Authors: Ashlynn Pearce
“I told you. I don’t have babes at my house for more than a few hours. And the ones that would be here know better than to get jealous.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t let them spend the night in your bed.”
“Yup.”
She had a hard time believing that. He was, after all, a twenty-six-year-old bachelor living alone. It was funny how he could be so insightful one moment and so caveman-like the next. “You know, I didn’t really believe you when you told me that.”
“Becca, I’ve never lied to you,” he said. “I could tell you anything I wanted, but I’m not like that. You either like me, or you don’t.”
She bit her lip.
But I’ve lied to you.
She never told him why she entered the chat room to begin with and she didn’t think he would like the idea that he was a work assignment. After talking to him for almost a month she’d had plenty of time to tell him, but hadn’t.
“So everything you’ve told me is really the truth?” She didn’t know why she asked the question. Maybe it was because some of the things that had happened in his life seemed so surreal.
“Yes,” he said in a short, clipped voice.
She knew he had to be thinking about some of the stuff he had told her. Some of it she was sure he wouldn’t tell most people. As he said, she was safe. At least she was before now.
“Do you regret giving me your number?” she asked.
“No. Why would I?”
“Because now…I’m real.”
“Yeah and your voice is a lot sexier than a few typed words.”
“Well, thank you, Jake.” She smiled and slid down farther into her pillow. “So is yours.”
His laugh was short, but the low rumble gave her goose bumps. “Why, thank you, Miss Rebecca,” he replied in a soft, exaggerated Southern drawl.
“Why, you’re welcome, Mr. Jake,” she replied and giggled.
“You know what I would do if I were there?”
“What?” she asked.
“Kiss you until every memory of his touch was erased.”
She gasped involuntarily at the sincerity of his voice and tears clogged the back of her throat. “I would like that,” she whispered.
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“Would you?” Jakes voice was deep now and it wrapped around her.
“Make me forget,” she whispered. She hated that it sounded like a plea but wanted that forgetfulness. Anything to get away from the reality of the night.
“I would kiss each corner of your lips. And tilt your head just so I could nibble at the vein that throbbed in your throat.”
She found herself tilting her head back and touching that exact spot. She had told Jake all the places she liked to be touched and he always remembered.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he commanded.
“Um, a tank top and pajama pants. Nothing very sexy I’m afraid,” she said feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. She could have told him anything. Usually she just made up something when they were online, but his honesty prompted her to be truthful. Nick always hated it when she wore this and said she should wear things that would please him.
The jerk.
“You might be surprised what I find sexy. Let me guess, pale pink pants, a top that says Victoria’s Secret on it and no bra.”
She nodded and flushed when she realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. You remembered?”
“Oh, yeah. The image has been burned into my head since you told me about your favorite pj’s. I bet it clings to you in all the right places.”
“I don’t know…”
“I do. Especially if it’s cotton. Yeah, totally sexy.”
She swallowed hard. The whiskey must be getting to her because even lying down she was lightheaded.
“I could pull down the little strap and reveal one full breast, just waiting for me to taste.”
“Yeah, you could do that,” she said breathlessly. She closed her eyes and focused on his words. Blocking out everything else. She didn’t want to think about how stupid this was or her asshole of an ex-husband. All she wanted to hear was his voice…Jake’s voice.
“Is your hand on your breast, Becca? Can you feel my breath on your skin?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That nipple is hard, isn’t it? Just begging me to be there. Tell me what you feel.”
“Soft. Hard. Hungry.” It was difficult to concentrate on words when she just wanted. Wanted him. Wanted this.
“My lips travel lower, across your stomach. My hands are tugging at your pants.
Are you with me Becca?” Jake’s voice was strained now, intense.
“Yes,” she replied. Her hand dipped just below her waistband as she slid lower on her bed and pressed the heels of her feet into the mattress.
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“My teeth lightly bite at your inner thigh as my fingers part that pussy and slide in.
So wet and so ready.”
