Tameless (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two – Wes

“Why don’t we stay at your place?” I asked, as we were leaving the restaurant.

Dawn looked up at me. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t.”

She squeezed my hand. “Smartass. You know—”

“Yes,” I said, cutting her off. “I know why you’re asking, and I appreciate it, but I know what I want…” I gave her a crooked smile “…and I don’t think there’s any way you’d be able to talk me out of it.”

“Who says I was going to try?”

I shifted my stare away from her, back toward the line of cars. “Smartass.”

We were waiting outside Spago. The valet was getting my jeep, and it was third in line on the driveway, behind a Bentley, a Porsche, and a Maserati. We were clearly out of our usual depth here, and I loved every minute of it. Dawn seemed to be having a great night, despite the fucked-up way it began.

When I saw Scott standing on her porch, I’d felt a surge of adrenaline that I rarely felt. It was the kind of rush that might move me to violence, if I were that type of guy. And there was a time I might’ve been. Not now, though. But I was ready to do anything if he made even the slightest physical threat toward me. Luckily, that hadn’t happened.

He’d done nothing to indicate that he was that type of guy. All of this, I later realized, was purely about Dawn—how protective I felt toward her, how I didn’t want anyone bringing any kind of unrest into her life. It was a feeling I’d had many times about her when we were teenagers, only now it was more intense.

I parked in the driveway, we got out of my jeep, and I reached into the backseat to grab my backpack.

Dawn looked surprised. “You have a bag? Were you counting on staying here?”

“I
knew
I was.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I’m kidding,” I said, slinging the bag over my shoulder and closing the door. “My camera’s in here.”

“No one’s going to break into your car.”

“I know this is a good neighborhood, but this camera and lenses are worth over two grand. They’re coming with us. Do you know how many lapdances I had to give to afford this?”

Dawn rolled her eyes and turned toward the house. Her back turned to me, she said, “I’d rather not think about that.”

“About what?” I said, following her. “Me dancing for other girls or me dancing in general?”

She turned when she reached the top step of the porch. “Wes, seriously.”

She looked jealous, a little annoyed, actually. “Sorry.”

Bringing the camera inside was a good idea, and not just as a precaution against possible theft. Once inside, I took it out of my backpack and pointed it at her. We were about five feet away from each other. She covered her face.

“Come on,” I said. “You look beautiful. Just one shot.”

She reluctantly let her hands drop and I took the shot. Then another.

“Smile,” I said, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly, she dropped her chin to her chest, her eyes still looking right at the camera. “So sexy.”

She laughed, and I got a great shot of it.

“Okay, that’s enough.” She took a step toward me and raised her hand, her palm going right for the lens.

I backed up and continued to snap off shots as she moved. I sat on the couch, looking at her through the lens. “Pose for me.”

“Pose how?”

“Anyway you want.”

I was pressing the button, taking one shot, then two and three and four in bursts, as Dawn mockingly posed. She turned to the side and bent one knee. Hand behind her head, which was turned toward me.

“No duck-face, please,” I said.

She did the duck-face anyway.

I stood, walked around her, taking dozens of shots. She was turning and posing, trying different ones, at first jokingly but then she seemed to relax and she was having fun with it.

“Is this how you shoot models?” she asked.

“Never done it before.”

Click, click…click-click-click-click
.

I followed her to the stairs. She looked over her shoulder once and I got a great shot—a wisp of hair falling over one eye, her face lusty with her eyes half-closed and her mouth slightly open.

She started up the steps. “No upskirt shots, perv.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

She feigned disappointment. “What, you don’t want any pics of me like that?”

“Not when I have the real thing, no.”

Her legs flexed as she took each step, and I was getting hard, unsure of how long I could go without dropping the camera and touching her.

I followed her down the hall to her room. She stepped inside. I closed the door behind me.

Dawn sat on the edge of the bed to remove her shoes. I kept clicking away. Jesus, I had probably taken two-hundred shots of her already. She got on the bed and lay back, throwing an arm up above her head.

“You’re a natural at this,” I said.

She rolled onto her stomach, her dress riding up the backs of her thighs. I moved around to the other side of the bed.

She started to say something when we both heard it. The front door closing. Dawn shot up off the bed to a sitting position, then quickly stood. She walked over to her bedroom door. She raised a finger to her lips, as if I needed to be warned to stay quiet.

We remained quiet for a moment as we listened to footsteps coming down the hall.

