CHAPTER TEN
JACK
Having her in my arms and feeling her body pressed to mine again feels like heaven. Years of waiting for her to find me, hoping she'd forgive me, and here we are. Except, she hasn't forgiven me for my deepest sins, because she isn't even aware of them. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually her memory will return, and with it, the reason we parted ways so long ago. The real reasons. She will remember, and when she does, she will hate me. It would be best if I went on the offensive and told her, of course, but here she is, in my arms. She's soft and fragile and afraid, and the last thing I want to do is cause her more pain.
She understood the first lie, about being her husband. Hopefully, she forgives the second lie – the one about how we truly ended things.
She turns her face to look up at me, a smile gracing those full, beautiful, soft lips. God, she may be older than I remember, but she's still the prettiest woman I've ever seen. Her skin is still paler than normal, but some of her color is coming back. Freckles dot her nose and cheeks, and her green eyes shine like emeralds. Her auburn hair brings out the color even more.
She raises herself up on her tip-toes and presses her lips to mine, and for a moment, I can't breathe. All I can think about is the fact that her lips are touching mine. She's kissing me. My tongue pushes past her sweet lips and into her mouth. She shudders, and a small gasp escapes her throat as we kiss. My heart thunders in my chest. It has been so long since I've been with a woman. Too long.
The blood rushes to my lower extremities, and I grow hard in my jeans. My cock is straining painfully against the fabric . It's automatic, reflexive, and I have no control over any of it. She presses herself into me and I moan as my cock grinds against her belly. I quickly pull away from her and run a hand through my hair, clearing my throat at the same time.
“Sydney, you're hurt,” I say. “We should probably take it easy.”
I'm mainly saying that for my own benefit. After a head injury and whatever else she endured, the last thing she needs is me pushing myself on her. She stares up into my eyes, and damn, it's fucking hard to resist her. I want to pick her up and throw her on the bed. I want to ravage her the way I did all those years ago. We were both grown now, more experienced. The sex was great back then, but now, I bet it will be fucking amazing. Mind blowing.
No, she's hurt, I tell myself. We can't do this. My erection throbs, urging me to throw caution to the wind and just go for it, to fuck her all night long. The look on her face doesn't help me either. Her lips are parted, glistening with our saliva, and there is a sultry look in her eyes.
“I just need to feel something, Jack,” she says, her hands balled up on my chest. “After the hell I've been through, all the confusion and not knowing who I am or who you are, I just – I just want to feel good. To not hurt anymore. To feel good, even if for only a few minutes. I just want to have my mind taken off of the shitshow that is my life right now.”
I lick my lips, tasting her upon them. My body is telling me to go for it, to have my way with her. But, would it be right? She doesn't remember what I've done to her. Doesn't remember anything about me. To sleep with her right now will be taking advantage of her situation – and I'm not cool with that. I'm not that kind of a man. I have morals and although my body might be fighting like hell to go for it, my mind is telling me to keep it in my pants. That doing anything with and to her right now would be wrong on so many levels.
She continues, “Please, Jack. Maybe if we – you know -- maybe it would help me remember? Or at the very least let me forget everything for a bit.”
She's begging me. Literally begging me and I feel my resolve weakening. The large brick wall of morality I hold myself to is being chipped away and torn down, piece by piece, as I look into her eyes and let my gaze wander up and down her body, recalling how she used to feel underneath me all those years ago.
My body aches with a raw, animalistic need that runs thick through my blood. My heart races and my head is swimming with images of her naked, and memories of how she feels and tastes. God, I want to throw her down on the bed and take her, to feel her from the inside. I want to, but I refuse to give in to my base wants and desires. She deserves more than that.
“You're a good man, Jack,” she says, her voice sounding defeated. Her gaze falls, and her smile falls right along with it. “I may not remember our past, but the man you are now – I can see that you're good. Honorable. Kind. I'm sorry I tried to come on to you – ”
Before she finishes, I pull her to me and kiss her again, this time lifting her off her feet and holding her in my arms. Carefully, I carry her over to the bed and lay her down upon the thick, heavy down comforter. This is everything I've wanted for so long. Everything I've fantasized and dreamed about, and I need to make sure it's right. I can't rush it.
