Second Chance Hero (18 page)

“Oh, god.”

I choke as Deacon manoeuvres his hand and mouth
together and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I can hear myself
panting, whimpers escaping me as he continues his assault. I buck into him,
needing more, needing less, needing release.

His free hand that was gripping my behind travels
round to the bottom of my stomach and he applies a pressure that has me
screaming in ecstasy as I come gloriously. I expect him to stop, for me to
repay the gesture, but he continues with his hand and his tongue and I think
I’ll collapse as I feel the building again, it’ll rip me apart if I climax so
soon after the last time. My knees agree and they give way. As if he expects
it, he withdraws his finger, grabs the back of my knees and tips me on the
counter, before slipping two fingers back into me, his mouth never leaving my
clit. I arch my back, my muscles tightening and he puts his hand back on my
stomach.

“I can't!” I cry, knowing full well I can, but
afraid of the state it will leave me in.

 Deacon doesn’t stop, keeping up the rhythm with his
fingers and then takes my clit gently between his teeth and I fall, screaming
his name, holding my breath and stopping any oxygen getting into my lungs as my
body trembles and my screams dwindle to a euphoric cry.

I look at him with black spots in my eyes as he
takes his mouth and hand away, and I think I’ll combust again as he puts his
fingers in his mouth to taste me again.

“What
was
that?” I pant, as he peppers kisses
across the bottom of my stomach and works his way back up to my lips.

I taste my arousal as he supports his weight on his
hands either side of my head and kisses me hungrily, as if he can’t bear not
to.

“That,” He says pulling back, “Was the life
affirming Big O.”

I feel my frown and he cocks one eyebrow, “I created
it for you.”

“And how did you know it would work?” I ask,
sceptical, convinced he’s done that before.

“Because I can read your body like a book.” He
presses his lips to my neck again, “It was made for me.”

I’m about to say it, tell him he’s right; that I’ve
thought that since we were reunited. I’ve never been tuned into someone so
physically before, never been able to give them my body entirely because I
couldn't give them my heart. But then he pulls away and stands up, and I sit up
looking at him, feeling self-conscious.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

And then he leaves; no other words, no goodbye kiss,
no opportunity for me to level out the sexual contact. Nothing. And then I
realise it’s because of what he said. He can read my
body
, because it
belongs to him. Not my heart.

I felt like he was worshipping me, and I wanted to
worship him back, but he left. And even after everything he did, everything I
felt and every reaction we had to each other this afternoon, I feel used, heartbroken.
Again. He’s wrong; he’s had my heart since we were children.

Why can't he see it’s not about how I feel for him
physically? The sex and desire is only as ‘life-affirming’ as it is because I’m
in love with him. But the more I think about it, the more I consider that he
behaves this way with all his girls. Maybe he uses his obscene amounts of money
to buy them gifts, to make them feel appreciated and wanted, so he can worm his
way into their bodies. Maybe he really is the ultimate sexual predator that
everyone thinks he is.

Even as I’m thinking it, I’m telling myself not to
believe it; he
did
worship me, every touch was gentle, filled with
veneration and the selfless need to satisfy me. There was something holding him
back, keeping him from staying, I just don’t know what it was. Maybe he
regretted what happened, and there’s an explanation as simple as him deciding
to respect my relationship with Kip, after the damage that has already been
done. But I can't help feeling like it was something more; that he left because
he thought whatever he was holding back would escape. 

I get dressed and clear up, as the timer on the oven
beeps. Deacon’s cakes have come out perfect; fluffy and risen and golden. Mine
on the other hand have sunk in the middle and the strawberries are oozing from
the sides. I throw my batch in the bin, blaming Deacon distracting me for why
they came out such a disaster. I ice Deacon’s cakes myself and put them in a
box to give to him later. I’m tempted to pull out, out of embarrassment and
confusion, but I told him if the cakes came out perfect I’d go to dinner with
him, and I'm going to go; especially if it gets me an explanation for what
happened today.

~

Mum is helping me pick out something to go to dinner
in. I didn’t bring much from London with me, so it’ll have to be something I’ve
worn before. I hate going out in the same thing twice, but I spent the
afternoon sulking over my cupcake mishap, and then went with Jade to pick
Phillipa up from school.

“I like the grey skirt.” Mum says, holding it up
with my grey silk shirt. It’s the outfit I wore for my birthday dinner, “Maybe
it would be too dark now your hair is back to your natural colour.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

I have decided after talking to Jade while we waited
for the school bell to ring, that after tonight, I will have my answers from
Deacon, or I will go back to the girl I was when I wore this suit the day I
arrived back here. The suit is perfect.

Mum eyes me warily, but leaves me to change.

Deacon

            It took everything I had to leave the
shop this afternoon; I was so close in that moment, looking at Jenna in her
post orgasmic bliss, to telling her everything. But she isn’t ready to hear it,
I know she isn’t. Things aren’t as simple between us as they would be if we had
never fallen out. But I know she thinks I’m just using her; I saw the look in
her eyes, like I was about to tell her I was done, I’d had my fill and I was
moving on. But I’ll never get my fill of Jenna; she’s everything and there’s
nothing I can do to shake that. I’ve tried.

