the elbow, there’s virtually no difference between my right and left side. Below, inside the sleeve, it narrows where the muscle has atrophied.
I’ve never touched a woman with my prosthetic off, never laid next to one like this, and until now, I didn’t realize how much I missed it. The other night Natalie said she missed cuddling. I didn’t miss cuddling, but there’s an intimacy and closeness that I hadn’t allowed myself to experience since being injured.
And because I didn’t allow it, I didn’t know what I was missing.
Until now.
I had told myself that I preferred sleeping alone, and maybe at the time I did because I never fully trusted any of those other women. It’s possible I could have trusted them, that they would have responded like Natalie, but I didn’t care enough to want to test that out. To expose myself to them.
Maybe I knew deep down I hadn’t cared for them—hadn’t felt for them what I feel for Natalie.
I peer down at her pale complexion. Her lips are bruised from our kissing. There’s a smattering, a very small faint trail, of freckles right above the apple of each cheek. Her heavy breasts press against my side, and one smooth leg is hitched over mine.
I don’t want to sleep with a moment like this to savor. When I close my eyes, I drift off into a somnolent state of peaceful awareness.
When she stirs an hour later, I watch her awaken. She does so slowly, first burrowing her head deeper into my chest. Her small hand opens and then closes on my pectoral. I flex in response.
Her knee slides up and down as if testing the texture of the hair on my leg. I remain still, allowing her to explore to her heart’s content. Her touch soothes me in unexpected ways. And arouses me in all the obvious and expected ones.
“I’m glad you stayed,” she murmurs with a soft smile. Her lashes flutter softly against her cheek as she blinks. She peers up at me with sleep-filled hazel eyes that are more gold than green tonight.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Not anymore. “I should have given you more credit.”
Dropping her head as if it’s too heavy to hold up, she rubs her cheek against my shoulder. “Was it weird? Sleeping with me?”
“Nope. Was it weird seeing me without my prosthetics? I’m not much of a super soldier without them on.”
Her hand on my chest traces a path down the center, bisecting my frame on half. My cock jumps in response but she doesn’t touch it. Instead she scrapes a nail along my side and then up under my arm and down to my elbow, finger pausing as if seeking permission. I give a short nod and she continues.
The light touch makes me shiver.
“I love your body. Every inch of it. I look at your arm and leg and hurt for the pain you have suffered, but I’m so happy you’re alive. None of the rest of it really seems important.” She tilts her head up and smiles mischievously. “Besides, all the important parts are still here.”
Her soft hand wraps around my shaft. My breath catches as she gently glides down to the root to cup my balls. I close my eyes to enjoy the sensation of her breath skating across my chest as she stokes my need. Her delicate fingers land on my thighs and hip, tangle into the short groomed nest of curls at the base of my shift. She smooths the liquid that forms at the tip down underneath the sensitive head and then over the heavy blood-infused staff.
“Come up here,” I say gruffly, pulling at her hip.
She rises easily and elegantly from the covers and throws one leg over my chest. With my hand and forearm, I urge her up to my mouth. “Place your elbows against the wall and your knees next to my head and sit down.”
My mouth waters in anticipation as she repositions herself until her juicy sex is hovering over my mouth. “Down,” I order.
She lowers and the smell of her arousal, heat, and musk invades me. I flatten my tongue and sweep it along her folds. She cries out in surprise and then moans in delight. I suck gently at first until she starts pushing down, no orders needed. I circle her clit repeatedly, delivering small bites followed by licks and sucks until I feel her shaking above me.
“Oh Jake, please,” she pleads. Her head is thrown back and the long bitable arch of her neck is exposed. I’m going to take her from behind with my hand on that column of flesh.
I reach over with my good hand and press against her clit, opening her with my fingers. She rides me, fucking my tongue. I’ve never been this turned on; my cock has never been this hard.
Yes, all those nevers.
