Scared of Beautiful (20 page)

Jackson

I’m careful not to let Maia see how my eyes steal glances, roaming along the smooth skin on her neck. And how I adjust myself by shifting in my seat when she brings the beer bottle to her lips, and a thousand indecent thoughts fill my mind. The girl is beautiful and sadly for me, I happen to know just how beautiful every part of her is, and feels. And to know that I won’t be touching any part of that tonight is nothing short of corporal punishment. Torture. I’m aware that the number of beers that I have knocked back renders me incapable of driving back to campus. And it wasn’t intentional on my part, at least not consciously. And if my subconscious has fucked up, I may very well spend the night sleeping in the Mustang.

“How are you getting back?” Maia asks.

“I’m not sure,” I reply nonchalantly. “I’ll probably just hang out in the Mustang for a while till I sober up I guess, not a big deal.” I shrug my shoulders.

She looks away in contemplation, at war with her own thoughts, and eventually looks up at me and says, “You can hang out in the apartment for awhile to sober up. The Bean is closing soon. It’s nearly midnight. But just as friends.”

She adds the last part on quickly. Just in case I decide to get the wrong idea. Truth is I’m not even trying to get into Maia’s pants tonight, but let’s be real. I am a red-blooded male who happens to think that the sexiest, most perfect woman is sitting before me. My head might tell me that going with her was a bad idea, but my dick is all in. In fact, it’s already speeding towards the apartment block.

“Okay,” I reply, trying to cull the happy lilt in my voice.

Maia pays the bill and for once I choose not to argue with her. I finger the small box in my jacket pocket that holds a delicate platinum infinity charm on a thin platinum chain. This encompasses every ounce of savings I had left, hence my need to seek employment now. I had planned on giving this to Maia before we came back from Atlanta, except things didn’t go according to planned. I hope she’ll accept it as a friendship token. The charm matches one of my tattoos. The cold chill that blasts us as we step out onto the street causes Maia to shiver instantly. I consider wrapping my arms around her, but I get the sense that that may be pushing the friendship a little.

Thankfully the heat is already on in her apartment, and we settle onto the couch as she makes us two espressos with a machine that costs more than my car. We settle into the plush lounge and for a few minutes, nobody says anything. We don’t need to.

“Wanna watch something?” Maia asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure,” I smile.

After a few moments of playful debate over rom com or horror, we finally settle on some zombie love story and settle back into the couch. The movie is bad, so bad in fact that Maia falls asleep after the first ten minutes. I watch her chest rise and fall steadily, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber. I could stare at her all night, and imagine that minus all the bullshit of the last month, our lives could go on forever with just this much peace.

After a while, my eyelids grow heavy and I drift off to sleep. Largely because the zombies have resorted to eating each others faces off, in the name of true love.
Who makes this shit?
In the early hours of the morning, I wake to find the lights out, the TV off, and a blanket placed lightly over me. Maia is no longer next to me. I walk over to the kitchen for a glass of water and notice the thin stream of light from her lamp, seeping through the master bedroom door. I walk over, glass in hand and stare over at Maia as her head rests gently against her pillow. I wish I could make sure her world was like this all the time; no fear, no mistrust, no anxiety. I have no idea how to do that. She’s been so hurt, still is so wounded. I wonder to myself whether this is one of those times when people say love is just not enough.

She stirs, and I take a step back. Her eyes open slowly and focus on me standing in the doorway. Looking every bit the stalker that I feel like. She holds my gaze intently, and my dick springs to life, hoping that what I’m thinking is what she’s thinking. This time I won’t say no. I don’t have it in me a second time.
Fuck it! What do I have to lose?
I take a few tentative steps into the bedroom. Maia’s eyes don’t leave mine. She watches me apprehensively at first, but slowly, the closer I get to the bed, the more I see her eyes fill with a lustful glow.

As I reach the bedside, she pulls the sheet down in invitation, and my dick solidifies at the sight of her in a grey Brown t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts. Before I have an opportunity to lower myself onto her, Maia sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She hooks her fingers into the belt loop of my jeans and pulls me, her head level with my crotch, her eyes never leaving mine. Maia brings me into her until I’m planted between her legs, her head dangerously close to my dick. The thought of what comes next is enough to cause me to close my eyes in sheer pleasure. Her hands move slowly to undo my belt buckle and roll down my zipper, before she drops my jeans to my ankles and pushes my boxers down to follow. Sliding her hands up the back of my thighs, she tortures me, teasing me by kissing my thighs, the bottom of my stomach. My hand grabs the back of her head in guidance.

“Don’t tease,” I whisper, the words coming out almost like a desperate plea.

Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Close your eyes,” she says low.

And I do. If she asked me to run down the street hard and naked as payment for wrapping her lips around my dick, I would gladly comply. Maia’s tongue moves in one sure motion along the underside of my now very hard shaft, and my body lets out an involuntary low moan. Her lips wrap around me as she takes me all in. My fingers grip her hair as she moves steadily back and forth, and my hips find their own rhythm, all of their own volition. I pull back before I lose my shit. I’ve missed Maia too much to end this experience by coming in her mouth. Maia looks at me questioningly until I reach down and kneel in front of her.

