Chapter 14
BRENT
Janie’s text says she’s coming over and will be here in an hour. I reply that I’m looking forward to seeing her. That entire time I pace the room, equal parts nervous, confused, excited, and scared. Trying to stop thinking about it, I start doing push-ups. Then sit-ups. Then jump rope. Then I realize I’m all sweaty and gross and decide to take a lighting quick shower for the second time that morning. But this time I don’t get side-tracked by thinking about Janie and jacking off. I’m about to get the real thing. Or am I? She might be coming to end it with me. Her texting me and coming over like this is so out of the ordinary that there’s really no telling. I tell myself I don’t care, either way. But I'm lying, of course because the truth is that I care too much.
I hear Janie’s car pull up in the driveway and I meet her at the door. She looks incredible in a high waisted, knee-length black leather skirt that hugs her wide hips, a a classy green shirt tucked in at the waist so her D-cups are accentuated. She locks the door of her car and I see her huge tits press together. Oh shit, I want her already. And as she turns to walk up to me, the expression of worry that has clouded her soft face only increases my lust. She looks into my eyes and I can’t help but smile, even through the impending doom I feel growing in my chest.
“Hey,” I say, leaning in to kiss her soft lips. She doesn’t push me away, but she doesn’t respond either. “What’s wrong, baby?” I ask her, actually worried now. She never acts like this.
“I need to talk to you,” she says, putting her handbag down on the hallway table as she faces me and folding her arms, making her cleavage look even more delicious. She has no idea how hot she looks. I clear my throat and try to pull myself out of my lustful thoughts by thinking about something gross and disgusting. But it doesn’t work. Janie’s too near and I can’t control my mind.
“What’s up, baby?” I ask her gently. She sighs.
“Amy and I spoke this morning,” she says. “We’ve been avoiding each other for a while. Actually, the last six months or so, pretty much since you and I started seeing each other. Do you know why?”
“Why?” I answer, genuinely having no idea where this is going.
“Because both of us have been seeing you without knowing it. Did you know that? You’ve been two-timing us.”
“No, I haven’t,” I say, scoffing. The look of bafflement grows on her beautiful face, her amber eyes flashing. “I mean, I’ve been dating both of you, yes, but I haven't lied or anything. Had you asked if I was seeing her, I would have just told you.”
“Oh really?” she asks skeptically.
“Yes, really,” I exclaim. Janie suddenly looks sad. It breaks my heart.
“But - I thought we had a connection,” she says, her full bottom lip quivering, tears filling her eyes.
“We do,” I say gently, meaning it with all my heart.
“Then why did you feel the need to see Amy as well as me? Am I not enough?” she whispers, tears now falling down her apple cheeks. I reach out to her plump arms, incredulous that she can wonder about this, and pull her to me. She nestles her head against my torso.
“You are enough, Janie,” I whisper down into her brown curls. “You have no idea how much you’re enough.”
“Then I don’t understand,” she sobs into my chest. I sigh and gently put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at me, her beautiful amber eyes swimming with tears.
“And that’s all my fault.” I lean down and kiss her lips, wet with tears. “Come here, sit down. I’ll explain.”
Janie allows me to lead her to the sofa by her plump, dainty little hand, where we sit next to each other. I turn to face her. Holding her hand, I use my other to smooth the curls from her face, brushing her soft, alabaster skin with my calloused hand. She looks up at me expectantly.
“Janie, this connection you’ve been feeling, I’ve been feeling too. You know I have.” I pause a moment, searching for the words. “Ever since we met, being with you has been terrifying.”
“I get it,” she says in an unhappy voice. “But then why have you been seeing Amy too?”
“Wait for it, honey. I’m able to talk to you the way I can’t with anyone else. I’m able to open up and be myself. And that’s - that’s what’s been so difficult for me. There’s no hiding from myself when I’m with you.”
“But why would you want to, though?” she asks me innocently, not understanding. I grimace in frustration. Everything in my being is fighting what I’m doing. For all the talking we’ve been doing over the last six months, this is something I haven’t even gone near.
“Because that’s all I know how to do,” I say in a slow voice. “The Army drills that in you. It’s necessary for survival. But now that I’m back, I - I don’t know how to be normal again.”
She watches my face and I can see understanding growing in her eyes. It encourages me.
“But that’s not all. There’s stuff that - that - happened in the last four years, that …,” I stammer. This is difficult for me and Janie knows it. She squeezes my hand with encouragement. “Stuff that is difficult for me think about, talk about. And - and - when we’re together, I feel like you open the door to a brand new world. You know? Like you see into me. And I don’t like it. I want that door to stay closed. It’s safer that way.”
“But what has this got to do with Amy?” she whispers in a heartbroken voice. And I tell her everything. I tell her how Amy is nothing to me, makes me feel nothing, makes me feel numb, and how that makes me feel safe from myself. I tell her about the PTSD and how I’m talking to Cole regularly in order to avoid going to therapy. I tell her that Cole suggested exclusivity, but that I’m too scared about which other doors that will open inside me.
“You don’t have to be scared, Brent,” she whispers, looking earnestly into my eyes. “If you’ll let me, I can be here for you. You can open up to me like you’re doing now. We can get you through the PTSD together.”
“Opening up to you means opening the door all the way. You may not like what comes through it. It won’t be pretty, I can guarantee that.”
“Whatever comes through that door, we can battle together,” she says in a half-whisper, her gaze so gentle and caring.
For a few moments I say nothing, only looking into her caramel eyes and feeling myself coming to peace completely. And I know she’s right. I don’t need to see other girls anymore, not Amy, not anyone else.
“I want us to be exclusive, Brent. No more sneaking around. Out in the open. I want to be yours,” she says in a firm voice.
I nod, wanting the same. I know this is right. It feels right, and I’ve been a fucking asshole by blaming it on my PTSD.
“You are mine. And I’m yours. I’ll break it off with Amy. Let’s make it official,” I say, and feel a grin spreading across my face, matched by hers. I take her face in my hands, cupping it gently as I smooth my thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of tears.
“I’m so sorry I made you cry, Janie. I don't want to do that. I - I love you.” I hadn’t counted on saying that, but it just came out by itself. Because it’s true. She has that effect on me - raw and uncensored emotion. Her eyes light up with love and surprise.
“I love you too, Brent,” she whispers breathlessly.
I crush her to me then, hungrily kissing her perfect mouth. She responds instantly by circling her arms around my neck. My right hand slides up her neck and into her hair, my left arm encircles her waist and I lift her down off the sofa, gentling laying her on the soft rug below it. I have to have her now and I know she feels the same. Leaning on one elbow, I use my free hand to open her blouse, freeing her lush double D’s into my hands. I break free from our kiss to lower my mouth to her tits, kissing them before licking her large nipples.
“Brent,” she moans. And she’s the only girl I ever want to hear moan my name ever again. My cock hardens in my jeans and as Janie struggles to unbuckle them, her fingers fumbling. Her tits jiggle so deliciously in my face and I growl in lust. But this time I'm not scared of my animal passion for her. This time I’m not worried I’ll crush her in my power. If she trusts me, maybe I can trust myself too.
She holds my cock in her tiny hand and guides it to her pussy, and I don’t waste any further effort on undressing myself or her.
“Fuck me, Brent,” she whispers huskily. “Fuck me without holding back this time.”
“Are you sure you can handle it?” I ask roughly, my voice thick with arousal.
“I can handle anything as long as it’s with you,” she says breathlessly. “Please. Fuck me.” And cupping her neck with one hand, pushing her face up to mine so I can kiss her, I push my huge, rock-hard cock into her tight, slippery cunt. She moans, arching her back, pushing her tits up into my face. I thrust hard and deep, giving her what she wants. I groan as I bunch her hair into my fist, pulling her head back to expose her throat. She moans, loving it. I can tell by the way her pussy tightens around my cock, milking me as I move hard in and out of her. My balls are tight and ready to shoot my load.
“Tell me again,” I growl in her throat. I can feel myself losing control as I fuck her, needing to hear her say it. And my girl delivers.
“Fuck me, Brent,” she moans. I thrust my cock deeply, violently into her cunt, my tight balls pushing hard against her ass. She moans in delight as I groan in desperate pleasure, losing myself in her.
“Again,” I beg. “Tell me again,” I groan, my teeth on her neck.
“Fuck me,” she mewls again, her voice higher now, telling me she’s about to come. So I do. I fuck her, pushing my cock in to her tight little cunt so hard and deep that I forget who I am, and everything that’s ever happened to me.
“Fuck me. Fuck me!” she screams and I come then, biting down in her neck as she convulses. She screams in pleasure, my tight balls pulsing hard against her labia as my cock spasms, milked by her tight cunt.
After a few minutes, we both come down to Earth, still breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” I ask her urgently. I have no idea whether or not I’ve hurt her.
“Yes,” she giggles. “More than okay.” My cock and her cunt are still pulsing together, our orgasms taking a while to fade. I stay inside her as I lift myself back up on one elbow and look down at her beautiful, flushed face. Janie smiles up at me, caressing my face.
“See? You haven’t killed me,” she teases. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shake my head, relieved, overcome with joy.
“No. Not so bad at all,” I whisper. And I lean down to kiss her because this woman is my life. I’ve wronged her, I know that. I never should have dated another woman but it didn’t even feel like “dating” per se. It was more that I was grappling with my feelings for Janie and how strong they were. I was struggling with becoming myself once more, and as a result, did the wrong thing. But my girl is forgiving, and has given me a second chance for which I’m grateful. Because women like Janie don’t come around very often … and the love with have for each other will survive because we’ve already survived so much.