ARROGANT BASTARD (17 page)

“She had twelve children,” Waverly said. “Can you imagine?”

“How many sister wives?” I tease.

“Several. Eight, I think? She was the first, though.”

I follow her into the kitchen, where she ogles teacups Elizabeth Wagner once drank from as well as a pie pan she used to bake her famous boysenberry pies with.

The cleaning lady tromps down the stairs, a plastic caddy and feather duster in her hands. “I’m done upstairs. As soon as I finish down here, I have to lock up. Consider this your ten-minute warning.”

We head up, the staircase barely two feet wide and steeper than shit. The upstairs contains a few small bedrooms—one appearing to be a master bedroom and the others filled with makeshift bunk beds and covered in ancient quilts.

“This is where she slept,” Waverly sighs, running her palm against the multi-colored fabric that covers a bed.

“Lay on it.” I shrug. “No one will know but you and me.”

She swats at me. “You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

“Do it, Waverly. I’m sure if Elizabeth were here, she’d be more than happy to entertain you in her home.”

Waverly laughs. “I highly doubt that. She allegedly wasn’t the nicest person, but man, could she string together some beautiful sentences.” She leans over the bed, inspecting every square inch of the quilt as if she’s fascinated. “I bet she sewed this herself. She was an avid quilt-maker. Best in the county.”

I take the opportunity to gently shove Waverly, forcing her on the bed. “Oops.”

She whips around. “Jensen!”

I fall into the bed, taking the spot next to her. “Oh, my goodness. I think I tripped over the chamber pot.”

I expect her to scramble up off the bed and chide me, but she doesn’t. She lays there, parallel to me, her head resting on her hand. A slow grin captures her face and her hair falls over her left eye. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re easily persuaded.”

“You’re a smooth-talking salesman.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of things I can’t talk you into doing.” I lean back on the bed, tucking my hands behind my head and staring up at the wooden ceiling. God, growing up in the 1800s would’ve been mind-numbingly dull.

“You really think I’m that uptight still?”

“You
are
that uptight. Still.”

“I’m trying not to be,” she says, her hand across her chest. “I’ve gotten better. Uptight Waverly wouldn’t have snuck out to go to a concert with you. Uptight Waverly wouldn’t have signed herself out of Camp Zion.”

I love how we’re just lying in Elizabeth Wagner’s bed, in her museum, yakking away like it’s the most natural thing on earth. But that’s the beauty of being with Waverly—she tends to make everything else irrelevant.

I won’t tell her that, though. I won’t tell her how much I enjoy her company and the distraction she provides. I sure as fuck won’t tell her I actually might miss her come August.

“Fine. You’re making strides. I’ll give you that.” I trace my finger tip along her arm, connecting the freckles like a game of dot-to-dot. “So what kind of life does new-and-improved Waverly Miller want?”

“That I don’t know,” she says, pulling in a long sigh. “Just one of my own. One where I get to call the shots. That’s all I want.”

“Simple enough.”

“What about you?”

I think about the long answer, but I opt to give her the short one. “Exact same.”

Right now would be a perfect time to kiss her—at least, that’s what my body is telling me. I consider it, mulling it over like I’ve got all the time in the world. But I don’t want to give her the wrong idea. I’m not dating her, and this sure as hell isn’t romantic—at least not to me.

But then something washes over me, an impulse heightened by my racing heart or the way she toys with the gold locket around her neck as she bites her bottom lip.

And so I kiss her.

I press my lips against hers, hard, forcing her lips apart so our tongues can meet. My cock hardens, responding to her sweet taste.

She pulls away, pressing her hand into my chest. “Hey, what’d you do that for?”

“Now you can say you kissed someone in the same bed where Elizabeth Wagner used to kiss her husband.” I ready myself for a slap that never comes, which is a shame, because I kind of deserve it.

“All right, you two, time to go,” the cleaning lady calls up from the bottom of the stairs. “Gotta lock up. Let’s go, let’s go.”

It’s for the best, because the second she pushed me away, something deep inside me wanted more. I don’t know that I could’ve stopped otherwise.

“I had fun today.” I climb out of Jensen’s truck just before three o’clock, before a mass amount of camp goers and carpool mini vans flood the parking lot.

After we left Elizabeth Wagner’s, we grabbed hot dogs, Cokes, and moon pies from a local gas station and had an impromptu picnic by the Glen Oak Lake. The remainder of the afternoon was spent driving up and down county roads, listening to music, and basking in the warmth of the midday sun like we were the only two people on earth.

Jensen gives a tight-lipped nod and salutes me. If he’s trying to be charming, it’s working.

“Guess I’ll see you at dinner.” His gaze lingers on me a bit too long until he shifts his truck into drive.

“Yeah, see you at home.” I step back, watching him pull away.

