Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 6

  “Don’t forget your drink, babe,” he said sarcastically, reaching out to Tiffany for my cup full of apple wine.

  When the door closed, the cup was in his hand. He looked me in the eye as he took a drink. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close, slinging the cup into the bushes angrily.

  He opened the passenger door and I crawled in silently. The driver, Jaron’s shady friend who I had come to know as Dave, kept his eyes straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, a Marlboro smoldering in the other. Jaron got in and closed the door behind him, and again tucked me tightly under his arm. He retrieved an open Bud Light from the cup holder and downed it. I thought it quiet hypocritical, him drinking when I had been ordered not to.

  The ride was long and silent and I was thankful it was Dave driving and not Jaron. I was sure it would’ve been a much scarier ride.

  Dave pulled in the drive and rolled to a stop. Jaron stepped out and I followed. He held my arm as he shut the door. Through the open window, he shot Dave a look and they nodded at each other, communicating something I was not privy to.

  “Take it easy Jaron,” Dave said emphatically and I felt as if he were specifically referring to me.

  Jaron finally released me when the front door closed behind us. He brushed past me toward the kitchen, peeling his shirt off over his head and tossing it into the washing machine. I stood awkwardly in the entry, unsure of what to do.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong Jaron,” I said in a rather mousey voice, trying to clarify that I wasn’t with Richard, intent on explaining that we were just friends. He stepped back into view, shirtless and rigid.

  “Were you home by 10:00?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Were you drinking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t tell me you did nothing wrong,” he sneered.

  “You’ve been drinking,” I popped off defensively.

  “It’s different Natalie.”

  “Why? Because you said so!”

  “Because drunk little girls get themselves into bad situations.” His eyes scanned me from head to toe. “Get that fucking skirt off,” he barked.

  My temper bubbled over. I roughly removed my skirt.

  “The only bad situation I’ve ever gotten into is this one,” I screamed, hurling the skirt at his head. It flew as fast as my words and they seemed to hit him at the same time.

  He turned and closed the distance between us in an instant. I back peddled clumsily until my back slammed against the wall. Jaron’s fist followed, landing inches from head, not once or twice but three times. He punched the wall until the dry wall gave way. Terrified and trapped, I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest, strangely, the safest place I knew. His chest heaved beneath my cheek as he leaned forward, both hands pressing against the wall above my head. I dare not speak or move, I just held on tightly. Instinctively, my lips pressed against his chest and I kissed him repeatedly, apologetically. I low growl rumbled inside him.

  His fingers fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control his breathing. He crushed my lips with his, clutching my thighs and pulling me off the ground. His hips pressed forward and pinned me to the wall. The air left my body, accompanied by a long, low moan. Feverishly, he kissed me, grinding between my legs and clawing at my behind. Effortlessly, he unfastened his jeans and freed the bulge beneath. He slid my panties to the side and thrust forcefully inside me. In minutes I was lying naked beneath him on his soft bed, unsure of how I even got there, moaning as he took me to the edge, before we both collapsed.

  Jaron pulled me close and I melted, relieved that the fight seemed to be over.

  “I’m sorry Jaron,” I whispered into the dark.

  Silently he stroked my hair until I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  When I awoke, Jaron sat in the tan suede arm chair in the corner of the room, watching me sleep. His black hair glistened, still wet from the shower. A towel draped loosely around his waist, his chest bare. I curled up on my side like a sleepy kitten and smiled drowsily.

  “Good morning,” I whispered in a hoarse morning voice.

  He blinked notably slow, and forced a pained grin, “Good morning,” he replied softly, clearly troubled.

  “What’s wrong Jaron,” I asked, concerned, but still curled up in the soft, warm bed.

  He sat silent for a minute, “I think I’m in trouble with you,” the stress in his voice was clear and genuine and got my attention. I sat upright in the pool of covers.

  “You mean with the law?” I felt sick, if he was in trouble because of me, I would never forgive myself.

