The Best Laid Plans (8 page)

Until he’d seen her again, he had truly thought he’d gotten over the bullshit from high school, indeed hadn’t thought of the torment in years. He looked like a completely different man, he
felt
like a different man. At least he had until she came strutting back into his life, puncturing his scar tissue with her heels until the wounds were painful and fresh again. How had he ever forgotten them?

By the time the tenth grade had rolled around, and hormones had begun clouding his teenage brain, his crush soared pretty much to worship level. He never intended on asking Jayne out, or anything that involved approaching her. He’d put her on a pedestal, elevating her until he wasn’t worthy of her attention. On some level he knew he made more of it, and he knew it was one-sided, but he also recognized that he’d sort of made Jayne his muse. In some ways it gave him a creative outlet. He’d discovered music was a better way for him to release emotions than anything else. While he still wasn’t very good at it yet, guitar was his instrument of choice.

It wasn’t just the way the instrument sounded, or how the vibrations beneath his hands calmed him. Guitars were fucking cool, and he’d hoped if he got good enough at playing, he could look a little less losery. He was under no illusions that he’d be homecoming king. He just hoped that maybe he’d transition from invisible nothing, to that guy who kicked ass at the guitar.

It was a Thursday. He’d been practicing in the band room at lunch. A song he’d written – it wasn’t the first, and it wasn’t the worst. It was about Jayne, and he’d called it, Angel. He’d started to add fingerpicking in with the strummed chords and thought it sounded pretty awesome, except for a tricky transition in the bridge. The thin walls at his parents’ apartment had them restrict his playing to an hour a night, which definitely wouldn’t get him anywhere.

He’d just finished limbering up his fingers by playing some scales, when the door opened, and a backpack had flown into the room and come crashing to the floor. The seam split along the zipper, and papers, books, and other educational paraphernalia spilled out onto the thin grey carpet.

“Thanks a lot, asshole!”

She stomped into the room and began stuffing her things back into the backpack.

Jane.

He hadn’t been this close to her since Ms. Redlich’s English class last semester. He had no idea what to do. Say something – but what? Ignore her and pretend he hadn’t noticed the bag? Why was her bag in there? Who’d thrown it? Was someone picking on her? A glance to the door showed it was empty. No jerks waiting to torment his Angel.

Angel! He could play the song for her!

So, gathering his courage, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands, he began to play. And sing.

“You bastard.” Her words rang out in the present, clear and angry, a second before the door slammed and the lock slid shut.

“What?” Two bangs answered his question.

“I thought about you all day.” She strode into the room barefoot, which explained the banging sounds. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes look black and languid. Raw need was written all over her body, from her clenched fists to her nipples, visible through her silk blouse as she stripped her jacket off. He was fully erect before it hit the floor.

Two long strides and he’d taken her roughly in his arms and claimed her mouth with a crushing kiss. Her breathing deepened, arms wrapped around him drawing him closer as she opened her mouth, widening the kiss. He nipped at her vanilla-flavored lip, grabbed her ass and squeezed it, unable to get enough. She did that spiraling thing with her tongue and he lost it. Her thin blouse tore beneath his hands as he ripped it open, and moved his mouth to her neck. He sucked hard and fast, and felt a sort of savage pride as a small mark formed on her pale neck.

Her knees buckled slightly as he pulled away and spun her around. He trailed possessive hands up her thighs, under her grey tweed skirt, pulling it up and over the curve of her luscious ass. She hadn’t been wearing pantyhose … the sheer, black nylons covering her legs proved to be thigh-high stockings she wore with no panties. His dick throbbed painfully hard, trapped inside his jeans. He pulled her close to him, pressing against her. With a callused fingertip, he traced her birthmark, then kissed the sensitive spot on the back of her neck. She smelled like coconut and he breathed her in until his lungs hurt, then reached around to cup a breast in one hand and stroke her clit with the other.

He loved her ass. Too many women sacrificed their curves for a smaller dress size. Hers was shapely, firm, and perfect. He wanted to sit on a bed, have her reverse-cowgirl the shit out of him while he sat back and watched the show, but knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands from her. He wanted to be the one on top, the one in control, the one driving her wild. The one driving into her.

He unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, before he stripped his t-shirt. He lightly slapped her ass, turned the slap into a caress and then a squeeze. God he wanted her way too much.

“Undo my pants, Jayne.” He was unsure how she’d respond to a direct order, even gently issued.

She immediately turned around and undid the button fly of his jeans. He ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her face, backed her up until her back pressed against the wall with her fingers hooked in his belt loops. Then his lips met hers, passionately, wildly, losing himself in how fucking badly he wanted her. She clawed at his pants, desperate to remove them – he helped by kicking them off when they fell to his ankles.

Her skin felt buttery soft beneath the hands he trailed down her sides on the way to grab her hips. Her hips were almost as sexy as her ass. Their combined power was staggering – as was the feeling of her hands rubbing him through his boxer-briefs before stripping them off of him. He abruptly pulled back from her. She followed.

“Bedroom. Now,” he said. She bit her lip with a grin, and hurried ahead of him.

He shut the door and locked it, knowing women felt freer to give in to abandon when they were behind closed doors. To truly get to her, he had to make her forget everything else, even herself. He remained standing by the door.

“Sit on the bed,” he growled, surprised at the gruffness of his voice. She sat. “Spread your legs.” He leaned against the wall.

Her legs visibly trembled as she complied. Her breathing hitched, lips suffused with feverish lust, making them fuller, darker, sweeter.

