The Storm Inside (25 page)

I was suddenly in his arms. They were wrapped around me in a death grip, his head was bent into the crook of my neck and he was breathing hard.

Yes, I had a wonderful family, but Jake was my world. He was my family every bit as much as the ones I was related to. He was my blood and my heart from the moment I fell in love with him. “Jake,” I murmured, running my hands through his hair, but he shook me off. He held me tight against his body while he worked through his emotions. So I spoke instead, “I’m sorry. Baby, I love you. You have me forever. We’re our own family, you and me.”

Things got intense from there. Jake was completely silent, I don’t think he could speak. His emotions were in charge and so were mine. We were hands and tongues, ripping our clothes from our bodies, desperate to get to the skin underneath. I needed him and he needed me. I could feel his desperation and I knew the one thing that could fix it was my body.

He pushed me back on the bed and ripped his pants down, hauling himself on top of me and thrusting home in a single movement. It felt like he’d torn me in two, the sudden invasion so fast and large. I yelled out and sank my nails deep into the skin of his back. I needed somewhere to let out the pain and pleasure, and I also wanted him to know I didn’t want it any other way. I didn’t want him to stop or think. I wanted him, all of him, hard and fast and deep. So I held him tight against me, using every ounce of strength I had.

“Shit!” he yelled out as he buried himself inside me. But it wasn’t a pleasurable cry; it was a cry of pain and anguish. He kissed me deep and hard, his tongue reaching as far inside me as his cock. He was coming at me with everything he had from above and below.

His hands wove into my hair and tugged. Not a gentle, playful tug like he did sometimes, but a harsh yank. It sent a jolt straight to my sex, one we both felt, and brought tears to my eyes. But I didn’t mind it. In fact, I kind of liked it. I wanted to feel everything—the more sensations the better. Pleasure, pain… it didn’t matter. It was all one and the same for me at that moment.

My soul was as on fire as my body. So much hurt and anger at Jake and our past. About the things I never had any control over and the things we’d never be able to fix. It was all coming out in the way we were slamming into each other.

I was thrusting my hips up to meet his with every pump, my hands and nails were constantly looking for somewhere new to land. His back and his ass each getting an equal amount of attention.

He snaked his left hand under my ass and grabbed on to my hip, taking control and taking me as hard and fast as he needed.

I was going to be bruised, he was scratched… we were going to be a mess. But hopefully a whole lot freer.

He started grunting and his thrusts started to stutter until finally he slammed into me one last time and I felt his release. The pulse and throb brought me right up to the edge of my own orgasm, and as he collapsed on top of me, I writhed against him searching for my own release.

A moment later Jake realized what I was doing and started kissing my neck, thrusting with short quick movements against me, “Come on baby. Come on, I can feel you, you’re right there.” His hand was still wrapped around my hip and with one quick caress he gripped me and held me tight against him.

It sent me right over the edge, my body contracting and pulsing, wrapping myself around his large sweaty body as I cried out. He wrapped his arms around me and held me, one hand around my hip, one around my shoulders, and I buried my cries in his neck, the taste of salty sweat dancing across my lips and tongue.

When I finally relaxed, Jake shuddered and started to gasp, “Oh God, Eve. I’m so fucking sorry.” He buried me under a blanket of wet kisses. He kissed my neck and jaw, my cheeks and lips, before finally resting his forehead against mine. “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head. Hurting me was the last thing he’d done. “No, it was perfect.”

***

When I woke up the next morning, Jake’s hand was resting on the middle of my back and his foot was tangled between mine. The way his hand was delicately rested against my skin… it was like he couldn’t bear the thought of not being connected to me, even in his sleep.

I didn’t dare move, I didn’t want to lose that feeling, I even tried to keep my breathing even.

I must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing I knew, light was streaming into our room, a cart was beside the bed with two covered trays and a carafe of coffee. A little white mug was filled and steaming. But there was no one beside me and the bed felt enormous and empty. I glanced around the room and found Jake standing naked at the window. He was looking outside and sipping from his mug. His back was a mess- lines and marks from my nails were everywhere.

I was sore. As soon as I moved I felt the ache of my muscles.

“Come back to me,” I murmured.

He turned at the sound of my voice, a sly smile curving his lips. “Morning, darlin’.” Then he sauntered back to the bed, all sexy and male, his eyes locked onto mine. “I called down and extended our reservation, there’s no rush, we have all day.”

All day… with Jake looking that sexy there were a lot of things we could do with that kind of time in this bed.

He eased down onto the mattress beside me. “There was no way I was letting you, all naked and beautiful, out of this bed before you were ready.”

I set down my coffee and reached out for his cheek. He’d gone so long between shaves his stubble was turning into a beard and the rough hair felt good against my skin. I pulled myself up, letting the sheet fall away, and kissed him. His hands ran up my bare back.

“You up for a little morning exercise?” I asked knowing full well what the answer would be.

He smiled against my lips, hauling me up and onto his naked lap, bare skin against bare skin. “Always.”

I moved against him, my hands bracing against his broad shoulders. I felt his immediate response between my legs as his cock began to harden. “Oh, babe…” he groaned. His hands kept brushing through my hair as his lips traveled down my neck. He found all of my most sensitive places—every lick taking my breath away and making my belly quiver.

But then he stopped, wrapping his hands around my face and holding me back to look into my eyes. His were deep and dark and they made my heart stop. He looked sad or worried. Some emotion I couldn’t quite place. “What?” I asked. Whatever Jake was feeling, I didn’t like it.

