Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 2

  “Yep,” I admitted. “You and the fact that you’re older than me, I mean a lot older, I think. You do know that I’m only seventeen, right?”

  He tilted his head, but kept his eyes on the road, driving toward an undetermined destination, his thumb traced his bottom lip. “I didn’t, you damn sure don’t look seventeen,” he paused reflectively, “But I don’t care,” he said shaking his head and peeking over at me from the corner of his eye. He reached up and changed the music to something a little more date worthy, Can’t Fight This Feeling, by REO Speedwagon.

  “How old are you,” I asked.

  “Does it matter,” he shot back.

  “Not really, just curious.”

  “Twenty-two,” he declared unapologetically.

  I swallowed hard. He was definitely out of my league, in every way, and I imagined that even a sixteen year old Jaron would have been. He regarded me closely as we sat at a stop sign.

  “Do you want me to take you home,” he asked, recognizing my trepidation.

  I turned to look into his eyes, those eyes that would come to haunt me. The thought of getting out of his truck, not being close to him, was more troubling to me than my anxiety over our age difference. “No,” I answered, assuredly.

  “Good,” he said and wrapped his strong hand around my bare thigh, pulling me a little closer and sending heat through my entire body.

  “So fries and a coke, you want drive thru or do you want to go in somewhere and sit down and eat?”

  “Sonic is my favorite,” I said smiling bashfully and feeling a bit childish, sure that he was expecting to go on a dinner and a movie kind of date.

  “Sonic it is,” was his only reply.

  We crossed the mountain to the neighboring town, since our little town had no Sonic. As we drove, my nerves began to melt away as small talk came easily. He lived off old highway ten, with his dog Mutt and a couple of horses, about fifteen miles from the trailer park that I lived in. He had an older sister named Janna and said flatly that he knew my brother, Jake, without elaborating. Since he already knew my brother, he was more familiar with me than I was him. He remembered when my dad died at the local mill. It was a big story in our little town, and he knew that I lived with my mom, whose reputation was well known, also, thanks to our small town life. The fact that he knew those things before he asked me out was a relief. I didn’t have to be concerned with him finding out and being judgmental about them later.

  He leaned back in the seat and put his arm around me while we waited for our order at Sonic and my body responded without waiting for input from my brain, by nestling into his side. I felt a soft chuckle vibrate in his chest.

  “What? Are you laughing at me,” I asked.

  “No, you just seem so,” he paused, “so comfortable for someone who was so nervous half an hour ago.” It was true. Already there seemed to be a strange familiarity between us.

  “I’m not nervous now, you feel good,” I blurted out, my mouth also working on its own without the assistance of my brain.

  “So do you,” he said softly, running his fingers up my bare arm, raising goose bumps and my heart rate.

  “So where do you want to go? I mean, I know it’s gonna be hard to top fries and a coke at Sonic, but….” He smiled playfully.

  I thought for a minute. All I wanted was to be with him, not in a crowd, just with him.

  “Where’s your favorite place,” I asked.

  “My favorite place,” he puzzled with a raised brow.

  “Yeah, you know the place you like to go to just clear your head, watch the sunset or just look at the stars. Everybody has a favorite place.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully. I noticed his attention to my mouth as I sucked the straw of my soda and the subsequent darkening of his expression was obvious, even to my inexperienced eye.

  He inhaled slowly, “You really are clueless aren’t you?”

  “About what,” I asked, yes, clueless.

  “The affect you have, on guys.”

  “I guess so. You’re the first guy who’s ever asked me out on a date, so if I have an effect, it’s news to me. So, do you have a favorite place or not?” I pressed insistently.

  He smirked and squared his self in his seat, “Yeah, but I have to make a quick stop first.”

  We headed west out of town with the sun setting in our windshield. I made a mental note of where I was when I witnessed my first sunset with Jaron, hoping it wouldn’t be my last. After driving long enough to hear Freebird in its entirety, we turned onto a dirt road and made our way to an old farm house with peeling white paint. A timeworn Camaro with patches of gray primer sat in the driveway, along with a jacked up truck and two motorcycles. Chained near a dog house to the right of the front porch, a large black bull dog stood at attention, eyeing us closely.

