The Complete Arrogant Series (16 page)

“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.

Waverly

“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.

“Why’d you stop?” I pant.

He unzips his jeans, pulling
everything off and then climbing onto the bed. Jensen grabs my hips and pulls
them toward him. “Sit on my face, but face that way.” He points to the foot of
the bed, so I straddle him backwards and he lowers me to his mouth.