I stare at his bare chest and muscular calves, the towel tucked just above his groin, and the pulse in my clit throbs harder.
I shake my head.
Slowly, I unfasten my jeans and push them down my legs, his eyes on me as I pull my tank top over my head.
I see his breathing turn heavy as his eyes fall down my body, and I don’t hesitate another moment. I slip my panties down my legs, bearing my pussy, and he’s off. Dropping the towel in his hand, he stalks across the hall and into my room, slamming my door closed before he grabs me. I have a moment to inhale before he lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapping around his body, and his hand smacks my ass.
I whimper but smile as he pins me up against my wall, fisting my breast as he thrusts inside of me and pumps me hard and fast, his grunts and growls hot on my neck.
I moan, everything hot and alive under my skin. I’ve loved in Jake the same things I’ve loved not seeing in Noah, but… I may have had it wrong.
Jake’s not in control, either.
Tiernan
I tear off the sheet and crumple it up in my fist, tossing it onto the table. I hate sketching. I’ve been at this for two hours and every design comes out looking ten times worse than whatever’s in my head. I can’t draw.
I pick up a freshly sharpened pencil and start again, remembering the lines and curves of the chest out in the shop as “Blue Blood” by LAUREL plays on my phone on the table. Using light strokes, I fill in the feathers and filigree, not really worried about the bones of the design, just the colors. Every scheme I use seems childish, but I want to have an idea of what to do before I use any paint on it.
I lay my head down on my arm, picking up the gold pencil and brushing the highest points of the feathers as the snow falls out the window. I like this time of day. The sun just before it rises, the house is quiet, except for my soft music, and everything is asleep. My mug of coffee sits close, steam rising into the air, and I’m awake before anyone else but rested. Not like at night where I’m crashing into my pillow at ten p.m. because I’m exhausted.
My fingers work, peeking out of my long sweater, but a shadow falls over the paper as someone stops behind me. I pause.
But only for a moment.
I take a breath and continue, glossing up the trim of the chest as Kaleb walks to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup. I knew it was him, because Jake and Noah would’ve said ‘good morning’.
He stands at the counter, and even though I’m tempted to look up to see if he’s watching me, I don’t. I switch out pencils, my hand hovering over the choices before I finally pick up the violet and light blue ones. Keeping my head nestled on my arm, I shade the left tip of the chest, working diagonally before switching to the blue to continue the design.
He comes over, standing behind me again.
What, Kaleb?
I dig in my brows, my body tense and bracing myself for whatever mean shit he’ll do now, but after a moment, I decide to ignore him.
I continue shading in some blue.
Unfortunately, the same thing happens, and I pause. I want the colors to blend, but the change from lavender to blue is too abrupt. I scribble harder, changing directions, trying to make the colors melt into each other, but he’s standing behind me, and I can’t concentrate. I lift my head, struggling to make it work as I switch from shading in lines to shading in circles.
Still, though…the transition is too sharp. I reach up to tear the sheet off and throw it away.
But his hand comes down on top of mine, stopping me. I’m about to throw him off, but he gently pulls the pencil out of my hand, sets his coffee down, and plants his other hand on the table, leaning over me. I watch as he holds the pencil between his fingers, pinching it all the way down at the tip, and shades in a circular motion along my line and then uses his thumb to rub the colors together, blending it just how I wanted.
He continues, the wind howling outside as a curtain of snow falls beyond the windows, and my shoulders relax a little as he picks up the violet again, bringing streams and drops into the blue, almost like a…
Like a watercolor. I want to smile. It’s exactly what I was seeing in my head.
I pick up the green pencil and start on the final section, shading in circles like he does. He follows, blending in his blue with my sea green, and our hands brush as we rub the colors with our fingers.
Does he draw a lot? I move my head, wanting to look up at him, but I catch myself in time.
I finish the legs and add some fancy handles to the drawers, only faltering for a moment when I see him uncrumple some of my previous drawings. He lays one down on the table, smoothing it out and hands it to me.
I swallow. It’s the teal and black design.
“I liked that one,” I murmur.
But it looks too…I don’t know…Beetlejuice? I thought it was childish.
I stare at the amateur sketch and pick up my pencil and ruler, adding more stripes to the drawers.
“I used to do so many drawings when I was little,” I tell him. “My house with trees and a rainbow. I’d put it on the refrigerator for my parents to see. Display it really pretty and nice and high, so they’d notice it when they got home.”
His hand remains planted on the table at my side, and I pick up the black pencil, shading stripes.
“I was so excited by how dreamy the picture was,” I go on. “There was so much color, I just wanted to jump into it like it was one of the chalk drawings in Mary Poppins.” I laugh a little. “Kind of precious and magical.”
I switch out the pencil, picking up a teal one as a lump forms in my throat.
All I can manage is a whisper. “Hours later, I’d find them hidden in the trash.” I flex my jaw as needles prick my throat. “They didn’t go with the décor.”
Tears rise up from my chest. I’d forgotten about that. But now—years later—it hurts more than ever. Couldn’t they have kept it up for a day? Was it impossible to say one nice thing?
I want to break, to let it go, but he catches me just in time. Suddenly, I feel him. His lips in my hair as he leans over me.
I close my eyes and stop breathing as the silent house surrounds us. He holds me. Barely touching me, he holds me.
