Jagger Page 5

  He bites his lip, having a hard time suppressing a grin.

  “You can’t sleep, huh?” he says with a throaty voice, and I shake my head repeatedly like a first grader.

  “Me neither,” he says. “You want to swim?”

  His smoky voice enters my body, sending a shiver down my back. He cups my face with both hands, his eyes dipping to my lips.

  “I...”

  I lost my voice apparently.

  Tilting his head to the side, he waits for me to speak, his fingers trailing down my neck, his thumbs rolling over my collar bones, his palms slowly brushing the top of my breasts. A voice inside me screams at him, begging him to touch me.

  “I don’t know how to swim...” I say, and a heartfelt grin brightens his eyes.

  “Are you serious?”

  His eyes dance with laughter, bringing a frown to my brow.

  “Ha, ha... That’s not funny,” I say, pushing him to the side and brushing past him.

  “Hey.”

  He cuffs my wrist and spins me back to him, his strong arm curling around me, locking me against his body.

  He grips the nape of my neck, a spot I don’t remember anyone else touching.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, serious and apologetic. “It’s just that I don’t know anyone who doesn’t know how to swim,” he says, sincerely regretful and I let this one slide since I don’t know anyone either.

  “Well, you know someone now,” I say, shifting into an even crappier mood.

  As I roll my fingers down his arm, it dawns on me I’ve had more skin contact with him within the last few minutes than with anyone else in the last twelve months combined, including the one time I got laid when truthfully, Tony and I didn’t feel each other up.

  If my mood was foul a minute ago, now it’s utterly rotten.

  “Can I go, now?” I ask curtly.

  “Listen...”

  He slides his hand up the back of my neck and brushes my hair to the side, the cold breeze blowing soothingly over my warm skin.

  “I can teach you how to swim,” he says, genuinely helpful, and I wonder if he really believes I’m upset because I don’t know how to swim. “And maybe you’ll forget about everything else,” he murmurs, serious this time, his eyes steady on mine.

  Hmm. What can I say? He’s quite observant.

  “You want to give it a try?”

  “Now?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Yeah... Why not? We can’t sleep, anyway. Are you afraid of water?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “We’ll stay in the shallow end.”

  “That’s... um... That’s not what it is...”

  “What is it then?”

  He tilts his head down so he can catch my eyes.

  “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  He tosses his head back, a slow grin beginning to crease his lips.

  I hold my finger up.

  “Before you say anything, I don’t do sunbathing either, and that’s why I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  “All right. We’ll figure something out,” he says, a smile creeping in his voice.

  5

  He slides his fingers down my arm and grabs my hand, smoothly pulling me toward his house.

  Our fingers lace together as if we’ve known each other since we were children.

  “Watch out,” he says as we stroll across his lawn and go around a flowering bush.

  “Are you always so hands on?”

  He turns to me and smiles.

  “No, not really...”

  His palm swallows my hand, and for a moment, he makes me feel like a little girl.

  “I don’t know what your plan is, but I can’t get in the pool if I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  “You don’t need one.”

  “Jagger?”

  He lets go of me, slips out of the flip flops and without bothering to respond, dives into the pool. His body arches in the air, his hard, elongated muscles stretching before he slices his way through the water.

  My eyes follow him as he waves his body beneath the surface, and the more he stays submerged, the more nervous I become.

  He pushes out after a few long moments, swims across the pool and walks to the shallow end. His arms flex, his muscles bulging as he runs his hands through his hair.

  With one sweeping motion, he combs his bangs back, the light coming from inside the house glowing over his face, highlighting strong masculine lines and soft sensuality.

  He’s going to make a stunning man.

  He already is, if I'm being honest, except now he still has that playfulness about himself true to his age.

  “Are you coming?” he asks stretching his arm out for me, and my eyes dip to his carved chest.

  This is the moment of truth.

  Am I courageous enough to get into the pool with him? Half naked?

  “I don’t think I can without a swimsuit.”

  He cocks his head to the side and smiles.

  “You want me to take your clothes off?” he asks nonchalantly.

  He grins as I wave him off.

  Hesitant, I peel the top off me and shimmy out of my shorts. He climbs the stairs and meets me halfway, his eyes going over the black and white set comprised of an unwired bra and a low rise bikini. It’s not much, but it’s something. At least it’s not transparent, and it looks like a swimsuit.

  Delicately, I grab his hand, and before I can say something he snakes his arms around me and presses me against his cold, wet body.

  “Jagger!!”

  “You have to get used to it,” he says, laughing.

  “The emphasis should be on ‘used to it’.”

  Hand in hand, we walk down the stairs and into the pool, the water quickly growing to my chest.

  I start to shiver. And for a variety of reasons.

  “It’s not that shallow,” I say.

  He pulls me to the side where the water is not deep. That’s better. I grip the edge, and he helps me to a horizontal position.

  “Good. You’ll learn how to float first...”

  I hold my head up, stretch my arms, and tense my muscles. His hands roll down on me, one on my back, the other on my stomach, making sure I’m in the correct position.

  His fingers brush my butt, and my legs, and just as I get ready to ask him if that’s necessary, he runs them down my front, and I’m pretty sure he touches my panties.

