Kiss Marry Kill, page 20
“No worries.”
“I’m not worried.” She smiled. “But I kind of want to . . . you know.”
Looking amused, he put his elbows on the table, his chin on his palm and said, “Nope. I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
Taking a sip of her soda, she chuckled. “Stop. You know what I’m trying to say.”
“No, I really don’t. You kind of want to go on a picnic? You want to hang out some more? You want to go home? What is it you kind of want to do, Meg?”
She leaned forward, her ass lifting off the chair, and she whispered into his ear. “Touch you.” She began to sit back down but then came forward again, and whispered, “your dick. I want to touch it.”
He groaned, and now it was her turn to laugh.
After a lunch that included gator bites, corn on the cob, sips of his beer—which she stole from him, often—and fried biscuits, they took off again. Thirty minutes later they stood in front of a ten-foot stuffed alligator and a wooden sign advertising airboat rides. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to do this!”
“Good, because that’s what we’re doing next.”
Pulling him by the arm, she practically skipped to the kiosk, but he stopped her before she reached for her wallet.
“I can pay, you know?”
“I know. But I want to,” he said, kissing her nose. “We have twenty minutes to kill before the next boat ride, you want to go for a walk?”
“It’s one thing to be on a boat, it’s another thing to come face to face with an alligator.”
“Don’t worry so much, come on.” He grabbed her hand and together they walked along the swampy trail, where there wasn’t much to see.
“So you like baseball, huh?”
He chuckled at her random small talk. “My dad was a huge Yankees fan. For as long as I could remember, we would take one trip every year and it was to the home opening game of the Yankees. Then in 1993 when we got the Florida Marlins he got season tickets and we would try to catch at least one Yankee game a year and we never missed a Marlins opening game. He never got to see when they changed to the Miami Marlins, though.”
“So you going is tradition?”
“Yeah. It’s bittersweet, but unless I’m deployed, I try to hit at least one game. I’ve missed a few openers, though. I have season tickets, always seat L214. L214 isn’t as good in the new stadium, but it’s cool, that’s the seat I’ve had since 1993.”
“That’s really nice, Jax. Tell me more about your parents.”
They walked through the humid mangrove trail hand in hand. “My mom was a third grade teacher. She retired when my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was a tough two years and I was overseas for most of it. My parents were very close—they’d take trips away, just the two of them. They would fall asleep cuddled together on the couch. They’d hold hands all the time and kiss openly. Neither of them missed any of my baseball or football games. Not one. We weren’t wealthy, my dad was also in the Marines until he retired, then he became a postal worker. Joey was around a lot too. He was my neighbor for a little while, but we stayed close even when he moved to the other side of town.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a lot of love in your life.”
“Yes. I can’t say otherwise. When Dad died, Mom became very depressed. With Dad gone and me far off, it’s been hard on her. She doesn’t say it, but I know it has been.”
“You feel guilty,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“I reenlisted. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe she needs me here with her.”
“It’s what you love, isn’t it? With what you’re telling me, I don’t think your parents would want you to do something you didn’t like.”
He shrugged. He’d never voiced this insecurity out loud. In fact, this guilt had been laying heavily on his shoulders and he didn’t even know how to vocalize it. But talking to Megan was easy. She wasn’t judgmental or opinionated. She listened and gave him a different—a better—perspective on things.
“Where does she live?”
“With my aunt down in Key Largo.”
“So she’s not alone.”
“Nah, she’s not. Maybe you’ll meet her?”
“Shit, Jax. It’s Saturday and we haven’t done a single thing on your list except your haircut and your mom’s an hour away.”
“Relax. We’ll get to it. There’s still Sunday.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, time to walk back. There’s an airboat with our name on it, waiting.”
* * *
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jax sat on his kitchen counter watching Megan fuck up spaghetti later that evening.
“Hush,” she said, reading the instructions from the box with absolute concentration. “I watch cooking shows all the time.”
“Meg, the water’s boiling. You gotta dump the pasta in there,” he said pointing to the colander. “Not rocket science, sweetheart.”
She stuck her tongue out at him before opening the box and dumping the spaghetti inside the water and then turning to the other pot that was already spilling over with red sauce from a can. “Ah . . . I’m making a mess.”
“You sure you don’t want help?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” she said, turning the temperature down.
“I’ve never seen a worse cook in my life,” he said. “You are actually the best worst cook I’ve ever seen.”
“Ha ha. We have a cook. No one ever let me do this for myself.”
“Thank God. You’d poison your family.” She turned around and scowled at him. Still perched on the counter, he reached forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. “You got a little sauce right here.” He pointed to her cheek.
“I do?” She reached for the dishrag but he stopped her, using his mouth to lick it off.
“Oh . . .”
“And a little here too.” He trailed his tongue down her cheek to her jaw, followed by her neck.
She pressed closer to him, his legs wrapping around her to pull her close, her head lifting to give him more access to her neck.
“You know what I said earlier? I want to do that now.” Her hand drifted down his body and she pressed a hand against his bulge.
“Won’t say no to that,” he said gruffly.
