Falling Into Us (27 page)

“You really liked it like that, didn’t you?” I asked, after several minutes of restful silence.

He nodded. “God, yes. I kind of lost it there at the end, didn’t I?”

I giggled. “Yeah, you kind of did.”

He twisted to peer up at me, concern on his features. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I shook my head. “No, baby. You can fuck me hard anytime you want.”

He laughed and rolled over on top of me. “I can? Really? I knew I was being too rough, but I couldn’t stop. I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize. I said you didn’t hurt me. I liked it. I’m serious.” I scratched his back and rubbed his backside with my feet, pulling him closer.

“Next time I want you on your hands and knees,” he said.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “You do, do you? Doggy style, huh?”

He ducked his head. “I hate that term. It sounds degrading.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care what you call it, but yeah, we’ll do that next.”

He grinned and slid against me. I felt him hardening already, and I reached down between us, taking him in my hand and stroking him into a full erection. He tried to push into me, but I shook my head, grinning at him. I pressed the tip of him to my clit and circled it, using his thick, warm flesh to stimulate myself, slowly at first but with increasing fervency, until I was arching my back and moaning. Through slitted eyes I watched him tense, holding back, the motion of my hand on him as I pleasured myself with his cock bringing him to desperation.
 

I came hard, biting his shoulder to quiet my breathless shriek of climax. When the initial wave had rolled over me, I crammed his hot flesh into my opening and clenched my legs around his waist so tightly he couldn’t move. I rolled my hips, grinding mine against his, clamping down with my vaginal muscles as hard as I could, my body slick against his, my sweat mingling with his, my mouth seeking his lips and whispering “I love you” into his groan, milking my orgasm. When the shudders had slowed, I relaxed my hold on him and let him pull out partway, and then held him in place, smiling into our kiss. He was close, too, but I wasn’t ready for him to release yet. I was greedy for another orgasm, determined to milk it from him before I let him come. He knew what I wanted by now, and instead of merely plunging deep immediately, he thrust shallowly, lifting his hips to slide his length downward into me, his hardness pressing against my clit with each slight motion. I moaned into his mouth, feeling a second climax coiling inside me.

“I thought you said I could have you the other way next time?” he murmured, grinning.

I shrugged, smirking saucily at him. “I lied. You’ll have to wait.”

“Not nice.”

“I’m nice all the rest of the time,” I told him. “I don’t have to be nice in bed with you. This is when I get to be bad.”

He pushed in against me, but I moved away from his thrust to keep him from thrusting deep. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Keeping it shallow.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just doing what feels good. Making you wait.”

He slid his arms beneath my head, supporting his weight on his elbows. “Then I’ll have to wait, I guess.” His playful grin went serious. “I want to do whatever makes you feel good. Whatever you want, baby.”

I clutched his hard ass and urged him to move. “And that’s why I love you. Well, one of the reasons.” We found a rhythm together, meeting in the middle of each shallow thrust, teasing both of us.
 

“What are the other reasons?”

“Fishing for compliments, are you?”

He smirked, his face tensed, betraying his concentration. “Yep. Shamelessly.”

“Well, I love you for the way you make love to me. I love you for your body. I love you for being possessive of me and taking care of me.” I paused to slide my eyes closed as he adjusted his weight and inadvertently found my sweet spot with the gently thrusting tip of his erection. “Oh, god yeah, just like that, right there. Don’t stop…oh, shit that feels good.”

He moved into me in a series of quick, shallow thrusts that had me arching desperately against him, fingers clawing into his lat muscles. “Any other reasons?”

I laughed breathlessly. “Hmm. I might love you for your talent with a camera. I especially love you for what you do with your tongue. I definitely love you for loving me despite my speech impediment.”

“Which is pretty much gone now.”

I nodded, unable to speak as my body began to be rocked by earthquake shudders. He didn’t increase his pace or his depth, though, and I loved him for that, although I couldn’t summon the words to say so. He stayed shallow and quick, driving the waves of climax up into sharp peaks of ecstatic bliss, not breaking over me yet, but still building with each slight push of his erection against that wonderful spot he’d found. I felt my chest tighten, felt my heart swell, and I met his eyes, seeing a depth of love in his vibrant jade gaze that brought me out of mere physical orgasm and into the desperate, weeping clinging of overwhelmed love.

