Fifteen
Even though Milo had killed the Christmas music in the car, Britney’s voice remained in Viola’s head well into the night. Long after they’d arrived back at the Moore house and turned in for the evening. Long after she’d snuggled under the covers and all the lights had dimmed, leaving nothing but the moonlight to kiss the dark walls of the quiet guest bedroom. Long after the ceiling fan spinning overhead had been reduced to a dull blur, making her dizzier and dizzier the longer she tried to follow it with her eyes.
Right alongside the stomach-churning music that had refused to leave her head was the memory of Jon in the family’s living room earlier that night. How he’d made the sacrifice of laying on the hard floor so the rest of the family, including her, could cuddle up on the couch during family movie night. How he’d had on a pair of red pajama bottoms and nothing more, ensuring that Viola was more entranced by the deep, taut muscles that ebbed and shifted against his bare back than she would ever be with the movie. Ensuring her thoughts ventured into territory so wanton it had no business sharing a room with his puritanical family or the G-rated Christmas tale that’d been playing on the big screen. The only thing more tortuous than the memory of Britney’s crooning voice in her head was the memory of his incredible body.
Knowing that very body laid just a few doors down—just a few tiptoes along the hallway—sent a shot of heat blazing through her body. She threw the sheets and blankets off herself with a gasp when the heat became overwhelming—worried she was moments from falling into a hot sweat.
She had to get out of that house. Get some fresh air before her unrequited perversions took her over the edge. Her breathing remained labored as she left the guest bedroom and tiptoed down to the first level of the house, careful not to make too much noise on the old, creaky staircase.
She didn’t click on any lights as she made her way into the kitchen, afraid she might wake someone, but the lights on the microwave clock helped her see where she was going.
2:49 a.m.
She ignored the glowing green lights that confirmed how little sleep she’d be getting as long as she was sharing a house with Jon, moving toward the kitchen cabinets. She opened the cabinet that she’d learned contained Mary’s delicious homemade trail mix and dug her hand into the bag, swooping out a healthy handful. Her eyes fell to the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that sat unscrewed on the cabinet as she threw her head back and poured some of the trail mix into her mouth, unable to stop herself from grabbing the bottle, pressing the nozzle to her lips, and washing down the sweet and salty flavor of the trail mix in a few heavy swallows.
The bitter flavor burned her throat and sent a violent chill through her body, one after the other, as she slammed the bottle back down on the counter. Scooping another handful of trail mix, she frowned against the burn of the liquid as it continued past her heart and into her stomach, feeling like it only grew hotter with every inch of her body it traveled. Still, even as the whiskey seemed on a mission to terminate her every vital organ as it made its way through her, it was still no match for the burn that lit her up every time Jon’s face entered her mind. Which, if her calculations were correct, was about every two to three seconds. It was a miracle she was still breathing.
Still gripping a handful of uneaten mix, she trudged out of the kitchen to the front door. A cool breeze encased her the moment she opened the door, but not cold enough to call for a jacket over her plaid pajama pants and top. She wiggled her bare feet into Milo’s black Uggs, which he’d left next to the door, and made her way outside.
Before she knew it, she was walking, breathing in the fresh scent of the leaves, bark, and dewy water that permeated the forest surrounding the house. The sound of the trickling stream she’d yet to visit, drew her as she made her way deeper into the expanse, along with the chirp of crickets and other mysterious sounds of the forest at night. Her boots crunched on the forest floor as she went. Her eyes rose to stars winking down from the black sky as her breathing came easier and easier the farther she got away from that house.
Away from him.
Wisps of moonlight filtered down through the branches of the tall trees swaying overhead. Like a spotlight beaming directly at her. When she cleared the expanse, however, and found herself suddenly drawn in by the unmistakable sound of a strumming guitar, she realized that spotlight hadn’t been meant for her, after all.
Just like every other spotlight on the planet, naturally, it had to be beaming only for him. For the very man she thought she’d been running from. The very man she thought she’d escaped. She froze in mid-step at the sight of Jon—still wearing the same red pajama pants he’d had on earlier—perched on a large black rock that sat on the edge of the small stream before him. He’d thrown a long-sleeved black t-shirt on over the bare chest that had been torturing her all night. The product he used in his hair had lost its power several hours ago, causing soft wisps of it to fall into his closed eyes as his fingers trickled over the strings of the guitar he held in his lap. The beautiful music rising from the instrument was enough to reach Viola and freeze her right where she stood. She couldn’t decide which was more beautiful. The melody, or him.