I hold her to me until her thighs quiver and the release floods into my mouth. I stay there, devouring her until her cries of pleasure are just echoes.
“Jesus, Jake,” she mumbles, sliding down in a sweaty heap on my chest. “Are you trying to kill me with orgasms?”
“I feel like there is no good answer to that question.” Her soft body curled against mine and the taste of her heavy in my mouth does little to abate my erection. My dick is so hard I’m convinced it’s poking holes through the sheets. I need her. “You up for a little more?”
She wiggles down until her wet sex hovers over the tip of my cock.
“Doesn’t feel little to me,” she jokes.
I reach between us and rub the engorged head between her swollen lips.
“Does it feel good, though?”
She sits up and straddles me, pushing the tip inside her hot depths. “So good.”
“Condom?” I manage to squeeze out.
She bites her lip and pushes down. Her recent orgasm has made her passage wet but tight. It takes a superhuman effort not to surge into her. The sensation of my bare cock inside her hot pussy is eroding what little control I have around her.
“In a minute,” she says. Her eyes are closed as if she, too, can’t bear to leave me. She hasn’t had sex in three years and I had a test after I broke it off with the journalist.
I plunge upward into the wet suck of her flesh and we both cry out. I hold her still with a hard, implacable grip on her hip. I could come right now. One more thrust and I will spill inside of her. I close my eyes and count to ten. Then to twenty. Finally I’m able to pull out.
“In my jeans,” I pant. She bites her lower lip and then nods. Leaning over the bed, she fumbles for my jeans. My cock is red and angry and glistening with her juice. Soon.
Her shaky hands rip open the package and she smooths the latex over my cock. The touch nearly has me coming out of my skin, and then finally she’s on top of me again. Her heavy breasts sway above me and her hands dig into my chest as she uses me for leverage.
I hang on because every movement, every tiny sound from her body, ratchets my desire so hot and hard, I could come any moment.
When she finally shakes and cries out her release in a long, tortured moan, I let myself go. With my hand digging into her hip to hold her in place, I slam into her over and over until I’m lost. Maybe I was lost the first time I saw her. I don’t care. This is where I want to be. Where I’ll always want to be.
“I’m serious about having you move.” I tell her as we eat a late dinner. I ordered out and Natalie stayed in the bedroom while it was delivered. I didn’t bother with my prosthetics, and the most expression Natalie showed was surprise at how agile I was hopping around.
We are both ravenous and I’m glad I ordered more. “You don’t have to be at my place.” Lie. I wouldn’t let her move anywhere else. “But I do think you should think about moving.”
Her delicate but strong chin tightens visibly with unease. “I’m not opposed to what you’re suggesting; I just don’t know how I would get there.”
I want to scoop her up and carry her away from all this. Her own time, I remind myself. “Oliver said that you’ve been sedated at certain times.”
She gives a tense nod. “That’s right. Dr. Terrance will give me a dosage for special occasions like when Oliver won the Super Bowl and his parents came to celebrate. They wanted me to come up to his apartment and, at the time, I had difficulty making the journey. Once I was in his apartment, it was fine but I don’t think Dr. Terrance would support a move.”
“I’m wondering if part of your fear has to do with the environment and that maybe if we could make your environment more secure, it would allow you to think about other things.” At least she’s thinking about it.
“Is it really unsafe here?”
“It really is. I didn’t want to say anything before because I figured it would only add to your anxiety. Hell, even my heart races a little faster when I think about you here alone.” Her small hand moves to stroke the left side of my chest and I squeeze her hand and then pull her tighter against me. The hard length of my erection responds to the soft press of her hip. When she cuddles closer, I figure I don’t have to be concerned about moving it. I rub her back in long, slow motions to ease and distract her as I recite each one of her security problems.
She grows stiff as I run down my complaints, but I keep touching her, keep reminding her with my big body and presence that I’m here and she’s safe. I whisper kisses across her cheek and forehead, nuzzling her as animals do in the wild, providing comfort to those in their pack that need it. She leans into my touch, needing it as much I need to give it.