Long moments passed, and the climax continued to build, and I grew frantic for the break of the orgasm, gasping against his arm, whimpering when he dipped his head to suckle one of my breasts. That was all it took, the hot wet pull of his mouth over my taut nipple. I cried out, uncaring now who heard.

“Now, Jason. I n-need it, n-now!” I stammered, panting against his ear.

He groaned in relief and thrust deep, hard, letting his weight settle on my body and crashing deep into me. “Oh, god, Becca, oh…I’m gonna come so hard…”

“G-g-ood…give it all to m-me.” The only time I ever stuttered anymore was when I climaxed with Jason, and he seemed to make it his personal goal to make me come so hard I lost my fluency.
 

He kept his mouth on my breast, teething my nipple gently and pushing deep, but softly, lovingly, moving sinuously in long, perfect strokes.
 

I came, and let myself fall into it, a tear sliding down my cheek and my body freeing itself of my control, writhing against Jason as he unleashed inside me, whispering my name over and over again in a chant of release.

We held each other, letting school and away games and everything vanish for a while as we drowsed together. My last thought, though, before I fell asleep with Jason’s heartbeat in my ear, was of Nell, and how to help her.

ELEVEN: Calm Before the Storm

Jason

April

I scribbled the last few paragraphs of my essay test into the booklet, closed it, checked for my name at the top, and then gathered my backpack over my shoulder. I dropped the test on the professor’s desk, returning her nod as I left. That was my last final for the spring semester, and I knew I’d killed it. Of course, Becca had been instrumental in helping me study for it, as she was instrumental in every aspect of my life. She was still taking hers, I knew, since she was the kind of test taker who would finish first but would go over every answer one by one before she turned it in. I never had that kind of patience. I’d answer the last question and turn that bitch in, while Becca would usually be the last person in the classroom. I stopped by my dorm room to drop off my backpack, grabbed the duffel bag I’d already packed, and hopped in my truck. I sat in the parking lot closest to Becca’s last final exam location, my iPhone plugged into the aftermarket stereo Becca had given me for Christmas. “Ten Cent Pistol” by The Black Keys came on, and I jammed out to it, followed by one of Becca’s songs, “The Blower’s Daughter” by Damien Rice. I didn’t like a lot of Becca’s acoustic, folksy, artsy-fartsy music, but there were a few songs I liked, and most of Damien Rice’s music met my approval, this song in particular, especially when Becca sang it. She tended to get lost in it, eyes closing and the words sounding so sweet in her lovely voice. She claimed she wasn’t very good at singing, and she’d never sing for me intentionally, but I’d turn on songs I knew she liked and listen to her surreptitiously.

I saw her then, an old hoodie of mine with a “V” cut into the neckline showing a sliver of dark skin, her hair bound loosely at the nape of her neck, tight black yoga pants making me horny just by the way she walked and the sight of the tiny keyhole gap between the swell of her thighs. She wasn’t looking yet, her attention on the phone in her hands, making plans with Nell, most likely. I snatched my camera out of the bag, flicked it on, and zoomed in on her, catching her in a perfect candid moment. My breath caught when I saw the picture I’d taken of her: Her face was framed by a loose lock of springy black hair, a tiny smile on her face as she laughed at some secret thought. The sun was behind her to the left, rays slicing past her and bathing her in late afternoon gold. My hoodie was loose around her, but her breasts still pressed against the gray fabric, and the curve of one hip was popped out as she took a swaying step. The lighting of the photograph lent it a washed-out look, and I could already see what filters I’d apply in Photoshop to make it look even more vintage.
 

I put the camera away as she approached, since I knew she hated pictures of herself, for some stupid reason. I knew it, and I generally respected her dislike of photos of herself, but every so often I snapped some in secret, just because I couldn’t help myself. I actually had an entire album in my closet dedicated to stolen pictures of her. No one but me had ever seen them, and I planned to keep it that way. Especially the one I’d snapped of her getting out of the shower. That was probably my favorite photograph ever. She had a white towel pressed against her chest, draping down to barely cover her front. The generous swell of her ass was in profile as she leaned back, her chest pushed out, her free hand slicking her hair back. She had her weight on one leg, the other slightly bent in a classic pose. Her throat was bared, her spine arched, and her eyes shut, and I don’t think she’d ever looked so beautiful as in that single moment.
 