“I want you to touch yourself for me, Jayne.”

Her eyes widened, and she half smiled. “What? I can’t—”

“I wasn’t asking. If you want this.” He slowly stroked his rock hard length. Her eyes were hooded and she licked her lips as she watched his hand. “Do you want this?” She nodded, and he took his hand away. “Then you will take your hand and touch yourself.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want me to touch you.”

A silent battle raged inside her, even as her hand slowly snaked across the bed and up her thigh. He saw the hesitation and need warring for dominance inside her eyes. A dark blush painted her cheeks, and just before she touched herself
there
, her hands jerked to her breasts. Playing it safe meant she wasn’t losing herself, wasn’t giving into him.

“Really? That’s where you want me to touch you? Are you sure?” He stepped away from the wall and knelt down in front of her, between her spread legs, careful not to touch her. His dick strained forward between them; she gazed down at it and whimpered.

“Please.” Her voice came out husky, her hands clenched.

He lowered himself, ass meeting his heels, hands braced on the bed on either side of her, not making contact. “Please what?”

He leaned to her right knee, blew a maddening breath across her skin as he swept to her center.

“Please, just touch me, fuck me, please! I can’t take it!”

He continued down her thigh, his breath causing goose bumps to erupt across her skin as her knees fluttered in then out, hips gently rocking toward him. “You know what you have to do,” he breathed against her thigh.

Her hands trailed down her belly and along the path he’d breathed across her thighs. She closed her eyes, as if remembering, and moved from her knees inward.

He sat back a bit to better see her. His balls ached with need, but watching her hands dance across her hot, wet center was the most exquisite torture he’d ever known. “Open your eyes,” he whispered.

Her eyes sparkled, black with desire, a need half-scratched. Her fingers moved faster on her clit, so far keeping the play external.

***

She’d almost come standing up, when he ripped her blouse off and nibbled and sucked at her neck like an animal. All she’d wanted was someone to take over and make her forget everything, even her own name for once. And now that she had it, she couldn’t help but want to push him down and climb on top. It defeated the purpose, but fuck if it didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t just his skillful hands and sexy mouth. There! That look in his eyes, like he was seconds away from devouring her. As if at any moment he would lose it and fuck her against the wall, or have her on her hands and knees from behind on the floor. His touch inflamed her, kisses claimed her. The self-assured, firm way he told her to undress him made her limbs heavy with longing. And the way he kissed her slammed a sort of lust so deep it was almost tranquil through her body.

The day had worn away at her nerves until she became raw, snapping and impatient. It was like she hadn’t been laid in years when she’d been worn out in the best ways only last night. What was wrong with her? He was addictive, perfect. Delicious. Too much and not nearly enough. She rubbed at his dick, already so hard, as ready for her as she was for him. Jayne wanted it inside her.

And then he told her to go to the bedroom.

She could hardly get there fast enough.

Jayne couldn’t believe how hot he made her. She’d never wanted a man to fuck her as badly as she wanted Malcolm right now. It was even worse than the first time they’d been together because now she knew exactly how incredible he was. Her head swam, her ears buzzed with the pulsing of her heart tattooing the inside of her ribcage. She’d never met a man with his control. It was obvious how much he wanted her, but he played with her, teased her body, never giving in to the need. His self-control was maddening and her new favorite thing.

Touch herself? How could she wait for him? She had to force herself not to tackle him and jump on his dick and ride him at a gallop until she could finally think straight again. She moved her hand at a frenzied pace, savoring the sight of him – and he was an amazing sight – wondering how he would take her when he finally gave in.

Maybe she could get him to lose control.

God she needed him to lose control.

Sliding forward a bit, she arched her back, started rotating her hips. She trailed a hand up to take a nipple in between her fingertips and gently tugged it, jiggling her breast. Quietly moaning, she slid her other hand lower, and dipped her finger inside herself, maintaining eye contact with Malcolm. His pupils dilated. Jayne looked down his body, enjoying herself now, using the sight of his body to fuel the heat building between her legs.

A vein had appeared on his belly, leading down past his sculpted abs to his eagerly swollen dick. She wanted to lick the length of that vein, bit her lip hard imagining herself doing just that. Her eyes closed involuntarily again, as she got closer to release, moving her hand faster, moving the other to stroke her clit.

***

He knew what she tried to do, the gleam in her eyes gave her game away. He let her think she was winning, watching her try to seduce him into giving in, then watching the pleasure claim her again.  She almost got him with the hunger in her eyes. How many times had he longed for her to look at him like that back in high school? She was magnificent and wanted nothing more than for him to be buried inside of her. Again.

But he had to hold on. If he gave in now, he would lose.

Waiting until she approached the brink of release, he quickly grabbed her wrists and firmly pulled them away from her, denying her completion. Stopping the satisfaction. Her hips bucked in protest, but her eyes sang with relief that he would take her.

But not yet.

He smiled down at her. “Slide back and lie down.”

Her movements were a blur.

He took his time introducing his hands to the insides of her thighs. He touched the inner crease where her legs joined her body, where the skin was so soft it felt brand new. He brushed his lips over the slight swell of her belly, up between her breasts, waking nerve endings she never knew she had. Thoroughly firing up every nerve he could find.

He didn’t just want to be the best lover of her life. He wanted to obliterate the memory of every other partner she’d had until
his
touch,
his
mouth,
his
hands were the only ones she could remember. He wanted to make love to her so thoroughly and well that it ruined sex for her when he left.