Progress (Progress #1) (26 page)

Chapter Six

Jesse

My heartbeat raced so fast that I wasn’t sure if it was real. But I dared to let the moment reach for hope. I’d felt it in the way she kissed me back.

She’d whispered “Give me a minute” and slipped into the bathroom. I paced my room, waiting to hear the bathroom door open again.

I knew what she needed; I’d known her for a year. It would be challenging to say the least. I still couldn’t believe she’d walked into my house.

Charlie needed slow, passionate kisses. She needed my reassurance and my voice. Confidence, warmth, and comfort. She needed my head to be clear. I couldn’t give her any doubt that I was in the moment with her.

She’d been timid, like I thought she would be. I sensed her fear from behind the bathroom door. I wouldn’t pretend to know how much strength it took to bring her to me, but I’d have to show her that any hesitation she had about that night was wasteful.

The creak of the door sounded, and I turned to find her standing in my doorway. With her skin flushed, she leaned against the doorframe with her eyes down. She tugged at her lip, and for a moment I thought she’d changed her mind.

“Charlie?” I whispered.

She gave me a small smile and brought her eyes up to look at me. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and lifted her shirt over her head.

Standing in her black pants and a baby blue bra, she opened her eyes on an exhale.

Beautiful in her imperfections, Charlie’s arms carried extra skin, her stomach held the scars of years of abuse from herself and those around her. But those damn bright blue eyes stole the show. They always held the light I needed.

She dropped her shirt and walked to me.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

She licked her lips to disguise her frown, and sniffed with a nod. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered.

I’d taken my shirt off for women before, but no one had seen me like the way I wanted Charlie to see me. A hundred women before her either didn’t care to ask or were too scared to know about the scars on my chest. Not even Bree had given a shit enough to ask.

I removed my green shirt and stood in front of her, baring the grease and cigarette burns given to me by my father. My heart pounded and I took a ragged breath. She closed the distance between us and swept her fingertips lightly across my chest, and I tried to stand tall as she took them in.

I fought the thoughts of my father’s face that surfaced behind my eyelids, and swallowed the rage that simmered just below my skin. I knew it was going to be difficult to do this with Charlie, I just hadn’t realized how hard it would be.

I grabbed her wrist, loosening my grip when she gasped. I closed my eyes quickly and shook my head.

I wasn’t ready.

“Lay down,” I demanded.

She swallowed. “You’re going to be careful with me, right?” she pleaded on a whisper, unmoving.

Scar for scar, body for body, wound for wound, we were together. She was sensitive and I was volatile. But I needed this. I needed her to tell me everything was going to be all right. I’d always be okay if I could hear those words come from Charlie’s lips.

I nodded and unzipped her pants, then slid them down from her hips, past a matching pair of baby blue lace panties. On my knees, I lifted Charlie’s feet, one at a time, and slid off her pants. Starting at her kneecap I kissed gently, moving my lips up to her thighs.

I brought my eyes to hers. Her chest rose and fell quickly and her head tilted back at the feel of my mouth on her skin. I slipped my hands under the thin piece of material at her hips and let my fingers wander to her ass, up to her lower back, and down again.

With a tug, I brought her panties past her knees, and she rewarded me with a soft moan.

“Lay down,” I repeated.

She sat on my bed, and lay down on her back.

I took off the rest of my clothes and settled between her legs. Her hands wrapped around my back, and I tried to ignore her trembles as I brought my mouth down onto hers. The slow thrust of my hips pressed the tip of my cock inside her before I pulled back out again.

Her lacy bra rubbed against my chest and she brought her hips up to meet mine again. She moved her mouth away from mine to take a ragged breath.

So Charlie. So sweet. So insecure. And so mine.

I brought my mouth down, leaving a trail of warm kisses across her stomach and down between her thighs. Keeping my eyes on hers, I dragged my tongue along her sensitive slit. She mewled under me, and her hooded eyes never left mine.

“Delicious,” I whispered with a smile, watching her squirm.

She held her breath and brought her hands to my hair. Pulling gently, she guided my mouth back down to her flesh and whispered “More.”

My sensitive and caring side flipped, watching her respond to me. My savage nature was brought out for a moment, and all I wanted to do was violate her innocence. The craving took over. What it would take to get her to writhe in pain and watch her grind the pillowcase between her teeth was enough to send my animalistic reflexes into overdrive.

I wanted to see that exquisite face in pain.

But if I wanted her to stay, I’d have to tame that beast. And so I pushed him down, as far as he would go, and kept my thoughts on the prize in front of me.

I snaked my arms around her back and unclasped her bra. A small blue dragonfly on her right breast appeared from underneath the lace, and I wrapped my mouth around her nipple. I yanked up her hips, positioning her before me, and bit down just as I entered her.

Of every sound I’d ever heard from the women who came before her, Charlie’s moan was the most beautiful.

I thrust deeper and without apologies, just to hear it again.

And again. Another soft squeak.

I smiled, burying my face into the crook of her neck. “We waited too long,” I breathed into her ear.