Becca groaned as she slid two of her fingers in. And he was right. She was slippery and more than ready.
“Back and forth they slide. And now I’m blowing on your clit. Are you ready for it, babe?”
“Oh, yes. Please.”
“Not yet. Make it last. Don’t touch your clit yet.”
His words caused her to pant with frustration. Her hand was coated now as her fingers moved faster and faster. “I want to. Please.”
“Are your fingers sticky?”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, doing everything he said.
“Now.” His voice was rough and demanding and when she touched that hardened nub of her clit with her thumb she exploded.
“Jake,” she screamed as her pussy clenched over and over on her fingers. She clamped her legs together as tiny little pulses vibrated through her body.
“Hell, Becca,” his voice grated out in a sexy way that made her shudder one more time. His breath was heavy in her phone and she sighed in contentment.
“Better, darlin’?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Sleep, okay, babe? You call me whenever you want, alright?”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “Anytime, darlin’. Night.”
“Night.”
When Jake heard a faint click, he hung up his phone and glanced at the time. 2:17
a.m. Even if he could sleep, it wouldn’t do him much good at this point. He had to be up at six. Anger spread through him like fire as he stood and walked into his garage.
He hid it well for Becca, but his fury was barely controlled. Flicking on the light, he went to his CD player and put in some Slipknot. He cranked it up as much as he dared and walked to the punching bag that hung from the rafters. He didn’t bother with the gloves that lay on his workbench. He wanted to feel the pain.
Pain was something he knew how to deal with.
The first punch sent the bag swinging wildly, but he didn’t stop. He just kept hitting it, imagining it was Nick’s face. Sweat poured into his eyes as he alternated kicks and punches.
Becca didn’t tell him all her ex had done. She didn’t have to. He could hear the torment in her voice. It cut deep—deeper than it should have since he only knew her from the net. But it didn’t matter. Even if he only admitted it to himself, he knew he was 12
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closer to her than he had been to anyone. No matter how ridiculous it was. She wasn’t just a name on a screen to him. And now that he knew her voice, well, as she said, she was real now.
Something like possession roared up inside, setting off every protective instinct he owned. He wasn’t used to the feeling. He really only felt it with his best friend’s sister, who was just like a sister to him as well. The first time he saw her cry, he promptly beat the hell out of the boy who caused it. She had been mad at him for months, but at least he felt better. That was how he handled things. He would hit whatever made him mad.
Taking care of it, one way or another.
But not this.
He couldn’t do a damn thing and it ate at his gut. Becca’s image, the only one he had, was of her sitting on the floor, one leg curled beneath her, her feet bare, a faint smile on a face surrounded by blonde hair and large brown eyes looking up at the camera. Now the image, at least in his mind, was marred by bruises he couldn’t fix.
He gripped the punching bag, leaned his head against it and stared at the floor. It was insane to get wrapped up in someone you didn’t know. Insane to get wrapped up with anyone at all. But damn it, they had talked for hours, even if it had only been through the internet. She knew him like no one else did. He told her things he had told no one. But he couldn’t protect her. If he had been with her, her ex wouldn’t have laid a finger on her. But then again, if he was there, she would know better than to hang out with a loser like him. She would have already figured out the real Jake.
Why had he given Becca his number? It was a mistake, but he couldn’t take it back.
Wouldn’t take it back. Even if he could. He wanted to hear her voice. Even before tonight. But he was only setting himself up for failure, because eventually, the one person that looked at him as decent was going to find out just how fucked up he really was. And eventually, because that’s what always happened, she would never talk to him again.
He pushed away from the bag then swung hard, hitting the firm padding. This bag had saved him countless bloody knuckles and holes in sheetrock. Nothing was sacred when he was mad, and he knew it.
Just like my old man.
He sneered at the thought and continued to beat the bag, releasing pent-up fury that always built up inside like a volcano.
Oh yeah, he was just like his old man…the sorry fuck.
* * * * *
The blaring alarm woke Becca and she bolted upright. She fumbled to hit the clock button and ended up dumping the clock, a bottle of lotion and nail polish on the floor.
“Shit.” Reaching over the side of the bed to get them, she lost her balance and fell, landing with a thump. She blew at the strands of hair in her face and shoved it out of her eyes. Grumbling, she placed the items back on her bedside table, stood up and saw the phone still lying in her bed. She picked it up and smiled.
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Jake.
They had actually talked. She had really heard his voice and God had it been sexy.
She bit her lip and sighed. Heat filled her face when she realized she didn’t really remember hanging up, but she certainly remembered the orgasm he helped her achieve.
When she tapped the phone against her cheek, she winced. And, oh, yeah, Nick.
She tossed the phone on her bed, walked to the bathroom and turned on the light.
Staring into the mirror, she frowned. A bruise, about the size of a tennis ball, marred her cheek and part of her eye. Her eye wasn’t swollen shut, but it was puffy. No way was makeup going to cover it all.
She should call in sick for work. She was tired and she didn’t want to answer all the prying questions about her face. How many times had she called in sick when Nick was living here? How many times had she hidden because the bastard had hit her? Like it was her fault.
No more.
She was through letting a man run her life and make her hide. She was in charge now.
Turning on the tap, she got into the shower and let the steaming water pour over her. She closed her eyes and thought of Jake. The way his voice had been low and rough. The way he had made her feel protected even though she didn’t know him. She believed he would have come here had she asked. Rubbing the lathered loofah over her skin, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was like in person. What would his hands feel like on her? Would they be soft or calloused? She couldn’t imagine him with soft hands—he was an auto mechanic after all.
The loofah scraped her nipple and it perked to attention. She dragged it back and forth over it, imagining it was Jake’s hands. Her breast swelled as she closed her eyes.
She knew enough about him to know he wouldn’t be a gentle lover. But she knew he would never hurt her.
Not like Nick did.
She shook her head, opened her eyes and finished up in the shower. She needed to get to work. She could daydream about Jake later. But when she toweled off, she couldn’t stop the thought of him drying her off after a steamy shower together.
Cybersex was great, and last night’s phone sex was even better. But what would the real thing feel like? Stopping the thought before it could take root, she finished getting ready for work.
Walking to her car, she smiled at the bright yellow Jeep sitting in her reserved parking spot. As soon as the divorce had gone through, she took the boring grey Buick Nick made her buy and traded it in. Her new car was bright, bold and something she had picked out herself. If she wanted to, she could put the top down and let it mess her hair. It never failed to bring a smile to her face.
Finally reaching her office building, she looked up at the large letters that hung on the façade, RICHMOND TIMES.
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“Morning, Becca,” several people said as she walked toward her cubicle. She greeted them in return, but didn’t take off her sunglasses until she was seated in her chair. A head popped over the cubicle wall.
“So how is Becca this fine mornin’?” Matt, or Matty as he was known to most, asked.
She smiled and took off her glasses. “I’m okay—”
He squealed and before she had time to say anything else, he disappeared and reappeared in her cubicle. “What happened? Who did this?” he asked as he lifted her chin so he could look at her face. “Oh, dear! Did you put ice on it? Oh, I bet it was that horrible man, Nick. Did you call the police?” Matty rattled on in his high-pitched voice until half the
Times
staff was crowded around her.
A hundred different questions hit her at once.
“I’m okay,” she tried to explain.
“Oh, you are not. My goodness, that thing is going to swell something awful!”
Matty tsked. “You should be home putting ice on it. John, go get this poor thing a bag of ice.” He gave John a push to help get him moving.
“I didn’t want to stay home,” Becca said.
“Well, of course you didn’t! Why would you want to do that? You need your people around you.” Matty nodded. “Mm-hmm. You gots to be more careful, doll. Why did you even go around him?” Then John handed him the Ziploc with ice. “Oh, thank you. Here you go, honey. This will help.” He put it in her hand.