Complex Kisses (Here & Now Book 1) Page 15

  Except those images are ridiculous and unrealistic, so I ignore them and simply ask, “Can you turn the burner off on the stove for me, please?”

  Instead of taking our meal to the dining room table, we opt to sit side-by-side at the breakfast bar. It’s cozy and intimate. Our knees bump and Eric’s big body takes up part of my counter space. I don’t mind. Our proximity gives me an up-close view of his hands, his face, his mouth. Watching him eat and drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his strong jaw clenching, makes me hungry for other things.

  Yes, I could get used to this.

  “Have you thought more about what you’ll do with this place?” His innocent question, one that I’ve been asking myself repeatedly, strikes a nerve. I’m not ready to answer it. I don’t have an answer. After all of the questions he’s asked me today, this one makes me feel exposed.

  “Nope. What about you?” I turn the tables, “You’ve told me all about the things that you don’t want in life – I know you hated your job and the way you were living – but you haven’t told me what it is that you do want. What’s in your future?”

  Squirming in his seat a little, it seems I may have struck a nerve as well.

  “I have no idea. I haven’t allowed myself to really think that far ahead. It seems dangerous to make those kinds of plans. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I think I get it. But surely there’s something you’d like to do? What did you want when you were younger – before you got old and responsible?” My smile is teasing, but there’s a glint in his eye that has my curiosity piqued.

  “Nothing serious. I liked art.”

  “That’s it? You liked art? Come on, Eric. I entertained all your suggestions about my job. Don’t you think you owe me more than I liked art?” He laughs at my attempt to mimic his deep voice.

  “Fine. I liked all kinds of art. But mostly photography.” His wicked smile hints that he’s playing. He’s well aware that holding back will drive me crazy. I think he likes riling me up.

  When my only response is an innocent smile of my own, he caves with a heavy sigh, combing his fingers through his thick hair. “I loved taking pictures,” he admits. “Something about being behind a lens … it’s like seeing the world through a hidden eye. You might see something every day of your life but when it’s captured on film, with the right light and the right angle, it becomes a whole new thing – like something you’ve never seen before. I really liked that I could take a picture and tell a whole story with it. Create a new reality.”

  He’s an artist. He didn’t use those words, or reference himself that way, but I can see it in him. The passion behind his words alone, tells me this is his truth, makes me believe in his talent.

  It’s such a contrast from the corporate career he had before. But the artistic side of him makes better sense to me. Picturing him in a suit and tie, creating spreadsheets and analyzing data – it doesn’t fit. His constant use of the word fuck makes it hard to imagine him giving formal presentations to a room full of corporate accountants and compliance managers.

  “I’d love to see your pictures,” I encourage.

  “Nah, I haven’t bothered with it in ages. I don’t have any pictures to show you.”

  “Take one now.”

  “With what?” He laughs.

  “With that,” I suggest, pointing to his phone.

  His focus shifts from me to the phone and back again. He seems to be skeptically considering my request. “Yeah, okay. But you’re going to be my subject matter.”

  Now, I’m the skeptical one. Being photographed has never been on my list of fun times. I always end up with a goofy grin or half closed eyes – me and cameras just don’t get along.

  Seeing my hesitation, Eric’s demeanor changes. He stands tall, looming powerfully over me. Clasping my wrist, pulling me to my feet, his voice is deep and assertive when he claims, “You’re going to have to lose some of those clothes.”

  My half eaten dinner is forgotten, as he leads me to my bedroom.

  * * *

  Even with a simple iPhone camera, Eric’s photos are gorgeous. Somehow he managed to make me look, not just normal, but downright beautiful.

  I was worried he was going to convince me to take a bunch of raunchy naked pictures – let’s face it, I wouldn’t have argued too hard against it – but he kept things classy. Most of my clothing stayed on and, despite the bedroom location, not once did I feel objectified.

  He really is an artist. An amazingly talented one. And, if the dimpled smile on his gorgeous face is any indication, tapping into his creativity makes him incredibly happy too.