  “No,” he said solemnly, taking a deep breath before continuing. “This is moving so fast,” he paused.

  My mind started reeling. Oh, no. Tiffany’s warning replayed in my head, “don’t get wrapped up in him. He’s a heartbreaker,” and I knew what was coming next. He was done with me. The bile rose in the back of my throat.

  “And you’re so young. What you said last night about this being a bad situation.”

  “Jaron I’m sorry. I..”

  “No, Natalie. You were right.”

  I bit my lip, me and my big mouth!

  “You’re only seventeen years old Natalie. You’re too young for,” he paused and closed his eyes. “When I realized your age, it was too late. I already wanted you so bad, I was selfish.”

  He leaned up, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging as he scrubbed his hands through his damp hair. I sat frozen and speechless, barely breathing, hanging on his every word.

  “I know that I’m difficult and rough and if you want to go, I understand.”

  I sucked in a breath of air. If I wanted to go? If I wanted to go. He wasn’t going to ask me to leave!

  He continued, “I’ll stay away from you if that’s what you want. But if you stay, here with me, I need you to be with me and only me.” His voice cracked slightly, his brow furrowed.

  I swallowed hard, overwhelmingly relieved, and a little shocked. I studied his face. He wasn’t begging, but his eyes were pleading. I slid off the side of the bed, unashamed of my nakedness, as I slowly crossed the room in the dim morning light. I stood in front of him and ran my fingers through his damp hair as he looked up at me. I felt empowered by his uncharacteristic vulnerability. I opened his towel, removing any barrier between us, before climbing onto his lap. He instantly grew beneath me. I wrapped him up, cradling his face between my bare breasts.

  “I am with you, and only you, and that’s right where I want to be,” I whispered.

  He held me tight in his arms for several minutes, the two of us doing nothing but sharing each breath. Inevitably, our arousal grew. Our lips met in the most tender kiss we had ever shared. A kiss so deep, so sweet, tears filled my eyes. Jaron’s fingers kneaded my back longingly. He pressed me into him and my hips began to roll slowly. I worked hard to control my pace, wanting to prolong the moment. We had had sex so many times in our weeks together, amazing sex. But this, this felt so different than any other time we had shared. What happened next confirmed what I was feeling.

  He cupped my face in his hands and pulled away from our kiss, evoking a whining moan of protest to rise from my throat. He looked deep in my eyes, making sure there was no place for me to hide.

  “Right or wrong, I’m in love with you Natalie,” he confessed, his voice strained with emotion. His thumb wiped the single tear that escaped from my eye, “If we make love, I don’t think I will ever be able to let you go. You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours.”

  I could see in his eyes that he needed an answer, a sign from me. The words echoed through my body, emanating from my very core.

  “Please, please make love to me Jaron,” I begged, my voice weak and crackling with the same emotion and burning with desire. “Please?”

  It was afternoon when I woke. I was happy to find Jaron sleeping soundly beside me, most of the time h
e was already up. I studied him as he slept, deeper and more sound than usual. I had only been brave enough to scratch the surface in the conversations we had shared. There was so much I needed to know about him. There had to be a reason for his tough and ruthless reputation. Richard’s words replayed in my head, ‘you know what he did don’t you,’ but I didn’t know. It was a little scary; I really had no idea what I had committed myself to. His arms slid around me and pulled me close, his eyes still closed. Whatever he had done, whoever he was, it was okay. He was mine.

  I nestled into his embrace. The heat of his skin on mine ignited me inside. My fingers lightly traced the contours of his chest. Goose bumps rose on his skin and his chest rose with a deep breath. His arms tightened around me while my fingertips continued their exploration, outlining his ribs and his flat stomach. My thigh tightened around his as I pressed into him. He smiled but did not speak or move, content to let me play. He was always in control, evoking his desired response from my body. I relished the opportunity to touch him and gauge his response to me. I slid the sheet lower, revealing him fully. More goose bumps rose as I let my hand brush over him ever so softly. His breathing quickened as his body tensed up in an effort to keep still, torn between wanting to take control or lay still and enjoy my touch.