Dawn opened the door and stepped out of the room.

I sat down on the floor, the bed blocking any view of me if someone happened to look into the room.

I could hear everything clearly. I recognized her father’s voice immediately.

“Whose jeep is that?”

“A friend’s,” Dawn said. “She got a ride to a concert with someone. She’ll pick it up later.”

Her father said something quietly, so I couldn’t hear it.

Then Dawn asked, “What are you guys doing home?”

“Cut our trip short. That’s all.”

I heard the bedroom door handle rattle a little and I figured Dawn had just grabbed hold of it, hopefully about to come back in.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m really tired so I’m going to bed early.”

I heard her mom’s voice, softer and quieter, so I couldn’t make out what she said.

The door opened.

“Goodnight,” Dawn said, closing the door as her parents responded.

I heard her turn the lock and I sat up on my knees.

Dawn fell onto the bed on her stomach, her face just inches from mine. “Holy shit.” Her eyes were wide, her face blank, and then she broke out into laughter as she buried her face in the comforter.

The unmistakable sound of her parents’ bedroom door closing echoed down the hall and into Dawn’s room.

I raised the camera to my eye and took a picture of her with her head down, then lowered the camera and placed it on her nightstand. “I guess that’s enough pics.”

She raised her head. “Why? I was just starting to have fun with it.”

I stood and leaned over her, sliding my arms under her and pulling her off the bed. She managed to muffle the little squeal she made, then whispered, “What are you doing?”

She was standing now, and I led her into the bathroom. “It’ll be quieter in here.”

Dawn started to say something—“Quieter for…”—but she stopped when I turned her around so she was facing the mirror, murmuring “Mmmm” as I kissed her neck. I watched her in the mirror as she closed her eyes and rolled her head back.

I lifted the back of her dress and slipped my hand into her panties, yanking them down to the tops of her thighs.

“Wes,” she breathed. “They might hear.”

“Then keep it down.”

I pushed her panties down farther and they fell to the floor.

Dawn placed her hands flat on the countertop, her eyes opening again, and our gazes locked. I didn’t break the stare as I unzipped my pants, my cock springing out and touching her ass.

My heartbeat was pounding in my ears. My head felt completely flush. Dawn was already moving her hips, side to side, pressing hard against my cock.

She reached behind her and grabbed it, squeezing it hard, desperate for it, just like I wanted her to be.

All those years of thinking about fucking her in this house, in her bedroom, with her parents right down the hall. Such a teenage fantasy—the fuel for many nights of lying in my bed down the hall stroking myself before going to sleep. And now it was happening.

She let go of me, placing her hands on the counter again. I reached down and guided myself to her slick flesh, easing just inside her. I looked up to watch her reaction in the mirror. That face—that gorgeous, perfect face—held a look of anticipation and excitement I longed to see for the rest of my life.

I pushed into her with one long, quick stroke, and her mouth parted as she inhaled sharply, her eyes closing for a long blink, finally opening again and our gazes locked on each other’s.

I slipped a finger under the strap of the dress, sliding it along her shoulder and down her arm, then pushing her bra up her chest, exposing those perfect tits. I lightly pinched one of her nipples, pulling a little as she bent over more, begging me to go deeper.

Dawn started making little whimpering noises. I moved my hand to her face, covering her mouth. She parted her lips and took my finger into her mouth, biting down on it.

I felt light-headed, but in a good way. It was like I was halfway into a dream state, and I struggled to focus, eager to take in every sight, sensation, sound…everything about this moment.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you like this, Dusk.”

Dawn’s breathing picked up, almost gasping, and I felt her clench around my cock in uneven pulses, first fast, then slow, and she dropped her head and bent over more as she softly moaned out an orgasm.

I lost it. I didn’t want to. I could have fucked her all night, but this was better than anything I’d imagined back then.

I squeezed her breast as I felt my stomach and thighs tighten, coiling up, then relaxing as the slow burn of my own release took over my body.

Chapter 23 – Dawn

I woke up alone in bed.

It was disappointing, but not a surprise—Wes and I had stayed up until 3 a.m., and we’d snuck downstairs and outside. He put his jeep in neutral, letting it roll down the driveway, not starting it until he was in the street.

All during the previous day, I’d planned on asking him to spend the night, and I was looking forward to waking up in my own bed with him there. Maybe soon, though, considering how often my parents had been traveling lately.