  Now, I see what he meant about living someone else’s ideals. This is what he should have been doing all along, not slinging numbers on Bay Street. With just one impromptu photo session he’s like a new person - lighter, and livelier. It’s hard not to get swept up in his enthusiasm.

  This whole day has been fabulous. If anyone told me, even just yesterday, that I would be feeling so uplifted and guilt-free about it, I’d have never believed them. I don’t know if I’ve finally just become comfortable back in my hometown, or if all the amazing sex has knocked something loose in my brain. My disposition has shifted so dramatically - I can barely keep up with myself.

  Maybe I should be worrying about bipolar disorder. Or schizophrenia. Or anything at all. Worry just seems so far away. Like something I should be doing, but can’t find the exact reason why I should be doing it. Like, if I wasn’t so busy being enchanted by Eric and all the ways that he makes me feel so wonderful, maybe I’d find myself back to the hysteric, worried, pathetic mess that I was only yesterday. My hypochondriac’s list would probably fill a book at this point, if it weren’t for Eric’s influence in my life. He’s brought me an unexpected peace of mind, along with unrelenting lust.

  Yesterday, I might have felt guilty for all of that.

  But today, the guilt is all pushed aside. I’m able to cuddle up with Eric, in my double wide childhood bed, just like he promised, after a very full day of lighthearted fun. And I don’t feel even a tiny bit of remorse for it.

  It helps that Eric seems so uplifted as well. The only unease I saw in him was during our early morning talk about Caleb and Day Zero. That’s some seriously scary shit. And I still don’t fully comprehend it. It’s no wonder Eric’s been doing whatever he can to distract himself.

  I can’t even imagine what kind of psychotic state I’d be in, if our roles were reversed. But I do understand his need to be kept occupied with something other than trying to decode medical jargon, and learning to battle disease with willpower alone. I hope I’ve been a decent distraction. I hope I can continue being a distraction, even if it’s just for one more night.

  We crawl into bed, our early morning antics and busy day of activity, wearing us down. I’ve decided that underwear and a t-shirt are the best option for sleep attire. I don’t know if it’s because we’re in my dad’s house, or if it’s because we’re both a little tired - somehow, getting naked and assuming anything more than sleep’s going to happen seems wrong.

  It’s not that I don’t want him. God, I haven’t stopped wanting him.

  It’s just that I don’t know how he feels about carrying things on beyond this point. It feels like yesterday afternoon and today have existed in a different dimension, and once we leave it, once we wake up, we’ll be back on the other side. The side where all of our troubles are waiting to take us over, filling us back up with sadness and despair. The side where, focusing on anything other than sickness and death is impossible. Where futures have no real possibility. I just have a weird feeling like this is going to be it. Like it can’t possibly continue on beyond this phenomenal day. Like I’m going to wake up and feel my usual regret and guilt doubled in order to pay for the day of reprieve.

  “You’re mighty quiet over there, miss Jamie,” Eric drawls in a Blake Shelton country twang. We’ve been playing the famous fake accent game for a while now. I’ve learned that he’s really good a
t impressions. I’ve also learned that I like his natural voice best. Foul mouth and all.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking.” When I don’t answer in my Christina voice he gets the message that our game is over.

  “What’s the matter? Need another phone call with the kid?”

  “No. He’s fine. I think twenty minutes of his pro-dog agenda is more than enough for one day. He’s probably in bed by now anyway.” I’d called Hunter for my usual check in. The only guilt I walked away with this time was the guilt implied by Hunter over the lack of canine companionship in our lives.

  Pulling me closer, Eric kisses my ear and whispers, “You aren’t thinking about our deal and how I promised to break the bed are you?” He asks, doubtfully.

  “Well I wasn’t. But now that you’ve mentioned it, I won’t be able to think about anything else,” I laugh.

  “Let the other things wait until tomorrow. Let’s just keep focused on today. Let me stay focused on you.”