She hopped into my truck and leaned over to kiss me before even saying hello.
 

“How’d your exam go, babe?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Good, I guess. It was for my anatomy class, which I’ve already taken, but the credits didn’t transfer. Glad to be done. You?”

“Aced it, thanks to you.”

She shoved her backpack on the floor at her feet and buckled up. “Nah, I just helped you study. You already knew your shit.”

I backed out of the parking spot and navigated out of the campus into Ann Arbor, stopping at her dorm so she could grab her duffel bag and bungee it in the bed of the truck next to mine. “Why do we always take my truck when your car is so much nicer than this old piece of shit?” I asked, apropos of nothing.

Becca just shrugged. “Habit, I guess? I love your truck. I have so many memories in this thing that I’ll probably actually cry when you finally replace it.”

“I’m with you on that. The first glimpse of your body I got was in this truck.”

She snorted. “Is that all you ever think of?”

“You know you’re just as bad, Beck, and don’t even try to deny it.” I twined our fingers together and squeezed her hand. “What memories were you thinking of, then?”

She didn’t answer right away. “You’re right, damn it.” She smirked at me. “I was thinking of making out with you by the tree. All the conversations we had in this truck? We made all the biggest decisions of our lives in this thing.”

She glanced sideways at me, and I knew something dirty was coming.

“What else?” I prompted.

Her eyes flicked down to my zipper and back up. “I was thinking of Winter Formal, sophomore year? How we were messing around and you ended up coming into a T-shirt?”
 

I leaned back in the seat and laughed, remembering. “You looked so hot in that dress, Becca. I literally had a hard-on the entire night.”

“What’d you end up doing with that shirt?”
 

I grinned sheepishly. “I actually stopped at a McDonalds and threw it away.”

She giggled. “I wondered about that, since I never saw that shirt again.”

We chatted aimlessly until we were pulling off the freeway and onto the highway that led to our hometown. “Do we have plans?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Nell is being difficult again. I want to get together with her, but she’s…she’s just not cooperating. We’re having lunch with Ben and Kate tomorrow.”

“Kate?”

“His girlfriend.”

I nodded. “So how is Nell not cooperating?”

Becca answered in a calm enough voice, but she spoke facing the window, and she spoke slowly and enunciated the words carefully, which was a pretty good indicator as to how upset she was. “She just doesn’t seem to want to hang out. Every time I text her, she’s ‘busy.’” Becca made air quotes with her fingers. “The last time I saw her, she was definitely drunk.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Over the holidays? You were at the gym, and I got her to stop by my parents’ house. She was
so
drunk, Jason. She stank of whiskey so bad it made me sick. She was s-scratching at her wrists again, too.”

“Was she driving?”

Becca shook her head. “No, her mom dropped her off.”

“Her mom didn’t notice?”

Becca had her hand over her mouth. “I guess n-not.” The stammers were a precursor to tears, I was pretty sure; I pulled into the parking lot of a dive bar not yet open at 3 p.m. “I don’t know h-how she couldn’t tell, though. Like, I smelled it on her as soon as Nell walked in my room. I don’t know what her parents are d-doing, Jason. She’s getting worse every t-time I see her. It’s like she’s fading away or something. She’s going deeper and deeper into her s-self, and her parents aren’t doing a fucking th-thing to stop it! I love Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, I do, you know I do. They were there for me when I was mad at my parents, but now Nell needs them and they’re…they’re burying their heads in the sand. And I just—I don’t know what to do.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid across the bench to put my arms around her. “I don’t know either, Beck. She’s their daughter, and you’d think they’d do
some
thing. But…she’s eighteen, you know? What are they going to do? Ground her? Take away her car? From what you tell me, she barely leaves the house. If she’s refusing to see a therapist, how can they make her?”