***

Dad wasn’t at breakfast that morning since he went into work early, thank goodness, but he never misses dinner. Bellamy’s words echo in my head as we gather that evening. I still can’t bring myself to look my father in his eyes, partially because of his threat to marry me off, but mostly because I fear he’ll see it all over my face. He’ll see I’m no longer his chaste and true daughter, and then all chances I had to redeem myself as worthy of attending college will be rendered null and void.

It was for that reason I spent most of last weekend keeping busy with household duties. Every plant got watered. Every trash was emptied. Every weed was pulled. If my father saw me handling responsibilities and keeping busy, he wouldn’t have been able to suspect I’d just handed Jensen my virginity Friday night like it was nothing.

Jensen asks for the salt as soon as sides have been passed around. I hand it to him without saying a word, keeping my eyes averted. I don’t want to interact with him too much, not around my father.

“So, Bellamy tells us she’ll be traveling for work now,” Mom announces in such a way that I don’t think she’s pleased about it.

Bellamy lifts her water and takes a sip. “I’m getting a promotion.”

No one congratulates her. Those kinds of things aren’t celebrated in a home where women aren’t praised for having careers.

“I, too, will be doing a bit more traveling,” Dad interjects. “I’ll be on AUB business, meeting with various councilors and members of the ward.”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time lately on priesthood business,” Summer muses.

“I’m righting the ship.” I feel my father’s gaze upon me, weighing me down with unspoken connotations. “A season of change is upon us. It’s time to forge strong ties with the brethren so we can continue building our kingdom. There are certain resources that come along with fostering good relations with our local wards and councils. It’s a give and take relationship, one built on trust and values, one that requires sacrifice.”

When he speaks that way, I know he’s been spending more time with Bruce Waterman and other council members. Heat and ice flood my veins, and my heart thuds with slow, heavy beats.

Kath listens intently as she cuts up the twins’ pot roast. She doesn’t question the cryptic-tone of his words. Neither does Summer.

“Care to elaborate?” Mom asks. It’s rare that one of the wives questions my father, but if anyone’s going to do it, it’s my mother.

“When the time is right, I’ll make my announcement.” He saws into his meat and forks a hunk into his mouth. If he’s trying to put the fear of God into me once again, it’s working.

We haven’t exchanged many words since our little altercation last week, but I’m bent on convincing him he was wrong about me. As much as I resent him right now, he’s still my ticket to college. I can’t get student loans to cover room and board without my parents filing a FAFSA, and he won’t do it if he doesn’t want me attending school.

“Sounds like a load of shit to me,” Jensen mutters under his breath, loud enough so only I can hear him.

I can’t eat. My appetite vanishes just like that. I force a few more bites down, just enough to ensure no one notices anything’s wrong, and then I excuse myself to begin kitchen clean up.

When my father retreats to his den after dinner and the kids scamper off to the family room, my mothers join me in the kitchen.

“You don’t think he’s talking about taking on a fourth wife, do you?” Kath asks Mom and Summer, keeping her voice low. “He wouldn’t do that without telling us, right?”

Summer grabs a dishrag. “Let’s put it this way: we didn’t know about you until the day before we met you, so…”

“Yeah, but that was a little different.” Kath blushes. I’ve always liked her, but I know she’s struggled with feeling accepted by Summer, who wasn’t too keen on being displaced out of the blue. She and Dad had been struggling to have a fourth child and nothing was working, and then Kath shows up, marries into the family, and pops out a set of twins her first try.

“Now, now, ladies.” Mom fills the sink with hot, soapy water, and I hand her a dirty casserole dish. “I’m sure Mark would consult with us this time, especially since there are logistical issues. The houses on either sides of us aren’t up for sale. Where would a fourth wife live? And can we afford a fourth wife?”

“Knowing Mark, he’s got everything figured out,” Kath says. “He’s a planner, our dear husband.”

They continue gabbing, speculating about the odds of Dad adding another wife, when all I really want to do is tell them they’re wasting their time. He was talking about me, his cryptic words all code for planning to marry me off.

I can’t stand another minute, and I need to get out of the hen house before I go insane. “I’ve got some homework to finish. Mind if I head up to my room for the night?”

“Go right on ahead,” Mom says. “We’re about done here.”

I check the calendar on my way out of the kitchen, the one that tells us where Dad is sleeping that night. Tonight is circled in green, which means he’ll be at Summer’s. Which is a relief, because I could use a talk with Jensen tonight.

I bide my time in my room until well past nine, when I know Mom and Bellamy have retired to their rooms for the night, then I slip into Jensen’s room. I don’t even knock. I figure if we’ve had sex, we’re past the courtesy of knocking.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he says, glancing up from his sketchpad. He’s seated with his back against his headboard.

I close the door behind me.

“Before you go feeling all special, I was awake and bored,” I lie. “What are you drawing?”

