ARROGANT PLAYBOY (38 page)

The cleaning lady tromps down
the stairs, a plastic caddy and feather duster in her hands. “I’m done
upstairs. As soon as I finish down here, I have to lock up. Consider this your
ten-minute warning.”

We head up, the staircase
barely two feet wide and steeper than shit. The upstairs contains a few small
bedrooms—one appearing to be a master bedroom and the others filled with
makeshift bunk beds and covered in ancient quilts.

“This is where she slept,”
Waverly sighs, running her palm against the multi-colored fabric that covers a
bed.

“Lay on it.” I shrug. “No one
will know but you and me.”

She swats at me. “You’re a bad
influence, you know that?”

“Do it, Waverly. I’m sure if
Elizabeth were here, she’d be more than happy to entertain you in her home.”

Waverly laughs. “I highly doubt
that. She allegedly wasn’t the nicest person, but man, could she string together
some beautiful sentences.” She leans over the bed, inspecting every square inch
of the quilt as if she’s fascinated. “I bet she sewed this herself. She was an
avid quilt-maker. Best in the county.”

I take the opportunity to
gently shove Waverly, forcing her on the bed. “Oops.”

She whips around. “Jensen!”

I fall into the bed, taking the
spot next to her. “Oh, my goodness. I think I tripped over the chamber pot.”

I expect her to scramble up off
the bed and chide me, but she doesn’t. She lays there, parallel to me, her head
resting on her hand. A slow grin captures her face and her hair falls over her
left eye. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re easily persuaded.”

“You’re a smooth-talking
salesman.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of
things I can’t talk you into doing.” I lean back on the bed, tucking my hands
behind my head and staring up at the wooden ceiling. God, growing up in the
1800s would’ve been mind-numbingly dull.

“You really think I’m that
uptight still?”

“You
are
that uptight. Still.”

“I’m trying not to be,” she
says, her hand across her chest. “I’ve gotten better. Uptight Waverly wouldn’t
have snuck out to go to a concert with you. Uptight Waverly wouldn’t have
signed herself out of Camp Zion.”

I love how we’re just lying in
Elizabeth Wagner’s bed, in her museum, yakking away like it’s the most natural
thing on earth. But that’s the beauty of being with Waverly—she tends to
make everything else irrelevant.

I won’t tell her that, though.
I won’t tell her how much I enjoy her company and the distraction she provides.
I sure as fuck won’t tell her I actually might miss her come August.

“Fine. You’re making strides.
I’ll give you that.” I trace my finger tip along her arm, connecting the
freckles like a game of dot-to-dot. “So what kind of life does new-and-improved
Waverly Miller want?”

“That I don’t know,” she says,
pulling in a long sigh. “Just one of my own. One where I get to call the shots.
That’s all I want.”

“Simple enough.”

“What about you?”

I think about the long answer,
but I opt to give her the short one. “Exact same.”

Right now would be a perfect
time to kiss her—at least, that’s what my body is telling me. I consider
it, mulling it over like I’ve got all the time in the world. But I don’t want
to give her the wrong idea. I’m not dating her, and this sure as hell isn’t
romantic—at least not to me.

But then something washes over
me, an impulse heightened by my racing heart or the way she toys with the gold
locket around her neck as she bites her bottom lip.

And so I kiss her.

I press my lips against hers,
hard, forcing her lips apart so our tongues can meet. My cock hardens,
responding to her sweet taste.

She pulls away, pressing her
hand into my chest. “Hey, what’d you do that for?”

“Now you can say you kissed
someone in the same bed where Elizabeth Wagner used to kiss her husband.” I
ready myself for a slap that never comes, which is a shame, because I kind of
deserve it.

“All right, you two, time to
go,” the cleaning lady calls up from the bottom of the stairs. “Gotta lock up.
Let’s go, let’s go.”

It’s for the best, because the
second she pushed me away, something deep inside me wanted more. I don’t know
that I could’ve stopped otherwise.

WAVERLY

“I had fun today.” I climb out of Jensen’s
truck just before three o’clock, before a mass amount of camp goers and carpool
mini vans flood the parking lot.

After we left Elizabeth
Wagner’s, we grabbed hot dogs, Cokes, and moon pies from a local gas station
and had an impromptu picnic by the Glen Oak Lake. The remainder of the
afternoon was spent driving up and down county roads, listening to music, and
basking in the warmth of the midday sun like we were the only two people on
earth.

Jensen gives a tight-lipped nod
and salutes me. If he’s trying to be charming, it’s working.

“Guess I’ll see you at dinner.”
His gaze lingers on me a bit too long until he shifts his truck into drive.

“Yeah, see you at home.” I step
back, watching him pull away.

***

Dad wasn’t at breakfast that morning since
he went into work early, thank goodness, but he never misses dinner. Bellamy’s
words echo in my head as we gather that evening. I still can’t bring myself to
look my father in his eyes, partially because of his threat to marry me off,
but mostly because I fear he’ll see it all over my face. He’ll see I’m no longer
his chaste and true daughter, and then all chances I had to redeem myself as
worthy of attending college will be rendered null and void.