  “Stay in the truck,” he instructed. Staying in the truck was not a problem. This place did not look like anywhere I would want to be.

  He had stopped way short of the house, leaving his low beams shining on his back as he approached the steps. I noted his stride, his squared shoulders and his rigid posture. I watched as Jaron leapt up the steps and rapped on the screen door. I could see his expression in the glow of the porch light. It was different than it was before he left the cab of the truck. His mouth was drawn in a thin line and his eyes narrow under the rim of his cap. This was the Jaron Blake I expected, the guy that fit the reputation, dark and scary.

  I flinched when the door opened. A tall bulky guy with a full beard filled the entire door frame. They mouthed, for a second, words that did not appear to be overly friendly, before the man turned and disappeared into the house and Jaron followed. The door stood open and I could see shadows on the floor beyond the screen. A shadow crossed unswervingly in front of the window, Jaron’s I was sure. Then, two shadows crossed intertwined, staggering and tumbling toward the front door. The two bodies busted out of the screen and toppled down the steps of the porch. I gasped when Jaron rose up over the other man and brought his fist down, repeatedly punching the guy in the face. His eyes were flaming, with rage, and the glow of the headlights on his face made him appear sinister, like the devil himself, if, ‘the devil had blue eyes and blue jeans.’

  The large bearded man took his time descending the stairs to break up the fight. He pulled Jaron off of his foe and pushed him back. Jaron’s chest was bowed and heaving as he scowled at the two men. He said something to them and pointed at the man who was bending over with his hands on his knees, spitting blood onto the ground. The big bearded man waved his hand when he responded and Jaron turned to pick up his cap before marching back to the truck, where I waited nervously.

  He passed the door and pressed both hands against the bed, his head hanging between his shoulders. I watched his dark silhouette in the rearview mirror. After a few deep breaths, he stood, took a bottle from the toolbox and turned it up, then put it away. When he opened the door and climbed in beside me, I could smell the faint aroma of whiskey. I dare not speak as he threw the truck in reverse and slung gravel. My body trembled and my heart pounded. I was scared, but I also felt a strange excitement stirring deep inside. Something about the wild intensity in his eyes had me swooning.

  When we reached the stop sign at the highway he looked down at my shaky hands folded in my lap and covered them with his bloodied knuckles.

  “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t know he was gonna be there. I wouldn’t have stopped with you in the truck. Are you okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I’m fine. Are you ok, you’re bleeding,” I pointed out. Unconsciously, I reached up and turned his face toward me and wiped the blood from his lip with my thumb. His eyes softened. He caught my hand in his and pressed it to his lips.

  My breathing became shallow. I didn’t know what was happening. I had just met this guy and already it felt as if I belonged with him, to him. Without further deliberation, I drew my knees under me in the seat, turning to face him. I removed his
cap and ran my fingers up the back of his neck as my lips claimed his. It was like an out of body experience. I wasn’t that girl.

  Within seconds he established control and pulled me into his lap, wedging my full hips between his rock hard stomach and the steering wheel. I found the taste of whiskey and Jaron’s blood on my tongue an intoxicating mix as I welcomed him inside my mouth.

  His hands held my face firmly while we kissed until he abruptly pulled back. He ran his hands into the back of my hair and pulled gently, “Stop. You have to stop now,” he said severely. But I didn’t want to. The ache in me was so strong and new. I shook I wanted this guy so freaking bad.

  “Take me home,” I demanded, inches from him staring into blazing blue eyes.

  Regret washed over his face, “I’m sorry Natalie. I don’t want to take you home yet. I just don’t want to go too far, just please stay with me a little longer?”

  Emboldened by my new found desire, I clarified, “Take me to your home.”

  He tilted his head, and his hands tightened in my hair, causing my breath to hitch. His expression darkened as his eyes darted around my face.