“Would you let me worry about Dr. Terrance? If I can arrange it, would you consider it?”
“I don’t know.” She worries her lower lip between her teeth. “I’d rather just go into the bedroom and have you distract me with sex.”
I cup her face tenderly and press a soft kiss to her temple. “You don’t have to ask twice.”
She races to the bedroom and is in bed before I make it to the doorway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NATALIE
In the end the decision to move in with Jake is easy. I don’t want to leave him and he doesn’t think this place is safe. I can’t think or function when I don’t feel safe. Whether he intended it or not, my apartment is no longer the haven it once was.
But Jake offers me a different safe harbor and I want to try. For both of us.
In order to make the trip, I take my medication. Under the layer of drug-induced calmness, I feel my anxiety flutter its wings, like a butterfly trying to escape a net. He doesn’t say a word when he arrives to pick me up, dressed in a sweater and the skirt he asked for. He only leads me down to the lobby and out the front door. I’m in the back of a car before I know it. Before the driver starts the car, Jake’s mouth is on mine. Surprised and distracted, I lean into him.
He attacks me. His hands and mouth are all over me. The anxiety of being in a moving car is flush against the immediate arousal. Between my legs, I feel the smooth slide of his prosthetic. I widen my eyes and he laughs.
“You okay with this?”
I nod. It’s a surprise. He’s never touched me like this before. It’s strange, erotic, and almost forbidden. It almost distracts me from my anxiety. He doesn’t tell me to breathe or relax. He’s jacking up my tension, but moving my focus from being afraid to being aroused. The shock of it works.
He doesn’t do anything but cup me. His rough mouth and right hand are very busy, though. He places my lax hand against his hard denim-covered shaft. I squeeze it and he springs to life.
I don’t even get the chance to undo his jeans as we come to a stop and he bustles me out of the car and up the stairs, faster than I can turn my head. The double doors of the vestibule slam shut behind us and then we’re inside the foyer. His left hand is under my ass and his right is pulling down my pants.
Before I can take another breath, he’s shoved his way inside me. The broad head of his staff thrusts deep. Each labored breath I take isn’t because I’m scared but because I can’t get enough. I can’t get enough air. Enough feeling. Enough of him.
He slams me against the wall. The force of his thrusts shakes the table beside me. Pleasure grabs me by the throat and throws me down into a kaleidoscope of sensation. Somewhere I hear a cry followed by a low, raspy groan. He moves against me faster and harder until the coil of tension that wound itself inside me, worrying about how I was going to get here, breaks into a thousand tiny pieces and I fall, tumbling hard. I clutch him, gripping him as if he’s the only safe port in a very real storm. And he catches me, whispering into my ear that he is there for me. Always.
“I’ve got you,” he repeats over and over as I shudder from pleasure and something more.
He allows me to slide from his palms and drags his heavy, turgid shaft out of me.
“Did you come?” I ask, feeling stupid. I was so caught up in my own pleasure and inside my own head, I didn’t pay attention.
He nods and presses a kiss against my sweaty forehead. He busies himself with the condom. I wonder when he put it on. I don’t even remember. Before he came to pick me up? In the car? He’s very good at distracting me.
“Welcome to my home,” he says, and takes me by the hand.
He leads me from the entry hall into the living room. I think this is called the parlor floor, and the tastefully decorated room, consisting of two off-white sofas flanking a black iron and marble fireplace, overlooks the street.
“Here’s the oatmeal and brown toast living room.” He gestures into the room. I note the deep brown rug and splashes of yellow on the wall in the form of a painting. It’s abstract and right now I can’t really concentrate enough to figure out what it’s supposed to be. Is it a horse? A cow?