Maia

For this one moment, everything is right with the world. I’ll allow myself this tonight. My body needs Jackson in a way that is primal. He kneels in front of me, and I pull his shirt over his head, taking in his toned chest and allowing my eyes to slip down to the perfect V-shape below. A searing heat rushes through my body, landing squarely between my legs. Jackson takes my arm and plants soft kisses on my wrists and all the way up to my shoulders. A delicious tingle courses through my body as his lips nuzzle my neck, before making their way down to my breasts. Jackson’s tongue expertly licks circles around my nipples as my body arcs, and I moan in pleasure. The amount of control we’re both showing by taking this slow is remarkable. Until he comes up, and our lips meet.

All of a sudden, a mutual fever takes hold of us. Where once was slow and sensual, has now been replaced by fervor and absolutely raw need. Our kisses are deep, suffocating in the best possible way. Jackson’s hands search my body desperately as I fall back on the bed with him following, his hard on stabbing deliciously into my inner thigh. My hips arch towards it, begging for it, needing it. My hand reaches down, grabbing him, long and hard, in an effort to guide him to where I want him to be.

“
Maia
,” Jackson breathes my name, our lips still touching. His hand slips between the soft flesh of my thighs, rubbing slow, purposeful circles, until he slides a finger in. My body arches in response, but this is a poor substitute for what I have in my hand.

“Now!” I say aggressively. “Don’t tease.” The words leave my mouth as a desperate whimper. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and his lips curl upwards in a coy grin.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Maia, say it,” he says softly with a dangerous edge.

“Fuck me, now!” I demand fiercely.

I hear a foil wrapper crinkle before Jackson slides into me slowly, savoring each moment. He lets out an animal groan, as I purse my lips together to mute the strangled cry that threatens to escape. He fills every inch of me, as my legs form a vice grip around his waist and his hips grind slowly and purposefully into me. Our bodies move in unison, perfect synchronicity, our lips and hips both dancing to an intense harmony, building with each thrust and moan to a perfect crescendo.

Jackson grabs my hands and grips them above my head. “Fuck Maia,” he moans as he picks up speed.

I’m past the point of being quiet, and loud moans fly from my mouth with each thrust, each one hurting me with a beautiful pain, each building a wave in my body that’s bigger than the last. Until they crash, sending violent spasms through me, my nails digging into my own palms. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and I see in them complete reckless abandon. He thrusts into me with purpose until his hips grind with finality into mine, and moments later, a loud animalistic roar floods from his mouth. His hands tighten over my wrists as his body goes rigid before falling over mine, the both of us exhausted, completely spent.
What have we done? What have I done?

Jackson rolls over and steals a glance in my direction before getting up to dispose of the soggy prophylactic and retrieve his boxer shorts from the floor. My soul craves these moments of absolute recklessness, of acting without thinking or talking myself out of it. But I deny myself them, because inevitably they lead to heartache and pain. Right now though, I swat away those thoughts and settle into my pillow, enjoying the wonderful ache between my legs. Jackson doesn’t come back immediately, and for a horrible moment I feel relief at the fact that he may have left. Except for the fact that his jeans and shirt lay in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor. I forego my Brown t-shirt and slip Jackson’s white V-neck on before padding softly out to the lounge.

Jackson stares out the window down onto the street below. He looks resplendent, in just his boxers illuminated by the moonlight. I lean against the door frame, contemplating why I am denying myself this. Him. And then the memory of Atlanta, all the complications, the gut wrenching pain I felt when I thought that he had hurt me, it all floods back. Giving me my answer.

“You know, running away in the early morning in your boxers will definitely give you hypothermia. Parts of you may start falling off,” I joke.

Jackson turns around to face me. “I figured you may need the space,” he replies seriously. He always knows what I need and when. “So, are we still friends? What was that?” Jackson asks softly.

“We’re friends Jackson, I told you that’s what I wanted. That was, well, it was great, but it was what it was,” I reply casually.

“Yeah, but what was it?” Jackson walks over and leans against the wall, matching my stance. “Did we fuck?”

“We did,” I smile.

“Did you like it?” he asks snaking an arm around my waist and pulling me in to him.

“I did,” I reply, “so maybe we could be friends, but with a few benefits.”

Jackson looks at me sadly and opens his mouth to reply, but decides against it. I’ve fooled myself into believing that this is the only way to keep Jackson near me without getting hurt. It’s naïve to believe, stupid as shit, and an all around bad idea that encompasses me setting myself up for disaster and making him feel like I’m using him.

“Do you really think we can do that?” Jackson asks me doubtfully.

“No,” I laugh, before seriousness veils my face, “but right now it’s all I have.”

“Does this mean I have to watch that prep school asshole hit on you, since we’re friends?” Jackson asks, the memory causing his face to morph with irritation.

“Jackson, regardless of whether we’re friends or dating or whatever, it doesn’t give you the right to decide who I talk to. You don’t own me, remember?” I reply confidently, and I mean every last syllable. There is more meaning behind those words than he could ever realize.

Jackson decides to spend the rest of the night at his own dorm, and I sink into a peaceful sleep, one that is not assaulted by nightmares. In fact, I don’t dream at all. The smell of Jackson and Jackson and I lingers on my sheets, and I find myself considering laying in bed all day just to get lost in it. But I don’t.

I make my way over the Bean to grab a coffee before heading over to the Brown campus. It’s about time I actually started participating in college again, I think. Driving the X5 over to the campus, my thoughts briefly drift to my mother, and I realize that I have yet to call and check up on her and Megs. I know they have enough money, there’s no way they could have burnt through the amount I left in that account for them. Still, leaving cash at the bedside has always been my father’s style, not mine.