  The twenty minute drive to his house was quiet and tense, the radio and our breathing the only sound filling the cab of the truck. I sat as close to him as I could, with his bloody hand clutching my thigh. I worried about what he would think of me if I gave it up on the first date, but somehow I just didn’t care. The pulsing in my body was so overpowering it suppressed all rational thought. I didn’t care that I was going to be alone with a man like Jaron Blake, a man I didn’t even know, helpless and at his mercy.

  He led me inside, and clicked on a lamp that sat on the narrow table at the entryway. I immediately noticed the neatness of his sparsely furnished living room; couch, loveseat, television, two end tables with lamps and a coffee table. The only picture on the wall was a large framed charcoal print of a rearing horse. I was impressed that it was tasteful and matched the curtains. Discriminatorily, I half expected his bachelor pad to be adorned with posters of scantily clad women and bed sheets on the windows.

  He released his grip on my hand and disappeared into the kitchen. I slowly moved into the living area, assessing my surroundings and my emotions. Running water and ice clanging and liquid pouring sounded from the kitchen. Minutes later Jaron returned. His freshly washed hand extended a small glass of light brown, almost clear liquid to me.

  “Thank you,” I said graciously, as I raised it to my lips and registered the weak smell of whiskey over Sprite. I sipped it gingerly as he downed his in two quick swallows.

  He crossed the room and clicked on the stereo. He really was fond of his music. Something low and angsty oozed from the speakers as he moved seductively toward me. I don’t really think he was trying to look sexy, but he did. I turned up my drink, hoping to steady my nerves.

  “Easy,” he said, reaching for my glass. “I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

  He set the glass on the table and cupped his hands around my face, searching my eyes deeply before parting my lips with his. He breathed in sharply, sucking all the air from my lungs, and leaving me light headed. I clutched the sides of his shirt with my fists, inadvertently pulling his body to mine. A low sigh escaped him.

  He pulled back and peeled his shirt off, tossing it on the couch. My eyes widened, and I gawked at the perfect form in front of me. From his broad shoulders, to the, oh so sexy, dip just above the waistband of his faded jeans, he was chiseled and bronze. My body shuddered with pure desire at the sight of him.

  “You’re shaking, just say the word and we’ll stop,” he uttered apprehensively, detecting my physical reaction.

  Unable to speak, I locked my eyes with his and reached out with a trembling hand, unable to resist the urge to touch him, slowly running my fingers down his chest. His breathing became shallow. When my fingertips reached his navel he grabbed my wrist forcefully and spun me around. The heat from his bare body warmed my back as his strong arms closed tightly around me. With my arms pinned under his, I was helpless against the erotic assault of his mouth on my neck. My knees grew weaker with every burning kiss of his lips and lick of his tongue, until his arms were all that kept me standing.

  “Do you want me to stop Natalie?”

  “No,” I whimpered.

  “Tell me,” he whispered huskily in my ear.

  “Don’t stop,” I gasped through trembling lips.

  “Beg me,” he commanded hoarsely.

  The room was spinning as the sound of his voice, controlling and libidinous, sounded in my ear.

  “Please, don’t stop, Jaron,” I pleaded pitifully.

  He growled into my ear as he walked me across the room. He peeled my lacy top off over my head and placed my hands on the back of the couch. My knees almost buckled when he released me.

  “Stand up Natalie,” he instructed. I inhaled deeply and clutched the cushions to steady myself.

  His hands caressed my arms from my wrists to my shoulders before his fingers slid under my straps. He grasped the lacy cups of my bra and rolled them down, allowing my breasts to pop free. I cried out softly as his knuckles crossed over my hard tender nipples and I cried out again when he seized them between his fingers, each cry increasing his vigor.

  With one breast firmly clutched in his hand, he slid the other down my stomach to the hem of my mini skirt. “This skirt is way too short,” he whispered as he nibbled at my ear lobe.

  His finger nails raked up the inside of my thigh and both legs quaked. Jaron chuckled into my neck. I was too weak and lost in passion to care that he was laughing at me. His hand cupped around the pulsing mound between my legs and squeezed gently causing my back to arch reflexively and press into his swollen zipper.