  I closed my hand around him and stroked him the way I had done under his guidance that very first night. The sensation of him in my hand, hard and silky smooth, made the muscles deep in my stomach clench. I rose to my knees, straddling his thigh as I leaned over and looked down at him. His eyes were foggy with lust as he looked up at me. I found his vulnerability completely intoxicating.

  I began to taunt and tease his burning flesh with my lips and tongue. His ears, neck, throat, and lips, while grinding against his thigh. When my tongue caressed his hardened nipple, he moaned low and tangled his fingers in my hair. I steadied myself, concentrating on the slow deliberate torture, something I had been subjected to frequently in the past few weeks, while I lay helpless and panting beneath him. Totally caught up in the moment, I began a slow descent.

  When I was so low he could feel my breath between his thighs, he growled, “Ooh, Natalie,” and titled my head up, looking down at me across his rippling torso. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

  I ran my fingernails up one thigh than down the other, staring him in the eye. His fingers tightened in my hair as he stifled a groan and blinked slowly, forcing his eyes to stay open and on me. A mischievous grin crossed my lips and finally I fully understood the chuckle. It was extremely satisfying and amusing to watch and feel his body respond me. Taking advantage of the rare moment, I caressed his manhood with my fingertips. His fingers fisted and clutched the blanket around us. My lips followed my fingers. His skin was smooth and salty and smelled and tasted of me. It was surprising how arousing it was to me to be pleasuring him, his movement and moaning pushing me closer and closer to my own limits.

  “Natalie,” my name was a plea from his lips.

  “Hmm,” I answered, with my lips still wrapped around him.

  “Please, make love to me,” he begged.

  Without delay, I climbed up his taut body, crushing his lips beneath mine, sharing the taste of us both that hung on them. For the second time, we became completely one.

  Freshly showered, dressed only in Jaron’s white t-shirt and panties, I leaned against the kitchen door watching him, wind, rain and thunder, raging outside. His thin, soft, faded plaid pj’s hung low on his hips. His broad shoulders and lean back were bare. His muscles flexed as he reached for this and that and mixed ingredients for pancakes. My eye was drawn to the sexy little curve of his hip right above the waist of his pajama pants. I had an uncontrollable urge to touch him, even kiss him there.

  For a second, I reflected on my life a short month prior. Innocent, excited about my new license. It seemed as if years had passed. My innocence was long gone, taken in grand fashion by the most gorgeous, exciting man I had ever met. Not some clumsy, zit faced, teenage boy. I felt as much a woman as I looked now. And our whole dynamic had changed. I no longer felt like the nervous giddy girl being led blindly. We were a couple.

  I slipped up behind him and let my fingers find that spot. His stomach muscles flinched in response and he laughed quietly.

  “That tickles,” he protested twisting away playfully. My lips trailed kisses across the warm skin of his back and I nuzzled against it. He kept working as I clung to him.

  “Good news,” he proclaimed.

  “Hmm,” I responded dazedly, still drinking in the feel of his skin against my cheek and the sound of his breathing and heartbeat in my ear.

  “It’s going to storm all weekend, so we’re stuck in the house,” he explained, turning to wrap me up, and touch his lips softly to mine, that opened hungrily. He pulled back smiling at my eagerness, “We need to eat, aren’t you hungry?”

  It was close to dinner time. We had slept and made love through breakfast and lunch, “I’m starving,” I admitted.

  Within minutes, fluffy pancakes were stacked on a plate with fresh strawberries and blueberries washed and in a bowl. I started to set them on the bar but Jaron redirected me to the living room. He followed with a can of whipped cream, two bottles of water and a fork.

  We spread our breakfast, or supper, out on the coffee table and a soft pallet of quilts on the floor. We picnicked in front of the fireplace while the thunder rumbled and the rain poured outside. With my belly stuffed, I collapsed on a pile of throw pillows, sighing contentedly.