Chills spread down my arms as his mouth grazes my hair. He inhales, like he’s drawing in my scent, and I pause in my work as he reaches around and cups my face.
His nose trails down my temple, his hot breath heavy on my cheek.
Like he’s struggling.
Bringing his other hand up, he holds me to him as my whole body warms under the blanket of him.
No kissing. No touching anywhere else.
Just warmth. He’s not in control and neither am I, and even though my nerves fire under my skin and my blood races, my fingers don’t fist and my muscles don’t tense anymore. I feel safe.
And when he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, I fight to keep the tears away again.
Kaleb.
He just holds me. Or holds onto me. Either way, I don’t want it to ever be over.
I know what he wants, though, so it can’t ever start. He can’t do this, and I can’t let it happen.
I pull my face away, out of his hold, and it almost makes me sick, because I don’t want to lose his touch, but…
“I guess a slut is good enough,” I mumble. “When you’re desperate enough.”
Pulling away from him, I pick up my pencil, feeling him stand there frozen as I quickly dry my eyes and keep working.
I wait for him to explode. To spit on me or handle me like he always does, because he throws tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants, but…
He just leaves—pushes off the table, turns around, and leaves.
I don’t see him for the rest of the day.
I curl my dry toes inside my socks and warm boots, the cold from the snow starting to seep through as I tip my face back and let it stick to my nose and lashes.
I twirl, faking some ballet, and I can see Jake watching me from over by the barn, probably shaking his head as he tosses tennis balls for the dogs to fetch.
What? Growing up in Southern California, I don’t get to experience much precipitation. It just makes my day, is all.
I stop, the world spinning, and I finally lock eyes with him and see him trying not to smile but failing miserably.
I don’t care if I look like an imbecile. I was miserable three months ago, and now I’m not. I jog over to him, the snow crunching under my feet as Noah and Kaleb load up his snowmobile and disappear back inside the shop.
I look after Kaleb. “Is he going with you?” I ask Jake.
“Nope.”
“Doesn’t he usually?”
I was kind of counting on Kaleb to join Jake on his four-day foray up to their other cabin. It’s where Kaleb was when I first got to town, and I’ve since learned he and Jake like to spend time there whenever they don’t have a deadline looming. They use it for extended hunting trips or when they want to be closer to better fishing.
It’s definitely not a place that can fit all of us, and there’s no electricity, WiFi, or plumbing, so I’m out, but I’m told it’s beautiful, especially in the summer.
I might not be here to see it, though.
Jake simply shrugs at my question, and I gather he doesn’t know why Kaleb is hanging back, either. I can deal with Noah on my own. Especially since he’s backed off since the night in the shop under the bike a couple weeks ago.
And Kaleb has barely looked at me once in that time, either.
I look longingly at the scruff Jake is growing like a winter coat or something. I guess I can get ahead on some schoolwork while he’s away.
“This was a good idea,” he says.
I follow his gaze as he heads just inside the barn. We stop at the coop and the monster truck tires Noah helped me cut in half. Three halves are stacked on top of each other, the insides filled with hay and chickens.
I grin. “Re-appropriation of materials and it’s supposed to do a good job of blocking the wind,” I inform him.
Another of my DIY projects. The animals seem quite content in their winter homes.
“You going to be okay tonight?” he asks.
I almost laugh.
But then I remember the last time I was alone with both boys at the same time without him.
“Probably not,” I tease. “You should take me with you.”
His gaze turns heated, and I watch as his eyes drop down my body for a moment.
I don’t want to rough it like that exactly, but it wouldn’t be a chore keeping him company.
“I’d spend all my time trying to keep you warm,” he mumbles.
Yeah, probably.
Visions flood my brain of us, a bed, and a fire. Who needs food?
I smirk to myself.
“What?” he asks.
I force my smile away. “Nothing.”
He looks at me suspiciously, and I smile again despite myself.
He rolls his eyes and yanks the strings of my cap down, the top covering my eyes as he walks away.
“I like the hat,” he tells me.
I push it back, feigning a scowl as both of us head out of the barn.
Swiping the page on my Kindle, I hear the buzzer on the dryer go off and reach for the basket. I hesitate, quickly skimming the rest of the paragraph before setting the device down.
Opening up the dryer, I pull out my clothes. Comparative economic systemsin various government types… This class might’ve been better taken in person. Not that it’s particularly difficult to follow, but I have questions and talking to the Van der Berg men about world issues would be like watching Yoda get a manicure.
Jake doesn’t vote, because “as long as they stay off my peak, we’ve got no problems.” As if tax laws, pollution, or nuclear war will respect his property line. Noah doesn’t vote, because “that seems like work,” and I’m pretty sure Kaleb just doesn’t care.
Mirai would be good for some conversation. I’m overdue calling her anyway.
I reach in, pulling out the rest of my clothes, and pick up the basket, kicking the dryer door closed before I head upstairs. Once in my room, I dump on the clothes on my bed.
I pick out my jeans and all the clothes that need to be hung up, laying those in a separate pile, and I reach back in, searching for all my underwear and bras.
I sift through the clothes, pulling out my blue lacy pair and the black bra, but as I search through the items of clothing, I don’t see anything else.
I frown.