  “Jagger?”

  I whip my head to the side, and before I can give him a piece of my mind, my hands slip off the edge, and I sink like a rock.

  He pulls me out fast before I get the chance to swallow or inhale water.

  A rush of adrenaline soars through me.

  I’m panting, my body shaking. As soon as my feet touch the bottom again, he buries me in his arms and mine go around him, holding him tight.

  A good feeling grows in me as he starts rubbing the back of my neck.

  The fear of drowning has long tapered off, and yet, I can’t stop my chest from heaving and shudders ramming through my body.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, trembling.

  “I think you...” he says, his eyes dipping.

  “Shit.”

  In a classic wardrobe malfunction, my right breast spilled out of my bra, the hard nipple poking at his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, unsure why.

  It’s not like he’s hurt or something.

  “I don’t think you need this,” he says as he slips his hand behind my back and flicks my bra open.

  The cups tear off my breasts as he slides his hands inside the straps and peels them off my shoulders.

  He removes my bra and hurls it across the lawn, my head whipping in that direction as I’m getting a bit lost in the succession of the events.

  How did I get from enjoying the fresh air on the patio to being virtually naked in the pool with him?

  And why can’t I fucking say something?

  Because...

 
In a smooth, tender gesture, he cups my breasts, his thumbs gently teasing my nipples, the response to his touch spreading through my skin like fire. A fluttering sensation swirls inside my belly, my body desperately wanting more.

  He’s gentle and restrained, but I can sense the tension in his body, and I can see the burning fire in his eyes. Slowly, I arch my back and push my chest against his palms.

  “Jagger?” I call him softly.

  “Yes...?” he murmurs as he tilts his head down, his mouth coming close to mine.

  Tender, he presses his lips against mine, his light touch bringing me a world of pleasure, rendering me breathless.

  My skin vibrates as if hundreds of flowers bloom all over my skin.

  He kisses me again, lips only, and everything surrounding us falls into oblivion. Wrapped in the moment, I slip away with him. He feels good. Tender and calm, confident and passionate. And I can almost imagine what letting him have me would feel like.

  My hands go over his fingers as he slowly kneads my breasts. His lips brush mine again, our bodies warming up.

  He wraps his hand around my neck and boldly slips his tongue between my lips, stroking me possessively, and I respond to him while he effortlessly fires up my body.

  Holding me tight against his body, he grinds into me, full and hard and hot. He deepens the kiss, our lips and tongues tangled into a ritual of pleasure.

  Our blood runs faster, our breaths shallow. His grinding becomes bolder, the ridge of his erection pressed against my sex as he hooks his hands beneath by thighs and lifts me up.

  My back hits the concrete, my legs wrapped around his waist. He moves his erection against my slit, the hard head rubbing my clit.

  Without giving it much thought, I slip my hand inside his swim trunks and curl my fingers around his shaft.

  A groan crawls up his throat, so deliciously hot.

  “Jagger??”

  The woman’s voice drills holes in my head, the noise of a slammed door and enlivened dialogue coming from inside the house.

  We break the kiss, my feet sliding to the floor again. We’re still embraced, both flushed and panting, his erection throbbing in my hand.

  Talk about incriminating evidence.

  “What are the fucking chances?” he finally says, his lips curling into a sensual grin.

  He doesn’t seem angry or surprised or even in a hurry to peel his fingers off my butt. Not that I am.

  Reluctantly, I let go off his cock.

  “Who’s that?” I breathe out, choking with panic.

  “My parents.”

  “Shit, fucking shit...” I wheeze, squirming, my reaction fueling his amusement.

  “Your hands, Mister.”

  Laughing, he holds his hands up as I dart to the stairs, jog out of the pool, sprint sideways across his lawn, and make a few erratic, unsuccessful attempts to retrieve my bra.

  Listening to the smarter side of my brain, I give up on it, collect the rest of my clothing and engage in a hasty retreat.

  The clicking of heels hitting the tiles sounds closer and closer, the silhouette of a woman inching to the French doors.

  I fly across the lawn and make it behind a tree just in time to catch a glimpse of him emerging from the pool and joining a tall, statuesque blonde woman back inside the house. I sneak into my home, wet, braless, and confused.

  And hot as hell.

  Good thing it’s Sunday.

  I slept only a few hours, and for the most part, I’ve wrestled with a pestering dream that involved water, me, and Jagger’s naked body pressed against mine.

  Sick, I crawl into the kitchen, set the coffeemaker for a pot of fresh coffee and slide onto a chair. I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.

  I have no one to blame.

  I wanted this.

  I wanted to have a home by myself, control my time, and make my own decisions. I craved to meet new people and learn new things, do stupid shit and taste life the way it is, not through someone else’s moral filter. I wanted to understand how other men treat, fuck or love a woman, but I didn’t exactly plan for this. I didn’t have someone like Jagger in mind. Not someone so young, holding so much power over me, and so easily.

  Come to think of it, this is nothing but a game for him.

  What if his parents had caught us? I would’ve had to face his mom, explain to her what I was doing with her son in the family pool, my bra lying on their lawn.

