Текст книги "Aflame"

Автор книги: Penelope Douglas

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Great. Annoyance flooded me like a rain shower, and I stood up, letting the girl’s hand fall off my thigh.

Pasha had gotten just drunk enough to let a guy dance with her, and now she’d come to her senses, not wanting the attention.

The guy—late twenties from the looks of him—smiled wide and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him.

“Stop!” Pasha shoved his hands away again, and I walked over, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

The dance floor was practically shoulder to shoulder, so their struggling wasn’t going unnoticed. Madoc, Fallon, and everyone else at their table were craning their necks to see what the commotion was about.

The guy grabbed her arm.

Shit.

I pushed through the crowd in just enough time to catch Pasha slapping him across the face.

“You bitch!” he yelled, holding his face.

I jumped between them, standing in front of Pasha.

“Back off,” I gritted out to the guy, bearing down on him as he tried to advance.

“She hit me!” he snarled.

I inched into his space, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Better her than me,” I threatened.

The dude paused, probably weighing his options, before he turned around and walked his ass off the dance floor. I let out a breath, just as aggravated with Pasha as I was with him. She did this a lot. Letting some guy think they had a chance, only to beg off when she realized she didn’t want them after all. She needed to stop trying to be someone she wasn’t.

I turned around. “Are you okay?” I asked, but she wasn’t looking at me. Chewing her bottom lip, she shook her head.

“I’m gay, aren’t I?” she murmured, as if just realizing it.

I nodded, snorting. “I know.”

Her head shot up, and her eyes narrowed in surprise. She actually thought no one suspected.

“My father hates me,” she sulked. “Now he’s going to hate me more.”

I hooked an arm around her neck and led her off the dance floor. “You know the great thing about family?” I mused. “They weren’t your choice, so you’re not responsible. The great thing about friends is that you can choose them.”

And I slid my foot around the leg of a wooden chair at Madoc’s table and yanked it out, guiding Pasha down into it.

“Guys, you remember Pasha, right?” I jerked my chin to my friends, the flush of heat on the right side of my face not going unnoticed as I felt Tate’s eyes on me.

“Hey,” murmurs sounded around the table.

I stood, holding the back of my assistant’s chair, as Fallon stood up and grabbed a bottle of beer out of their bucket. She plucked off the cap and set it in front of Pasha.

I gave Fallon a nod of thanks, knowing that my friends were the best thing I could give Pasha right now.

My eyes drifted to Tate, and even though her gaze was defiantly trained on an empty space across the table, I knew I was the only thing she was aware of.

Her loose waves were draped over one shoulder, blanketing her breast, and she sat still and quiet, as if she were expecting me to do or say something.

I dropped my eyes to Ben’s hand rubbing the inside of her thigh, and then noticed that she, too, had her hand on his leg.

Steeling my jaw, I turned around to make my way back across the dance floor when Madoc called out. “Dude, just sit here,” he prompted. “Come on.”

I laughed at all the eyes on me. “I don’t think so,” I said, and then added, “Tate’s uncomfortable.”

Her narrowed eyes instantly pinned me. “We share the same friends, Jared. I can handle it.”

I cocked my head, amusement warming my skin. “Really?” I challenged. “Your breathing is shallow. Your fists are clenched. You’ll hardly look at me,” I assessed, raking my eyes down her body. “And you didn’t have your hand on him”—I arched a brow at Ben—“until I walked over here.”

I smirked, reveling in the silence that greeted me. “You’re right,” I taunted. “You’re not uncomfortable. You’re nervous.”

I knew I was right. I knew that if I felt her cheeks, they’d be warm, and if I put my hand over her heart, it would be racing.

But as much as I was satisfied that I’d nailed her mood, I couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t bounding out of the chair and hitting me.

Not that Tate was exceedingly violent, but she’d at least be shouting at me.

Instead, the corner of her full pink lips curled into a sinister grin as she stood up and held me entranced with her stormy eyes.

She arched a brow, looking amused. “Nervous?” she repeated. “I’m actually entertained that you think you occupy more than a bare minimum of my memory, Jared. That’s how easily forgettable you were.” She inched closer to me, stalking nearer with her calm, even steps. “And I’m actually quite entertained when I look back and think about how much I deluded myself about you.”

Her condescending tone made me grit my teeth. A fucking memory?

I was all of her memories.

“The only way you can win an argument is by throwing a fist,” she taunted. “Your antisocial behavior bored me out of my mind, and your lack of conversational skills in public was embarrassing, to say the least.”

What the fuck?

My hot gaze zeroed in on her, and I slowly lifted my chin as anger swarmed through my chest.

I closed the distance with a last step and looked down at her, inhaling her soft scent. I bared my teeth, letting my buried temper seep out. “You liked my conversational skills when we were alone well enough,” I pointed out, continuing as I enunciated every word. “In the car, on top of the car, in my shower, in your bed”—I got in her face, growling—“on nearly every floor in nearly every room of your house, you loved my conversational skills then.”

I registered a snort behind Tate, and her furious wide eyes turned on Juliet.

Her friend looked up, her face falling at Tate’s glare. Madoc’s and Jax’s eyes were focused on the ground, as they wisely bit back their amusement.

Ben appeared at Tate’s side, taking her hand and not sparing me a glance. “Let’s go,” he said firmly.

Tate looked at me with fury warming her face and nodded. “Absolutely.”

But as she let Ben lead her away, she stopped and leaned in, whispering for only me to hear. “You were good for some things,” she remarked. “Just not for others.”

My lungs emptied as I watched them leave together, and all the while the stares of everyone at the table burned a hole into the back of my head.

Fuck me.

She called to every nerve ending on my body, and I wanted nothing more than to have her underneath me. Despite the fact that she’d just insinuated I was good for only one thing.

I smiled.

The next time her claws came out, she would be reminded of every damn thing that I was good for.

Chapter 7

Tate

“You know, it’s okay if having him around unnerves you,” Ben said softly, holding my hand as we walked up the brick path to my house. “You were together for a long time.”

I offered a tight smile, squeezing his hand. “Jared doesn’t unnerve me,” I maintained. “He aggravates me.”

We climbed the wide wooden stairs into the soft glow of the porch light, and I flicked my gaze quickly to Jax’s house, noticing that all the lights were still out.

I’d opted to come home, since I’d guessed Jared would probably be staying at Madoc’s.

Whenever he got home, that is. He’d had Pasha and a date with him, after all.

I stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to look down at Ben, who was one step below. “I’d invite you in,” I started, lightly tugging on the front of his polo, “but it’s really a mess.”

A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but he offered a quick smile, hiding it well.

The mess shouldn’t matter, of course. And it didn’t matter. My room was clean, after all.

The truth was I was too distracted to invite Ben in. He deserved my complete attention, and right now, my body and head were too restless. Too roused. I couldn’t take him home tonight.

He held my gaze, studying my face with an air of calmness. I knew he knew the real reason behind my excuse, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded, accepting what I couldn’t put into words.

Ben was a good guy. And a smart one. He told me I was pretty, and he supported my choices. Looking into his blue eyes, I almost wanted to get lost. To find out what it would feel like to have his warm skin against mine. To see if he could make me feel as good as . . .

I cleared my throat, pushing the idea out of my head.

I’d be using Ben to make myself feel better—to feel anything—and we both deserved more. So that’s why we needed to wait for a better time.

He stepped up, lowering his lips to mine for a chaste kiss. He tasted like cinnamon this time, and I slowly breathed in his cologne. Backing down, he smiled gently before turning away to leave.

But I stopped him.

I grabbed his upper arm and pulled him back in, dipping my head and diving into his lips as his body jerked in surprise. I teased his tongue with my own and cocked my head to the side, going deeper and enjoying his hitched breath. Ben’s hand circled the back of my neck, and my cheeks warmed with his closeness.

This was how it was. Enjoyable. Comfortable. He was a good kisser.

But nothing happened unless I pressed it. When he actually tried to get to second base, he’d asked me if it was okay. I felt bad for feeling disappointed. He was only being polite, after all. But it was like he didn’t know what he wanted and was perfectly happy following my direction. He’d wait for my say-so, and I wasn’t sure if that would ever turn me on.

It’s not that I wanted to be controlled. I just wanted to be carried away.

He backed up, smiling a little bigger before finally turning to go to his car.

Unlocking my front door, I stepped into my house, immediately hearing little claws tap, tap, tap on the hardwood floors.

I glanced up, smiling as Madman raced down the hall from the kitchen and shot up, supporting himself against my shins. He must’ve escaped the confines of Jax’s backyard and found his way through our doggy door. Jax and Juliet had been watching him while I was staying at Madoc’s. I could’ve taken him with me, but I had been so busy this week, he got more attention with Jax and Juliet.

He was just a little guy—a stray dog—Jared and I had found ten years ago, and although he’d lived with Jared for most of that time, I was happy he’d been mine the past couple of years.

The little dude never failed to make me laugh. Even now, as old as he was getting, his energy hadn’t wavered.

I reached down, petting the top of his head and knowing exactly what the little hellion wanted. Food, water, and a belly rub—all at the same time.

I made my way to the kitchen, walking past the mess the painters had made in the dining room this week. White sheets draped over furniture and on the hardwood floors, and I inhaled the familiar scent of paint.

Of new beginnings and a fresh start.

I refreshed Madman’s food and water in the kitchen and took in deep breaths, closing my eyes as I walked back through the foyer, savoring the old memories.

Mom painted rooms a lot when I was growing up. She liked change, so the smell of the chemicals actually comforted me. It was home.

And I hated that I was losing it. My father had turned down two good offers, and while I wasn’t sure why, I didn’t complain.

I understood that selling the house was for the best. Although I would miss being close to my friends, and I couldn’t even think about anyone else living here, I knew I needed to get away from Jared. Away from the memories, away from his old room sitting across from mine, away from a future full of him showing up back in town without warning whenever he felt like it.

So yes, change was necessary no matter how uncomfortable.

When I was little, I cried when my mom had made me donate some of my toys before Christmas one year. She’d said I needed to make room for the new things Santa was bringing me, and even though I didn’t play with the old stuff, I almost felt like the toys were people. Who would they go to? Would they be taken care of and loved?

But my mom said that everything is hard the first time. The more you embrace change, though, the easier it gets. Which is why she repainted rooms every couple of years.

Change prepared us for loss, and she was right. It did get easier.

I had to embrace the possibility of a relationship with Ben or whoever else came along, and Jared could do whatever he liked. That’s the way things needed to be.

And no matter how uncomfortable it was to be around him, I knew Jared was most likely home to see his mother and be present for the birth of his sister. I didn’t want to ruin the visit for him.

I picked my phone out of my pocket and walked into my bathroom while typing out a text with shaky fingers.

I swallowed and sent the text to Jared.

Leave me alone, and I’ll do the same.

I squeezed the phone for about two seconds before setting it down on the sink and stripping off my clothes.

And to make damn sure I didn’t dwell on him or whether he would respond or what he would say when he did, I brushed out my hair, slipped on my thin white pajama shorts and fitted black Seether hoodie, and got into bed.

Turning off the light, I plugged my phone into the charger and curled under the covers. I wasn’t going to wait for him to respond. I wasn’t going to wait for him to react.

I wasn’t going to wait for him.

***

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, finally noticing a text on my phone from Jared.

I can’t, the text read. And neither can you.

Glancing at the time on the phone, I saw that it was after two in the morning. I’d been asleep for only an hour.

I’d assumed it was my dad texting, since he often forgot about the time difference and texted at weird hours. But remembering my text to Jared, telling him to leave me alone, I studied his response again. Was he insinuating I couldn’t control myself?

“Arrogant jerk,” I spat out, my mad fingers typing out my only response.

I whispered to myself as I texted. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come near me.

I slammed the phone back down on the bedside table and ground my face into the pillow, determined to keep him out of my mind.

It didn’t work.

I punched the bed. What an ass!

“Pompous, over-confident, son of a . . .” I growled into my pillow, hating that there might be a slice of truth to his words.

I remembered very well how much I loved it when he didn’t leave me alone. Jared’s favorite place was anywhere he could get me naked.

My phone buzzed and lit up again, and I blinked, knowing I just needed to ignore him.

But I lifted my head anyway, still scowling as I read the text floating across the top of the screen.

I won’t come near you. Yet. I’d rather watch you.

My breath caught. “What?” I whispered to myself, scrunching my eyebrows together.

Watch me? I swallowed and tried to compose myself, not sure if I was reading that correctly. Picking up the phone, I threw off the covers and tiptoed to the end of the bed, where I peeked out my French doors and through the tree of dense foliage.

Where are you? I texted, not seeing a light coming from his old room. How could he watch me unless he could see me? All of a sudden I straightened, a stream of light slipping through my sheer curtains from a lamp in his old room, now illuminated.

I tucked my hair behind my ear as a nervous heat flared up in my chest. I pushed up my sleeves and crossed my arms over my chest, my heart fluttering with quick beats.

Jared appeared at the window, and I backed away, blanketing myself in darkness. “Shit,” I whispered, as if I thought he could hear me. Why is he home and not at Madoc’s?

At least since he was the one with the lights on, I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.

He still wore his black pants from before, but his belt and T-shirt were now off, and he just stood there, looking like he knew exactly where I was. Even from here, I could see his playful eyes, and I knew, without a doubt, that if I opened my doors, he would come over. Just like old times.

Knowing that sent a shiver up my arms.

He brought up his phone level with his waist, texting, and I let my eyes linger on his body—the abs, tight and narrow that I’d traced with my tongue more than once.

I growled low, averting my eyes.

My phone vibrated, and I slid the screen to look at the message.

You were beyond beautiful at the track tonight.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to harden myself against his soft side. He rarely showed it, which gave it more of an impact, and I didn’t want him saying nice things to me.

Even after all this time, you still kill me. I still want you, Tate.

“Don’t,” I whispered to no one, and then, sighing, I lowered myself to the end of the bed, still seeing his dark form out of the corner of my eye.

I missed the way your body used to move with mine, he texted again. I dropped my head forward, reading the texts as they came in.

But I never forgot it.

I remember every inch of your skin. Every taste, every sound you’d make . . .

The moonlight fell on my lap, and I could see my fingers turning white as I squeezed the phone.

He did know every inch of me, and he could play me like an instrument. His demanding hands and mouth were so greedy, and I dropped my head back, feeling a trickle of sweat glide down my spine.

Shit.

My fingers tingled, and I knew what he was trying to do, and I didn’t want him to stop.

Seems you’re the one with poor conversational skills tonight, he texted.

I rolled my eyes.

You may think you’re different, but you’re not. I know you still feel me, he wrote, and I gritted my teeth at his arrogance, even as I clenched my thighs at his memory.

So many times I was inside of you, he taunted. Tell me you remember, or I’ll have to remind you.

I closed my eyes, my pulse pumping through my body like a drum.

Jared.

I ran my hand down my thigh, fucking loving the rush between my legs. It had been so long.

“Damn him,” I gasped under my breath.

Do you want me to stop? he asked.

I took in short, fast breaths as I stared at the screen.

Do it. Tell him to stop, I told myself. This is fucked-up, and he can’t have you.

But my skin was on fire. And it felt like home.

Like warmth and peace and no matter what changed in my life, the people I met, the things I lost, or where I lived, if I was in his orbit, then I was home.

Even when I was eleven and it had been one year to the day that my mother had died, Jared was my beacon that day. He didn’t leave my side, even when I ignored him. He just pushed me on our old tire swing in the backyard for two hours until I finally stopped crying and started talking. He was my friend. We had a strong foundation.

And then, as he became a man, the feelings became stronger. So much stronger.

I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.

He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.

I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.

My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.

You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.

I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.

Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.

I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.

I craved his rough hands on me again.

I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.

You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I fucked you from behind.

“Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.

That was your favorite position, wasn’t it?

I didn’t answer, because he already knew. Ever since the kitchen table, I always loved it when he had me on my hands and knees.

You never melted underneath me, either, he continued. Every time I pushed, you pushed back. I’d thrust my cock inside of you, and you’d push your fucking back up off the bed, rubbing your nipples against my lips and begging for my tongue. You always liked it hard.

The ache at my entrance was so hot and sweet. I needed him so bad. No one drove me wild like he did. The rush of need flooded me, and I felt the wetness through my shorts as I rubbed the nub harder.

I closed my eyes, imagining him flipping me onto my stomach and sliding into me. Sweat covered my brow as I remembered, just like it was yesterday, that fucking fantastic pain I always felt when he entered me. It was a small hurt, but I loved it. He’d hit so deep inside, and the stretch and pressure were sweet.

I brought up the phone to see his new message.

Do you remember graduation night? In my car, out by the lake? It was so hot. Your dress was torn and on the floor of the car, and you put on my necktie. It was the only thing you were wearing.

I remembered. I’d straddled him in the backseat with his tie lying between my breasts. He couldn’t take it. He’d attacked like a wild dog, nearly eating me alive.

Tate, you don’t know what you do to me. You drive me out of my mind. Your words, your laughter, your tears, your eyes . . . everything about you owns me.

“Me, too,” I whispered, a tear spilling out of the corner of my eye and dripping down my temple.

I swallowed, rubbing my legs together to get rid of the ache.

I’m a better man, but there’s never been a better woman for me. There’s never been anyone like you, he texted.

I fisted my hands, needing to come. I gasped, wanting him to make me come, but I crashed my fist to the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He’d hurt me too much, and no matter the physical attraction that still existed between us, that hadn’t changed. I needed to remember that.

I want to crush his fucking hands when he touches you.

But honestly . . . , he continued, it’s a hell of a turn-on watching another man have what I want.

Yeah, just like me seeing him with another woman. I hated it, and it hurt, but it made me feel possessive, too. It made me want to fight.

In fact, I’m steel-rod straight right now.

My lungs emptied, and I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth, almost smiling, but I stopped myself. Jared—hard and ready—was a sight that never failed to make my mouth water. I pictured him holding himself right now, even though I was lying down and I couldn’t see him.

It was another minute before he texted again.

You look hot. You should take off that sweatshirt before you go to bed.

My eyes rounded, and I shot off the bed, gaping out my French doors. He didn’t see me, did he? It was dark in here. Light over there. I ran my hand though my hair, shame heating my face.

Peeking to get my line of sight out the doors, I saw Jared still standing in the golden glow of the lamp that he’d turned on before. Even through the tree and the darkness, I could see the self-satisfied look in his eyes before he looked down and texted once more.

I remember everything, Tate, he texted. And I know you do, too.

I let phone drop to the bed, seeing the amusement in his eyes turn to a dark threat as he pulled the drapes closed and disappeared.

Fuck.