Текст книги "The Will"
Автор книги: Kristen Ashley
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
“Nothin’, beautiful. Just suddenly got an urge to haul my ass to Maine to see shit play out. “
It was then I smiled, though I still didn’t entirely understand him. However, the thought of him visiting was more than lovely.
“I would love that, Amond. You can stay at Lavender House with me, I’ve plenty of room. And I know you’re fond of boxing and it appears the local community embraces it wholeheartedly. Even the youngsters do it. You could go to a bout with me.”
I didn’t actually wish to attend more fights (at all) but I liked spending time with Amond and I’d wish to do things he enjoyed so I would, if pressed.
“I’m thinkin’ things are gonna be pretty crowded for you, girl,” he informed me, again strangely. “But I’ll think on that, let you know. I got a video to shoot before I can show my face in Maine, though.”
How could I have forgotten that?
“Of course,” I replied.
“As for what to wear, won’t matter. You smoke everything you put on,” he continued and did so very kindly. “But trick yourself out. A fighter asks a woman to come to his fight, he sees her ringside, she’s lookin’ ice-cold and shit-hot, it’ll be ammunition for him to kick some serious ass seein’ as he’ll wanna impress her.”
I didn’t think this would motivate Jake but I had a feeling it would Mickey.
“Tricked out it is,” I agreed.
I heard his low, attractive chuckle before he said, “Have fun, Josephine.”
“I will, Amond,” I assured him though I wasn’t assured myself. Still, dressing up would be fun as it always was.
“You doin’ okay otherwise?” he asked, his voice lower and sweeter.
“I have moments,” I shared quietly. “But Gran has good friends and they’re looking after me.”
“Good to hear,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ginny. See if she can loosen things up for me to get to Maine. Let you know.”
“Okay, Amond. I hope so and I hope to see you then.”
“Me, too, girl. Later.”
“Later, Amond.”
We rang off and I went back to the greenhouse to finish with the plants, my mind inventorying my wardrobe.
I hit on the perfect outfit at the same time I thought I might need to call my friend Dakota in LA. Ask her to go to the pool house, pack a few boxes of shoes, clothes, accessories.
I was going to need them.
I put that on my mental agenda of things to do that day, picked up the clippers and got down to doing the things I needed to do that day.
Eventually, I accomplished it all.
Unfortunately, although I did this, I failed to accomplish not thinking too much about Jake.
I knew I’d someday beat that urge.
But that urge was so strong I also knew it would take time.
Lots of it.
And it didn’t help I saw him so often.
With Henry, I saw him every day, sometimes all day every day and therefore that wasn’t easy.
But somehow, I knew with Jake it would take longer.
And it would be far more difficult.
* * * * *
I walked into the arena finding that Amond was right about the attire. Nearly every woman there was tricked out (except for some who were rather slovenly who I figured were not there to catch the eye of a fighter but instead watch them fight).
Although it was an amateur league and all of the men were dressed in jeans and mostly t-shirts, there were quite a number of women who were very dolled up. Of course, their hair and makeup were brasher than mine, their clothes more baring and not as high quality. But seeing as my dress was couture, given to me by a designer who had wanted to sleep with me (I took the dress, I didn’t take the invitation), I had an unfair advantage.
Although I was not alone in being tricked out, when I took off my coat in the outer area of the arena by the ticket counter, many eyes came my way, male and female. It would seem they were between fights so the area was packed with spectators getting refreshments and using the facilities, therefore my audience was somewhat vast.
I was surprised by the number of people there and slightly nervous. It would be difficult to perform in front of a huge audience and I worried for Jake.
Of course, if he had pay-per-view fights, his audiences in the past could have conceivably been millions but they weren’t all in the same room with him.
Shirking off this thought as absurd, seeing as Jake was quite confident and probably rarely (if ever) suffered nerves, I gave out small smiles to a few people whose eyes I caught as I waited in line at the ticket counter and folded my coat over my arm.
I also smoothed the silk over my hip.
I was wearing a dress in a striking print of jewel colors, mostly sapphire and emerald with some ruby and pearl. The bodice was blousy but it exposed skin, indeed, the entirety of my arms, shoulders and shoulder blades were bare, with the neckline having cut-in shoulders and being mock-turtleneck. The waistline was a delicate row of gathers that went to my upper hip. The skirt was skintight and allowed movement due to a daring slit up the back.
