Taking Mine (21 page)

“Can you sit? You’re making me nervous.”

Justin stubs his cigarette out and shuts the door behind him. “It was too easy. It doesn’t make sense.”

I stop myself from admitting that I’ve had the same thought. “Smoking yourself to death isn’t helping anything.”

He wipes his hand across his mouth and takes a seat next to me on the couch. I flip through the channels on TV, trying to find something worthwhile. “Right there,” Justin says, prompting me to stop on a fishing show.

“Fishing?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I like to fish.”

“Since when?”

“My dad used to take me and my brother when we were little.” He senses my confusion and says, “Before he started drinking.”

“What’s your dad like now?”

Justin kicks off his dress shoes and props his feet up on the coffee table. I gather the material of my dress and fold mine under me. “He’s better. Been sober for five years now.”

“You don’t talk about him much.”

“Eh.” Justin seems uncomfortable. “We don’t have much of a relationship. Even before he started drinking, he was never home because of his job.” I remain silent, prompting him to keep going. “He was a cop.”

I scoff, smiling. “Isn’t that kind of ironic?”

He smiles back. “You have no idea.”

I toy with my cell phone, flipping it over and back in my hands, unsure of how much I want to divulge. I've never cared to tell anyone about my past. It might be because I've never had someone to tell, but for some reason I want to tell Justin. He's always held no condemnation against me or my brother for the lives we've lived, and that's comforting. He's the first person I've felt free with.

“My dad was killed by a cop.”

My words snag his attention away from the TV screen, where the fisherman is struggling to reel in a freshwater fish of some sort. “What?” he says, stunned by my admission.

“My dad was walking home from work one night when a cop approached him. They went through the whole spiel, why he was out this late on the wrong side of town, why didn't he take the bus, etc. Wasted fifteen minutes of questioning before he asked for my dad’s identification. My dad’s jumper didn’t have pockets, so he always kept his wallet on the inside of his zipper. When my dad reached for it, the cop drew his gun. Claimed he thought my dad was reaching for a weapon.”

“Lilly, I’m so sorry,” he says, something akin to pity.

I shrug. “It took me a long time to remind myself that all cops aren't him, that one deputy who turned my family inside out, so I get it. I know it’s not the same, but I get it.”

There’s so much intensity in Justin that I have to stand to get away from it. Both of our phones ding in succession, but Justin doesn’t move to look at his.

“Taylor says the money is waiting for us at the shop,” I say, reading the text. “I think it's safe for me to leave.” I look up to find Justin standing from the couch and making his way to me. The look in his eyes stops me. I’m frozen as he advances, only stopping once he’s standing inches before me. “Justin,” I say in warning.

“Lilly,” he challenges me back.

“Don’t.” I hold my voice firm, but even I can hear the wariness behind it.

I’m weak.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do whatever you’re about to do.”

He cups my face in his hands. A small smile plays at his lips like he’s holding a secret he knows I’m dying to know. “This has already gone too far. I’ve been trying to stop my feelings for you, but I think we both know it’s too late for that. And I think it’s too late for you to stop them either.”

I’m torn between preventing him from going further, not wanting to be disappointed again, and wanting to hear the rest.

“One day you’ll realize what a prick I am, but today I want to prove to you that you mean something to me. That I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and I won’t let you walk out of here without knowing you’re with me.”

My phone dings a few times in my hand, and Justin pries it from my fingers, tossing it on the couch. I’m spaghetti as he pulls my arms around him. We’re both dressed in our finest, barefoot in the middle of his living room. I’m looking up at him, not sure what to say, and he doesn’t expect me to say anything. He dips his head down slowly, giving me ample time to stop him, glancing from my lips to my eyes under his lashes.

He places his lips on mine, unmoving, and we breathe each other in. I know he’s waiting for me to make the next move, to push us further. The thing is…I feel too much with him. It's like I'm thrown from one extreme to another. Without him, I'm fine, indifferent mostly. With him, I'm in a whirlwind of emotions.

I'm happy. I'm angry. I'm content. I'm disappointed.

He's the furthest thing from indifferent, and it's amazingly awful.

His eyes stay locked on mine as I run through my emotions. He knows I’m sorting through my feelings. He can see through me.

I'm transparent.

Pushing all the apprehension away, I squeeze my eyes shut and push my lips into his. I can feel his smile ease against my lips and he reaches down, never releasing me from our kiss as he picks me up from under my thighs.

“Stop me if I’m being presumptuous,” he says against my lips as he carries me to his bedroom.

“You are, but I’m not going to stop you.”

His smile grows as he lets me down in his bedroom. The only source of illumination comes through his open door. He shrugs out of his button-up and reaches across his back to pull off his undershirt. His movements aren’t slow, but they’re far from the hurried pace we were in last time. A wave of excitement filters through my body at the thought of what’s about to happen. I’ve worked so hard the past few weeks trying to block the images of that night out of my head. It left me confused. It left me wanting it more and more every day and hating myself for it. I wanted to remember every aspect but wanted to forget it ever happened at the same time.

Justin leans down and places a kiss on my exposed shoulder. “Let me undress you,” he says into my skin. I turn to the side, giving him access to the zipper. As he pulls the zipper down, he runs his hands over my hips and down to the train. He lifts the fabric, trailing his fingers up my legs. He smirks when he reaches my underwear.

I smile when he slides a hand over the satin fabric. “It was laundry day.”

He removes the rest of the dress, and neither one of us moves. “I’ve wasted more study time than I’d like to admit wondering if you were wearing anything or not.”

“That's funny,” I say. “I fantasized about stabbing you in the eye with your pen.”

His touch halts. “Wait, what?”