            I pull up outside her house and can see
the family gathered in the lounge, the light of the TV flashing in the room.
Jade and Jenna are behind the sofa talking; I’m not normally curious but
something about the way the sisters are talking has my eyes glued to them. Jade
is throwing her arms around and standing so close that Jenna has to look up at
her big sister. It looks like she’s getting a telling off until Jenna puts her
hands up onto Jade’s shoulders and laughs. It looks stiff, forced, but has the
desired effect and Jade relaxes while Jenna runs her hand through her hair,
pulling it messily to the side. And then all eyes are on me. I wave nervously
and look away. Damn.

            A tap on my window makes me jump, and
Jade is next to the car, while I see Jenna pulling on her jacket in the
doorway. I wind the window down.

            “Hey.” Jade says as if it’s an innocent
greeting, but there’s a reason she’s at my car and she has her mother eyes on,
“Don't get her drunk. Make sure she comes home. And for Chris sake, have a
conversation instead of taking her across the table for the entire restaurant
to see.”

            Jenna appears behind her and kisses her
on the cheek before making her way round to the passenger seat and sliding in.
The M3 becomes the second car to be invaded by Jenna’s summery smell that
reminds me of sandcastles and sunshine.

            “Good evening,” She says, very
un-Jenna-like, “Bye, Jade.”

            She raises her eyebrows at her sister
who gives me the look. The look that makes me want to ask what time Jenna’s
curfew is so I can have her home an hour early. But she disappears back inside
and I pull away from the kerb.

            “Where are we going?”

            “The guy who owns Jack’s has a
restaurant just down from the club. I thought we’d get out of town. Speculating
neighbours and all.”

            “Sounds good, I’m starving.”

            And there it is. The reminder that I
once heard that pregnant women’s appetites are like those of bears. I want to
ask her about it. But in all honesty, I’m afraid of the truth if I do; I want
the baby, but what if it’s mine and she doesn’t want it? Or it’s Kips and I
have no right knowing about it before anyone else. But then I remember Jade
told me not to get her drunk, when she was out doing precisely that on
Saturday. What’s changed since Saturday? Maybe Jenna told Jade.

            “You okay?” Jenna asks, clearly noting
how distracted I am and I realise I’m stationary at a green light.

            “Yeah. All good. What were you talking
to your sister about?”

            “Uh,” She stutters, “She told me not to
sleep with you... In so many words.”

            “And what were the exact words?”

            “Jenna,” She raises her voice an octave
and mocks Jade, “Do not get drunk and persist to fuck Deacon Reid’s brains out.
Or allow him to screw yours.”

            That has me hard instantly. She could
work on her impersonation skills, but the way she spoke about fucking my brains
out and used my full name has me thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking while
controlling a car. There’s something in the way she says my name, seductive and
raspy.

            “And what did you say?”

            She looks out of the window and folds
her arms, “That I have absolutely no intention of fucking you.”

            I snap my mouth shut, and the rest of
the drive to Foster is quiet.

            “Do you want a glass of wine?” I ask as
the waiter appears at the table, and I notice Jenna checking him out. What?

            “No, thank you. I’ll have orange and
bitter, thanks.”

            “I’ll have a beer. Peroni.” The waiter
nods and leaves the table, “What was that about?”

            “What?”

            “Gawping at the guy dressed like a
penguin.”

            “Funny.” She lifts her glass of water to
her lips, “I was only looking. So, what did you do this afternoon?”

            That’s what her game is. She’s pissed
off that I left her hanging this afternoon. I should have known she would
choose to be offended instead of realising I was about to combust and had to
exert an incredible amount of restraint to leave her while she was naked and
lying flat on her back on her kitchen counter. I’m hard again just thinking
about it; but I can feel her slipping away from me, and I have to get her back.

“I went back to the house and ruined the punch bag.
I needed to work out some frustrations.” Like giving myself blue balls to
prevent ruining everything.

            “What frustrations?” She looks past me
and I know she’s checking out the waiter again as he appears five seconds later
with our drinks.

            She thanks him, but I can't ignore the
look he gives her. Or the pang of annoyance that she’s messing about and he’s
drinking it in.

            “Stop playing games, Jen.” I glare at
her as she stirs her drink with her straw.

            “I don't know what you’re talking
about.” She feigns innocence.

            “I know what you’re doing.” I’ve seen it
before. Girls used to do it all the time, to get my attention, and when it
annoyed the shit out of me. It’s working now, she has my full attention and I’m
half tempted to go and lock the waiter in the bathroom to stop her wandering
eye. Is this really what it feels like?

            “What are you talking about? We were
discussing your frustrations.”

            “Stop fucking about because you're
pissed off about this afternoon.”

            “Whatever.”

            “Why did you come if you're just gonna
bust my balls?”

            “I guess I have something to discuss
with you.” She says matter-of-fact and taking the first sip of her drink. She’s
stopped looking for the waiter though, knowing I’ve caught her out.