A brilliant orange blaze kissed the tip of the tightly rolled joint that hung from his lips, soft billows of smoke curling up from it and dancing through the air. Eyes still closed, fingers still strumming, he hugged his full pink lips around the stick. The orange tip grew fire red as he inhaled.
The scent of the leaves burning beyond the paper reached Viola in a matter of seconds, leaving her unable to hold back a cough as the unbearable scent infiltrated her lungs.
Jon’s eyes flew toward her, then widened. His fingers froze on the strings, and his mouth popped open. Miraculously, the joint held onto his bottom lip. Probably just as desperate to be touching that plump lip as she was to have it in her mouth. Between her legs. Wherever he’d like to put it actually.
As soon as the stunned look was in his eyes, however, it was gone. He looked away from her with a smirk, took one more drag, and then seized the joint from his lips, throwing it into the stream before him. The bustling water took hold of it and began carrying it away immediately, letting it bounce over several slippery black rocks before it finally disappeared below the bubbling surface.
“You stalking me?” he asked, staring ahead, teeth clenched as he continued holding the smoke in his lungs.
Taking that as an invitation, Viola began to make her way closer, suddenly finding the unstable forest floor nearly impossible to navigate. Was it the uneven piles of leaves and debris that were leaving her so off balance, or her trembling knees? She couldn’t decide. Probably her knees, though. Her body had been completely betraying her since the moment she’d met him, after all.
“I wouldn’t call it stalking,” she said.
He cut a look at her, smirking as a heavy billow of white smoke filtered through his nostrils before looking away with a soft shake of his head.
“Basically impossible not to be lured in by your playing.” She came to a stop a few feet away, for fear of scaring him away, like he was some skittish forest creature that could flee at any moment.
He stood and leaned the guitar against the rock, probably ready to confirm her worries and flee. Instead, he faced her head on while shoving his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms, his combat boots crunching on the ground as he took a few hesitant steps toward her. Viola held his eyes the closer he grew, always amazed at how tall, wide, and strong he was. His muscular arms like chiseled marble—always pulled tightly enough to appear seconds from breaking.
“Surprised you weren’t strumming some sappy Christmas tune,” she said.
“Hate Christmas music. Hate it.”
Holy shit. Not only wasn’t he fleeing, he was willingly conversing. “Same. I actually never noticed how horribly sad Christmas music was until I came back to Utah. No matter how chipper or upbeat it is, I still can’t quite put my finger on why they all suddenly sound so sad to me.” I’m lying. I do know why. It’s because everything is sad when I need you so damn badly. My entire world grows blacker with every day that I can’t kiss you again. Love me! Please, love me! She managed to smile even as her mind suffered a mini internal collapse.
His eyes seemed a softer blue under the spotlight of the moon, so light she swore she could even see his pupils expanding to twice their size. “The songs are sad because they never let you know the ending.”
She frowned softly, confused.
“So many heartfelt wishes being made,” he said. “All that begging and pleading, with no confirmation of whether or not any of the wishes actually came true. Instead of being force-fed some bullshit happy ending, we’re left to wonder. To create the ending for ourselves. To visit our own memories to find the resolution. And for most people, their memories… their endings are…”
He didn’t finish, but Viola didn’t need him to. “Sad.”
“It’s the not knowing.” His eyes fell to her lips. “That’s what’ll drive you crazy. That’s what’ll rip your heart right out. That’s why the songs are so sad.”
“I thought maybe they were sad because most of the classic Christmas songs were written during World War II, so no one was in a good enough mood to write anything that didn’t make you want to kill yourself.”
“Nah, it’s definitely my thing.”
“Probably. Especially since it was a Britney tune written in the 90s that almost did me in this morning.” She toed the dirt and debris with a grin, peeking up at him. “Never took you for a guy who needed a happily ever after.”
“I don’t. Stopped believing in those a long time ago.” His voice lowered. “I like sad songs.”
