Welcome to Sugartown (36 page)

“
Would you
like that? My mouth on your beautiful cunt? Licking and sucking
until you come, screaming my name?”

Before I can
think about the ramifications of what I’m doing I rock back into
him and nod my head.
I shouldn’t have done
that,
I think
. I
shouldn’t be leading him on when this can go nowhere.
This man ripped my heart out a few short months
ago. He broke me completely, he pissed on everything we had by
keeping his dirty little secrets and tore whatever we had left
apart by fucking another woman in front of me.

“
Do you still
love me?”

“
I don’t
know.”

Lies, lies,
lies.

All of
it.

If anything,
our time apart has made me love him more, but I can’t give myself
over to him again. I let him take my heart once, but I won’t let
him take what’s left of me.

“
Jesus, babe,
you’re wound so tight,” he murmurs against my neck and slides his
hand inside my skirt. “Fuck me! And so wet, too. I’m gonna take
care of this, baby girl, and then you and I are going to talk about
this shit between us. Cause I’m not going another day without
possessing you completely.”

A quiet moan
escapes my mouth as he teasingly strokes his fingers around my
clit, careful not to actually touch it. I want to scream my
frustration at him to stop playing games and make me come already
but I don’t, because the anticipation of being touched is just as
good as the sensations produced when his hands actually connect
with my flesh.

When they
finally do make contact it’s the sweetest kind of torture. It’s
been months since I’ve been touched like this, touched by him. His
fingers feel like they’re burning me as one slides inside, knuckle
deep, while his thumb grazes back and forth across my clit. The
pressure of his erection digs into my arse and I rock back into it
until Elijah’s hips are moving with mine. His fingers maintain
their steady assault as we rock into one another, both chasing the
release that the other is so willing to provide.

Elijah shifts
his hand so that his palm is cupping my clit and his fingers are
now touching the front wall of my vagina. He wiggles them back and
forth and I practically come apart in his hands. I can feel my
orgasm building, but all my previous experiences with the big ‘O’
have never felt like this. His fingers aren’t gentle as they push
back and forth, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not thinking about
the room around me or the fact that I shouldn’t be using him like
this. In fact, I’m so far gone I’m not thinking anything at all,
apart from the fact that I never want this to stop.

I rock my
hips back and forth in time with his fingers and hear him groan in
my ear, “So fucking sweet, baby. I want you coming all over my
hand.” And no less than a second after he says this, I do. I come
hard and fast, and it’s more intense than any orgasm I’ve ever felt
before. It’s wetter, too. So wet that my knickers and Elijah’s hand
are drenched. He doesn’t seem to notice though, because he’s busy
losing himself in his own release. His free hand slides up my side
and squeezes my breast, as his own orgasm rocks through
him.

For a second
I just lay back against him, exhaling loudly, breathing the same
air as one another and luxuriating in the feel of his arms and the
saccharine sent of sex on the air. And then he eases his fingers
out of me and I get a sense of just how wet we are.

I am beyond
mortified. He just gave me the best orgasm of my life and I
returned the favour by peeing on him. The mortification amps up a
notch when I turn and see him licking his fingers clean of
me.

“
I’m so
sorry,” I blurt.

“
I’m not.
That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever
experienced.”

“
I just peed
on you.” Elijah guffaws and I glance around, wondering where our
roommates got to, though I don’t really blame them for leaving.
“Why is that funny? Where did Holly and Jack go?”

He gives me
the smug smile, like he’s over the freaking moon hearing me admit I
was so distracted with him that I didn’t notice our flatmates
leaving. “They left about the time you started moaning. And that
wasn’t pee.” He laughs again. “Fuck, baby, that was some of the
hottest shit I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot
for a woman after watching her come.”

I’m
completely confused and I’m probably staring at him like he’s some
fetishist freak who enjoys golden showers because he smiles like
I’m a goddamn piglet that’s so bloody endearing you can’t help but
want to pinch and coo to it. “That was your G spot, Ana. Oh, the
things you have to learn about your body. Lucky for you, I’m a very
hands-on teacher.”

I haven’t the
foggiest idea of how to respond to that, so I push the lever on the
side of the couch and the chair comes lurching upright. My heart is
racing, and now that the afterglow is wearing off I realise what a
colossal mistake I’ve just made. This could obliterate all the
progress we’ve made toward being regular flatmates. To my piece of
mind. To the fact that we’ve both tried our hardest to be civil and
adult about living together and pretending like we’re fine when our
hearts are breaking. And, with ten minutes of touching, we’ve
managed to destroy any hope we had at a normal
friendship.

After the
rape I stopped thinking about my wants and desires. I forgot that I
was a young woman who needed to be loved, to be touched, just as I
had been before. I focused on my family and my friends and began
lovingly taping band-aids over their problems because they seemed
so much bigger than mine when the reality was that my bandages had
come undone, ripping and tearing off my skin, and I hadn’t even
noticed.

And now? Now,
I noticed. I just had no idea had put them in place
again.

I unseat
myself from his lap and head for the bathroom.

“
Hey, where
are you going?”

“
I have to
take a shower.”

“
I thought we
were going to talk about this?”

“
No. You said
we were going to talk, I don’t remember agreeing to
anything.”

“
Like you
didn’t agree to coming just now?”

“
Fuck
you.”

“
What the
fuck, Ana? Why are you fighting this so god damned hard?” he shouts
and I spin around, stung by the harshness in his voice. “I can see
how much you want me. I can feel it. Fuck me! I can’t stand in the
same room as you without feeling the longing seeping out of your
pores, and you’re still refusing to acknowledge the fact that
you’re still in love with me.” The surprise I feel at that last
confession must be written all over my face because Elijah comes
closer, until he’s staring right down into my eyes and says, “Yeah,
you can drop the fucking act, baby girl. I know how you feel about
me, the question is, why don’t you?”

