Jagger Page 8

  I close the distance between us, my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Jagger...?” I call him softly, although I’m sure he’s heard the clicking of my heels against the pavement.

  He raises his eyes, pushes off the wall, and in one smooth motion slips his hand behind my neck, loops his arm around my waist, and spins me in his place.

  My back hits the wall, his warm breath flowing between my lips.

  He stills with me as I dip in a pool of heat.

  Tense, I breathe against his mouth, my hands going down his body. Hesitant. Trembling.

  “Please don’t fight me...” he purrs, his words burning through me.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” I say. “It’s just that...”

  His lips come to mine, stopping the flow of words with a gentle kiss.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Violet. Just let me be close to you. That’s all I ask.

  “I can’t...”

  “Shh.”

  He presses his body on mine.

  “Please, let me...” he murmurs with a smoky voice, and I realize I’ve already lost the battle.

  Smoothly, my hands brush the fabric of his shirt and roll on his tailored pants, hard muscles pushing against my fingers. Molding my hands on his butt, I pull him into me.

  He pins me against the wall.

  “See, it’s not that hard...” he says, smiling, his fingers weaving into my hair, his body flush against mine.

  A soft moan creeps up my throat as he starts to grind into me, and I begin to roll my hips, eager to feel him.

  I slide my hands up his back, all tingly between my legs as I imagine him naked against me. His erection stirs against my body, a soft moan leaving his lips, so sensual, it makes me shudder.

  His eyes close for a moment, a smile tilting his lips.

  I flick my eyes up and catch him observing me.

  “Touch me...” he says with a velvety voice, and without taking my eyes off his face, I unfasten his belt and slip my hand inside his pants.

  He’s burning like fire, his skin, smooth as satin, his hard flesh throbbing. I cuff his shaft, and stroke him, and lust blazes in his eyes.

  His palms rest on the wall, his raw eyes locked with mine as he slowly thrusts in my hand. I bring the other hand to his groin and cup his balls. A deep, throaty sound rolls off his chest, and my skin could set my dress on fire.

  My eyes drop to his lips.

  “You want it...” he says with a husky voice that makes my nipples perk up and my sex throb.

  Breathless, I raise my eyes and part my lips, so ready to connect with him. Hot, fragrant, and smooth, our lips press together, his tongue sliding over mine, a fluid sensation coursing through me, exploding like firecrackers all over my skin, making me long for more.

  He slips his tongue between my lips, and thrusts deep, staking his claim on me, stealing the breath out of my lungs.

  Our lips stay locked, his tongue making love to mine. I’ve never been kissed like this before. He deepens our kiss, and my blood starts boiling. My moans lift in the air, as he smoothly takes over my body.

  There’s no hesitation in him, no slowing down.

  He swirls his tongue and owns my mouth, my noises feeding his hunger, steeling his cock in my hand.

  Swiftly, he runs his hand between my thighs, and I squeal in his mouth.

  Deftly, he lowers my panties and runs his fingers over my clit. My hips jerk, the bundle of nerves firing up. He traces lower, and slides a finger in me, and then the second one, and pleasure fills the space between my walls.

  “You’re so fucking wet Violet,” he murmurs, and the ball of tension spins between my legs, ready to explode.

  “I’m gonna make you come, baby...” he says, slowly moving his fingers in and out, his thumb circling my clit, his eyes trained on me.

  A grin drapes over his lips as he unfastens the little clasp at my waist. My dress pulls open and his gaze dips as he takes me in.

  “Damn Violet...” he says, registering my low cut bra, and small panties.

  A feral spark flits through his eyes. He is so hungry, and I’m so close to feeding him what he wants. My breasts push up as my hips rock against his hand, more wetness rolling on his fingers. He shoves his fingers deep in me and palms his cock, the urge to pound me blazing in his eyes as he strokes me faster and harder.

  “Oh...fuck...” I mumble, breathing raggedly.