“I just want you.” His voice cracked and his hands tightened around my face.

“You have me,” I replied, but there was a completely different, deeper meaning below his words.

“Last night you said you were my family.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this and it scared me a little. “I am.”

“Eve, I want you to know that every single day I feel the responsibility of loving you. I know what a gift it is.”

He didn’t let me talk after that. We had another intense round of fucking. There were certain things we were working through that just didn’t seem to have words.

Chapter 18

I knew we couldn’t really move forward until we officially let go of the past.

One very important thing finally happened. Jake went out of town on a work trip, all big and important as he was these days, and I was nice and alone with my thoughts. I finally cracked open that black journal, suffered through the panic and dread, and started reading.

I had only known the parts of Jake’s past he was capable of sharing in extreme moments of desperation. Otherwise he kept his past hidden and I got the impression it wasn’t just from me.

I knew he was emotionally and physically abused, and I had a feeling the physical abuse was a footnote to the emotional damage Jake Sr. caused in Jake’s life.

He spoke of being beaten up, the broken bones, and scars as if they were nothing. I remember going over his body with a fine-toothed comb one night, inspecting and kissing each scar. To my surprise, Jake simply smiled and explained each one.

“This?” I asked kissing his elbow.

He shrugged, “Pushed off the back porch, landed on a rock and broke my elbow.”

I was horrified.

Jake laughed.

“I got a blue cast and I was the only kid in my school with a broken arm. I had fun with it.”

I moved down his arm to his hand. There was a hooked scar along the back of his hand. “This?”

“A lesson in why I wasn’t allowed to touch anything without permission.”

I raised my eyebrows, “With….?”

“A knife.”

I shuddered at the image of his father intentionally cutting his son’s hand to teach him a lesson. I moved to his firm abs. They weren’t a rippling six-pack like there were now—back then he was skinny and muscular. There was a weird collection of scars near his hip. “These?”

This time he took a moment before answering, “It’s my dad’s spot. He always gets me there. It’s his go-to…”

Oh.

The rest of his body was more of the same. Stitches, broken bones, falls… all at the hands of his loving father.

What Jake never talked about was how controlling his father was. I knew he used words as effectively as any punch or knife. I had heard his skill in the few minutes I’d spent with him over the years. Carefully placed sentences designed to kill. Constant reminders that Jake was merely his plaything.

But as I started reading, I finally got a look inside Jake’s head, inside the conflict and torture he lived through. I realized how very little I actually understood about the power of brainwashing.

One entry in particular seemed to explain it all. It was actually a night that had been a turning point for us. One I had gone back to over again and again in the years since he left. So this particular entry hit me hard.

Today was my one year anniversary of therapy. It’s been an interesting year. A good year, I think.

A long way still to go.

Today we talked about what changed me. Dr. Marks wanted to know why I rejected my father and his way of life, and started on a new path. What was it that made me realize I wanted a different life? I’m supposed to write about all that stuff until I see him in six months. I’m pretty sure this is gonna suck, but I’m going at with everything I’ve got. What do I have to lose? Anyway, here I go:

My dad controlled everything. I couldn’t do anything without his permission. Hell, sometimes I couldn’t piss without asking first. The first time I was ever really away from him was college and I’d barely managed to pull that off.

Dad let me know who I was—and I was nothing outside of him. He made sure I was constantly aware of how unwanted I was. That I was worthless and, by nature, bad. I wasn’t fit to be around normal people, I’d corrupt them. I wasn’t good enough. He made sure I knew no one would ever love me but him, and he didn’t really love me. He took care of me because he had to.

Then I met Eve.

And it made no sense whatsoever, but she fucking loved me. At least I thought she did. It felt like love. It was certainly different than anything else I’d ever felt in my life. But then I went home for a weekend and my dad set me straight.

He showed me the truth—that Eve was a rich bitch and I was her new toy. I was just too stupid to be able to understand stuff like that. It was his job to take care of me and protect me from the world. He made sure to remind me I would just ruin the people around me and that the only safe place was home with him.

So I went back to school that Sunday night with every intention of dumping Eve.

But that wasn’t what happened. When I got to her dorm room I slipped inside and saw her curled up on that stupid uncomfortable dorm couch with a blanket, reading a book. The minute she saw me she smiled. I mean she really smiled, like seeing me was the greatest fucking thing ever.

How could someone who didn’t care about me smile like that? If I was just her toy she wouldn’t be so happy to see me… right?

But I reminded myself how stupid I was and that I didn’t understand women. So I kept on with my plan. I told her we were done and that I didn’t want to see her anymore.

You know what she said to that?

No.

It was all she said and then she sat there and glared at me with her arms crossed.

“What do you mean… no?” I asked.

“No.” she replied again, her voice going up a full octave. “You cannot break up with me. I don’t allow it. No.”

Could she do that? Could she refuse to break up with me? And more importantly, why?

“I think it’s for the best, sweetheart. We aren’t good for each other.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and I really thought she was going to light me on fire with her eyes. “SWEETHEART? Did you just call me
sweetheart
?”

She kinda scared the piss out of me so I just nodded dumbly.

“No.” She repeated. “I don’t know who’s brainwashed you into believing we aren’t good for each other, but it’s a load of bullshit.”

Brainwashed.
It was the first time I’d ever really let that idea sit inside me and move around. I’d wondered, doubted, had friends over the years mention it… but it was the first time I’d really stopped and thought about it. Eve planted a seed that night that hasn’t ever stopped growing.