I lay in bed for a good thirty minutes recalling the night before. I’d never thought about Wes taking pictures of me, and when it started I was a bit nervous, but it very quickly became fun. And hot. There was something about him being focused (pun intended) just on me, so intensely, so singularly on my body and what I was doing with it, that I found myself being turned on. I knew he was, too. I could see it in his face. I knew that expression now, knew exactly what it meant, and I’d come to realize it could appear out of nowhere, spurred on by whatever. But this time, it was all me.

I wanted him so badly. I needed him to fuck me in my house, my room, in my bed. Which didn’t work out that way, but what we did was even hotter.

Wes’s taking control like he did, the fact that my parents were right down the hall, the thought of how all of this could have happened when we were younger…all of it combined to heighten the excitement.

Afterward, we lay in my bed quietly. The room was completely dark, the window was open and a light breeze filled the room.

It was the oddest and most intense emotional experience of my life. A lot of time passed without us speaking, only the sound of our breathing filling the silence. But somehow, we were communicating. Amid the fading pleasure of what we’d just done and the pure contentment of lying there in his arms, there was also tension and regret and worry. I felt it, and I somehow knew he felt it, too.

At some point, I drifted off to sleep and the next thing I knew he was waking me up. I looked at the clock. 2:57 a.m. Minutes later, he was gone, I was back in bed alone, and I managed to hold off the tears until I fell asleep.

. . . . .

The next day at work dragged on slowly, as I myself was dragging from the night before. The store was busy with people picking out summer clothes and raiding the sale racks that contained all the winter clothes we were about to send back to the corporate office.

I texted Wes and asked him if he wanted to meet for lunch. He wrote back and told me he was too busy but wanted to take me out tonight and have me stay at his place. The fact that I had something to look forward to lifted my spirits a little.

At least until I called Aunt Jackie.

“I’m driving,” she said, “and the top’s down so if you hear lots of background noise, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I threw away the remains of my lunch and went back to the table in the food court.

“How’s your day going? You working?”

I sighed audibly in response to her question and then said, “I don’t know what to do.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. All I heard was the wind and cars and faint music in the background. “You’re still seeing him.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

“I am. I can’t stop. I don’t
want
to stop. I don’t think you know how intense and real and perfect all of this is. I just—”

She interrupted me: “I believe you, Dawn. I do. But you need to know you’ll be better off, and he’ll be better off, if you don’t get involved.”

“Why?”

“I can’t say.”

For the first time in my life, I felt a little anger toward her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You have to trust me on this. I can’t tell you why. You know I’ve always kept our talks confidential, right?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was dumbfounded.

“Well,” she said, “I’m like that with everyone. If someone tells me something they don’t want anyone to know, I don’t tell anyone. I’m sorry, Dawn. I just can’t. All I can say is that I think it would be best if you didn’t see him anymore.”

“Is it something Wes told you? Back then?”

“No.”

“Is he…” I didn’t want to say the word but I had to. “Is there something dangerous about him?”

“No, sweetie.
That
is something I would tell you. I wouldn’t let you get yourself in a situation where you were in some kind of danger. I promise.”

I believed her. And I couldn’t fault her for keeping something confidential that someone had told her. I had come to her a handful of times in my life and talked to her about things that I didn’t want anyone to know. She’d always kept her word. Telling Aunt Jackie something was like putting it in a vault.

She knew something. Someone had told her something. But what? And who?

I could have begged. I could have pleaded. Maybe even worked up some tears—I was already on the edge of breaking down—and put her in a position to tell me what she couldn’t tell me. But that would have been unfair to Aunt Jackie. I knew how important confidentiality and privacy were to her, and I’d been the beneficiary of her strict adherence to that several times.

I started to cry, and between my sobs she said, “Trust me, Dawn. You have to trust me on this.”

I managed to get control of myself. I had to get back to work. Great. My face was going to be red and puffy and my makeup would be smeared. “I have to go.” I hung up without saying goodbye.

. . . . .

“I’m going to tell them right now.” I said the words just as Wes answered his phone, before he even had a chance to say anything.

Wes was silent for a moment, then said, “You sound pissed.”

“I am. I am. Fuck.”

“Maybe you should calm down before you—”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” I yelled, actually pulling the phone away from my face and holding it in front of my mouth. I instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken this out on you.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Dawn.”

I wanted to,
needed
to tell him what had just happened, but I wanted to do it face to face. “Can I come to your place in a little while? I’m sure this won’t take long.”