I laugh. “You don't want to know.”

He looks at me with a confused smile but doesn't push. His smile slowly slips and his mood shifts to a more serious nature. He turns me with my back facing him, and I feel his hands travel over my hips, moving up toward the clasp on my bra. He undoes it, and I let it fall from my shoulders. It's as if he knows this time I'm a little shy, giving me time to adjust. He kisses my other shoulder this time, and up my neck. My inexperience weighs heavy as I adjust to his assured movements.

Once he reaches the farthest kissable point along my throat, he follows the path to my lips, turning me around with the motion. I force myself to relax, enjoying the taste of him, something I've desperately tried to forget. My breasts are pressed up against his bare chest, and his arms are completely surrounding me, like he wants every inch of me to be imprinted on him, and it's a euphoric sensation. He walks me backward to the bed and picks me up, situating me against the pillows.

Kneeling above me, he unbuckles his belt, giving him more room. I can’t take my eyes off of his hands. The way the tendons stretch along his hands and forearms at the movement is tantalizing. His hands freeze and I look up. There’s a confident smile in place as he slides his pants off. Not wanting to just lie there staring, I sit up and touch him. I hear more than see his intake of breath. His hips push into my hand as I stroke back and forth.

“Lilly.”

The way he says my name gives me just enough confidence to place my lips around him. I don’t get a chance to taste him before I’m pushed back onto the bed and he’s over me.

“Next time. I want to do this right this time, and that won’t help me.” He kisses me one good moment before moving down my body. I already know where he’s going, and I instinctively close my thighs. He looks up at me from his position. “What’s wrong?” His question is ironic given he wouldn’t just let me go down on him.

I shake my head.

“Lilly,” he says, leaning up on one arm. “Are you nervous?” I don’t need to say that I am. I know he sees it, and a small amount of fear seeps into his features.

“I’m not a virgin or anything, or wasn’t before, you know…”

Justin licks his lips and kisses the inside of my thigh one time before replying. “How much experience are we talking about here?”

“A few,” I answer vaguely. His teeth nip a little bit of skin in the same spot in warning. “One boy in high school. We only actually had sex a handful of times.”

He kisses the inside of the opposite thigh, a tad bit closer to his destination. “Was he your first love?”

“No.”

He smiles at my irritated reply before sucking again, but closer this time.

“Then why’d you give him your virginity?”

My thoughts are scattered as I feel his teeth once more. If there’s anyone anywhere who can hold a conversation with Justin between their legs, they should be honored. Seriously.

“It’s not like I gave it away. I wasn’t holding on to some idea of what my virginity meant to me.” And if I’m completely honest, Kaley had me convinced that sex was the best thing she’d ever experienced. It’s something I chased all three times. An idea that I was missing out on something that couldn’t be put into words. And all three times I left feeling bored. That’s when I came to the conclusion sex couldn’t compete with the thrill that stealing gave me.

“Was the first time you came during sex with me?”

Justin’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Yes.”

His face loses all playfulness as he leans back and pulls the small bit of material down my legs. His eyes stay on me. Even when I feel the flat of his tongue hit me in just the right place, he doesn’t break contact. Then he moves a fraction and sucks—hard.

And I break.

“
I’M NOT ASKING
YOU
to leave the apartment; I’m asking you to come eat breakfast.” Justin gives me a look. “Or dinner, whatever time it is.”

“I don’t need food, just you.” I pull him by his arm and he catches himself from landing directly on top of me.

We spent the entirety of the night doing nothing but feeling each other. One more time turned into two more times before the sun came up. Then we spent the entire day sleeping, only getting out of bed to use the bathroom.

“You need food.” I attempt to pull up his t-shirt and we struggle, battling each other. I get the shirt halfway up when he pins my hands back. “Don't fight me. You'll lose.”

I lean forward and bite his forearm.

He grunts and repositions our hands wider, out of reach of my teeth. “You don’t even have to get dressed.” He gives me a swift kiss before leaping from the bed, escaping my grasp.

I huff out a breath as I roll over and swing my feet onto the floor. I find my underwear and pull them on. “I want you to know I’m doing this against my will.”

“Duly noted.”

He opens his dresser and produces a plain white t-shirt, holding it out for me. I try to take it and he hides it behind his back. Smirking, he kisses me. I try to press further, but he steps back, breaking the kiss, tossing the shirt at me.

“Now hurry before the food gets cold.”

I’m halfway to the kitchen when I feel the sting of his palm against my ass. I squeal in shock.

“That’s for biting me.” He kisses the side of my neck before sitting at the breakfast bar. He places a pile of pancakes in front of me while I rub the sting out of my right ass cheek. “I should let you starve.”

“Where in the hell did you find the ingredients to make pancakes?”

“They’re beer pancakes. Main ingredient: beer. Instead of syrup, we’ve got some peanut butter that expires in a week, so you better eat all of it.” He folds a pancake and dips it into the peanut butter, holding it up for me to take a bite.

“This is actually really good, and I hate beer.” I tear off a piece of his pancake and eat it. I leave Justin to his breakfast and locate my phone shoved between the couch cushions.

Three messages from Kip asking if I'm staying at Justin's, threatening me if I don't reply, and then insisting on coming to get me. I text him back, reassuring him that I’m alive.

“I need to go. Kip's freaking out because I haven't messaged him all night.”

“Hold on,” Justin says, shoving the rest of the food into his mouth. “I’ll go with you.”

Showing up at home with Justin after spending the night at his place may be pushing Kip a little further than what he's comfortable with. “No, it’s okay. He’s still not really on board the Justin train yet.”

“I’m a train? Is that why you like riding me?” My mouth drops open and he laughs, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder.