Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) (2 page)

I’m confident that I’m going to win this round when Jake starts to slip his hand over the mound of curls between my thighs.  Sifting through them with his fingers, diving deeper, until he touches the slickness that he’s created there.  He locks eyes with me, raising an eyebrow. “What do we have here?” he asks, taunting me with my own desire.

I can barely breathe as he strokes the tops of my thighs, making me even wetter and even needier than I was before.  I sway a little on my feet as Jake steadies me, gripping my ass, squeezing my cheeks and whispering in my ear how much he wants to taste me. 

“That’s cheating,” I pant out at him. He knows how much his dirty talk turns me on.

“No one said this was a fair fight,” Jake notes, before he closes my mouth in a hungry kiss. 

Gone are the soft, hesitant, teasing touches. His lips press down on mine hard, telling me without words that I am his and he is mine.  I reach up to his head, tangling my fingers in his hair as the kiss gets even deeper—deeper and hotter.  When we pull apart we’re both breathing heavily and the water is still hammering down on us, making our bodies slip and slide against each other. 

Before I have time to process what’s happening or to prepare myself, Jake slips his fingers down further between my legs and delves into the darkness there.  He strokes the wetness and I moan against him, pulling his lips against mine again, needing to be in contact with as much of his body as possible.  I trap his bottom lip between my teeth and bite down gently.  Jake pulls me tighter against him, the tenderness between us becoming rough and exactly what we need.  It’s a product of everything that we’ve been through—an affirmation that we’re alive and we’re together. 

Jake inserts two fingers inside of me and I have to hold onto his shoulders as the action physically rocks me.  I bite down on his shoulder—not enough to draw blood, but just enough to leave a mark.  Jake groans as he strokes me, touching me in exactly the way that I need him to.  “You’re so wet,” he breathes out reverently. “So wet and so ready for me.” He finds my clit, rubbing it with his index finger until I cry out as my body is rocked with pleasure.  I’m slowly coming back down to earth when I realize my climax means Jake has won the game yet again.  But right now I don’t have the energy to care.  All I want is for him to be inside of me—there’s nothing else that I need more than that in this moment.

I reach down between us to grasp his cock and, not for the first time, I wonder at how the sight of him, like this, turns me on more than I would ever have thought possible.  I can see from Jake’s expression that he’s pleased with himself for winning again.  But that’s short-lived—his need and want match my own.

“I want you inside of me,” I tell him, not pulling any punches, not even trying to hide how much I want him, how much I need him.

Jake nods once, as if he doesn’t trust his voice.  Without a word he turns me around so I’m facing away from him again and towards the wall.  He pushes me towards the tiled wall and I put my hands out to support myself.  I feel Jake’s hardness brush against my ass and I push back on him.  Jake reaches around me, diving into my dark wetness, stroking me until I’m slick with my own juices again.  I’m so ready for him I feel like I might explode.

I take hold of his cock and start to guide him towards me from behind, towards the place where I need him.  Jake pushes my back down gently and I bend over obediently as I squirm, wiggling my ass against his hardness.  I can feel his tip against my opening, pausing there as he rubs himself into my wetness and I struggle against him.  I hear Jake’s intake of breath before he dives into me and we both cry out as he buries himself deep within.

He starts slowly, inching his way back until only the tip is left inside and I moan and squirm, trying to push myself onto him.  But he holds my hips still, steadying them and preventing me from moving until he’s ready to submerge himself inside of me again.  He pushes harder this time, moving deeper, and my back arches as the sensation of being filled up overtakes me.  Still keeping hold of my hips, Jake slowly withdraws again until I wonder if he’s going to take himself out of me.  Then he waits what feels like the longest few seconds of my life until he rams himself back in. 

The force knocks the breath out of me, and that combined with his hand, which is now rubbing my pussy, turns me into a hot mess.  “Jake, I need you, I’m close.” I push myself up against him, so that we both feel everything, every centimeter of each other, every part of the other.

“Thank fuck for that!” Jake replies, breathing out hard in relief and I laugh as I realize that he’s just as much on the edge as I am.

He almost pulls all the way out of me again and then slams back into me, picking up the pace, pumping in and out faster and faster.  I’m moving too, leaning forwards and then backwards, matching my movements with his, keeping time with him.  I can feel myself building towards the inevitable; my whole body is getting warmer and warmer as we create our own heat. 

“Come for me, Aimee.” Jake’s voice comes in short gasps as he pumps inside of me, once, twice, and as he pushes into me again I come apart. 