He unhooked his legs and spread them wider. She snuck her hand into his pants and took out his cock. He’d been expecting a hand job, like what he’d done for her last night. What he did not in any way expect was for Megan to stroke his cock once and then twice before moving down, opening her mouth, and sliding him in.
His head hit the cabinet behind him. “Oh, fuck! Don’t stop.”
She hummed her response, which he didn’t hear because all his blood had rushed to his cock with the vibration of her mouth. He couldn’t do a single thing except feel. Firmly and confidently, she gripped the base of his dick, moving it up and down as she swirled her tongue on the head, over and over, sucking and licking. Unrushed, she made it feel as if she was savoring the feel of him in her mouth, not like a task or a job, which made it all that much hotter.
When he couldn’t take it anymore she moved down the shaft, going as deep as she could without gagging. He wanted to warn her, stop her, but instead his hip bucked forward. He was unable to stop himself from coming deep in her throat, and, with the strong grip she had on him, he was certain she wouldn’t have stopped anyway.
“Jesus, Megan,” he said running a palm down his face. “I’m not even sure what to think about how good you are at that.”
She used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth clean. “Glad it was good.”
“Good?” He shook his head. Good wasn’t nearly adequate. “If we’re going for oral, then it’s my turn, baby.” With his pants hanging around his ankles he hopped down, turned her around, and set her on the counter. “Quid pro quo. You’ll learn that in law school,” he said, causing her to giggle. “Let’s see if I’m ‘good’ too.”
She yelped when he pushed her thighs apart and slid her shorts and panties down her legs. “You don’t have to. I didn’t do it for you to . . . Oh! Oh God . . .”
He loved that she was so vocal. She might have been shy about initiating, but once she got lost in the moment she was uninhibited, loud, and fun.
He didn’t give her a chance to talk as he parted her with his fingers and traced his tongue along her pussy, slowly, up and down. She raked her nails along his scalp, trying to grab hold of his hair but failing. Pressing his head forward, she bucked against him, moaning and yelling as he flicked his tongue on her clit, asserting as much pressure as he could. “I’m going to come, Jax. Oh God . . .”
He sucked hard, pushing a finger inside of her, which caused her to squeeze her legs tightly around his head. It was the most amazing sexual experience of his life, the way she came uninhibited and undone on his face.
Chapter 13
PRESENT DAY
God! The man certainly knew how to work his tongue.
“Of course I remember the first time you went down on me,” she moaned, arching her pussy against his face. “It was my first time.”
Stopping completely, he wiped his mouth on her thigh and moved back up her body. “What?”
“What are you doing? Don’t stop,” she said, pushing him back down.
“Dick had never eaten your pussy?”
“Nope. He didn’t like doing it.” She nudged him with her heel. Why the hell was he talking about Richard? She didn’t want to think about Richard. Hell, she didn’t want to think of anything other than the way his tongue felt against her clit.
“Damn, I wish I’d known that before.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know . . . I would’ve paid more attention, or done it again, or . . . I don’t know.”
“Well, you can shut your mouth now and go back to what you were just doing.”
He chuckled before sliding back down and without hesitation latching on to her clit. “Ah . . .”
He hummed in response and held her thighs open with his hands. “Dick missed out,” he said, as he sucked, licked, nipped. “I can do this all day. It’s sweet like honey, just like you.”
“Less talking.”
His grip on her thighs was unrelenting and she tried to squirm but he just pushed them further up and apart until her legs were by her shoulders and he wasn’t laying down anymore, he was bent down, on his knees, completely engrossed. His saliva slid down her ass and when she was close—so close she could feel her thighs shake—he slid two fingers inside of her, working them in and out in sync with his tongue until she fisted his hair and pushed his head against her, coming hard and intensely on his face and tongue.
“Jesus,” he said. When he pulled back, his beard was wet and sticking out all over the place. But he didn’t hesitate or let her recover, because he slid his cock right inside of her, still holding her thighs apart. “How am I ever going to stop fucking you when you feel so good?” he said, breathlessly. “I can’t stop, Meg.”
Was he talking about now or the future?
She never wanted him to stop, she almost said.
* * *
I never want to stop, he almost said. He wanted this to be something they did all the time, whenever the mood struck. She was so perfect for him, in every single way. “Come with me. Again. Come, baby,” he said, thrusting in and out until he had one arm on the mattress by her head to get purchase, the other arm holding her thigh, her knee by her ear. She was twisted like a pretzel but the look of pure ecstasy on her face was enough to tip him over the edge. She followed seconds behind before he collapsed on top of her. Wiping his beard with a towel, he threw it aside and slid into bed with her.
“That was pretty fantastic,” she sighed. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”
Sliding strands of hair off of her face, he leaned in for a kiss. “I hope so. And the day after that and the day after that . . .”
“Mmmm,” she said lazily. “I like the sound of that.”
He settled into the bed and, in spite of all the shit going on around them, with Megan resting her head on the crook of his shoulder he fell asleep sated and content—a feeling he hadn’t known in far too long.
Nausea, sweat, and a pounding heart startled him awake in the middle of the night.