“So you prefer a world where happily ever afters don’t exist? A world where Christmas music may as well be playing round the clock?”
“Sounds like hell on Earth. So… yeah, sounds about right.” He laughed. “Sounds like home.”
Her eyes fell to watch his teeth make their rare, much-appreciated appearance. He had perfect teeth. Was there a single inch of him that she didn’t want to run her tongue all over? Even his gleaming enamel was turning her on. Looking downright delectable.
“You’re saying your life is hell on Earth?” she whispered.
His smile ebbed away, and his eyes fell to her lips. “Sometimes.”
“Well if you like sad songs then you should love Christmas music.”
“Hate it. Passionately.” His chest swelled. “Like I said, it forces you to visit your own mind for the endings. To visit your own fucked up Christmas memories.”
“Are all your Christmas memories fucked up?”
“You were at the center yesterday, so you already know how all my Christmas stories ended.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Milo said you put up a fight to pick me up this morning.”
“I told Gigi I’d be there, so I wanted to be there.”
“Right. So you were really fighting for my mom, not for me?”
He smiled again, but this time not with his teeth. More of an irritated smile than an amused one.
She took a step forward. “I still can’t believe you’re the donor that saved the center.”
He lifted his chin and stepped back. “It saved me first, so…”
“Do you know what that means? That means you, a white man, has done more for my education than the United Negro College Fund—who didn’t give me a single red cent, by the way. I guess my essay wasn’t up to par, I dunno…” She gave a soft shrug, her heart soaring at the sound of his soft laughter—the reappearance of those sexy ass teeth. Bringing the grand total to two—count ‘em two—real smiles from him in less than five minutes. It marked a new milestone. The most she’d ever seen his teeth in a single sitting. She was already addicted to the sight.
She nibbled her bottom lip and gazed out toward the water. “You come out here every night?”
“Since middle school.” He squinted over her shoulder and then pointed. “Lost my virginity right there—to my Mom’s best friend.”
“An older woman, huh?” Viola followed his eyes over her shoulder to a massive oak tree that sat alongside the stream. Its trunk was three times the size of Jon himself—who was linebacker-wide in his own right.
“That poor woman,” Viola said. “Bark looks sharp as hell. Her back must’ve been torn to shreds.”
“She kept her top on.”
“And we’ve officially entered too much information territory.”
“Yep, right up against that tree. First time. Just a few days before my father kicked me out of the house for good, too. I always wondered if maybe he saw us and never said anything. If that was the real reason he put me out on my ass. The real straw that broke the camel’s back. Jon, you’re shooting heroin and stealing your mother’s pearls? Okay, let’s get you to rehab. But sex out of wedlock?” He clicked his teeth and jammed his finger over his shoulder. “Fuck outta my house.”
She took a small step toward him. This time, he didn’t step away. “Your Dad kicked you out when you were fifteen?”
“Told me to leave and never come back.”
“But all your interviews said you were a runaway. That you hitchhiked to LA and met Adam in the underground rock scene shortly after. Not that your Dad kicked you out.”
“Sometimes I forget you already know everything about me.”
“Apparently not.”
“I didn’t run. He put me out. That’s nobody’s business though.”
“So you lied to protect him?”
“He thought I’d have no choice but to come back. Beaten and humbled by the cold, hard world, begging for forgiveness, lesson learned. Imagine his surprise when the next time Jonathan Matthew Moore came back home…”
“He’d be Jonathan fuckin’ Baca?”
“Mmm.” He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to hide a smile that seemed to take him by surprise. The smile vanished, however, just as quickly as it came. “He can’t stand that I never came back begging. Can’t stand that I did it without him.”
She searched his eyes. “But you’re back now.”
“Not for him.”
“No?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t push further. It was a miracle he was talking to her at all. Last thing she wanted to do was ruin the moment. Remind him for the millionth time that he didn’t actually like her. It seemed his hatred of her was a fact he often found all too easy to forget. If she played her cards right, maybe, one day, he’d forget it forever.
“He never came looking for you?” she asked.
“I took on the stage name pretty soon after I hit LA. If he did come looking, I’m sure that made it harder to find me. Plus I was on Adam’s ass like a puppy, following him all over the country until he finally gave me a real shot with the band. Even if my father wanted to find me, I wasn’t going to be found. Not until I decided.”