Sydney is shaking, her hands fumbling with my belt as we make out on my bed. As she removes my belt and tosses it to the floor, I pull back and look her in the eye again.
“Are you sure, Sydney?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“Yes,” she groans, her body arching to meet mine. “Yes, please, Jack. Just make me feel good.”
I'm not about to deny the woman her request. I move lower, kissing her neck as I try to remove her pants. Finding no zipper or anything, I move down between her legs.
Damn jeggings, I think. They slide off like leggings though, and once I know what I'm doing, they come off easily. Sydney helps me along the way, sliding them down over the curve of her hips. It's only a matter of moments before I'm tossing them across the room. Next, I lift her sweater enough to dot kisses along her belly. Then to her thighs. Her back arches and her hands reach for me.
“Yes, yes,” she groans.
She's trim and neat, just a small tuft of light brown hair around her opening. I gently spread her thighs open and press my mouth into her, savoring the sweet, musky scent of her pussy. I flick my tongue and get a taste of her, making her body shudder beneath me. Turning my gaze up to see her, our eyes lock. She stares down at me and I stare up at her from between her legs, and the look in her eyes tells me all I need to know.
She wants this. She needs this.
With a renewed vigor, I dive between her lips, sucking and licking her sweet spots. Sydney moans and cries out, her body lifting up toward me. I slide a finger inside of her and find that she's deliciously wet and warm. My balls ache from the pressure building up inside of them, but I focus on her.
It's about making her feel good. Not me. My needs can wait a little while longer.
I continue licking and finger fucking her, as she writhes beneath me on the bed. Her hands latch onto my head and pull me into her, the muscles in her thighs clenching around me. Her breathing grows ragged, as do the sounds coming from her throat. She's crying out for me.
She's screaming my name. “Jack!” over and over again, which only serves to inflame the passions already burning bright within me. I keep licking and sucking, plunging my fingers into her tight, wet little hole over and over again. Her body is trembling and when her voice is coming out in ragged, stuttering gasps.
Then I hear the words I'm dying to hear, “I'm coming. Oh God, Jack, I'm--”
Her voice cuts off and is a mix between a groan and a scream. I continue moving my fingers deep inside of her, exploring her body with my mouth and hands as her pussy clenches around my fingers and tongue. Her body quivers for me as she comes, and I'm in heaven.
Sydney let's out a long, shuddering breath and her entire body relaxes. It's like she's suddenly a dead weight on the bed. Her eyes are closed, and I'm staring up at her, seeing a look of pure bliss on her beautiful face. When her eyes open, she looks down at me and smiles. I can't help but smile back at her, feeling her juices running down my face.
“Come here,” she whispers, motioning for me to climb on top of her.
I rise up, but instead, curl up beside her. She looks confused for a moment, but I pull her into me and kiss her forehead. There's a chill in the air, the fire needs to be built, so I wrap the blanket around her and make sure she's warm.
“Your turn,” she murmurs, though her voice is heavy with exhaustion.
“Later,” I tell her.
I know there may never be a later in all reality. I may have missed my only opportunity to be with the woman I love again. But, this isn't the way I want it. I want her to know who I am when we make love. I want her to be with me because she's forgiven me of all of my sins – not just the ones she knows about. Until then, I don't deserve to have her. I won't taint the beautiful thing that exists between us with lies and deception.
Until I can work up the nerve to ask for her forgiveness for everything that happened in the past, I won't sully what I feel for her or our lovemaking.
Maybe I'm an idiot and am overthinking the whole thing. Who knows? I'm a hopeless romantic, sure, but only for her. I've never been one to care about other women. I could fuck them and leave them, no questions asked. Sydney is different though. She's always been different.
When we make love, I want her to not only know who I am, I want her to want me. The real me. The one who fucked up royally as a kid and who's paid his dues over the years.
There's no fight in her right now. Her breathing is steady and heavy, her body relaxed into mine. She's already sleep. Hell, I don't blame her after everything she's been through.
I stay with her for a long time, just stroking her hair and looking at her beautiful face, our bodies together and warm. I glance at the alarm clock and curse to myself. I have a woodworking job lined up for today. It's only some cabinets in a nearby house and probably wouldn't take all that long, but there's no way I'm leaving Sydney.
