Dark maple bookcases line the wall, each shelf filled with thick books. I recognize some of them, but others are unfamiliar. The walls have more of those strangely lovely watercolor paintings; mountains during summer and fall, a path in the forest, leading to some place that’s just out of view. They’re really beautiful and I wonder idly if Jack is the artist.
The massive cedar desk takes up the most of the room, with a large computer screen that looks tiny by comparison sitting on top. There are photos in the shelves that I’d like to look at, but the tour is just a way for me to get comfortable here, so I don't linger.
“
This,” he says, taking my hand again and pulling me from the room as he pushes open another door, “is the guest room. Again, doesn’t see much use, but it’s good to have.”
It’s furnished simply and sparsely.
An inconspicuous queen size bed, a small nightstand, a beat up dresser and chest of drawers make it look a little lonely. A small, old red wagon sits in the corner, a solitary relic of another time. I imagine him pulling his toys around in it as a kid and the thought makes me smile.
“
You’ve got your upstairs bathroom there,” he points at a closed door, “and a hall closet there,” he points at the other closed door. “And that’s about it for the upstairs.”
I follow him down to the main floor, my fingers finding the knots in the logs that make up the walls. I let my fingers run along the finished wood like I used to do at my grandma’s house where I grew up. The long hallway that connected one end of the trailer we lived in to the other was covered in grayish blue, textured rose wallpaper, ugly but for some reason perfect. I’d run back and forth in the hallway, dragging my fingers over it until they went numb.
“
Kitchen, obviously,” he runs his other hand through his hair, “and living room here. My room is there,” he points to two large glass doors in the living room. “There’s another small bathroom down that hall, another guest room and the dining room.”
"So that's your bedroom?" I ask, leaning in and closing the space between us. Let's get this show on the road.
I loop my finger through the gap between two buttons on his shirt. I press in a little, feeling a hard knot of muscle beneath my finger. God, his body has to be gorgeous.
He takes my hand, more tingling and sparks, and pulls me into his chest. It's almost like hitting a brick wall. "It is."
"Should we continue the tour in there?" I ask. My muscles are twisted, aching and almost humming with anticipation.
"There'll be plenty of time for that," Jack whispers. I can smell sweet chewing gum on his breath, minty and pleasant.
"I like to take a while," I say.
Jack leans in, the pupil of his eyes almost disappearing into the iris and puts his thumb on my lips.
"So do I." He kisses me then, softly and it's a different, more personal kiss than the one on the dance floor. I can taste the peppermint on his tongue and it's so sweet. He parts his lips from mine and luckily, my body kicks in and starts breathing again. I know I'm going to be putty in his hands.
"You want a beer?"
"Sure," I say, the one word I can manage.
Jack points toward the couch. “Go grab a seat, Carly.”
My name is just a name like anyone else's, but hearing Jack say it elevates it, makes it something I wish not everyone knew.
The plush leather couch almost swallows me as I sit, the softness of the cushions making me instantly comfortable. Looking around his living room, I’m a little surprised at how empty it feels in spite of the big furniture. A large black entertainment center boxes in a flat panel television against the wall opposite the couch, movies filling the shelves in double rows. There are Tarantino movies and zombie films, westerns and comic book films; pretty much what you’d expect a guy his age to watch. My eye falls on a glass top table covered in little wooden figures.
Several bears, a dog, a cat, what looks like a penguin and a couple of simply carved people populate the glass top world. I wonder if Jack made them as I hear him moving around in the kitchen. This is surreal. Just this evening, I was silently hoping to bump into him again, and now here I am in his house looking at his knick knacks.
"Here," he says, holding out a Bud Light. I take it and fight the top for a second before it finally pops free. I take a sip, the cold beer doing very little to cool the heat in my lower half. He sits his beer on the table, on the
bare table
, and I fight the urge to put a napkin or a magazine or anything under it. I take a big drink and let the cold suds go down slowly.
"You cold?" Jack asks.
"Quite the opposite, actually," I say. The beer rush hits my brain then, refreshing the Jack Daniels from dinner and spinning the room a little before it flashes away. I turn the bottle so I can pick at the label. It’s a nervous habit of mine, kind of a ritual. I peel it off halfway in one smooth motion.
“
Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, his eyes completing the connection with mine. His face is full of light and it makes his eyes that much more intense.
“
Right now?” I ask.
“
Yes, right this minute,” he answers.
“
I’m thinking of how your lips felt on mine.” I look at him and take in all his beauty.
He takes a sip of his beer, his lips pressed to the dark brown glass like I wish they were pressed to me. I down the Bud Light again.
“
Your turn,” I say. “What are you thinking?”
Jack hesitates. “I’m thinking that you’re going to get hurt.”
I search his face for the exact meaning of his words, but come up short. “How?”
“
I’m a difficult man, Carly,” Jack says, any playfulness that was in him has disappeared. “I’ve got no reason to expect you to offer anything to me, but you need to know that I can’t promise anything to you.”
“
What I offer to someone should be my choice,” I say. “I’m not a stupid girl, Jack. I know what this is.”
“
Exactly what is this, then?” Jack asks.
“
It’s one night and you don’t have to promise me anything about tomorrow. I have a rule against getting hurt. Now, I want you to kiss me again,” I say. Allie was right; I’ll take him any way I can get him.
Jack leans forward with that cheetah speed of his and presses his lips to mine. My empty beer bottle makes a light thud as it falls to the floor, the sound echoing as if from miles away and then my arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him further into me. He's so fierce, so intense in his movements. His large hand slides up the side of my body, turning up the heat that much higher, before finally grabbing my breast gently.
I finally manage to look at him. His eyes; they’re so damned intense. Why does he have to look at me the way he does, like he wants to devour me?
“
Kiss me again, Jack,” I say. As each word finds its way out of my mouth, tiny pulses of nervousness course through my body and everything in me goes on hyper alert.
He leans forward again, his eyes tracing each feature of my face intently. My head is spinning like a top as he puts his hand on my jaw. I let myself be pulled to him and let his lips touch mine again. They’re soft and firm and wet with my saliva.
Jack kisses me for what feels like forever and no time at all. I don’t want him to ever stop. I press toward him and he pulls me closer, further out of my own head and further into him.
The analytical part of my brain tries to run the odds that this is going to end badly for me, that Jack's warning won't be an idle threat. I try to block the thought that I may be ruining something that could be good by letting this happen. He can be a difficult man and he thinks he’ll hurt me. Right now, that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I press my body against him and he returns it; the beer on his breath like an aphrodisiac I can’t resist.
Jack pushes me gently back on the couch, his mouth moving down my jaw line and to my neck. The sensation sends blood hammering through me, knocking on the sensory door of every nerve in my body. I lace my fingers around his neck and decide to let him do what he wants. I know it’s wrong, that I don’t know much about him, really, but right now concern for my heart is at a minimum because my body is raging.
My eyes pass over his face, taking note of every hair, every little freckle. There’s small scar underneath his eye.
“
I’m wrinkling your dress,” Jack says. He slides his hands down the length of my thigh and then underneath the hem of the dress. I watch as he slides his fingers into the top of the thigh high on my right leg.
“
Take it off me, then,” I whisper. I watch his eyes as they move down to where his fingers are. He moves his finger around the band of the thigh high and toward my pussy.
He traces the line of my leg and his thick fingers disappear under the dress.
Jack touches my pussy gently and looks at me. "I'm going to ask you something, and you have the right to say no."
I'm so horny and torn up, the probability of me saying no is highly unlikely. "Okay, what is it?"
"Are you sure you want to do this? I'm giving you one more out. If you want to stop, I'll stop and that's that."
"My god, Jack. Does it look like I want to stop?" I grab his head and pull him to my mouth like a fiend. He slides his finger between my pussy lips and I spread my legs. He plunges two fingers inside me and I squeal in his ear.
He moves them in and out; his long, thick fingers expanding me and making me squirm. Jack's mouth explores mine, his lips moving in a flurry of kisses. He licks at my ear and finger fucks me. I've never been able to orgasm from being fingered, but Jack's expert hands bring me close.
He must be able to tell and he slows his pace, still kissing me. I tug at his shirt and pull it out of his pants. His stomach is thick and muscular, but I have no problem fitting my hand in the space between it and his pants. The bulge of his cock is huge.
"
Now
we can go to my bedroom," he growls, his voice low and gravely.
He pulls his fingers from me and kisses me again before pushing himself off the couch. I take his outreached hand, knowing he’s leading me not just into his bedroom, but into a no-win situation. If the sex is bad, it’ll change the way I look at him, but if the sex is half as good as I expect, I know I’ll want more of it.
He opens one of the double doors and I follow him through it, into something so enticing, so tempting, I have to admit I never had a chance. Every moment since our eyes locked in the sex shop feels like one long, drawn out foreplay session.
Jack reaches out in the darkness and suddenly a soft ambient glow fills the room from the overhead light.
His bed is massive. I’ve never seen anything the size of it. Made of light gray wood, the posts alone must be four feet in diameter. It almost has a homemade look to it, but the headboard is expertly carved, the wood reaching almost to the high ceiling, each bar in the middle perfectly symmetrical to the others. It’s tall and wide, offering more than enough room for us.
Jack backs against the bed and sits down, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around my waist. He presses his face to my chest and his hands slowly venture down the length of my body. He pulls the dress slowly up my waist and then over my shoulders, the material scratching at my hypersensitive skin. In one quick movement, my bra is on the floor and my breasts are in his face. He takes my nipple in his mouth, biting it gently. It’s such an exquisite pain. I gasp and squeeze his shoulders.
Jack kisses each breast, his tongue an explorer and my body uncharted territory, at least to him. He pulls me forward on top of him, his hardness pressing into my thighs. Jack kisses me with such a passion, such an urgency I wonder if it's been a long time since he got laid.