I paired this with a pair of red stiletto-heeled sandals with a delicate slim crossover strap and peek-a-boo toe that even I thought were racy. In fact, the first time Henry saw me wearing them, his expression had changed to one he wore on occasion which I found gratifying (even if it was never in all our years acted upon)…sheer male admiration.
And now I saw the shoes had not gone unnoticed for some of the males were looking at my behind, but most at my shoes.
I finalized my look with a side ponytail that was a mass of teased out curls and a slim, stylish red handbag with a short strap.
And I waited in line patiently, not wishing to enter the arena too soon. But unfortunately, I made the front of the line in no time.
When I did, I opened my mouth but before I could get a word out, the man behind the window said, “Josephine Malone.”
“Why, yes,” I replied, surprised he knew me.
“Jake and Mickey both described you,” he explained then went on in a highly flattering manner. “Though they didn’t do you justice.”
“Well, thank you,” I said softly.
He gave me a crooked grin and looked to the side. He then slid out two envelopes and pushed them through the opening at the bottom of the window.
“Mick’s ticket and Jake’s,” he shared. “Mick’s up next so you better get a move on. But I’d use Jake’s ticket. He set up the league yonks ago so his seats are freakin’ fly.”
I looked down to the envelopes, both being identical, and then turned my eyes back to the man. “And which is Jake’s?”
“Turn ‘em over, darlin’. Jake’s says ‘Slick,” Mick’s says ‘Josephine,’” he answered.
I turned them over and saw this was true
“Thank you,” I again said to the man.
“My pleasure, darlin’,” he replied.
I smiled and moved out of the way. I then opened the envelope from Jake and pulled out the ticket. It was a real one with a section, row and seat number printed on it, which I thought was quite impressive. And the good news was that I only had to traverse a short area of the outer corridor to find the stenciled notification above a doorway that would lead to my seat.
I walked down the aisle to see the arena was rather large and rather full.
Yes, this community embraced boxing.
I couldn’t be surprised at how good my seat was as the ticket said “row 1, seat 2.” I figured that had to mean it was a very good seat.
I found this to be true when I made my way to row one and saw the two seats next to the aisle were empty. When I smiled at the lady (also tricked out as I was), who was in seat 3, she gave me a head to toe and smiled back in camaraderie, which I thought was rather pleasant. I sat down in my chair and realized why I was in seat two.
Seat 1 was too close to the corner of the ring and could be obstructed on occasion.
Seat 2 had a wide open view.
Oh dear.
The woman next to me leaned in and I looked to her to see she had her hand (with its black with white polka-dotted talons) extended my way.
I took it and she declared, “I’m Alyssa, Junior’s woman.”
“Hello, Alyssa,” I greeted. “I’m Josephine.”
She squeezed my hand and let it go, saying, “I know. Jake’s woman.”
I blinked.
She carried on before I could correct her, mistaken in my reaction. “Word gets around.”
“Uh…” I mumbled but said no more before she continued.
“Junior’s up next. Fightin’ Mickey. Don’t worry when Mickey messes him up. No one beats Mick but Jake. Then again, Jake fucks everyone up.”
This was good news on two fronts, one being Mickey was not fighting Jake and two being that it was likely Jake would win which was something I’d much prefer watching.
It was bad news for Alyssa though as it would be unpleasant to watch your “man” messed up.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She grinned and shrugged, her long blonde locks brushing her shoulders. Seeing this, I bit back my advice that she use a roller brush and not hot rollers as her hair was quite lovely, but it was now arranged in a coiffure that made her head twice the size as it normally was, taking attention away from her very attractive face.
Then again, with the amount of cleavage she was displaying in her tight black dress, it was doubtful anyone but females would be looking at her hair.
“Junior doesn’t care. Trust me. He’s used to losin’, bein’ in a league with Jake and Mick,” she shared.
“That’s good,” I remarked, her grin got bigger and she leaned in again.
“He gets to celebrate after, win or lose. You get me?”
I had a feeling I did so I nodded.
This made her grin become a bright, appealing smile and she leaned in even further. “Nothin’ better,” she said quietly, her eyes dancing. “A fighter after a fight, all that aggression, all that adrenaline still flowing. I love fight night.”
Oh yes, I “got her.”
“Indeed,” I replied.
She moved in a way that she bumped my shoulder with hers in another show of camaraderie as I felt a change in the air.
She twisted and looked behind us.
“Here they come,” she announced.
I looked behind us as well and saw she was correct. Down the aisle, wearing a green satin robe with white lapels, came Mickey. As he did, I noted that only men like him could carry off a robe like that.
And carry it off he did.
I had to admit to feeling a tingle when he made it close to the ring, caught me sitting there, his head tipped to the side in what appeared to be confusion before it cleared. He gave me a highly attractive smile then he entered the ring.
The back of his robe proclaimed him “The Irishman.”
That wasn’t as good of a nickname as “The Truck” but it wasn’t terrible either.
He promptly took off his robe and I saw what I saw at the gym but more of it seeing as he was only wearing boxing shoes and a pair of green satin boxing trunks with a white waistband and little white shamrocks at the outer side hems.
I saw the man who had to be Junior in the other corner wearing white trunks with a red waistband and stripes down the side.
However, he didn’t look like a Junior. He looked like a Bruiser. He was completely bald and seemed bigger and scarier than Mickey.
At once, I was alarmed.
I became more alarmed when Alyssa cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Fuck him up, baby!”
This was tremendously vulgar, though I thought it was kind of sweet when Junior turned his eyes to Alyssa, lifted a gloved hand to his heart then to his lips then punched it out at her.
“Love you, tiger!” she shrieked in reply.
I couldn’t help but grin since I felt this was all very cute.
The boxers danced around their corner talking to men outside the ring and I crossed my legs, tossed my coat in the empty seat beside me and tucked my bag in my lap.
“He’s a southpaw.” I heard Alyssa say as the man in black pants and a gray shirt—also incongruously wearing a ridiculous black bow tie—motioned the boxers to the center of the ring.
I turned to her and asked, “Pardon?”
“Mickey,” she replied. “He’s a southpaw. Left-handed. His power’s on the wrong side for Junior. My man has trained all year with left-handed sparring partners to move up in the league which means beating Mickey seein’ as Mickey’s always number two, Jake’s always number one and Junior’s smart enough to know he’s never gonna best Jake. But I’m not thinkin’ good thoughts. Mick has killed everyone all season. He’s in top-notch shape.”
“If this is the case, isn’t it difficult for you to watch your partner fighting?” I inquired, truly curious and she grinned again.
“This your first fight?” she asked.
I nodded.
“You’ll get me, honey,” she stated. “Trust me. You watch Jake out there, I swear, your panties’ll be drenched within seconds. I’ll be home bangin’ my man’s brains out by that time but if I wasn’t, on my way back to Magdalene, if I saw Jake’s truck was on the side of the road with the windows steamed up, that would not be a surprise.”
This was rather alarming (and crude) news. Therefore I couldn’t stop myself from biting my lip.
She looked at my lip and burst out laughing before she leaned in and advised, “Get ready for the ride of your life, girlfriend.”
Now, I was beginning to fret for a different reason.
Jake simply breathing I found alluring. Panties drenched for a man who didn’t find you attractive was not something I looked forward to.
Luckily, my attention was turned to the ring when I heard a very loud and excited voice come over the audio system. Through this, I found out that Mickey’s last name was Donovan (The Irishman, indeed). They didn’t waste much time after talking up the fighters and the referee having a brief word with them. They went to their corners and nearly directly back to the center of the ring where they touched gloves top to bottom and again.
Then the bell rang and it began.
The good news was, watching Mickey (who Alyssa was correct, even not knowing a thing about boxing, it was not hard to miss he was quite a bit better at it than Junior), my panties didn’t get drenched. It also wasn’t nearly as horrifying as I thought it would be.
It was actually, I found, quite interesting, in a somewhat sweaty, grunting, gruesome way.
Nevertheless, I was glad it only went three rounds and, although I quite liked Alyssa, regardless that she was very loud and seemingly bloodthirsty (not to mention foul-mouthed) as she shouted encouragement to her lover, I was happy to see Mickey’s hand lifted when the judgment came down. Though, in deference to the woman at my side, I only politely clapped when he won.
After spending some time accepting his accolades from the spectators, Mickey didn’t delay in leaving the ring and he also caught my eyes doing it, grinning and winking.
That was lovely so I smiled back.
“What gives with that?” Alyssa asked as Mickey jogged back up the aisle.
“Mickey goes to Jake’s gym,” I answered without telling her the full story but it seemed she understood me (though obviously not fully) when she lifted her chin and said, “Ah.”
She then grabbed her purse and dug out her phone, beeping buttons and saying, “I gotta dash…get my post-fight drilling from my man, so quick, give me your number. We’ll do lunch. Or drinks. Or somethin’. You can even come in and I’ll give you a freebie mani-pedi. I live in Magdalene and got a shop there.” She stopped beeping buttons, looked to me and smiled impishly. “You can tell me how much fun Jake is after a fight.”
“I, well…”
“Hurry,” she urged.
I liked her very much regardless of her loudness and crudeness. Further, I was going to be in Magdalene for some time and didn’t know anyone of my age who wasn’t the wife of the pastor of the local church. Therefore, I quickly gave her my number. I was about to go on and share that she had the wrong idea about Jake and I before she shot out of her seat and looked down at me.
“Jake’s up next. Have fun and don’t leave a wet spot,” she declared, still smiling madly before she bent in, touched her cheek to mine, did the same on the other side then she tottered swiftly away on platform sandals that looked a great deal like the ones Jake’s dancers wore.
I watched her go then I turned my attention to the ring.
Jake was up next, the last fight of the night. Although from their haggard appearance, it seemed a number of the spectators had been there since the very beginning, the air was humming and electric. Like the headline act was about to take the stage at the end of a festival that had been going on for days.
It was not hard to read they liked Jake and this would be proven positive when a chant of “Truck” started low and quiet but gained in momentum until the crowd burst out in applause.
He was coming.
Unexpectedly, I found my stomach was in knots, my legs were shaking even though I was sitting down, my hands the same.
I clenched them together, leaned to the side and looked over my shoulder to peer down the aisle.
Not everyone but a goodly number of folks were standing, chanting, shouting, clapping and through this, I saw Jake.
Midnight blue robe, dark gray lapel, dark gray stripes down the inside seams. He was being followed by a man that was older than him and appeared to have had much the same frame as him, but perhaps fifteen years ago.
Mickey wore a boxing robe well.
Jake in one made Alyssa’s prediction start to come true and I knew this because my legs and hands weren’t the only things trembling.
Something was fluttering in a very private place. A very good private place.
Slowly, even on unsteady legs, I found myself rising to my feet even though I didn’t tell my body to do it. The entire time my eyes were glued on Jake.
Nearly to the end of the aisle, his focus, which seemed to be on the floor in front of him, started shifting to me.
Yes, he wore that robe well and that pre-fight intensity on his face was breathtaking.
That flutter grew.
He caught my eyes and I began to smile.
But my smile froze on my face when his expression changed instantly upon locking on my gaze.
And it was then I felt it.
The heat. The pressure. The stifling, smoldering sensation of Jake Spear’s fury.
His eyes were also heated and I’d never seen them like that. His anger, certainly. But this wasn’t anger. This was extreme.
This was rage.
And I knew instinctively it was not directed at the opponent he would soon be facing.
For some reason, it was directed at me.
He tore his eyes from mine and I stood frozen for long moments, caught in the residual beam of his furious gaze. My body only woodenly moved in a pivot as he walked by me and I watched him enter the ring.
Throughout the pre-fight activities, he didn’t look at me again. And I was so struck by the burning look of wrath he’d directed at me I only had it in me to sit and tuck my purse in my lap.
I vaguely noticed that his skintight workout shirts only hinted at the exceptional, defined, perfect male beauty of his body as he took off his robe to expose midnight blue trunks with dark gray stripes and waistband.
I became more aware of all this as he danced in his corner. Shook out his arms. Jerked up his shoulders. Tipped his head sharply side to side. Punched lightly into the air. His muscles flexing and bulging with each movement.
The vision of all that was him cutting through the haze of his earlier look, I became aware that the flutter was back and growing stronger than ever.
They did the introduction bit and Jake got a loud, boisterous round of applause (even I clapped heartily, though I didn’t shout any encouragement).
Jake and his opponent went back to their corners, did some listening and nodding to the men outside the ring then they dance-jogged back to the center, listened to the gray shirted man, more nodding, gloves tapping…
And then it happened.
The bell rang and I watched Jake Spear do what Jake Spear was clearly born to do.
And in doing so, my world combusted.
Everything I was.
Everything I knew.
Everything I’d worked so long and so hard to make real.
I watched the primal beauty of Jake fighting and did it coming out of my skin. It split and shredded and fell away. It did it fast and suddenly it was gone and I was there, sitting, legs crossed, stylish handbag tucked in my lap, feeling raw, bare, vulnerable, electrified, old and new.
The area between my legs was pulsing.
My focus was riveted.
I was gone.
I wasn’t me.
And I was.
For the first time in years, I was me.
And that time was watching the beauty of Jake beating the absolute shit out of the man in the ring with him.
He did this in five minutes.
Five.
I noticed it dazedly on the big clock with the red numbers that was beside the ring in front of the judges.
And he did it after hitting his already struggling challenger twice in the body then his powerfully muscled, sleek with wet right arm went out wide and he landed a blow to the man’s head that would have normally made me swallow with sick. The man’s head jerked brutally, sweat flew, his eyes closed and he hit the mat with a loud thud, not even lifting a hand to break his fall, his big body shuddering from top to toe on impact.
The crowd went wild.
I sat frozen in my chair staring at Jake dancing close to the body on the mat as the referee crouched beside him, counting to ten, his arm striking out to the side with each beat, his mouth moving with the numbers, his words swallowed up on the roar.
He finally stood, lifted Jake’s arm and the crowd got even louder. So loud it was deafening.
Jake, however, did not bask in the glory.
He moved to his corner and left it with no ado whatsoever. He didn’t put his robe on. He didn’t gesture to the crowd.
He didn’t look at me.
I slowly stood and turned as he prowled down the aisle and disappeared at the back of the arena.
Not thinking, not me, or not the me I’d made myself be, I bent and snatched up my coat.
I then moved.
Swiftly, I walked up the aisle. At the top, I looked right, then left and saw a burly man wearing a bright yellow polo shirt with the black word “security” printed boldly over his heart.
I moved quickly to him.
I was unable to get a word in when, his eyes going top to toe, he asked, “Who d’you belong to, gorgeous?”
His eyes came to mine and I stated, “Jake.”
He grinned and stepped aside. When he did, I saw a door behind him. I pushed the bar and went through, hearing him continue to speak as I did.
“Left at the hall, first door to the right.”
The door closed behind me as I practically ran down the hall, turned left and went immediately through the first door on the right.
I saw lockers. A trash bin. A table that looked like a medical table in the middle. A big, workout bag on it, gaping open, Jake’s boxing gloves resting on top. The man that accompanied Jake to the ring.
And Jake, sitting on the table, the man before him, but his eyes cut immediately to me.
I opened my mouth but again was able to say nothing when Jake commanded, his one word like a whiplash, “Out.”
Somehow, I knew he wasn’t talking to me.
I was right. I vaguely noticed the man look to me and back to Jake before he dropped his head, grinned at his shoes and did as ordered.
Jake jumped off the table and moved with him instantly. With both of them coming in my direction, automatically I shifted out of their way, moving further into the room.
I turned back to Jake to see him lock the door.
I knew why I was there and I didn’t. I was scared and I wasn’t. I didn’t feel right and I did. I didn’t know what to do but I still knew what I had to do.
I wasn’t me.
Yet I was.
I opened my mouth to speak, not knowing what I was going to say but knowing I was going to say it.
I again didn’t get the chance.
“You goin’ out with Mick tomorrow night?” Jake growled, his eyes burning into me, his fury saturating the room.
“Not anymore,” I whispered immediately.
“Good fuckin’ answer, Slick,” he rapped out, each word hitting me like a blow at the same time they felt like a caress.
I stood unmoving, locked in place by his scowl, my heart beating hard, my breath coming funny, my sex drenched and pulsing.
Then he moved.
Right to me.
I didn’t. Not a muscle.
So when he hit me, taped hands to my hips, I staggered back on a thin heel and dropped my purse and coat.
But Jake was not going to let me fall. I knew this when he kept going, I kept staggering back, and his fingers clenched into my skirt.
My back hit wall and my skirt hit my waist a half a second before Jake’s body hit mine.
“Panties off, Josie,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding, and it was good I was against the wall for the quiver his words sent through my legs was so powerful, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to remain standing.
I licked my lips, my sex throbbing so deeply I felt it shudder down my inner thighs and straight up to my throat as I carried out his command. I avoided his hands still clenched in my skirt to hook my thumbs into my panties and I tugged them down.
They slid over my shoes when Jake’s hands came to my bottom and hefted me up.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arms around his shoulders and tipped my head back just as Jake’s came down, his mouth slamming into mine.
I opened my lips, which was good because Jake’s tongue was already thrusting in.