I guess that's one of the benefits of working for myself and being able to retire at my age. I climb from the bed and pull my phone from my back pocket, then quietly leave the room, dialing the number only after I'm back on the main level. My erection is showing no sign of going away anytime soon and it's getting more painful with each passing moment.
“Down boy,” I say, which makes Gunner to look up at me from his spot in front of the fireplace.
“Not you, my – ” I cut myself off as the client picks up the phone.
“Hello Mr. Williams,” I say. “It's Jack Bronson. I'm sorry to say that I'll have to reschedule our appointment today, something has come up.”
ooo000ooo
I set up shop in the dining room, with a clear view of the stairs from the loft. Otherwise, I let Sydney rest. I have a million e-mails to respond to, all of them about the impending sale of the company. E-mails I've been neglecting ever since the incident with Sydney. Nothing else seemed to matter after that, and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass.
My phone rings as I'm deleting about half the e-mails in my inbox. I look at the display and see that it's an unfamiliar number. Thinking it might be a client needing some work done, I answer it.
“Jack Bronson,” I say. “What can I help you with?”
“Hey Jack,” a female's voice says. “It's me, Marianne.”
I try to recall the name, and it hits me after a second or two. The girl from the shop. The pretty one who helped me put together some clothes for Sydney.
She continues. “You dropped your business card, and I thought I might give you a call.”
I somehow doubt I dropped a card, which means she found my phone number some other way. Not surprising though. It's probably linked to my credit card or something. “Hey, Marianne,” I say. “What's up?”
“Just wanting to check in with you to see if your friend liked the clothes we picked out,” she says, her tone very light and conversational.
“She did, actually. Thank you again for your help,” I say. “I have the other sizes she didn't use in a bag, ready to be returned when I get the chance.”
“That's totally fine,” she says. “As long as the tags are attached, and they haven't been worn, we should take them back.”
“Great,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”
I scratch my head and wait for her to continue. I have nothing else to say to her, really. Finally, after a long, awkward silence, she clears her throat and continues.
“Listen, so the clothes – they're really for somebody who's just a friend, right?”
“MmmHmm,” I say, knowing where this is going and trying to find a way to shut it down before it even starts.
I think back to what had happened upstairs. Maybe I'm wrong about that, but I have no doubt that once Sydney's memory comes back, things will change. That was probably a one-time deal, and though I ache for more, I'm at least glad I was able to bring her a few moments of peace and pleasure.
“Well, you did mention you were single, and I – well, I'm just going to come out and ask. Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”
“Dinner?” I ask. “As in a date?”
“Yeah, dinner,” she says and laughs nervously, though she doesn't mention the date part. “I can make a mean lasagna. And honestly, it's been so long since I've cooked for anyone it might be nice to get into the kitchen again. I just thought if you weren't seeing anyone, maybe we could – ”
I cut her off right there. “Listen, Marianne. You seem like a sweet girl, so I'm not going to dick you around. You do not want to date me. I'm seriously bad news when it comes to dating. Seriously bad.”
She laughs. “Don't be silly,” she says. “You're such a gentleman, buying all those clothes for an old friend like that.”
“You don't know me. Not really,” I say. “Trust me, that's only a sliver of who I am, and you wouldn't like the rest. Most days, I don't like the rest.”
The phone is silent for a long time, and I think she's hung up on me, but then I hear her sigh.
“I'm guessing that's a no, then?” she says.
She sounds not just mortified, but sad. Like I rejected her and brought her whole world crashing down around her. Shit. I hate making girls sad, but I didn't ask for this.
“I don't date, Marianne. Period. It's nothing wrong with you,” I say. “You're a very attractive woman, you're sweet – I just don't want to get involved with anyone because it never ends well for anybody. I swear that it's nothing personal.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says.
I can tell she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. Of course not. Everything I said was little more than the cliché garbage most men say to avoid making a woman cry while they try to let them down as gently as they possibly can. In this case though, it also happens to be true.
Better Marianne learn that now instead of finding out what a jackass I am months down the line. Not to mention, now that Sydney is back in my life, there’s no room for anyone else.
“Goodbye, Marianne,” I say. “And thanks again. I really appreciate everything.”
The phone clicks before I even finish my sentence. Good for her. She may not believe it, but it's the, smartest decision she could have possibly made for herself.