“I can meet you there.”

“Okay, good.”

“No,” he said. “I mean I can meet you at your house if you want. We can tell them together.”

His offer made me want to cry—that he’d put himself in such an uncomfortable position for me, just to make what I had to do easier on me. But I was too angry to cry. I’d cried before when angry, but I don’t think I’d ever been this pissed before. “I can handle it. I’ll text you and let you know what’s going on.”

“Call.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t text. I want to hear your voice. So call and let me know what’s up.”

“Okay,” I said, making the right turn onto my street. “I’m almost there.”

“Hey, Dawn?”

“Yeah.”

“This is all going work out. Trust me.”

My parents were in the kitchen when I got home. I heard them as soon as I walked through the front door. I closed it gently and stood there for a moment. They were arguing. Dad’s voice was loud, an octave higher than it usually was. Mom was talking quickly. These were the two signs I’d always keyed in on that let me know something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t hear their exact words, but I did pick up the phrase, “We’re going to tell her the second she gets home.” That was Dad’s voice, and he seemed to have discerned that I was indeed home. I heard his footsteps leave the kitchen, walking through the dining room, and then he and Mom were standing there looking at me.

Dad’s frown was severe. Mom’s arms were crossed tightly across her chest.

“Wes was in this house?” Dad said, his nostrils flaring a bit. I hadn’t seen him this mad since the day Wes left.

How the hell did they know? I didn’t have a chance to say anything.

Mom said, “Dawn, this is very serious. Why was he here?”

“You’ve been talking to him? Seeing him? How long?” Dad demanded.

“Why was he here?” Mom repeated.

Dad started to say something, but I cut him off. “If you guys would let me speak, I’ll answer you.”

“And why didn’t you tell us you broke up with Scott?” Mom asked, her voice more shrill now than just seconds ago.

“Are you going to let me say anything?” I said. And I walked past them, into the den, where I sat. They followed, and stood before me. I felt like I was thirteen again and had broken curfew. So I stood back up. “Who told you?”

“That’s not important,” Dad said.

“It is to me. Who told you?” It had to be Aunt Jackie. I’d just talked to her, and she’d given me that dire but vague warning. She must have called them. But it was so unlike her to break trust. “Scott,” I said, flatly. “It was Scott.”

“Yes,” Mom said, “it was Scott. He was here not even thirty minutes ago and dropped this bomb on us.”

Fucking asshole. It was one thing for him to try to fight for me, make an attempt to get me back, that would’ve been understandable, normal. But he must have known it wouldn’t have worked, and he’d come to tell my parents what I’d done, just like we were little kids again. Fucking great.

“Look,” I said, “what I do with my life is my business—”

“The hell it is,” Dad said.

I felt my face tighten, scrunching into what must have looked like a severely distorted version of me. “What?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “I’m twenty-five.”

“And you live under our roof,” Mom said. “Why was Wes here?”

I decided that if they were going to treat me like I was twelve, I was going to act like it. “Because I invited him.”

“Why?”

“Because I did.” Okay, that was enough of playing the game.
You’re an adult, be an adult
, I told myself. “Because I’ve been seeing him. Because we have something real and genuine.”

My dad put his hands to his face, covering his mouth. “Oh, my God,” he mumbled.

Mom said, “Dawn, you know he’s dangerous, you know what he did.”

I shook my head slowly, firmly, absolutely sure of myself. “You don’t know him.”

Now Mom was covering her face. Her eyes, to be exact. She’d kept one arm across her chest, raised the other one and put her hand over her eyes like a visor. She was shielding herself from what I was saying. Shielding herself from the truth as I knew it.

“Scott and I were never meant to be. We stayed together because of you two, and his parents. With Wes, I have something real. And I don’t care what you think about it.”

My dad took a step closer to me, looking down at me. “You are never to bring him into the house again. Is that understood? You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

I felt the rage burning inside me, gathering strength, building toward an explosive outburst that I’d probably regret for the rest of my life if I said it. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he had no idea what he was talking about. But he’d just alluded to something—I had no idea what I was getting myself into? It was more direct than what Aunt Jackie told me, but it was along the same lines.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, raising my eyebrows, taunting my father. “Maybe if I had an idea what I was getting into, I’d come to my senses and stop seeing him. Right? So tell me, Dad.” I turned my head toward my mother, raising my voice. “Or you can tell me, Mom. Doesn’t anyone have the guts to tell me?”