He flips his sketchpad around to show me a drawing of his feet.

“You’re drawing your feet?” I choke on my laughter. “I was expecting a beautiful landscape, or like a motorcycle, or something. Not feet.”

“I like drawing the human body.” He flips it toward him, shading the white with his pencil. “Sometimes you have to be your own live model.”

I climb onto the foot of his bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling up at the threads of his quilt.

“You should let me draw you,” he says, setting his paper aside. There’s a hint of mischief in his dark eyes. “Like… all of you.”

I sprawl across his bed, resting my hands on my bent elbow. “Like this?”

“No.
All
of you.”

“Nude?”

“Yes, Waverly. Nude. Your body’s perfect. I should know. I had the pleasure of fucking it the other night.”

My cheeks flush. It’s easy to remember how good he made me feel that night, but I seem to forget my body returned the favor.

“I don’t know. It’s going to feel weird with you just staring at me, staring at my naked body. Being all exposed like that.”

Jensen pops up and shuts off his bedroom light, returning to click on the small lamp on his bedside table. The room has just enough light for him to draw.

“And if it makes you feel better,” he says, handing me a throw blanket, “you can strategically drape this anywhere you want. I’m not drawing porn.”

I flash a half-grin, marveling at the way he knows exactly how to put me at ease.

“No one will ever see it,” he promises. “My eyes only.”

I fall back on the bed and cover my eyes with my forearm. “Ugh. I don’t know.”

The bed creaks and shifts, like he’s coming closer to me. His deliciously masculine scent fills my lungs and the space around me is warmer. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. But either way, I want to draw your beautiful, naked body, and you’re going to let me.”

I pull my arm from my face. “You’re so sure of yourself all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting being so cocky?”

“I know what I am. I own it. And people respect me for it.” He climbs off the bed. “Now, take off your fucking clothes before I rip them off you.”

My body tingles the way it does just before I know I’m about to do something delightfully sinful.

Some might argue that submission is in my DNA. I’d say it’s not submitting when you want it just as bad.

I peel my clothes off article by article, teasing him, and he watches, feasting on me with his dark eyes. I glide naked across his bed, every soft fiber of the quilt brushing my sensitive skin and setting my nerves on high alert. There’s a warmth between my thighs, an arousal brewing.

Jensen worships me with his generous gaze, the rest of his face obstructed by his sketchpad. He gets to work immediately, starting with broad strokes and then filling them in as he goes along.

He pauses, sticking his pencil between his teeth and biting down before getting back to work. “Goddamn, Waverly, you’re sexy as fuck.”

I fight a smile and bury my face in my arm for a moment before peering over it once again.

“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that, like you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Maybe I am.”

“What would you know about seduction?” he teases. “You’re fresh off the boat, angel face. You’ve had sex all of one time.”

I roll to my side, exposing my breasts, and the cool air of his room awakens my nipples. I run my hand along them, tickling my palm. My legs draw up, bending at the knees.

“There are things you haven’t even experienced yet,” he says, his brows arched.

“I’m not going to blow you,” I proclaim, staring up at the ceiling.

He huffs. “Well, then, you’re missing out, because blow jobs can be just as satisfying for a woman as they are for a man, especially when I’m devouring your pussy at the same time.”

“I’m sorry if the idea of sucking on a penis doesn’t sound appealing to me.” My legs squeeze together at the knees, imagining the way his tongue could easily command my body.

“Well, when you put it that way…” He laughs. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

“Not interested. Sorry.” He’s not coercing me into being his little sex toy tonight. No free blow jobs for him.

“You’re challenging me. And now I have no other choice but to prove you wrong,” he says. His weight shifts off the bed, but by the time I look up to see where he’s gone, he’s lowered himself to his knees, his hands reaching between my thighs to spread my legs apart.

“What are you doing?” I try to squeeze my knees together, but he’s stronger than me.

His fingers find my folds, separating them, massaging my slit and circling around my sensitive nub. “Fuck. You’re wet as hell. You were wet before I even touched you.”

Before I have a chance to defend myself, a wet and warm sensation silences my thoughts. When I glance down, Jensen’s head is between my thighs. He takes long strokes with his tongue before circling and exploring every part of me in the most intimate way imaginable.

“Relax,” he whispers between licks. My legs fall wider, obeying his command. I’m submitting to him because this is the greatest feeling in the entire world. I’m at his mercy. I’ll do anything he says, as long as he doesn’t stop.

My breath quickens, my heart pounding with every lick, suck, and twirl. He’s a magician. My sex is pulsing and pounding as I try to fight off mini waves of orgasms that threaten to shorten this supernatural experience. I can’t come yet. I’m not ready. I won’t let myself.

Jensen’s hand inches up past my belly until he takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to provide a bit of a distraction. And then his warmth leaves me. No more tongue.