She said nothing, merely exhaled slowly, and brought her clumsy hips up to meet mine. Her naivety garnered another smile from my lips.

I wanted to show her all of it. I wanted to be the one she learned everything with. Still, she was sweetly inexperienced; her movements weren’t as fluid or relaxed as most of the women I was used to. But that was precisely what I’d hoped for, exactly how I thought she’d look in my bed.

“Turn over,” I said.

She stopped moving and hesitated with my demand, but crawled onto her stomach anyway. She gripped the sheets and turned her head to the side.

“Get your ass in the air.”

She arched her back slowly, spreading her legs and bringing her cheeks up.

I couldn’t resist another taste, and dipped my tongue down to her clit. “Mmmm,” I hummed.

I pressed my cock against her and spread my hands over the velvety skin that draped her back. Smooth, pale, and sexy, I’d never felt anything so soft.

I leaned down to her ear. ”Have you ever done it like this before?”

She shook her head and her knuckles turned white as she anticipated my entry. “No.” She sniffed.

I wiped a stray curl from her face, making sure I could see her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes. Please, Jess. Now,” she begged.

And I didn’t wait. I spread her heated lips with my fingers and pushed myself inside of her. Her waist was small, but she’d kept that ass I liked so much. I grasped her hips, moving slowly at first, getting her used to the position. She flinched with every thrust, so I slowed my pace and kept my eyes on hers.

She felt so damn good; I’d forgotten what it was like to go slow. A methodic and desperate kind of torture, each pump felt better than the one before it. And she was getting wetter and slicker with each thrust. She loved it. I loved it.

We were perfect together.

Chapter Seven

Charlie

I don’t know where he was, but he wasn’t with me anymore.

He was somewhere else; a place of forgotten thoughts of yesterday in a justifying act of making everything all right.

It wasn’t what I expected, but it was something I shouldn’t have doubted. Jesse was a different man in the park from the one he was in his bed. Different from any other time I’d ever seen him. I wasn’t sure if he just wanted to get it over with—like I did—or if he really used that night to escape from some kind of reality too painful to bear.

He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t gentle. His touch held nothing it once had for me.

He’d either buried himself so deep within the act, or I’d lost my connection with him altogether.

It made sex with Jesse easier. It made doing what I was about to do palatable.

Because as I lay there with my ass in the air, experiencing nothing but lust and emptiness with a man I adored, any moment it would be over and I’d be leaving for good.

I’d never forget that night as long as I lived.

I’d survived twenty-three years of ridicule to finally experience what it was like to be beautiful. I’d carried the weight of a million insults on my shoulders to finally know what it felt like to be desired. I don’t know if I truly believed it myself until he pulled me into his room. It was the validation I’d always needed. A beautiful, broken bully loved me. He saw me for who I was, not for what I looked like.

But it was the journey that made it worthwhile; it was my friendship with Jesse that had pummeled that message through my thick skull. Not that stupid night.

So I buried my confliction. I tried to be the complacent phone number that I’d be in less than an hour. Or the one I’d be a month from now when he grew tired of me.

I’d have to walk away from him. For me.

His strong arms flexed with every thrust, his taut stomach slapped against my backside, and his hooded eyes were commanding, desperately begging me to moan some more. Sweat dotted his blond hairline, the scruff on his chin had left remnants of burns on my face, and his tongue carried my flavor. Nothing but fire and sex rested in his gaze, and I’d almost come apart three times by his expression alone.

He flipped me over again. My bare breasts sprung with the motion. His mouth dipped down to my nipple and he grabbed my thighs to spread my legs.

He was frantic and eager, thrashing himself into me, and we gave each other all we had left to offer. I arched my back to deepen the penetration. A guttural moan flew from his lips and I grabbed his hair, pulling tightly.

“Jesus,” he breathed, quickening his pace.

Thrust after thrust, our hips found a fast rhythm, and he stretched his back to bring us face to face. His back was covered in sweat, his eyes were blue-gray, and he rested his slippery forehead to mine.

“So sweet,” he whispered, and brought his rough lips to mine. He kept them there, and with every crash forward, he bit down on my bottom lip. I didn’t want to like it, but I did. My body responded to it, but my mind remained numb.

He did everything right. He knew my body better than I knew it. But for all the kisses and nibbles and gliding fingertips, the revelation came to me:

Jesse didn’t know how to make love to a woman. He only knew how to fuck one.

And suddenly I wasn’t the only naïve one in the room.

I breathed easier, letting the air lift from my lungs. “Jess,” I whispered, cradling his cheeks in my hands and pulling his face away from mine.

His eyes were closed. I lay still, waiting for them to open. “Jess,” I repeated.

His body stopped moving and he opened his eyes.

“Lay down on your back.”

His gaze drew inward and he swallowed, giving me a nod.

I took a deep breath and sat on my knees, keeping my hands on his chest. His naked body lay before me and I took a minute to appreciate it.

His legs and arms still held remnants of the sun from last summer, and it made his skin look rough in comparison to my ivory hue. The dusting of light hair from his groin to his belly button was enough to make the most sensible woman cave under the pressure between her legs. His erection lay across his stomach, and he brought his hand down to smooth its tip. A small vein stretched from his groin to his navel, and the definition in his legs from riding a bicycle half his life only added to a perfect image.