  How does he do that? How does he know exactly what’s on my mind? “You’re right. I’m falling back into my worries about tomorrow. What it might bring.”

  “You know my theory on that already. Here and now, Jamie. Here and now,” he reminds me, kissing my jaw. “I can’t guarantee things will be better tomorrow but I can guarantee you this, right here.” He demonstrates by kissing my lips lightly, his hand sliding solidly over my shoulders and back. “I made you a promise, I intended to keep it.”

  “Yes,” I encourage, his hand roaming down to cup my ass. “What are those favorite words of yours? A deal’s a deal?”

  “A deal is a sacred trust. I would never break that trust,” he says seriously, before adding, “It’s sort of like how the Lannisters always pay their debts.”

  “You, sneaky liar! You do watch Game of Thrones!”

  “Nope. I read the books.” He winks playfully and then dives in, capturing my open mouth with his own.

  Quickly, Eric rids me of my clothes. Now, the only barrier between us is the worry, still lingering in the back of my mind. It doesn’t take much for those worries to dissolve completely.

  Pulling me even closer toward him, Eric encourages, “Come over here, beautiful. I want to give you something.”

  “What is it? Is it sex? Because that’s the only thing I really want right now.” Despite our joking, his kiss has kindled an aching burn throughout my body. My desire for him takes over my brain, riding me of all inhibitions.

  “Jesus fuck, Jamie. You have a fantastic fucking way with words.”

  He kisses me again, his tongue diving deep, thrusting into my mouth the way I crave for his full, hard length to be driving into my core. When he breaks away from my mouth, it’s on a very vocal protest from me.

  “What’s the matter? You want more of my mouth?”

  “Yes. It’s a very talented mouth. I like the way it makes me feel.”

  “I thought you wanted my cock.” His lust is poorly hidden behind the playfulness of his words. His intentions unmistakable, as he reaches for our newly acquired box of condoms.

  Moving my hand down the hard planes of his stomach, I smooth over the tight rippling of his abs, his muscles twitching as I brush over each defined edge. Continuing my exploration, my fingers trail the light line of hair, leading from his navel to his gloriously hard erection. Wrapping around the thick base of his shaft I pump him once, deliciously slow, savoring the feel of him, giving him the message - I’m ready to take what he’s promised me.

  “Looks like I have what I want … right in the palm of my hand.”

  “And as much as I appreciate that, your hand isn’t where that belongs right now,” he purrs as his own hand finds its way to my soaking wet sex, “This is where my cock belongs,” he says, sliding his fingers into me. “Or here.” His kiss is deep and intense, reminding me just how much I loved having his cock in my mouth. “Or here.” His other hand grips my ass, his long fingers stroking over the tight ring of muscles there. “Those are your choices. Which one’s it going to be?”

  My whole body shivers at the filthy images his words produce. Feeling the weight of him in my hand, knowing how it feels to have him buried deep inside of me - I can’t help but squirm in anticipation of all the ways I’m going to enjoy him. Because, screw it, I want him in every way I can possibly get him.

  “Why do I have to choose? Why can’t we do all of it?”

  The groan my question elicits from Eric sounds like a man in desperate need. It’s the sexist noise I’ve ever heard. “I don’t think I’d last long enough,” he admits, deftly sheathing himself in latex. “I’d love to have your lips wrapped around me while I get you off with my mouth. But I couldn’t handle it right now. Just the thought, has me on edge. I have no self-control around you.”

  God, this man.

  “Do you know how much that turns me on?” I ask, panting. “Knowing that I drive you so wild, you can’t control yourself? You make me feel the same. I love that feeling - that we can take each other there.”

  Something flashes hot and wild in Eric’s eyes at my words. Suddenly, I’m pinned on my back, both arms trapped at my sides by his tight embrace. When he slams into me, it’s with such force, it’s almost painful. It’s the best feeling in the world.

  A few furious strokes are all it takes for a powerful orgasm to rip through me. Each clench of my core has my body convulsing. The aftershocks, continuing long after my initial eruption.

  “Gorgeous,” he murmurs, trailing a finger over my lips.

  As I come down, Eric slows his movements, kissing me long and languorously. Still connected, he rolls us to our sides, as his hands roam over my hair, down my neck, then down to cup a breast. All of his touches now are soft and feather light, mapping my body in sweet provocation.

  With a gentle push he starts moving inside of me again. It’s slow and tender, and feels nothing like any of the other times he’s fucked me. This feels like something more. Like unspoken words, telling me the connection I feel growing between us could be real.

  His expressive green eyes hold my gaze as he slowly works me back up to the brink. Capturing my face in his big hand, he forces me to maintain our stare. The intimacy of our connection builds, as our shared breath fans out around us, and Eric slowly increases the pressure of each thrust.

  With my leg wrapped securely around his waist, my fingers digging into his back, my heart beating erratically in my chest, Eric drags another exquisite, shuddering orgasm out of me. It’s not as strong as the first, but it has me involuntarily closing my eyes and calling out softly as the bliss washes over me.

  Only seconds later, with my eyes wide open to witness, Eric follows me off the edge. It’s an amazing thing to behold, seeing the tension drop from his features, hearing the ecstasy in his own small cry of satisfaction.

  As he kisses me tenderly, and a wave of tired contentment takes over, I realize that we’re definitely not breaking the bed tonight. And I’m entirely okay with that.

  I’ve never been so deliriously, happily distracted in all my life.

  With her arms crossed, red nails tapping, and disapproval smeared across her otherwise pretty face, my sister Celeste stands waiting outside of Caleb’s hospital room. When she sees Jamie and I are connected, hand in hand, her scowl intensifies.

  Celeste knows how to make her disdain evident but her ferocity toward our physical contact is excessive.

  Ignoring my sister’s exaggerated nastiness, I stroke my thumb over Jamie’s wrist, highlighting our connection. It’s a connection I haven’t been able to break since checking Jamie out of the hotel yesterday. It’s a connection I might not ever want to break.

  Celeste is a year younger than me but you’d never know it by the way she orders me around. She’s been that way her whole life, born to be someone’s boss. When she found a husband who was more than willing to be her obedient slave, the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief. John, the poor bastard, takes the brunt of her nagging and loves every minute of it. It’
s too bad that my sister still seems so incredibly unhappy, even with a man willing to do all her evil bidding.

  Razing me with a glare that would curl the toes of even the strongest of men, she curls her lip in an ugly sneer. “Where the hell have you been?” She bullies as per her usual style.

  I’ve never appreciated how she loves telling me what to do, but in the past I’ve allowed her to get away with it. It’s not that I’m immune to her overbearing attitude, it’s just that I’ve always found it easier to placate her. Don’t disagree. Don’t think for myself. Just do what’s expected to keep the peace.

  Ignoring her ignorant question entirely, I chirp, “Hi sis. Nice to see you too. How’ve you been?”

  I expected Jamie to be uncomfortable in this situation, but she’s done the opposite of what I would have guessed. Instead of running and hiding, she’s made a show of possession. With her hand still firmly planted in mine, she steps into me, her other arm loosely wrapping around my waist. It feels like she’s claiming me. Protecting me.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve finally waltzing in here, like you haven’t been missing for a day and a half, acting like you don’t have a care in the world,” Celeste spits. “And who is this girl hanging on you Eric? Where is Amanda?”

  How the hell did my sister not get the memo about me and Amanda? We don’t talk on a regular basis, but I thought she would’ve heard all about it from mom. But, I guess with my little brother’s illness, there’s been more important things to discuss.

  This is the moment where I feel Jamie start to pull away. I can’t blame her. It isn’t exactly the warmest reception but I don’t let her go anywhere, holding onto her with both hands.

  “Celeste, this is Jamie,” I reply, without pause for her bitchy attitude. “If you haven’t heard about her yet, get prepared. Caleb and our parents are all in love with her.”