            This is it, she’s going to tell me and
we’re going to talk about it. I take a huge mouthful of beer, and then realise
this is my only one because I’m driving us back, and I have a plan.

            “I’m all ears.” I swallow, more nervous
than I’ve ever been in my life.

            “Have you noticed what I’m wearing?”

            “Yes.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting
for me to say it, “You wore it on your birthday.”

            “Do you remember what I was like on my
birthday?” Why is she being so cryptic? She looks hesitant, as if she’s about
to say something she might regret. We’re not going to talk about the pregnancy,
that much I know, because what she wore on her birthday has nothing to do with
it.

            “A raging bitch.” I said that without
thinking, but she smiles.

            “I didn’t know you would be there. I
guess there are two Jenna’s, London Jenna, and...Normal Jenna.” Proof that this
‘London Jenna’ is an act, “I don't like London Jenna and I know that’s who I
was when I first came back. I won't apologise for it, but you’re the one who
brought the real Jenna back. I won't deny that something switched between us
and if there was a line, we’ve crossed it. Today hurt. Big time. I don't want
London Jenna to return but I need some answers. I have to protect myself.”

            “So what you’re saying is if we don't
clear things up you’re going to hate me again.”

            “I never hated you!” She slouches in her
chair when people look around, “But I have to respect myself and I can't be
another one of them.”

            I don't need to ask her what that means.
She’s talking about the girls, and I wish to God I’d never told her about them.
She thinks she’s one of them.

            “Jen, this is crazy.”

            “Why did you leave this afternoon?” And
the questions begin. I wonder how deep these truths are going to go. We’re
interrupted by the waiter, and Jenna doesn’t take her eyes off me. I see the
sorrow and fear in them. I won't lie to her; I won't let her down again.

            “What can I get you?” The waiter asks,
looking deflated at the lack of attention from Jenna.

            “What are you having, baby?” I ask her.

            She doesn’t flinch this time, simply
answers, “I’ll have the garlic bread and cheeseburger. What about you?”

            She reaches across the table and touches
the top of my hand. I turn my hand palm up and she settles her fingers between
mine.

            “Prawn skewer and mixed grill, rare.
Thanks.”

            “Very good.”

            This time it’s Jenna who hands the menus
back; I can't take my eyes off her as she runs her tongue along her bottom lip
and then bites it. The poor guy leaves looking utterly rejected, but Jenna
doesn’t take her hand away, and holds the fingertips of her free hand to my
mouth as I open it to speak.

            “Please don't tell me you felt guilty
all of a sudden. We’re way past the guilt, and I’m the one who’s the lying
cheat.”

            “I don't feel guilty, he’s a shit head.”
I try to make light of it but I see Jenna battling with herself, “And don't put
yourself down, that’s what he does.”

            She gasps, realising I’ve noticed how he
does nothing but question her and doesn’t support anything she wants. She
blinks away tears, and I know this is hard for her. The family knows she isn’t
selfish and she doesn’t like lying, but they can't understand why she won't
just leave Kip and move in with me. I know, and I understand why.

            “I’ll be honest with you. I won't ever
lie to you, Jen.”

            She nods, but I see the guilt and shame
in her eyes. It breaks me to see her like that, knowing she’d take the plunge
with me, if she felt like she could trust me. And right now, especially after
this afternoon, she doesn’t.

            “I had to leave,” I stroke circles into
her palm, “Not for him, but for you. I lost control, I was trying to take a
step back, let you clear your head without...physical stuff getting in the way.
But I couldn't take from you, when you don't know what you want.”

            It is the truth, part of it. I told her
I won't lie to her, and I won't. If she asks me if I love her, I’ll tell her
exactly how I feel. But I’ll keep it from her until she can accept it and
believes it has always been her; will only ever be her.

            “So you can give me things but can't take
them?”

            “I guess so.”

            “It’s bullshit.” I raise my eyebrows,
but she lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses my palm, “Thank you.”

            “You don't need to thank me. You’re in a
shit situation, and I don't want to distract you,” she bites the inside of her
cheek, “But I won't stop spending time with you.”

            “I don't want you to. But I can't be
another trait girl, Deac.”

            “You’re not. They don't exist.”

            “But they did.”

            “Exactly. They’re in the past.”

            “But why can't you see it’s not fair?
That I have a boyfriend, but I hate the thought of you touching anyone but me.”

            “Not for me. I don't need them.”

            “So I’m filling in, because I won't make
demands or interrupt your life to roll around in the sack for a bit.”

            “They’re your words, not mine.”

            Our starters arrive, but neither of us
register the waitress bringing them over.

            “Have you had sex with him since we
slept together?”

            “Deacon!”

            “Shh.” She puts half of her garlic bread
on my plate and I give her half my prawns. We always used to do that as kids,
“Answer the question.”

            “No.”

            “Why?” She shrugs, “Jenna. I’m not gonna
answer all the questions and then you shy away.”

            “Fine. No I haven’t.” She snaps, and I
won't push her any further away by pressing her on it.