  The orgasm zaps through me, drowning me in sinful pleasure.

  Fever sparkles in his eyes.

  “I can’t wait to fuck you,” he growls, a wild, raw need washing over his eyes, and I shudder with fear.

  The fear that I can’t stop him because I’m already his.

  I push him back, gather my dress, and run away, wobbly on my shaky legs.

  “Violet??”

  He calls my name again, but he doesn’t come after me, and then I hear his curse, and the sound of a tin can kicked down the alley.

  8

  I no longer jog.

  No, no. I do yoga. It’s nice and quiet in the house. I put my favorite music on and stretch and bend to my heart’s delight without the fear of running into him while scampering around the neighborhood. I leave at unpredictable hours, and I no longer spend time on the patio.

  I know he’s home. I see the lights. I see him. I see the people coming to his home, and then I hear the beat of dance music, fading into the night.

  Not all the nights are the same.

  Sometimes he puts on the slow tunes. They mean one thing, and one think only. Women. Hot women. Willing women. Scantily clad women. And late at night, naked women.

  I could easily get a glimpse of them if I’d care to step outside, but I won’t because the sight alone hits me in my stomach. I shouldn’t care, but I do, and I quickly learn, it’s harder than I thought to control what I feel for him.

  I should act cool, and not take him seriously, enjoy my freedom, and ignore his shenanigans. And yet, I can’t.

  Damn him.

  The women are never the same, and I guess that’s good, but if I really think about it, there’s not a crumble of good in it. The nights with the slow tunes are the sleepless nights for me. Those nights I squirm and hate myself a little.

  Suddenly, it dawns on me I’m no longer in the mood to be adventurous.

  I didn’t go to Tony’s place that Friday.

  He didn’t ask questions and didn’t pout. The mark of an adult man. But that was also our understanding from the get go, so we split the bill evenly and called it a buddies’ night out.

  Jagger and I haven’t crossed paths since that night either. Not at home, and not at work. I bring my lunch in and unless there’s a fire in the building, I never wander outside. We’ve been doing this beating around the bush thing for about a week or so.

  “Do you want another slice?” I ask Loraine ready to cut another one for myself.

  “Yes, why not,” she says, glancing at the plump strawberries sunk in a thick layer of whipped cream, sitting lavishly atop a tall vanilla cake. “Mmm...They’re so fresh and ripped. Where did you get them?”

  She picks another one from the cake.

  “There’s a local market on Fridays and Saturdays,” I say, running the knife through the cake, scooping out a slice.

  “Jagger!!!”

  A woman’s voice shoots through the air, landing smack in the middle of my living room. The sound of splashing water tops the laughter, the squeaking voice of another woman ripping into the evening’s silence.

  More noises enter my living room, the cacophony grating my nerves.

  She puts the fork on the plate.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My neighbor. He’s home alone,” I say rolling my eyes as if he’s six, and then I jump out of my chair, dart to the patio doors and slam them shut.

  “How old is? Sixteen?”

  “I don’t know... Twenty... I think,” I say casually, evading her eyes.

  The noise permeates th
rough the doors.

  “Jesus! I thought it was a quiet street.”

  “It usually is. It got noisy... Lately.”

  “I’m surprised no one called the cops. It’s Sunday... People want to get some rest,” she says just as the lights of a police car sweep the living room.

  “There you go,” she says.

  She pushes the chair back, scurries to the window and peers outside. The cars begin to pull away, the noise slowly dying out.

  Soon the police car vanishes as well, the street turning quiet again.

  My sister plops back in her chair, her eyes skimming the phone.

  “Tom should be here any minute. Anyway...” she says, nervousness threading through her voice.

  Like me, she’s not a spontaneous person, and I can tell she’s struggling to bring up a topic she’s not comfortable with.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” she asks tentatively, her question landing in the middle of a perfect silence.

  “No. Why?” I ask, suspicious.