It was for that reason I spent
most of last weekend keeping busy with household duties. Every plant got
watered. Every trash was emptied. Every weed was pulled. If my father saw me
handling responsibilities and keeping busy, he wouldn’t have been able to
suspect I’d just handed Jensen my virginity Friday night like it was nothing.

Jensen asks for the salt as
soon as sides have been passed around. I hand it to him without saying a word,
keeping my eyes averted. I don’t want to interact with him too much, not around
my father.

“So, Bellamy tells us she’ll be
traveling for work now,” Mom announces in such a way that I don’t think she’s
pleased about it.

Bellamy lifts her water and
takes a sip. “I’m getting a promotion.”

No one congratulates her. Those
kinds of things aren’t celebrated in a home where women aren’t praised for
having careers.

“I, too, will be doing a bit
more traveling,” Dad interjects. “I’ll be on AUB business, meeting with various
councilors and members of the ward.”

“You’ve been spending an awful
lot of time lately on priesthood business,” Summer muses.

“I’m righting the ship.” I feel
my father’s gaze upon me, weighing me down with unspoken connotations. “A
season of change is upon us. It’s time to forge strong ties with the brethren
so we can continue building our kingdom. There are certain resources that come
along with fostering good relations with our local wards and councils. It’s a
give and take relationship, one built on trust and values, one that requires
sacrifice.”

When he speaks that way, I know
he’s been spending more time with Bruce Waterman and other council members.
Heat and ice flood my veins, and my heart thuds with slow, heavy beats.

Kath listens intently as she
cuts up the twins’ pot roast. She doesn’t question the cryptic-tone of his
words. Neither does Summer.

“Care to elaborate?” Mom asks.
It’s rare that one of the wives questions my father, but if anyone’s going to
do it, it’s my mother.

“When the time is right, I’ll
make my announcement.” He saws into his meat and forks a hunk into his mouth.
If he’s trying to put the fear of God into me once again, it’s working.

We haven’t exchanged many words
since our little altercation last week, but I’m bent on convincing him he was
wrong about me. As much as I resent him right now, he’s still my ticket to
college. I can’t get student loans to cover room and board without my parents
filing a FAFSA, and he won’t do it if he doesn’t want me attending school.

“Sounds like a load of shit to
me,” Jensen mutters under his breath, loud enough so only I can hear him.

I can’t eat. My appetite
vanishes just like that. I force a few more bites down, just enough to ensure
no one notices anything’s wrong, and then I excuse myself to begin kitchen
clean up.

When my father retreats to his
den after dinner and the kids scamper off to the family room, my mothers join
me in the kitchen.

“You don’t think he’s talking
about taking on a fourth wife, do you?” Kath asks Mom and Summer, keeping her
voice low. “He wouldn’t do that without telling us, right?”

Summer grabs a dishrag. “Let’s
put it this way: we didn’t know about you until the day before we met you, so…”

“Yeah, but that was a little
different.” Kath blushes. I’ve always liked her, but I know she’s struggled
with feeling accepted by Summer, who wasn’t too keen on being displaced out of
the blue. She and Dad had been struggling to have a fourth child and nothing
was working, and then Kath shows up, marries into the family, and pops out a
set of twins her first try.

“Now, now, ladies.” Mom fills
the sink with hot, soapy water, and I hand her a dirty casserole dish. “I’m
sure Mark would consult with us this time, especially since there are
logistical issues. The houses on either sides of us aren’t up for sale. Where would
a fourth wife live? And can we afford a fourth wife?”

“Knowing Mark, he’s got
everything figured out,” Kath says. “He’s a planner, our dear husband.”

They continue gabbing,
speculating about the odds of Dad adding another wife, when all I really want to
do is tell them they’re wasting their time. He was talking about me, his
cryptic words all code for planning to marry me off.

I can’t stand another minute,
and I need to get out of the hen house before I go insane. “I’ve got some
homework to finish. Mind if I head up to my room for the night?”

“Go right on ahead,” Mom says.
“We’re about done here.”

I check the calendar on my way
out of the kitchen, the one that tells us where Dad is sleeping that night.
Tonight is circled in green, which means he’ll be at Summer’s. Which is a
relief, because I could use a talk with Jensen tonight.

I bide my time in my room until
well past nine, when I know Mom and Bellamy have retired to their rooms for the
night, then I slip into Jensen’s room. I don’t even knock. I figure if we’ve
had sex, we’re past the courtesy of knocking.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he
says, glancing up from his sketchpad. He’s seated with his back against his
headboard.

I close the door behind me.

“Before you go feeling all
special, I was awake and bored,” I lie. “What are you drawing?”

He flips his sketchpad around
to show me a drawing of his feet.

“You’re drawing your feet?” I
choke on my laughter. “I was expecting a beautiful landscape, or like a
motorcycle, or something. Not feet.”

“I like drawing the human
body.” He flips it toward him, shading the white with his pencil. “Sometimes
you have to be your own live model.”