She went to respond, but a rustle in the distance stole her attention. When her eyes flew towards the sound and landed on a squirrel, standing on its hind legs just a few feet away from the surface of the stream, her mouth fell open.
“Aww,” she purred, tiptoeing toward the squirrel on a slow, soft foot, careful not to cause it to skedaddle off the same way she’d worried Jon might a moment earlier. She took on a soft tone of voice like she was speaking to an infant. “Look at the baby boy…”
“Hey, don’t get too close to that fuckin’ thing,” Jon warned.
Viola clenched the trail mix she’d forgotten was still in her hand as she continued toward the squirrel and bent down next to it. “I just wanna give him a little taste. He looks hungry.”
“What did the woman say on that god-awful show you had playing on our flight?” he asked. “ ‘A squirrel is just a rat in a cuter outfit’? Well, she was absolutely right, except squirrels are way worse. I’d take my chances with the rat any day.”
Viola smiled at him over her shoulder, unable to decide what she was more amazed by. That he’d just brought up a memory from their time on the airplane, or that he’d just quoted Carrie Bradshaw.
“Aw, he’s not a rat, he’s an angel,” she cooed, holding out a palm full of trail mix to the squirrel, offering it up for him to choose what he liked best. The squirrel froze in place on its hind legs, beady eyes locked to her hand. Even his fuzzy tail ground to a sudden halt, shooting straight up toward the starry sky. For a moment, Viola wondered if he wouldn’t be interested in the snack she had on offer after all.
Then, he charged forward, so quickly it caught her off guard. The sudden movement stole a surprised scream from her lips, making her jolt so furiously that her entire body went off balance and she lost her footing, falling onto her side on the ground.
Then, pain.
White hot, searing pain. Starting at her finger and quickly consuming her whole body until she felt like her every bone had caught fire.
“Fuck! Ouch! Son of a… bitch!” She hadn’t even realized she’d started thrashing, kicking and screaming as she rolled around in the dirt and leaves, shouting every profane word that came to her mind—of which there were many—clutching her hand and praying for the pain to stop. “Oh my God.”
It wasn’t until the hardness of Jon’s arms were around her waist, his firm stomach against her back, and the fierce squeeze of his strong fingers at her sides, that Viola realized how out of control she’d gotten. Seizing and spasming on the floor like a demon was being exorcized from her body. Only the feeling of his body against her was enough to make her forget the pain that was eating her alive. Enough to freeze her completely in mid-thrash, her wide eyes flying over her shoulder and finding his blue orbs mere inches from hers.
The smile on his face was the biggest she’d seen yet. “I told your ass. I told you. Now you’re bleeding. Nice job.”
Stunned, her eyes fell to her hand, immediately growing lightheaded when she found blood gushing from the tip of her index finger, where the feral creature had sunk its buckteeth in deep.
“Alright, calm down,” he whispered. “Calm down. I got you.”
Her face was apparently more panicked and horror-stricken than she’d realized because he began handling her with kid gloves from where he was now crouched next to her, wrapping his warm fingers around her wrist and guiding them toward the trickling stream, which had somehow come right up next to them during her dramatic kicking and thrashing.
The cool water running over the tip of her finger, washing away the blood, wasn’t enough to stop the burn, however. Because a new burn had taken over her body. One that had nothing to do with the evil ‘rat in a cuter outfit’ that had already scurried away, and everything to do with the angel from heaven kneeling down next to her.
She didn’t know when her chest began to heave, or when she’d begun to gasp—all she knew was his chest was rising and falling just as rapidly as hers. His muscles just as tense, looking moments from busting through the cotton of his t-shirt. Was his heart beating as hard as hers was now? Harder still every second until it was hammering to the point of pain? Was it the cold water causing her nipples to become erect under her pajama top, or his dilated eyes as they fell to her lips? She licked them in response, gasping softly as every inch of her body began to feel swollen—her mouth, her breasts, and the pulsing apex between her thighs. Pumping with blood the same way her finger had been a moment earlier. Desperate for the same attentions her finger had just gotten.
She held her breath because the tip of his nose was suddenly nuzzling hers. Had he leaned in, or had she? She looked up to meet his eyes but found them tightly closed. Fighting a silent war beyond the long lashes that tickled his cheeks. She leaned in before that war ended and drew his bottom lip between hers.
They gasped in time, and his soft moan rose into the air along with hers. The leafy taste of the weed he’d long thrown away tickled her tongue, more so when he spread his lips for more, sweeping his tongue against hers. She’d never known the flavor of weed until that moment, and as she plundered his mouth gently, his top lip, then his bottom, she was sure she loved it.
She didn’t have time to confirm that love, however, because just as soon as the flavor was there, it was gone. His hands were on her shoulders, digging into them like claws, and he was nudging her backward, forcing their swollen lips apart with a smack. Leaving them gasping in each breath as they searched each other’s eyes.
And then it was there. The consciousness. The realization that this kiss was a kiss he’d now carried out willingly and not unknowingly the way he had on the plane. A kiss that he could no longer dismiss as an innocent accident or an unfortunate coincidence.
Cursing under his breath, he slammed his eyes closed. Viola tried to lean in for more, but he cupped her jaw with one hand and stopped her, one precious breath before her lips touched his again, shaking his head softly. His thumb sank into one of her cheeks and the rest of his fingers into the other, making sinkholes, while his other hand plunged into her hair at the crown, drawing a clump of her curls into a tight fist. Fiercely enough to make the roots strain against her scalp. She waited for him to tug her hair with all his might. To yank her head backward. Anything to get her lips farther away from his.
He drew her toward him instead, dove in, and spread his lips wide over hers again. She whimpered as they fell into a second kiss, the flavor of weed on his tongue suddenly replaced with the sharp pecan flavor of Jack Daniel’s. Was she tasting the whiskey on her own tongue, or his? Perhaps he’d been the one who’d left it open on the kitchen counter in the first place, and the flavor had lingered in his mouth long after he’d sampled it. Her stomach tightened as the kiss grew deep, both of her lips finding themselves trapped between his, over and over, with varying levels of intensity until he was nipping them with his teeth. Devouring her.
She moaned against his lips as he took the kiss, her hungry fingers running every rigid valley of his hard body as if it was the last time she’d ever get to touch it. It probably would be. The thought made a flash of regret tighten her skin like she’d already lost the kiss she was in the midst of. Already lost the strength of his hands as they caressed every inch of her body. Already lost him. It had been hard enough to lose him the first time. Now that he’d let her have his lips again, she wasn’t sure how she could go back. Especially when the weed and the whiskey both fell away, leaving nothing but his own natural, sweet flavor to light up her taste buds during the passionate kiss. His flavor was the most intoxicating of all.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed, breaking his lips away, using the hold he still had on her hair to pull her face away from his once more.
Viola stared up at him, gasping violently, nipples pressing so hard against her top she thought they might cut through like razor blades. Clit throbbing between her lips. Mouth swollen, throbbing for another taste of his.
Jon left her completely—untangling his fingers from her hair and releasing her jaw—and stood. He turned his back and stomped away. Even from a distance, she saw how badly his hands were shaking.
She was sure she’d never again know a pain like the one she felt right then. The pain of watching him walk away. Of not knowing if he was walking away for good, or just for now.
“It’s the not knowing. That’s what’ll drive you crazy. That’s what’ll rip your heart right out.”
The memory of his words made her shoot to her feet, standing on wobbling legs, her entire body shaking just as wildly as his. The fear soon took over, unsteady legs be damned, and she was running. Racing after him as quickly as her legs would move her.
One touch on his broad shoulder from behind and he spun to face her, wrapped a big arm around her waist and pulled her body to his. His free hand found the front of her neck, and he wrapped his fingers around it. He didn’t squeeze, but she wouldn’t have stopped him even if he had.
She swallowed thickly, feeling her throat bobbing against his palm as the lump moved down between their skin.
He clenched his teeth. “Why?”
She swallowed heavily again, struggling to catch her breath, seeing the rapid rise and fall of her breasts from where they were smashed against his chest. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t speak.
“Why did you pull me in? Why did you make me—Fuck…” He cringed into the distance. Unable to keep his frustrated eyes away for long, however, he looked back down at her, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth, tightening his fingers around her neck and shaking her softly. “Why did you do this?”