  He swallowed the last of his water and propped up on his elbow, looking down at me. I could see his wheels turning behind those blue eyes.

  “Take your shirt off and roll over,” he ordered.

  I took a deep breath and placed my hands on my pancake gorged stomach. I looked up at him with a crinkled brow, “Really? Aren’t we supposed to wait an hour after we eat?”

  “We’re not going swimming,” he said smiling. “Come on, roll over,” he insisted.

  I lifted my shirt over my head, completely unembarrassed, and rolled over onto my stomach, nervous anticipation spreading to all parts of my body. He pulled my damp hair to the side and began softly rubbing my back. I closed my eyes and sighed heavily as his fingers ran up and down my spine.

  “You’re going to put me to sleep,” I mumbled.

  He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth softly.

  “I love you Natalie,” he whispered into my ear, as if others were listening and he only wanted me to hear. A lump grew in my throat.

  “I love you too, Jaron,” I said as my body reflexively curled into his and pulled his arm around me. We spooned quietly for half an hour before I broke the silence.

  “Jaron,” I whispered, unsure if he was awake.

  “Yeah,” he answered drowsily.

  “I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Okay,” he said warily.

  I rolled over and sat up, slipping my shirt on so we could both remain focused on conversation.

  “Where did you go?”

  “I had some business to take care of,” he answered vaguely, lying on his back, his eyes closed with one arm draped across his forehead.

  “Work? What kind of job do you have that lets you hang out with me every day?”

  He took a deep breath and his jaw clenched tight.

  “Jaron, please look at me. If we’re going to be together, I need to know some things about you.”

  He opened his eyes and sat up, propping his back on a stack of pillows.

  “I know Natalie. I’m going to make you a promise. I will never lie to you, but sometimes, I can’t tell you everything. It’s for your own good,” his tone was solemn.

  “Okay. What can you tell me?”

  “I grow weed, Natalie,” he said flatly.

  “What?” I was confused.

  “Weed, marijuana,” he repeated.

  “You’re a drug dealer,” I exclaimed. I felt sick.

  He sat up,
“No. I’m a grower, a pot farmer,” he explained, a bit of apprehension seeping into his voice as a result of my reaction.

  His fingers encircled my arm, both for comfort and restraint, in case I tried to flee. I sat staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

  “That’s the business I had to take care of this week.” My heart pounded in my ears. My hot new boyfriend, taker of my virginity, my first love, was a criminal.

  “Say something Natalie.”

  “Um, I don’t know what to say. I thought maybe you inherited this place and some money so you didn’t have to work, but I,” I stuttered as it sank in.

  “I did inherit this place actually, from my grandparents. Me and my sister lived here with them from the time I was seven, she was twelve. She moved out when she was nineteen. My grandma passed away when I was fourteen. Grandpa died when I was seventeen, I’ve lived here by myself ever since.” He released my arm and brushed a strand of hair from my face.

  The conversation about his occupation was not over, but with him sharing details so freely, I took the opportunity to get as much information as I could.

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “My dad died when I was little, my mom,” his voice trailed off as he reflected on an obviously painful memory. “Mom left us here, and never came back.” A lump grew in my throat as sorrow filled his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what,” he asked, his face placid.

  “That I made you sad,” I answered, tears welling in my eyes.

  “Oh baby, you didn’t make me sad. It’s not a happy memory, but it was a long time ago. I wouldn’t trade my time with my grandparents for anything my mom had to offer.” He pulled me to him, “Anything else you want to ask?”

  Richard’s warning rang in my ears. I would find out eventually, and I decided it would be better to hear it from him and get the truth. I swallowed hard.

  “When you were my age, did something happen to you?”

  He sighed. I rolled to my side and snuggled in under his arm. With my hand on his chest I made tiny little circles with my fingertips, hoping it would be of some kind of comfort to him as he shared yet another unhappy memory. Staring at the ceiling he began his story.