Gently he leads me into the room, but I stop him to lean down and take my shoes off. I don’t feel right walking on his acres of gleaming oak floors with my shoes. He doesn’t stop me, because I know he wants me to be comfortable here. He told me to make it my home too, and I don’t wear shoes in my home.
I allow him to lead me down the hall. “Bathroom.” He flicks open a door, and I catch a glimpse of a small bathroom with white chest-high wainscoting. I nod to let him know I’m ready to move on. Across from the bathroom are stairs leading up and down.
“The kitchen is on this floor in the back. This place has five floors. The bottom two are my offices. There’s a steel door between the offices and the living space. Only I know the code.” He tugs on my hand and we walk down one flight. The door takes up almost the entire space, floor to ceiling. There is no knob. On the wall to the right is a square black pad and a visible camera.
“The camera is viewable upstairs. I installed a program on your laptop that allows you to receive the internal house feeds. There are sound and visuals on every entrance and opening in this place. Some clients like the cameras to be hidden, and in a retail setting that makes sense, but from a security standpoint it doesn’t. The cameras tell anyone who comes here that we’re watching them. Most folks will decide that they’ll go two houses down or two houses up to a place that doesn’t have such visible security. This door only opens with my biometric handscan.” He places my hand on the door and nothing happens. Then he lifts his right palm and spreads his fingers. While I’m watching, he moves his fingers in a pattern, index finger down, pinkie to the right, thumb in the circle, and then the index finger twice more. I hear a buzz and click, and then the door slides open. We’re standing behind Jake’s desk.
“Shit, this is like a spy movie,” I say. The door and opening mechanism is cool enough to shake me out of my post-orgasm, drug-induced stupor. He grins like a big boy with his fun toys and I can’t help smiling back at him.
“Yup. You want to see?” He opens his hand in invitation. Do I want to go into his office? I do, but . . . his office is full of people and the door could open at any time. I can feel my heart start to beat a little faster and I step back up the stairs, one step and then two.
“Another time?” I say, but I’m really asking, Is it okay if I just stay in this pretty house and never leave?
“No problem.” He swipes his fingers down and the door thuds shut. “Up the stairs and I’ll show you the rest of this joint.”
“The rest” consists of a big kitchen on the other side of the living room. We walk up a flight of stairs and when we stop on the landing, he directs me to the right. Although the shape of the room isn’t the same—mine is basically a square, and the room here has a curved nook because the townhouse front has a sort of turret built into the side—I stare in amazement. The queen-sized bed—the same size as mine—is topped with pink and white pillows and a rose quilt, just like mine. There are several windows, but all are covered with shades that keep the light and street noise out. It’s only bright in here due to the lamps and the crystal chandelier. I can’t speak. I’m so overwhelmed.
Jake turns me away and then leads me down the hall into the other room, which has a fireplace and is set up to mimic my living room and office. It has a similar sectional and there’s a corner desk. “I figured we could put your treadmill over in the other corner. I couldn’t make it exactly the same without knocking stuff out, but I figured you’d like the wet bar here. I added a hot plate, a convection oven, and a microwave, and if you stay longer, we can have a full kitchen installed here. You don’t have to go downstairs to the kitchen if you don’t want to. Above you are two more bedrooms. One is my sister’s. I’m going to introduce you to her later if you’re okay with that. The top floor is my bedroom with an exercise space.”
His hands are tucked into his pockets and he rocks slightly on one foot. It’s as uncertain as I’ve ever seen him. He’s nervous, nervous about making this perfect for me.
Even with the dullness of the diazepam, I’m overcome with emotion. My knees feel weak and I barely make it to the sofa before collapsing.
“It’s so much, Jake.” But I can tell he wanted to do this, so I don’t make the mistake of telling him that he shouldn’t have gone to such effort. I raise my arms to him. “Hold me,” I ask. He drops down next to me and gathers me up. Into his neck, I whisper my paltry thanks: “You’re never getting rid of me.”
His hold tightens. “That’s the idea.”