Her trembling voice came softly. “Because I couldn’t… not do it.”
Their eyes danced, tangling together in the whisper of space between their faces. His eyebrows tightened as her answer sank in. An answer that, to most, would barely even qualify as comprehensible English. But Jon understood, drawing her in with a gasp, bringing her to her toes as their lips spread wide and met in another searing kiss. His lips fused to hers as he drew her in, sending one pang of pleasure after the other blazing through her body as he used his strength to squeeze her as close as he could, their flush bodies leaving no secret to that fact that his excitement was just as out of control as hers. She felt it pressing against her thigh through his pants. In each lash of his tongue deep inside her parted mouth. Against her neck, as he moved his kiss from her lips to her skin. She felt it in his moans as they warmed the crook of her neck, nipping and nuzzling the skin between her collarbone before hungrily returning to her mouth.
She sank her fingers into his hair while exploring his mouth with her tongue, having no idea they’d been stumbling backward in the midst of their fervent kiss until she felt moisture suddenly soaking her feet. She broke the kiss with a gasp, and her eyes shot down just in time to find Milo’s Uggs ankle deep in the stream.
She didn’t care. And apparently, neither did he, because when her knees went weak and gave out from under her, he kept his lips sealed to hers, following her as she sank down to the ground. Until half of their bodies were submerged in the water and the other half on solid ground. Her hair grew wet and heavy the moment she laid her head down, too entranced with the sight of Jon to care as he took his hot kisses down her body. Along her neck, over her collarbones, between her heaving breasts, and down to the drawstring of her pajama pants. He ripped the string at her waistband and yanked the pants down, revealing her gleaming pussy. He didn’t finish removing her pants, losing patience almost instantly, leaving them pooled at her ankles before seizing the backs of her thighs and pressing them up into her chest, leaving her folds wide open.
He wasted not a second—bending down and submerging his lips into her swollen pussy with a moan as if he was finally getting a taste of a meal he’d been dreaming of, dying for, his entire life.
Viola’s eyes rolled back and her neck arched to the point of breaking. She paid no mind to the sharp rubble on the forest floor pricking at the back of her head, too entranced by the amazing feeling of his soft, slick tongue putting in work between her legs. How fast it glided over her slippery walls, paying special attention to her clit, drawing the white-hot ball of pleasure at the pit of her belly harder and faster than she’d ever experienced before. His mouth had only been on her for a few precious seconds, and she was already on the verge of explosion.
She reached down to sink her fingers into his hair, clawing at his skull. “Please…” She bit down on her kneecap, which was mere inches from her mouth as he kept her legs pressed into her chest, and found it nearly impossible to breathe as his tongue ripped her body slowly apart until nothing else existed but the blinding need to finish. To surrender to the hurricane of ecstasy ripping through her body. Give herself completely to the much needed-high, the tornado of rapture, that had encased her since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
She tightened her fingers around his hair as she came, grinding and convulsing against his tongue. A tongue that never stopped working her pumping clit. Just when she was sure she’d reached the crescendo, that he’d drawn every inch of pleasure from her body, every contraction from her coiling bones, he slid two fingers inside her and drew another realm of heart-stopping nirvana from the deepest pit. A pit she hadn’t even known existed until he curled his thick fingers inside and pulled it from her with a skill that left her roaring. Shattered down to her very core. Releasing a tension that left her shooting fireworks against his fingers and tongue, taken by a breathtaking blaze of a pinnacle she’d never in her life touched. One she hadn’t even known could exist.
Only when her entire body had stilled, and she was gazing up at the stars in awe, fingers still dancing in his hair, did Jon release his hold on the back of her thighs. Her bones were still limp, so her legs collapsed onto the forest floor like a rag doll the moment he did.
She could feel the worship in her heavy eyes as he crawled up her body. Looking up at him like a God on earth. A legend among men. She could see every residual pound of her pussy manifesting itself in her eyes.
He must’ve seen it because his own eyes went nearly as black as the sky beyond him, and he bent down to take her lips in another furious kiss.