I climb onto the foot of his
bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling up at the threads of his quilt.

“You should let me draw you,”
he says, setting his paper aside. There’s a hint of mischief in his dark eyes.
“Like… all of you.”

I sprawl across his bed,
resting my hands on my bent elbow. “Like this?”

“No.
All
of you.”

“Nude?”

“Yes, Waverly. Nude. Your
body’s perfect. I should know. I had the pleasure of fucking it the other
night.”

My cheeks flush. It’s easy to
remember how good he made me feel that night, but I seem to forget my body
returned the favor.

“I don’t know. It’s going to
feel weird with you just staring at me, staring at my naked body. Being all
exposed like that.”

Jensen pops up and shuts off
his bedroom light, returning to click on the small lamp on his bedside table.
The room has just enough light for him to draw.

“And if it makes you feel
better,” he says, handing me a throw blanket, “you can strategically drape this
anywhere you want. I’m not drawing porn.”

I flash a half-grin, marveling
at the way he knows exactly how to put me at ease.

“No one will ever see it,” he
promises. “My eyes only.”

I fall back on the bed and cover
my eyes with my forearm. “Ugh. I don’t know.”

The bed creaks and shifts, like
he’s coming closer to me. His deliciously masculine scent fills my lungs and
the space around me is warmer. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this
the hard way. But either way, I want to draw your beautiful, naked body, and
you’re going to let me.”

I pull my arm from my face.
“You’re so sure of yourself all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting being so
cocky?”

“I know what I am. I own it.
And people respect me for it.” He climbs off the bed. “Now, take off your
fucking clothes before I rip them off you.”

My body tingles the way it does
just before I know I’m about to do something delightfully sinful.

Some might argue that
submission is in my DNA. I’d say it’s not submitting when you want it just as
bad.

I peel my clothes off article
by article, teasing him, and he watches, feasting on me with his dark eyes. I
glide naked across his bed, every soft fiber of the quilt brushing my sensitive
skin and setting my nerves on high alert. There’s a warmth between my thighs,
an arousal brewing.

Jensen worships me with his
generous gaze, the rest of his face obstructed by his sketchpad. He gets to
work immediately, starting with broad strokes and then filling them in as he
goes along.

He pauses, sticking his pencil
between his teeth and biting down before getting back to work. “Goddamn,
Waverly, you’re sexy as fuck.”

I fight a smile and bury my
face in my arm for a moment before peering over it once again.

“You’re going to have to stop
doing that,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that, like
you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Maybe I am.”

“What would you know about
seduction?” he teases. “You’re fresh off the boat, angel face. You’ve had sex
all of one time.”

I roll to my side, exposing my
breasts, and the cool air of his room awakens my nipples. I run my hand along
them, tickling my palm. My legs draw up, bending at the knees.

“There are things you haven’t
even experienced yet,” he says, his brows arched.

“I’m not going to blow you,” I
proclaim, staring up at the ceiling.

He huffs. “Well, then, you’re
missing out, because blow jobs can be just as satisfying for a woman as they
are for a man, especially when I’m devouring your pussy at the same time.”

“I’m sorry if the idea of
sucking on a penis doesn’t sound appealing to me.” My legs squeeze together at
the knees, imagining the way his tongue could easily command my body.

“Well, when you put it that
way…” He laughs. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

“Not interested. Sorry.” He’s
not coercing me into being his little sex toy tonight. No free blow jobs for
him.

“You’re challenging me. And now
I have no other choice but to prove you wrong,” he says. His weight shifts off
the bed, but by the time I look up to see where he’s gone, he’s lowered himself
to his knees, his hands reaching between my thighs to spread my legs apart.

“What are you doing?” I try to
squeeze my knees together, but he’s stronger than me.

His fingers find my folds,
separating them, massaging my slit and circling around my sensitive nub. “Fuck.
You’re wet as hell. You were wet before I even touched you.”

Before I have a chance to
defend myself, a wet and warm sensation silences my thoughts. When I glance
down, Jensen’s head is between my thighs. He takes long strokes with his tongue
before circling and exploring every part of me in the most intimate way
imaginable.

“Relax,” he whispers between
licks. My legs fall wider, obeying his command. I’m submitting to him because
this is the greatest feeling in the entire world. I’m at his mercy. I’ll do
anything he says, as long as he doesn’t stop.

My breath quickens, my heart
pounding with every lick, suck, and twirl. He’s a magician. My sex is pulsing
and pounding as I try to fight off mini waves of orgasms that threaten to
shorten this supernatural experience. I can’t come yet. I’m not ready. I won’t
let myself.

Jensen’s hand inches up past my
belly until he takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting just
enough to provide a bit of a distraction. And then his warmth leaves me. No
more tongue.

“Why’d you stop?” I pant.

He unzips his jeans, pulling
everything off and then climbing onto the bed. Jensen grabs my hips and pulls
them toward him. “Sit on my face, but face that way.” He points to the foot of
the bed, so I straddle him backwards and he lowers me to his mouth.