It was the same dream he often had. He was in the middle of the desert when there was a sudden explosion from somewhere behind him. Leaving his platoon behind, he ran around aimlessly trying to figure out the source of the explosion. But he couldn’t find anything, even as he chased the smell of fire and the screaming of his buddies burning. And the more he ran the more alone he felt. When he finally stopped running, he looked around and it was just miles and miles of sand. His skin was hot and dry, and the air he breathed was arid. There was nowhere for him to go. No water, no buildings, no people . . . just more desert. But his friends were screaming for him over and over, needing help—and he couldn’t find them.
But this time, for some reason, the dream was different. In previous dreams, he’d just given up . . . too thirsty, too tired, and too hopeless to keep going, eventually waking up feeling that hopelessness in the pit of his stomach for the rest of the day. In this dream, he never stopped. He had a determination to continue moving forward no matter what. In this dream he didn’t feel hopeless. But he did feel fear. A deep-seated fear of failure. What if he never found the end? What if he was stuck in the desert forever?
Careful not to wake Megan, he slowly peeled her arms off of him and slid out of bed, the clock on her nightstand reading 3:30. Immediately, Rambo went on alert and ran to the bedroom door. Fumbling around, Jax found his shorts, slipped them on, tucked his gun into his waistband, and went to the kitchen. Having the gun on him was second nature. Rarely was he unarmed.
He took a detour on his way to the kitchen, deciding to go check the gate for the hundredth time that day. When Dawson arrived later that week for a consultation that would be priority number one. By the time they were done there was no way Ryan would be able to get through it again.
“Stay,” he whispered to Rambo at the house’s threshold. The dog continued wagging its tail, immune to any command, so Jax shrugged and allowed the puppy to follow him out.
From the front door to the gate was a trail; a long walk that used to be lined with palm trees. It was now a bare expanse of space, without a single place to hide. “Come on, Rambo.”
Exploring the darkness, the puppy ran ahead of Jax toward the enormous ornate metal fence and the ten-foot-tall thick hedges that ran along the entirety of the property and hid the house from prying eyes. They were the only trees he’d left standing, in order to give the house some privacy.
Jax followed behind the puppy. It was hard to see anything more than a few feet ahead of where he walked, but he could just make out the energetic wagging of Rambo’s tail as he sniffed everything in the yard. Maybe the dog had been a good idea, if only to provide Megan with comfort.
Rambo’s sharp, high bark suddenly broke through the darkness. “What is it, boy?” Jax whispered, feeling suddenly exposed in the middle of the yard with nothing to shield him.
Jax looked around, feeling the hairs behind his neck stand up. Reaching behind his back, he took his Sig Sauer from the waistband of his shorts, keeping it shielded behind him, thankful he’d had the foresight to grab the weapon before walking out the door. Rambo continued to bark at the gate, but it was too dark to see what was on the other side.
Standing aside, hidden by the hedges, Jax knelt down in an effort to see further. Rambo continued to bark and then the bark changed to a growl. Fuck, someone was there. Bringing his gun in front of him and removing the safety, Jax crouched, ready to defend himself if necessary.
A noise came from the other side of the hedges, and then a light, like a flashlight. But still it wasn’t possible to make anything out. His heart beat faster, and adrenaline was kicking in. The sound came closer, almost like a motor, and the lights brighter. Then the noise stopped and the light shone toward the house. He was a mere foot away, just the width of the hedges separating him from whomever was there.
Rambo growled louder.
This would be his only chance to see the perp, since catching him wouldn’t be possible, as there was a gate he couldn’t scale between them.
“Hiya boy. How are ya?” the person on the other side chirped.
Creeping closer to where the hedges met the iron gate, Jax risked a look.
He felt his muscles sag with relief. Shit, it was just the security guard from the island, a man he’d met before. He locked his gun and put it away, then stood up and moved forward. “Carl.”
Startled, Carl dropped his flashlight. The older gentleman stood with shaky hands, looking around.
“It’s me, Jackson.”
A hand clutching his chest, the man said, “Jackson. Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing hiding back there?”
“I was just doing a sweep. What are you doing?”
“My nightly rounds. I was instructed to pay particular care with this house. So I brought a flashlight and was going to look around. See if anything was amiss.”
As if the old man would be able to do much.
“You carry a gun, Carl?”
“Sure do. May look old, son, but you’d be surprised.”
“I’m sure you’re capable, Carl. Wouldn’t want to cross you, that’s for sure,” Jax said, trying not to glance down at the flashlight still on the ground. Carl was a good man, trying to do his job, and Jax sincerely appreciated it. “Leave you to it, then. ’Night.”
“’Night, son.”’
“Let’s go, Rambo.”
After the adrenaline rush there was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep. Next week they had that goddamn dinner with her friends and in two weeks they’d be leaving on tour. His anxiety levels were at an all-time high, and if he went to sleep now, he’d be tossing and turning for the rest of the night. And if sleep somehow did find him, he’d surely have a nightmare and wake Megan up. So instead of going to bed, Jax booted up his laptop on her dining room table, and got to work.