  The soft beeping of the coffee machine pulls me out of my head. I fill the mug to the brim, drop a dash of cream, stir briefly and take a mouthful.

  My body revives instantly.

  By the time the afternoon rolls in, the memory of last night fades away.

  Close to six o’clock, I pull on a different pair of shorts, a racerback top, my running shoes, and I whoosh out of the door.

  I jog for a good half hour, and as I veer back onto my street, I spot Jagger standing on the sidewalk, in front of my home.

  Panicked, I look around.

  Kids zoom up and down the street, riding their bicycles. Some play on lawns while others are clumped together next to one of the old trees that line the street.

  Shirtless, sporting only a pair of black and red swim trunks, Jagger keeps his eyes rooted on his phone while holding the leash of a small white dog in his hand.

  The dog sits quietly next to him, both looking as if they’re waiting for someone.

  My mind starts racing as I ponder over my options.

  I already start to spin around keen to disappear, when he raises his eyes and hurls me a dirty look.

  Fuck, fuck. It’s too late.

  We lock eyes, the edge of anger flashing in his gaze telling me he’s perfectly aware of my intentions.

  Running nervous fingers through my hair, I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before I make a beeline for my home.

  His eyes stay steady on me.

  As I get closer, his dog–– a girl judging by the cute pink little bow adorning the back of her harness, starts wagging her tail. Barking, she jumps up and down, her tongue hanging out, her display of affection putting a smile on my face. They make quite a pair. Her face is sweet and adorable, his features glaringly handsome.

  As difficult as it is, I try to keep my mug under control. Tilting his head back, he’s scalding me with his gaze.

  “Don’t worry, she’s friendly,” he mutters.

  “I have no doubt,” I say, giving him a forced smile.

  “I was talking to the dog,” he says, deadpan.

  “Really?” I snap.

  “Yeah, really,” he says, sarcasm flowing through his voice.

  Genuinely happy, his dog barks incessantly as if I’m her favorite person in the world. She rolls onto her back and offers her belly for a quick scratch as I squat in front of him and start petting her.

  “She’s so cute.”

  “Uh-huh,” he grumbles.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Alba.”

  I shoot my eyes up to his towering silhouette, and cockily, he tilts his hips, giving me a view of his bulge. On cue, my eyes fall below his waist. His eyes stay on me as I drag my gaze up his body, taking in the ridges of his abs and the bumps of his pecs. Sheer amusement flashes in his eyes.

  What a jerk!

  Annoyed, I leap up to my feet, and for a short moment, we engage in a silent standoff. His lips curve into a cocky smile, his gaze licking my face. Utterly entertained, he studies me intently as I hurl him my meanest glare. Tilting his head to the side, he purses his lips, his eyes laughing.

  Defeated, I spin on my heel and dash to the house in a huff.

  “Are you going to avoid me from now on?” he shouts behind my back for the whole street to hear.

  I rush up the stairs, unlock the door and push inside.

  Grinding my teeth, I kick a box out of my way, peel my clothes off, and walk into the shower. Minutes later, I pat my hair dry, wrap a red towel around my body and shuffle into the kitchen.
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  The sun begins to set, honey-colored light streaming through the windows. I stretch my hand out to turn the lights on when the contour of a silhouette catches my eyes.

  My heart thuds in my chest.

  “Fuck, Jagger!”

  Sprawled on the couch, wearing only a pair of slashed jeans, he folds his arms over his broad chest, crosses his legs and props them on the coffee table, taking me in. A playful smile drapes over his lips.

  Barely suppressing his laugh, he tips his chin up, narrows his eyes and throws me an impertinent glance.

  “Hold that thought, baby,” he says, stretching his cheeky smile.

  He cranes his neck to get a full view of my legs before he slumps back into the sofa, purses his lips and nods, satisfied.

  “Getting ready for me, huh?”

  The cheeky smile still tugs at his lips as the ‘for me’ part sinks into my brain, turning my knees soft. I grab a pillow from an armchair and hurl it at him.

  Laughing, he blocks it with his elbow, knocking it to the floor.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

  “The door was open,” he says, running his long fingers through his hair, smiling like a jerk.

  “And that’s an open invitation to you?” I ask as serious as I can, considering the circumstances.

  He leaps up to his feet as I take a hard turn for the kitchen counter. With trembling hands I set the coffee machine, my eyes flying to the window. His house is flooded with light. His parents must be home.

  “You can’t be here, Jagger,” I say, my voice shaky like my fingers.

  “Why don’t you lock your door if you don’t want me to come in?” he asks, his voice ringing out behind me.

  I spin around, ready to retort, yet turn to stone. Inches away from me, his eyes sink into mine, plucking the air out of my lungs. The light gives his skin a soft sheen. His eyes gleam, deep and alluring, the corner of his lips slowly lifting, the warmth of his body pouring over me.

  I prop my hands on the counter and lean back.

  He steps forward, erasing the little space between us. Breathless, I observe him as he leisurely studies me, his gaze roving over my face and my body.

  “Why don’t you wear a fucking T-shirt?” I say with a faltering voice.