But he wasn’t perfect. His body held terrifying scars.

So did his mind.

Scars that I couldn’t fix, no matter how hard I tried.

I positioned myself above him, straddling my legs across his hips. I was scared shitless to let him see me that way, but managed to keep my fear away. Gliding my hands over his chest, my finger circled the first burn scar, similar to what I would imagine a cigarette butt would do.

His skin displayed an array of goose bumps with my touch, and he kept his eyes closed.

One by one I moved from scar to scar, examining each and kissing it before I moved to the next. I wanted to take the pain away; I wanted to soak up the anger and fear that each one of them had left in their wake. And by the time I got to the burn on his side—the one that looked like boiling water or a grease fire had caused—I was exhausted.

As my hand stretched across his abdomen, he yanked on my wrist. Startled, I looked up, and tears sat in the creases of his eyes.

“No,” he said, grinding his jaw.

I pulled my hand away and stared into his eyes.

It was too much.

It was too soon.

Or it wasn’t soon enough.

“We waited too long,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes tightly, squeezing out a small tear, and then he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down to my back.

He ripped open my thighs, crashed back into me, and finished what he’d started.

It was the only thing he knew to do.

Either the lighting was so dim that it wasn’t able to reflect from his eyes, or his eyes refused to take in the light.
And I remembered thinking so long ago that my own doubts were a dark and scary place to be; nothing could’ve compared to it. In a year I’d come so far, but Jesse hadn’t come far at all. He was still scared of himself and where his thoughts and memories would take him.

And so I gave up. I let him take me the way he needed to take me. There was nothing more I could do.

He slammed his hips against me repeatedly, but I wasn’t scared. I didn’t flinch, and I continued to moan my approval. My heartbeat slowed and I wasn’t shaking. I did all the things he needed me to do, and took pity on him. His hands left red marks on my breasts and hips, and his teeth dug into my neck and lips.

His sorrow left me barely able to breathe.

It’s what he needed from me. For everything that had happened between us, I’d never felt like I’d done anything more right for him.

And as he held his breath and spilled himself into me, the only word that ran through my head was
goodbye
.

He rolled over, panting heavily. My mind was empty, my body a shell. He’d taken everything he could from me, and I took what I’d needed too. But as I looked over at him and at the cool sheets that took away his warmth, I smiled.

His face was unreadable, a distance in his eyes.

I had no fight left in me. The courage I gathered in my voice was robotic and harsh.

It was time. I couldn’t wait to leave. I was done.

So I cleared my throat and began. “Where did the scars come from?”

Shaking his head from his thoughts, he frowned. “Nowhere.” His jaw tensed. “A bar fight.”

I closed my eyes. “We’re never going to get anywhere like this.”

“Why do we have to go anywhere?” he said playfully, and wrapped his arms around me.

I pulled away.

I stood and put my bra and panties back on. “That’s the problem. You’re killing yourself. And I’m not going to stand around and watch you do it. It doesn’t matter how much you claim to love me when you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”

He sat up quickly, and the sheet fell to his lap. “But I love you. I know I do.”

“And I love you,” I said, my eyes fluttering shut. I grabbed my shirt and slipped my arms through the sleeves.

His eyes opened wide and he got off the bed. Standing naked in front of me, his body glistened with our aftermath. “You’re not leaving. I love you,” he repeated.

I shook my head and stepped back. “You hardly know anything about me. You love me because I take some of the shit away for a while. I make you feel lighter, better. You love me for what I can give you, not for what you can give me. If you truly loved me, you’d know what you do to me and why I can’t live a life like that with you.”

“I don’t understand,” he begged. “Make me understand.”

“Love isn’t just about what you can take. It’s also about what you can give. I adore everything about you. But you don’t make me feel good about myself. A compliment here and there doesn’t cut it. And I won’t live a life in love that requires me to stay on guard and cower in the corner. I’m pretty sure I deserve better than that.”

He raked a hand through his hair and then clasped his fingers together in a plea. “Tell me what I have to do.”

My chin quivered and I kept my distance. With each step I took backward, he would take another forward. “I don’t want you to change a damn thing about yourself
for me
. You have to do it for yourself. And I could sit here for eternity telling you I’m sorry and I still wouldn’t have enough to express how I feel. Neither would saying thank you.” I wiped my nose and sniffed. “Because I do love you. I’ll always love you. And while you’re the boy who made me love myself, he can’t love me the way I need him to. He has a lot of shit to sort through before that can happen.”

“So that’s it?” He slapped his hands against his sides. “I don’t even get a say in this?” His jaw clenched. “I tell you I’m in love with you, and you’re telling me that it’s not enough?”

I put my pants on, one leg at a time, and kept my eye on his distance. I zipped them up and walked to the door.

With another exhale, I turned. “Love isn’t the place you go when there’s nowhere left to run.”

The End

Progress: Interrupted
is the next book in the Progress Series.

A release date is pending in 2016.