  “Well, the men I was talking about a few weeks ago are coming to Tom’s birthday party. I thought you might be interested.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “That’s okay,” she says, frustration lining her voice. “I just wanted to know, in case any of them want to ask you out...”

  “I understand. But just to make it clear, I’m not seeing anyone not because I don’t have any options. I don’t want to get into another relationship right now. That’s all.”

  “You do as you please, but I had to ask you. I promised mom I’d talk to you about it,” she says, irritated, and resentful at the same time.

  I feel bad for her. The last thing I want for her is to feel my mom’s pressure.

  “I’m sorry, Lori. She shouldn’t bother you with my life.”

  “Well, it’s useless. She does whatever she feels is best for you, and right now she thinks you shouldn’t waste your time. You should find someone and settle down, and I happen to believe she‘s right. This is not a life, Violet. All you have is work and the emptiness between these walls. You’re not going to be twenty-five––”

  I raise my hand to protest.

  “...four, forever. A few years from now, when this funk of yours will pass because they all do in the end, you’ll wake up older and alone. By then, all the good men will be married and have their own families. The ones still available will be either divorced, and they usually come with baggage, older, but you never liked them, or younger, and those never want to settle down.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll think about it when the time comes. I’ll be there on Friday, but please don’t set me up with anyone,” I say.

  The phone lights up with a message, and her eyes slip to the window.

  “Tom’s here,” she says as the headlights of a car sweep my front lawn. “I’ll see you on Friday,” she says.

  Smiling she rushes out the door.

  A weight lifts off my chest.

  Close to midnight, five or six cars pull in front of his house. Thirty minutes later, the chaos is restored. Music, laughter, loud voices tearing the silence. Anger zaps through me.

  This must end. Right now.

  Barefoot, I dart outside, my jaw clenched, my hands balled into fists.

  Fucking jerk.

  A couple of men lounge on the stairs leading to the main door. They wolf-whistle, one of them trying to grab my ankle as I step over their legs and push inside.

  The vast foyer stretches around me, the French doors wide open. Most of the doors are closed, the ones that aren't, letting out the voices of the people partying inside.

  “Jagger?” I shout as I pace across his house.

  People make out by the pool. The women are braless, the men barely keeping their shorts on. Bottles roll over the lawn.

  “Jagger??”

  The beat of music ripples through the walls, drowning my voice, turning it into an inconsequential hum.

  I kick the nearest door open, take a step inside, and freeze. A sliver of light sneaks by me casting a glow over the shirtless man, propped against a wall and the naked woman sunk to her knees in front of him.

  Thunderstruck, I stare at them, a strange sensation washing over me.

  Blinking, I try to adjust to the dim light, at the same time rolling my gaze over the man’s body.

  For a moment I stop breathing, thinking that it’s him. He’s the same height and has the same muscular frame. But then, I notice his dark hair and the tattoo on his shoulder.

  They don’t look at me, acknowledge me, or even care to stop although I’m only feet away from them. I wonder if they’ve heard me.

  Tall and ripped, the man leans against the wall, the woman’s hands clutched on his hips, her mouth wrapped around his cock, his open jeans barely hanging onto his hips.

  His eyes are closed, his head tipped back.

  She pulls him out of her mouth and slowly drags her tongue along his length, licking him from the root of his shaft up to the perfect crown. I can’t help but notice that he’s as big as Jagger, his jutting erection glistening against the woman’s swollen lips.

  Naked down to his balls, he slowly arches his body, his hips pushing toward her mouth, his face flushed with pleasure. My mouth drops open, my gaze stubbornly glued to him. His skin is smooth, his muscles chiseled. His groin is trimmed.

  Straight, dark hair spills over his brow, running longer on his neck. Groaning, he cups the back of her head and nudges her mouth back on his cock. She takes him deep, shoving him down her throat before she starts bobbing her head, her cheeks going hollow as she sucks him.

  A restlessness rushes through my blood.