Normally Viola would rear back at the sight of a man’s lips coming toward hers so soon after they’d been between her legs. But at that moment, she spread her lips wide and accepted Jon without hesitation. At that moment, there was nothing she wouldn’t have done for him. Nothing that would stop her from having him in any way he would allow her.
Their lips parted with a smack, and they opened their eyes slowly, giving each other soft pecks as their gazes remained locked.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders and shoved him with a growl, drawing a soft laugh from his swollen lips as she rolled him onto his back. He let her straddle him—as best she could with her pants still bunched around her ankles—the water from the stream dripping from her soaked hair and making her curls hang long. He played the wet tendrils between his fingers with a sigh, unable to stop himself from returning her torrid smile as she got to work tearing apart the tie in his own pajama pants.
She tugged at his pants with the same fervor he had hers, but only managed to pull them low enough to expose the deep v at his hips. He lifted his hips, dipped his thumbs into the waistband, and shoved them down to help her. His dick caught against the waistband for a moment before popping out into the cool night air and slapping against his stomach. Viola seized it a moment later. The moment she wrapped her fingers around him, his eyes fell closed, and his head fell back, sinking his own unsteady fingers into his hair.
She claimed the throbbing head between her lips without a moment’s hesitation. So hungry to feel him in her mouth, filling her all the way to the back of her throat, she hadn’t even bothered to get a look at how big he was. How thick. But she could feel it as she took his rock hard shaft all the way to her throat. Still able to wrap her hand around the base once she’d gotten as much of him into her mouth as she could. He was huge. So much so that her pussy was already revitalizing, pounding furiously once more, aching to get better acquainted with the rod she had trapped between her lips.
With his hands still buried in his hair, he craned his neck upward and opened his hooded eyes to watch as she sucked him, hissing softly as her head began to bob, reaching down to push her hair away from her face so he could see her eyes.
She wanted to see him too, holding his gaze while she worked. Dying to see every flash of pleasure in his eyes as she milked him to completion. To see exactly what she was doing to him. To learn the things he liked and the things he loved.
“Just like that, baby,” he whispered, voice fractured and choked. “God, that feels so fucking good.”
Driven by his strangled gasps, the dirty, huskily-whispered words on his lips and the moans that grew more fervent every second, Viola knew he was close when she saw his stomach tighten and roll under the t-shirt they hadn’t bothered to remove. Ebbing and flowing like a tidal way was crashing under his skin, seconds from pulling her under if she didn’t run for her life.
But she had no plans on running, keeping her lips sealed firmly around his shaft even as his orgasm caused him to unconsciously thrust up into her mouth, driving the head deeper into her throat than she could handle. She managed to relax in the nick of time, however, taking each stroke of his dick and each shot of his warm cum as they filled her mouth over and over.
His back arched off the forest floor as he filled her with his essence. The flavor of his cum was even sweeter than his tongue, and she swallowed every drop with a smile before releasing him from her lips.
He exhaled heavily, watching her with wide, amazed eyes, using his hold on her hair to pull her mouth back up to his. Their lips met in a softer kiss this time. A kiss that could only be so slow and sure when two people had just cum as hard as they had. When two people had just finished working out some much-needed tension.
Even still, Viola knew she had enough tension in her body for Jon that not even a lifetime of orgasms could ever work them out.
Apparently, Jon felt the same way, because a moment later, his eyes had darkened. His hands were on her arms, and he was pushing her back once more.
Viola plopped onto her butt on the ground as he did, her big brown eyes following him when he stood to his feet, running his trembling fingers over his downturned lips as he stared off into the distance. Whatever was going on in his mind caused him to slam his eyes closed and shake his head, leaning down to seize his pants and pull them back up once more.
As he re-tied his waistband, his eyes fell back down to her.
Just like that, something shifted in him.
Milo’s gay! It’s all a farce. You don’t have to feel guilty. What we just did was beautiful. We have something beautiful!
She nearly said the words.
Finding the strength not to, she pressed her lips together and held her breath, worried that the heat in his blue eyes was going to kill her on the spot. Some part of her wondered if she’d rather be dead. Death had to be better than walking around in a world like this. A world where she couldn’t do what she’d just done with Jon, all day, every day, without having to worry about seeing in his eyes what she saw right then.
Unfortunately, that ugly world was the world they lived in.