“
You need to
stop pushing this. Stop pushing me!” I shout. “Yes, I still love
you, but you tore my heart out, Elijah! You left me broken in a
million fucking pieces! You don’t get to be the one to put me back
together.”

I storm into
the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I quickly undress and
slip underneath the hot spray. I’m too numb to cry and, despite
seeing myself shake like a leaf, I don’t feel a thing, not the
sting and burn of the water against my flesh and not the fresh
wound gaping in my chest.

I let it go
too far. I let him in again,
I think, as I
lean my head against the tile. My chest hurts, my head hurts. I
feel like I’m made up of millions of tiny exposed nerves, all
trembling and clamouring at once with the aftershock of being
prodded by sharp implements. I feel raw. There’s no other way to
describe it. How many times can we do this to each other before we
realise we’re completely broken with no chance of ever being put
back together?

I don’t know
how long I stand there, letting the water soak me to the bone, but
sometime before it turns cold I hear the shower door open behind
me. I whirl around and find Elijah there in the cubical with me,
the spray soaking his clothes.

“
Get
out!”

“
No.”

“
Fine then,
I’ll get out.”

“
No. You
won’t,” he says as he pushes me back against the tile. “You’re not
making this decision for us.”

“
Jesus
Christ, Elijah, how many times do I have to push you away before
you get a fucking clue? How many more times can you stomach hearing
that I don’t want you, that there is no more us?”

“
Bullshit!
The only reason we aren’t together right now is because you’re too
fucking stubborn to admit how you feel, because it might mean being
hurt again. Well guess what, baby girl, life is all about hurt.
From the day we’re born to the day we die, we fucking hurt and we
cry and we pick ourselves up and, if we’re really lucky, we have
people to help us pick up the fucking pieces.”

“
You think I
don’t know this shit? You’re not the only one who knows hurt,
Elijah, so quit with your fucking world weary
patronising.”

“
You know
hurt, huh? Then why the hell are you putting us through more of the
shit?”

I shove him
up against the glass and then clench my hands into fists to keep
from scratching and clawing at him until there’s nothing left. “You
did this to us! Not me. I’m just trying to deal the best way I can.
I’m trying to save myself from you, because if I give you what’s
left I’ll have nothing leftover to pick up when you leave
again.”

A sob tears
free from my throat, and then there’s a whole torrent of tears and
my hands are thumping at his chest while he holds me to him. “I
hate you!”

“
Don’t hate
me, Ana,” he coos in my ear, and his voice is so soft and so full
of hurt that it only makes me cry harder. “I love you. I’d go to
fucking ground for you. I can’t deal with this shit any more. For
six months I waited for you in that hellhole and you never once
came to visit, and then the day I’m released you show up like some
fucking miracle, an angel who wants to give me a home and care for
me like a stray puppy. But the funny thing about angels is you
can’t touch them, just like I’m not allowed to touch you, though I
know you want me too as badly as I do. I need you, Ana. I’m fucking
dying without you, baby.”

“
I don’t have
anything left!” I shout. “I gave you everything I had and you tore
it all up. I can’t allow you to do that again. I wouldn’t be the
girl you love if I let you destroy me again.”

I try to push
him away but he won’t let up, and so he ends up clutching me to him
in a vice grip while I cry and scream until all the hurt and tears
and heartbreak just dissolve around us. We stay that way until the
water runs cold, with him fully clothed and me stripped bare before
him, and then I slide his arms from around my waist and pull him
down to kiss his lips before I push open the shower
door.

“
You need to
find somewhere else to live.” My throat hurts from crying, my heart
hurts from squeezing out those words, but it had to be said. We
can’t live like this anymore. Some things are just too broken to
fix. “I’m sorry, but this is just too hard.”

I wrap the
towel around my chest and walk out, wishing it hadn’t just felt
like I left a piece of myself in that bathroom.

Chapter Thirty
Eight

Elijah

I’ve decided
I’m going to have to kill Jackson in his sleep. After spending all
day on the couch versing one another on Xbox he’s killed me
thirty-seven times in some random fighting game and nine times
in
Race Pro.
There’s only so much of a beating a man can take before his
masculinity feels threatened. And therefore, Jackson Rowe must
die.

I hear Ana
pull up in the drive. She’s been at work by herself all day on
account of Holly being sick again. Jackson drove her to an
appointment earlier in the morning and we haven’t heard a peep out
of her since. Bob hadn’t opened the garage today because we’ve been
having a dead week and he had some tax audit shit going on, so
Jackson and I have put our time to good use by wasting an entire
day playing video games.

I glance at
the food wrappers lying on the coffee table and then over my
shoulder into the kitchen where I can see dishes piled all along
the bench. Shit, I should have taken care of that already. I should
have made dinner or pulled out a fucking vacuum or something. God,
I’m such a cunt. No wonder she wants me out.

Ana comes
storming in the door. She’s pissed, but that only gets worse when
she sees the mess we’ve made. She closes her eyes, takes a deep
breath and then turns without a word and stalks down the hall to
her room, slamming the door firmly behind her.

“
Mate, your
woman is fucking pissed,” Jackson grunts.

“
She’s not my
woman,” I grunt back.

“
Come on, you
really believe that shit?”

“
There’s
nothing to believe. She wants me out of here.”

Jackson
laughs. “Mate, you really are fucking clueless. She wants you
alright, but it’s got nothing to do with wanting you to move out.
She’s just scared.”