  I flick my gaze up and mumble a silent apology. Oblivious to me, he tilts his head further back, possessed by the pleasure barreling through his body.

  His jeans slip even lower, his ripped abs shifting as he slowly thrusts.

  Dragging my eyes up on him I notice the inked snake coiling on his shoulder, the tip of the serpent’s head nuzzling at the base of his neck, sneaking under his hair.

  His skin glows, tinged with the slightest summer tan. His eyes are still closed.

  A long-fingered hand rests on the woman’s head, and as I look up, my eyes are drawn to his lips and his attractive features.

  The woman picks up the pace and starts to moan, and he begins to thrust deeper and faster.

  Heat disperses over me.

  He winces as if the pleasure comes wrapped in pain and then he cracks his eyes open. A smile creases his lips, his lustful, blue gaze seizing me.

  “You either get out the room or come here and join her.”

  Startled, I jerk back into the hallway and pull the door shut, falling into someone’s arms. I jolt and scream before I spin around to face the man.

  Jagger’s eyes blaze with anger.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Violet?”

  Panting, I try to move away from him, but he grips my arm and pulls me back to him.

  “Let me go!!”

  “Why are you here?” he barks, looking at me as if I’m crazy.

  “The noise... I came because of the noise,” I mutter, my voice faint, shaken.

  He studies me, intrigued, as I’m swimming in a pool of panic and confusion.

  Before he can say anything else, I yank my arm out of his lock, run across the foyer, slip out the door and sprint back to my place.

  I shut the door and stride into the kitchen. Bracing my elbows against the counter, I bend at my waist, struggling to catch my breath and pull myself together.

  A loud noise shakes the wall as the door bursts open.

  Footsteps near me and stop behind me.

  “Go back, Jagger,” I say without turning, my voice crumbling.

  He makes one more step and curls his arm around my waist. Unexpectedly tender. His lips slide on my shoulder and my neck and in my hair, the shower of soft kisses making my skin warm and tingly, and that means only one thing.

  “Please, Ja
gger. Leave... Please,” I whimper.

  “You don’t want me to leave... Please don’t push me away, Violet.”

  I start heaving, and he tightens his arms around me.

  “What is it, Violet?” he asks softly. “What happened?”

  “For a moment, I thought you were the man in that room.”

  “What if I were?” he murmurs in my ear, and goosebumps break out on my back. “Hmm?”

  I stay quiet.

  “Answer me, baby,” he purrs as he slowly unbuttons the front of my dress and softly cups my breasts. I press my thighs together, relishing the irresistible pleasure flowing through my body.

  His hands slide over my breasts, his fingers circling my nipples before they glide down and slip below my waist. The dress crumples in his hands as he runs his fingers up between my thighs. Slowly he pulls my panties down.

  “What if I were him?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing my slit, gently stroking between my folds.

  Moaning quietly, I tilt my head back, and push my bottom out, pressing against the bulge between his legs.

  “Tell me, baby,” he murmurs, his lips trailing my shoulder, his fingers circling my clit, feeding the craving inside me.

  “I would’ve loved to be that woman,” I whisper, resting the back of my head against his shoulder.

  “You can be that woman...” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the smooth, sensitive flesh, his lips placing soft kisses on my shoulder.

  He lifts my skirt up all the way and presses his jeans-clad groin against me. I grind and moan, his thick, full cock, pressed against my butt, the sensation so delicious.

  “I’ve never done it...” I murmur, in a trance, and his grip slackens.

  “What?” he asks softly, the surprise glaring in his voice.

  He pulls away and turns me around to face him. My skirt falls, limp, over my thighs.

  His eyes bore into mine.

  “What are you saying?”

  For a moment I’m not certain whether he believes me or not, but he does. That’s why he’s stunned. The emotions roll fast over his face, speeding through his eyes. He goes from surprise to confusion to sheer amusement. He looks at me, baffled, his surprise heartwarming in a way. It’s like telling a kid there was a time when the world had no computers.