So, when he turned and began away from her without another word, she didn’t try to stop him.
——
Viola waited nearly half an hour after Jon had left to get up off the forest floor and drag her body back home. Not just because the memory of him walking away from her moments after she’d swallowed was tearing her limb from limb, but because the pain of watching him walk away had been nothing in comparison to the guilt she’d seen in his eyes. The moment they’d shared had felt so right—she could see it in his eyes that she hadn’t been alone in thinking that—but to him, it had been so wrong. To him, he’d just gone down on his brother’s girlfriend and let her go down on him. To him, he was a terrible person.
It broke her heart that he was somewhere in that house, believing that. And it made her feel angry toward Milo. Angrier than she’d ever felt at her best friend in her life. So much so that she’d been forced to remain on the forest floor, pussy still aching with the memory of Jon’s tongue, for nearly half an hour before she’d had the strength to get up.
“I will not kill Milo. I will not kill Milo. I will not kill Milo…”
She repeated the five-worded chant for the entire walk back to the house and all the way up the porch, even as her fists remained clenched and her stomach tightened with fury.
She stomped up the porch steps. “I will not kill Milo. I will not kill Milo. I will—ahh!” She screamed at the top of her lungs when the porch light suddenly popped on, moments after she’d cleared the steps, causing her to jump nearly a foot in the air.
Her wide eyes flew towards the porch swing, where Betty had just flipped the switch.
“Evening, Viola,” Betty smiled widely, making the dozens of wrinkles on her pale face ebb even deeper, betraying her elderly age. She still had a face full of make-up even though she was in her white silk pajamas.
Viola clapped a hand over her racing heart. “Betty, you scared me half to death.”
Betty stacked her hands on top of her crossed legs with a smile, her slippered foot bopping through the air.
“Well, darling, half of your body is just positively soaked and wet,” Betty noted.
“Oh, yeah….” Viola motioned behind her. “I just went for a little walk.”
“Did you now?”
“Yeah, out by the stream. Must’ve tripped and fallen into the water.”
“How interesting, because Jon just went for a walk by the stream too. And wouldn’t you know it? Came right back to this house with half his body… soaked and wet. I supposed he… tripped and fell too?”
Viola’s stomach hit her feet. Her eyes widened. She went to speak, but then slammed her mouth shut.
“Will you be joining us at church tomorrow morning, dear?” Betty fluttered her lashes.
“Oh, well, I—”
“Because I think we all need it.”
“Okay, sure. Of course. It’d be my pleasure to join you all at the family church.” Viola motioned to the house, unable to stand the knowing smile on Betty’s face for another second. “Well, that walk really tuckered me out—”
“Oh, I’m sure it did.”
Viola faltered. “Yeah, it really did. So, I’m gonna head on up to bed now—”
“God bless you, Viola. Let’s pray for peace.”
Viola paused with her hand on the door handle. “I’ll definitely do that. Praying for peace. Got it. Goodnight, Bet—”
“May the peace of God be with you as you rest.”
“May the peace of God be with you too, Betty.” Viola turned the door handle, desperate for escape. “Goodnight—”
“Blessings to you, Viola.”
“Yes, blessings to you, too, Betty. Okay. Goodnight.” Viola threw open the front door and raced into the house before Betty could shoot another farewell her way.
It wasn’t that Viola had a problem with a little old lady wishing her a Godly goodnight. It was just that Viola had grown up with a God-fearing mother of her own, so she knew what Betty’s Godly words really meant.
“May the peace of God be with you as you rest” really meant “God saw what you did on that forest floor, girl.”
“Let us pray for peace” really meant “Let us pray for your wretched, adulterous soul because it’s surely going to burn in hell.”
“Blessings to you, Viola” really meant “Shame on you, Viola.”
Growing up in a Godly house had taught Viola that there was no profanity in the world that had the same effect—the same kick—as a prayer spoken in a knowing, authoritative tone. Betty had just given her a few dozen flashbacks to some of her worst punishments as a child. Punishments that had never looked or sounded like punishment, but had always hit her to her very core.
She raced up the steps to her room the same way she used to run from her mother chasing after her with a switch, wincing in anticipation for a lashing she knew would never come, but still felt deep in her heart.