  “Why did you wear it,” he questioned, one hand kneading my breast, the other caressing the damp lace of my panties. I was unable to breathe, much less speak.

  “Answer me,” he demanded, pulling me tight against him.

  Unsure of what the correct answer was, I answered as honestly as I could. “For you Jaron, I wore it for you.” My voice was weak and shaky, almost tearful, as my body quivered violently under his touch. Again he chuckled.

  Finally, his fingers slid under the fabric and began to skillfully stroke the delicate, wet flesh that had never been touched before. My cries became moans and I panted as my hips rolled of their own volition, hard against him. Every muscle in my body ached as I clenched tighter with every stroke.

  “That’s right baby, come for me,” he coaxed, breathlessly in my ear. The sound of his voice speaking words so foreign sent me tumbling over the edge. My hands clasped his wrist between my thighs. My body writhed and tried to pull away from his touch. He slowed his pace but pressed harder, letting me grind against him as I climaxed for the first time in my life. He tightened his arm around my waist to hold me up as my legs gave out.

  When my shuddering stopped and I stood limp, he swept me into his arms and kissed me tenderly as he carried me down the hall to his dimly lit bedroom. He set me down, and I stood in front of him, frozen on wobbly legs. As he finished undressing me, I whimpered unintentionally.

  “What’s wrong,” he asked staring down at me through lust fogged eyes.

  “Nothing, I just, I’m,” I stuttered.

  “You’re a virgin,” he finished mercifully.

  I nodded bashfully dropping my head, suddenly becoming painfully aware of my nakedness. Tears formed in my eyes and in my weakened state, I was unable to control my bubbling emotions. Jaron lifted my chin and wiped a tear away with his thumb. His arms wrapped around me, hugging me close. My swollen, naked breasts pillowed against his stomach and my cheek rested on his bare chest. His heart beat hard and fast, his breathing was shallow and the degree of his arousal was apparent as it pressed against my stomach.

  “Sshh, it’s ok,” he whispered and chuckled softly as he kissed the top of my head. This time it registered completely and I raised my eyes boldly.

  “Why do you kee
p laughing at me,” I hissed through an uncontrollable sniffle.

  He smiled adoringly down at me and cupped my face in his hands. “I’m not laughing at you baby girl. I want you, like I’ve never wanted anyone,” he groaned and shook his head as he looked down at me, “and these sweet tears make me want you more. But we can stop. I’m not going to force you.”

  Even as the words came out of his mouth, his hands were leaving a trail of fire down my back as they made their way to my bare behind. He stretched his fingers and closed them, kneading my bottom like a cat stretching its claws. My head dropped back and he lowered his mouth to my throat, licking and sucking and biting tenderly.

  “Is that what you want Natalie? Do you want to stop,” he whispered against my inflamed skin. The sound of my name in his husky tone echoed in my ears.

  “No, don’t stop.”

  He lowered me to the bed. I laid waiting and watching as he stripped and I gasped when he sprung free. He reached for my hand and placed it on his erection, closing his fingers around mine, around him. Under his direction, I moved my hand slowly up and down his length, evoking a deep and rumbling groan from him. I squeezed my thighs together tightly in reaction to his response to my touch. It almost made me chuckle, it definitely made me smile, and I vaguely understood.

  Unable to hold out another second he lowered his self between my legs. His hands slid under my shoulders and my arms wrapped around his neck. After a passionate kiss, he ordered, “hold on to me.” I obeyed.

  His hips moved and I felt the tip pushing against my opening. I sucked in a deep breath and held it. “Breath baby girl,” he whispered. He pushed a little further and I could fill myself stretch around him. He kept slowly pushing deeper and deeper until I felt my body give way to him. My cry of pain was drowned out by his hedonistic roar.

  Buried deep inside me, he began to rock and grind. Being filled with him and the friction against my clit was a sensation that I could have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined. The muscles, of my inner walls, clenched as the pain was quickly overtaken by pleasure. I squirmed under him, trying to match his rhythm, my nails digging into his back. He growled into my mouth, biting at my lip and the pressure inside me began to build again.