Page 72 of Promise Not To Fall

My attention shifts to the bright orange glint at the end of the cigarette and the way his chest pulls in as he inhales. Smoke filters from his nose when he finally looks up at me.

He doesn’t look at me directly, and my eyes close, my chest heaving as tears slip down my flushed cheeks. What surprises me is when his right hand moves from the pocket of his shorts and touches my cheek. I feel exposed being this near him, and I’ve missed him these last two days. And despite the confusion, there’s an aching void only he can fill. I want what we had two days ago before things got complicated.

Tossing his cigarette to the ground, Jake steps toward me. He places his hands on my hips and draws me into his chest. My pulse and mind race at my thoughts.

“I need to go, Jake. I can’t do this,” I lie. I actually do want to do this, but he scares the shit out of me.

Jake is the complete opposite from me. He’s impulsive and committed, unpredictable and vulnerable. Everything I strive so hard not to be.

“So you don’t feel anything for me?” he asks, watching me.

“No.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you love, unpredictable crazy love, and you’re letting it go.”

I’m shocked at his words. “Jake, you don’t love me.” Disappointment settles over me, lying to both myself and him. “You’ve known me for, what, seven days?”

“I gave you what you asked of me, and now you’re mad because you couldn’t control it. You loved me too. You left. You did that, and now you’re back, thinkin’ I’m just gonna… what? What are you here for? To fuck with me? To treat me like the island boy you wanted?”

Adrenaline rushes through me knowing he’s right. “Take your drinks and shove them up your ass, Island Boy,” I snap, anger shakes my body.

Jake grabs my arm rougher than I would have liked, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t excite me a little. “I could show you what girls are looking for when they come into my bar. Is that what you want?” He scratches his jaw and sends me a condescending smile while still keeping one hand on me. “Fuck you in an alley or on the back of my bike… or against the side of my house.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that what all you city girls are lookin’ for from me?” And then he repeats his words from the first night. “I’ll be whatever you need… City Girl.”

I can’t even accurately describe the expression on his face. It’s so much, too much, and I blink, closing it off. His fingers on my hip work lower, up the front of my dress and between my legs. He lifts his eyes to mine, staring at me intently. “Is that what you want?”

He’s giving me an out, a chance to tell him no, to push him away. I don’t want to push him away. I want him like this, so angry, so hellbent on showing me how it should have been in the beginning, and though I know we shouldn’t, I’m not stopping him. I desperately want this.

“Show me how it’s supposed to be then,” I taunt, blinking slowly.

Jake’s lips part, his breath washing over me, and then he’s kissing the side of my mouth, working his lips to mine, his chest pressing me against the side of the house.

I lean in, wrapping my arms around him and give him what we’re both so desperately needing, tasting the salty iron from bloodstained lips. I pour my appreciation for all he’d done to protect me into those kisses, my hands inching to the waistband of his shorts and then dipping inside, palming his hardness. Fuck, he’s so hard and ready. I stroke him once.

Groaning, his body slumps at the contact, his hips twitching, and he backs me against the wall, his finger pushing inside me, one at first, then another.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I lift my leg and allow him better access, giving him what we both want. A public display of what this is, convenient, dirty, maybe nothing more than that. Lies. It’s all lies. We’re simply playing a part now and avoiding what this really is.

He takes my leg higher, curling it around his arm and pressing me further into the wall. My head snaps back against the house when his jaw scrapes mine and forces it back. He now has access to my neck, his tongue lapping, teeth scraping the sensitive damp skin.

Next thing I know, he’s between my legs, forcing them apart, pushing inside me roughly. He doesn’t undress, merely unbuckles his belt, frees himself while still holding me against the wall of his house, and slides my panties to the side.

He fucks me harder and faster than he ever has before, giving me his anger and despair. I take it. I take all of it.

I cry out as he fills me over and over again. It’s what I need in so many ways. I need to be saved.

“I’m a lucky son of a bitch,” Jake groans into the curve of my neck, gasping and yanking me into his every thrust, his arms and body shaking. “So fucking lucky.” Every time we’re together he gives a little more of himself, and finally, this time, he’s giving me everything.

He lasts another few minutes, and then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over, and emptiness washes over me. For a moment, neither of us move. He stares at me, watching my reaction, our chests heaving.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asks, licking his lips and righting his shorts.

I could have answered him. I could have. But I don’t. His expression tears at my chest. There’s no apology in it, but there’s still a desire I can’t touch, even though I can feel it. I wonder if he feels as vulnerable as his eyes say he is.

Avoiding eye contact, he stares straight ahead, nodding, distancing himself. He steps past me without another word, walking inside the house as he fastens his shorts.

Straightening out my dress, I ask him where the bathroom is and excuse myself. Once I’m cleaned up, I sit on the edge of the tub, crying for a few minutes and then return to the living room, where Jake’s pacing.

He spots me and stops. “You want to know why I don’t like Liam?” he asks, the look in his eyes somber.

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