A feeling of intense pleasure passes through my body—slowly and incredibly quickly at the same time.  I buck and squirm as my climax overtakes me and if Jake hadn’t been holding me around the waist I don’t think that my legs would have had the strength to keep me upright.  Jake lets out a growl that seems to come from deep within his chest—a basic, primal noise signaling that he’s found his own intense release.

We stand like that together, letting the water run over us for what must be a couple of minutes as we get our breath back.  Taking deep gulps of air, we wait for our heart rates to go back to normal.  Eventually, I feel Jake start to withdraw.  He moves out of me slowly, reluctantly, and I’m left with the familiar feeling of emptiness when he leaves.  As if sensing my feelings Jake turns me around, pushing away the wet hair that is clinging to my cheeks, and plants a gentle kiss on my mouth.

“Your water bill is going to be huge,” I say after a beat.  We both laugh as he envelops me in his arms and holds me tight towards him.

“That’s okay.” I feel the vibrations of his voice against his chest. “You’re worth it.”

“Wow, that’s big of you,” I joke, playfully pushing him away.  “You’re the one that came in here when I was just minding my own business and had your way with me,” I point out, doing my best Scarlett O’Hara impression.

“Is that what happened?” Jake asks, tilting his head and grinning at me.  “I was just trying to help out with your showering.” He holds his hands up in his own defense. 

“Right,” I tell him, nonplussed. “So are you going to let me get on with it so we can go have lunch at your folks’?” I ask.  But my words don’t have the weight I had intended. My stomach rumbles when I think about the amazing spread I know Jake’s mom will be putting on.

“I’d rather watch,” Jake replies, smiling his effortlessly sexy smile.

“I bet you would,” I say under my breath.  I grab the soap that Jake had let fall to the floor and start working it over his chest.  “We’re going to be late,” I inform him as he gives me a questioning look before he starts to mimic my gesture, washing me as I do the same to him.

“Are you nervous?” he asks nonchalantly, but I can tell from the way that he studies my reaction that it’s not a throw-away question.

“Of lunch at your parents’ place?  I’ve probably spent more time at the Summers home than I have in my own house,” I remind him. I ignore the fact that I know it’s not what he meant.

“Winters, you know you’re not getting off that easy.” He stills my hands, which were rubbing the soap over his strong chest.  “You haven’t seen your mom since everything kicked off,” he says quietly.

“I know, I know,” I respond, reaching around him to grab the conditioner just so that I don’t have to look him directly in the eye.  “I’m looking forward to seeing her. Really,” I tell him, summoning a smile.

“So why have you been avoiding her for the past few days?” Jake asks the obvious question.

“I’m done, I think.” I stand under the full force of the shower for a few seconds to wash off the last of the soap.  Then I squeeze past Jake and open the screen, hopping out of the bathroom.

I know it’s immature to finish a difficult conversation by walking away, but I just can’t deal with analyzing my relationship with my mother on top of everything else.  I roughly towel dry my hair and quickly slip on my clothes before Jake even makes it out of the bathroom.  I hear the sound of the rushing water stop, followed by Jake’s wet feet as he walks towards me. 

“Aimee, I’m here,” he says, placing a hand on each shoulder.  “I’m here. Talk to me. I want to help you fix this.” His eyes are so full of sincerity that I feel like I might break in two.

“I know, I know you do,” I tell him.  “It’s just not something that can be fixed like a broken tail light. It’s going to take some time.” I shrug, as if there’s nothing more to it.  “You better get ready,” I add as I go up onto my tip-toes to give him a swift kiss on his lips before heading back into the bathroom and trying, ineffectually, to clear some of the steam off of the mirror.

My mother had been in a pretty near catatonic state since my dad had died.  It had been over nine years, closing in on ten, since she had been anything that resembled a normal, functioning person.  A person that could speak and understand and react to what was going on around them—that wasn’t my mother anymore. She was a shadow, living in the past, hiding herself away somewhere to keep the hurt at bay.  That was, until the Angels had come to our home and burned it to the ground.  Only a few short days ago she had spoken. I’d heard her voice for the first time in years. She had been aware, conscious of the events playing out in front of her eyes.

She had woken up when I needed her most, but she hadn’t been able to help.  She hadn’t been able to get past her own grief and pain to help me, to stand with me against the man that had killed her husband and my father.  I haven’t seen her since that night, since Sally and Bill took her in. 
She’s my mother and I love her
, I remind myself as I look in the mirror. 
She didn’t mean to abandon me when our lives fell apart all those years ago.  It’s not her fault.
  I repeat the words in my head again and again until they sound true. Or at least until they sound like less of a lie. 

The Summers House was a home away from home for me.  Walking into that place had always been like being enveloped in a great big bear hug.  So this feeling of trepidation that I’m experiencing as Jake and I pull up outside the house is unfamiliar.  It throws me off track a little, like my senses are tricking me.

“Aimee?” Jake prompts. I realize that he’s been talking to me and I haven’t been paying any attention.

“Sorry, I was miles away.” I adjust the spaghetti straps on my top.  “What were you saying?” I ask, bringing my focus back to the two of us in the car rather than the people awaiting us in the house.

“I was asking if you’re sure you’re okay,” Jake repeats, looking at me with an expression that reminds me how well he knows me.

“Sure, I’m all good, Summers,” I tell him jokingly, getting ready to open the door of his restored Jeep.  But Jake’s arm shoots out to stop me from stepping out.

“She’s your mom, Aimee.” He searches my eyes as he absently caresses the soft underside of my forearm.  “It’ll be alright,” he says encouragingly, and the tenderness in his voice immediately makes me feel more relaxed.

“I know.” I nod.  He’s right after all.  He often was, which was more than a little infuriating.  “Now let’s go, I’m starving.”  I smile and Jake returns it in kind.

We hold hands as we walk up the front porch of the Summers House.  It’s funny—we spent years just as friends, but now it seems inconceivable to be close to him without touching.  I look down at our fingers linked together and feel stronger for having this contact with him.  Jake squeezes my small hand in his bigger one and I look up at the handsome, brave man next to me.  His eyes are so full of deep love and, as he reaches past me to push the door-bell, he whispers in my ear, “I love you.”

I don’t have much time to reply or to do much of anything before the door is opened by the smallest doorman imaginable.

“Jake!” Jonah cries excitedly as he all but jumps into his big brothers’ arms. 

“Hey little man,” Jake replies as he’s almost thrown to the ground by the force of his six-year-old brother. 

The sight of the two Summers boys together makes me laugh, and it’s the first carefree laugh I’ve been able to conjure up for the longest time. 

“Jake?  Aimee?  Is that you?” Sally’s voice comes from inside the house.  “Jonah, let them come inside!” she cheerfully berates her youngest as she catches sight of the welcome he’s still giving his big brother.

“What do you say, little guy?” Jake asks, setting Jonah back onto the ground.  “Shall we go see what Mom and Dad are up to?”

Jonah doesn’t seem to have any inclination to go back into the house and Jake looks at me a little helplessly.  It’s pretty funny to see a big, strong man at a loss when it comes to a little boy.

“Hey Jonah, why don’t you show me that cool truck you got for your birthday?” I ask, knowing that the way to his heart is most definitely through his latest—and therefore most exciting—toy.

“Yeah, it’s awesome! I’ll show you Aimee, but girls aren’t allowed to touch it!” Jonah grabs my hand and pulls me into the house excitedly.  I nod solemnly, showing him that I’ve understood and ignore Jake’s smirk as he follows us inside.

As Jonah leads me through the kitchen Sally manages to intercept him and I’m pulled into one of her trademark hugs that makes you feel like everything is right in the world.

“Hi baby girl,” she says soothingly, without letting me go.  “We’ve missed you.” Sally would be well within her right to give my ear a hiding for not having been over since I’d asked her to look after my mother until we got back on our feet.  But that isn’t Sally’s style; she is one of those people that makes the world a better place just by being in it. 

“I’ve missed you guys too,” I tell her sincerely as she holds me at arm’s length to inspect me.

“You’ve lost weight,” she confirms disapprovingly.

“You always say that,” I remind her, laughing and shaking my head.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She gives me a look that tells me she’ll be piling my plate high with goodies today.  “Jakey!” she exclaims as she catches sight of her son behind me. Seeing how tightly she embraces him brings tears to my eyes.

“Hey Mom.” Jake soothingly rubs her back.  Sally is not a small woman, but Jake still towers over her as he engulfs her in his strong arms.  “You saw me yesterday, remember?” he points out jokingly as his mother quickly wipes happy tears away.

“Can’t a mother just be happy to see her son?” she asks, giving him one last squeeze before she goes back to stirring something delicious on the stove.  “Your father’s in the TV room, working on something and leaving grease stains all over the table no doubt.” She waves absently off to her left. 

Jake gives me a look, presumably to check that I’ll be alright before he goes to investigate what piece of machinery his dad is playing around with. 

“She’ll be fine Jake, we don’t bite,” Sally says without even looking up.  I wonder if it’s only when you have your own kids that you develop eyes in the back of your head. 
It’s a handy skill to have
, I think to myself.

Jake nods. “I’ll just be down the hall.” He looks meaningfully at me before disappearing out of the room.

“So what can I help with?” I ask, looking around for something to do.  The unasked question of where my mother is hangs in the air, but both of us seem to be ignoring it.

“You could reach those glasses for me,” Sally says, pointing to a high cupboard in the expansive kitchen.  It’s by far the biggest room in the house and it is most definitely the heart of the Summers home. 

I open the cupboard and I’m surprised when I see the collection of what looks like crystal glasses.  “But these are the good ones, aren’t they?” I ask.  Sally was fiercely house-proud and despite there being a never-ending stream of friends and relatives that pass through this house, I have never seen her use the good crystal glasses—not ever.  I had been under the impression that they were just decorative and might melt if any actual liquid ever touched them.

“Well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?” Sally asks, not taking her attention off the boiling pot in front of her.

“Sal—” I start to point out that I’m not sure a stay of execution of one month is cause for celebration, but she interrupts me.

“It’s not every day that your two favorite people become an item, so I’m going to celebrate.” Her voice doesn’t brook any kind of discussion.

I smile to myself as I start getting the glasses down from the cupboard.  “I know better than to argue with you over glass-ware,” I joke.  Sally’s shoulders relax visibly and I wonder how I hadn’t noticed the tension that she was holding there.  I’m grateful she didn’t say that she’s celebrating the Angels’ failure to take Jake on his 20th birthday, just like they have every other able-bodied male in the town.  I should have known that Sally is far too smart to think that just because we’ve got away from the Angels once, we’ll be able to do it again.

“Can you grab me some mint from out back, please, honey?” Sally asks once she’s satisfied with the way I’ve arranged the glasses on the table.  “It’s growing like wildfire out there.” She laughs helplessly.  I’m pleased with the normalcy of the Summers household—the way that day to day life seems to be carrying on despite the pressure of external forces.  Or, more accurately, one external force.

“Sure thing,” I say, glad to be of use. Then Jonah appears out of nowhere and follows me out, his truck clearly forgotten.

“Aimee, Aimee, come see my tree-house, come see my tree-house,” he repeats in a sing-song voice as he bolts out the door.  “Hey Auntie B,” he shouts, tripping down the stairs of the deck.  His words make me freeze in my tracks.

Auntie B.  B for Bea.  The thoughts scramble around in my brain but my body is already propelling me out onto the deck before I have time to stop my legs. 

“Aimee?” The cracked voice comes out from a shape on my right, sitting in the old rocking chair that Jake’s dad had restored. 

I’ve only heard the dusty voice a few times, but I would recognize it anywhere.  “Hi Mom,” I say slowly as I turn to face the woman that I’ve been looking after since I was twelve years old.

“Aimee,” she says again, this time more of a confirmation than a question.  I wonder to myself if her voice is ever going to lose that damaged sound, presumably caused by lack of use in recent years. 

She holds her hand out towards me and I walk over until I’m standing by her side.  She looks different from the half-crazed mess that I left with Sally a few days ago.  Her red hair, now flecked with grey, has been newly washed and it looks like Sally has had a go at cutting it—something that I had given up on years ago.  She’s wearing some of Sally’s clothes, which dwarf her tiny frame—made even tinier by how little she’s allowed herself to eat in the past few years. 

Looking at her now, I find it almost impossible to see the woman that I remember from the days before everything in Painted Rock turned upside down.  She’s a different person from the one that I knew when we still had my father, who was the glue that bound the family together.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask, unexpectedly awkward in the presence of this woman that I have shared a house with for my formative years.

“Better,” Bea replies after a beat.  But her eyes aren’t on me; she’s let the hand she was reaching out to me drop, as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to do with it.  I follow her gaze, which is on Jonah as he scales his tree-house. It looks more impressive than some of the family homes around Painted Rock.

We remain in silence for a little while, both of us watching Jonah as he runs about in his playhouse like a whirling dervish.  “Mom?” I ask after a little while as the quiet stretches out between us.  “I need to get some mint for Sally; do you want to give me a hand?”

I keep my voice calm and steady, not wanting to pressure her into anything she doesn’t feel ready for.  It seems crazy though, doesn’t it?  Being so excited at the idea of doing something as normal as picking some herbs with your mom in the garden. 

When she doesn’t respond or even show any sign that she’s heard me, I call her again. “Mom?”

“Hmmm?” she says, looking up at me for the first time. Instead of seeing the connection that I was expecting, she looks at me as if she doesn’t even know me.  There’s no recognition there at all. 

“Nothing,” I say hurriedly, trying to ignore the crushing disappointment threatening to settle on my chest like a dead weight.  I turn around and hustle down to the herb garden Sally has been tending to as if it were one of her children, and I pluck out a few sprigs on mint.  I keep my eyes down all the time, until I can be sure that the tears threatening to come are safely locked away.