When I finally tasted him, that deep need I’d had for what seemed ages finally assuaged, his taste so beautiful, so Jake, I whimpered down his throat. My limbs clenching around him, he kissed me brutally and pressed his hips between my legs.
Feeling him hard, the satin of his trunks soft and me so sensitive, I lifted a hand and clutched it in his short hair as best I could and pressed into him as hard as I was able.
His hand left my behind and it was between us. I felt it move then it was back at my bottom, tipping my hips and suddenly he was in. Deep in. Slamming inside me, filling me repeatedly, violently, splendidly, magnificently as he grunted into my mouth and I held on tight for the ride, moaning into his.
Suddenly, I was pulled away from the wall and Jake stayed inside me as he moved us to the table and bent us over it. My back hit the table and Jake continued thrusting, drilling, taking me rough and hard in a locker room at an arena.
And I welcomed every stroke, gasping, whimpering, moaning, clutching with my arms and legs and fingers and sex, any way I could hold him to me, take him inside me, urge him to give me more.
He did. One hand going between us, his thumb moved hard over my aching, wet, sensitized clit and I cried out, at first in his mouth then I yanked my lips free, turned my head to the side and kept doing it while I came, fast, hard, long, the orgasm ripping through me and if I hadn’t already shed my skin, that would have shredded me and I would have been born anew.
Jake’s hand moved from between us and both of them slid up my inner thighs, the tape wrapping his hands coarse against my soft skin. He caught me behind the knees and yanked my legs high as he lifted his torso away and captured my gaze, his blazing, his eyes a remarkable midnight blue, his handsome face nearly savage with passion.
He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.
And he kept taking me, pounding between my legs and it was arguable but this might have felt better than the time before and even during orgasm. Being in the moment, not lost to it, feeling every stroke, every inch, the power of his body, his fingers clamped tight around the delicate skin behind my knees, his grunts filling the room.
Then it happened. He drove in one last time, the entire table moved several inches and his head snapped back, the corded column of his throat exposed to me, veins standing out in his neck, his groan of release was loud and so unbelievably gratifying, it felt like I’d moved not a mountain but an entire range.
The Rockies.
The Himalayas.
The Andes.
All three.
His head dropped, his neck bent deep so I had a view to the back of it and his fingers clutched the backs of my knees as his hips powered out and in for one last glorious thrust that felt divine.
Finally, he stayed embedded.
He didn’t move.
I didn’t either.
Moments passed.
Suddenly, the effect of the last twenty minutes started reversing. Something was coating my skin. Covering me. Smothering me.
“Jake,” I whispered as he stayed in position, neck bent, apparently studying our connection.
The instant I said his name, his head shot back, his hands released my legs but they did this curling them around his back and he dropped his torso to mine.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
I opened my mouth but didn’t say anything when his hand came up, cupped my cheek and his thumb pressed against my lips.
“Don’t,” he repeated. “Don’t say anything, baby. Don’t think anything. Don’t be anything but with me. Not until I get you safe. Not until we can talk this out where I know you’re good. Promise me that.”
“I don’t—” I started, my lips moving under his thumb, but I stopped when he pressed in with his entire body.
“Promise me that, honey.” He was again whispering.
He held my eyes with his now beautiful blue ones and I let him do this for long moments.
Then I nodded.
I barely got that movement in before he pulled out. I felt my lips part at the unwelcome but still lovely sensation but I didn’t get to process it.
Jake reached beyond me to his bag. He came back with a towel and his eyes held mine as he gently pressed it between my legs, cleaning him from me.
I knew my face got soft because that felt rather nice and I knew this because his face reciprocated the gesture.
I couldn’t see me but I still would argue his look was better.
He tossed the towel somewhere I couldn’t see. I felt his hands working at his shorts before his fingers were at my hips. He yanked me roughly off the table but he didn’t let me teeter. One arm slid around me tight and held me to him as his fingers worked my skirt, yanking it back down. Then both hands were to my waist and I was up and my bottom was planted on the table.
Once he got me there, I watched him move quickly. His back to me, he went through the room, first picking up my purse and coat then moving to the wall to snatch up my panties.
I bit my lip when he did this and not in embarrassment. It was highly titillating watching Jake in boxing trunks seize my panties from the floor by the cinderblock wall where he’d first taken me.
It was not romantic in any sense.
But having been the one who experienced it, I knew it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. In fact, I knew if any other woman had had it, she’d feel the same.