I lick the salty skin on his neck and revel in the shudder it produces. “Take me into the bedroom and let’s see how well your performance holds up.”
He powers up to his feet with me in his arms and strides down the hall. “You’re on my turf now. Let’s see how your performance holds up.”
The sad fact is I can’t keep up with Jake, and after the second orgasm, I beg for him to get inside me and when he does, I nearly pass out with the pleasure.
He leaves me snuggled under the covers while he goes to use the bathroom. I’m getting used to having sex with him while he wears his pants. It’s actually kind of deliciously sexy to be completely undressed while he’s half clothed. It’s as if we’re doing something naughty and getting away with it.
“Okay if I go downstairs to work?”
I nod. “Okay if I lie like a slug in my bed and fantasize about you?”
He grins and bends down to stroke my face. “Write down a list of your fantasies and we’ll check them off.”
“How do you know that you’ll want to do them? Maybe one of them is you wearing a French maid’s costume.”
“I look damned good in a skirt. It might be too much for you. Besides, we both know how that fantasy ends.”
“How?” I raise a haughty eyebrow.
“With the feather duster up your ass and my cock in your pussy.”
I squirm under his hot gaze. “I’ve never done that before. Maybe I won’t like it.”
His hand pulls down the covers to stroke between my legs. “Hmm,” he muses. “You’re getting turned on just by the mention of it.” He slips a finger inside me. “Let’s feel how wet you are.” I leak all over his hand. With a low satisfied chuckle, he withdraws and then sticks his finger into his mouth and sucks as if he’s trying to absorb every drop.
God!
I reach for him, but he shakes his head with regret. “Sorry, I really do have to go.” He bends down to kiss me. I can taste a faint hint of myself on his tongue. “Later,” he murmurs.
With that, he picks up his knit shirt and tugs it over his head and is gone.
Not removing his clothes does make it easier to fuck and go. I lie for a few more minutes in bed, making a mental checklist of fantasies before I force myself to get up. I spend more time exploring.
There’s a completely empty walk-in closet and a bathroom with a shower/tub combo, a sink, and a toilet. The single window is again covered.
Out in the hall, I find two other doors. One is the entrance to the elevator and the other is a storage closet. I don’t open either door.
Inside the office/living room, there’s another set of shades covering doors that Jake had explained earlier led to a small balcony. I take a seat at the desk and click on the video feed program. Each feed is labeled and my computer screen is big enough that I can watch eight cameras at once. Jake’s place has a lot of doors. The back cameras show the small courtyard where nothing is happening. The courtyard must be on the same level as Jake’s office. The front door has two views, one of the stairs and one of the street.
I watch the street view for a long time. Cars pass by. A cab stops and drops off a passenger, and I tense but relax when I see the person go to the opposite side of the street. A black SUV pulls up and parks illegally. The driver, a big man with a shaved head, steps out and trots down the stairs. Hurriedly, I switch over to the camera marked “TSE,” which I presume stands for Tanner Security Entrance. The man walks in without knocking. I don’t hear a thing.
Jake was right that I wouldn’t even know that there were people below unless I wanted to. Part of me wonders what it’s like down there, but as more people arrive and leave, with me tensing each time, I’m glad I don’t hear them. Eventually I have to turn away from the cameras.
I open my emails, which consist of a few fan queries that have been screened by Daphne’s assistant and then two emails from Daphne. I don’t read Daphne’s emails. I know what they are going to say. I answer the sweet fan emails and then open my manuscript because Daphne’s right. I won’t have fan emails if I don’t put out another book. And my amazing fans deserve more work than I have done.
I force myself to write and then, unlike before when I’ve taken diazepam, I find myself pouring out words, fun words, fun dialogue, an action scene. I barely notice when Jake checks on me later, inviting me down to dinner. I’m too engrossed to break away. When I finally look up from my screen, hours have passed and I’m both hungry and exhausted.
