Bad Girl by Night (36 page)

But when Jake’s fingers snaked around her hip and between her legs to play with her clit, she forgot about anything except her
own
pleasure, all suddenly centered in that tiny, swollen nub. She heard herself whimper. Heard him tell her through gritted teeth that he was gonna make her come hot and hard. She automatically thrust her ass back against him with more power.

And that was when—oh Lord!—he began using his other hand at her anus . . . rubbing it. Words began to leave her unbidden. “Yes. God. Please.”

And then the tip of his finger entered her, and then—oh fuck, yes—he pushed it in all the way. And that was it. The orgasm rushed over her almost without warning, burying her like a tidal wave, making her scream and sweat and flail about until she ended up collapsed on her stomach beneath him, finally going still.

“Aw damn, you’re such a naughty girl for me,” Jake said behind her, teeth still clenched, “and I love you so fucking much”—and he lifted her ass in his strong hands, just a little, then slammed his cock into her, again, again. They both moaned and sobbed and every pore of her body tingled when he said, “Oh God, yeah—I’m coming. I’m fucking coming deep in your tight little cunt.”

After, they lay still for a minute, silent, until Jake reached for some tissues. And she turned over to face him, feeling as close to him as ever. Now she looked back on her nights as Desiree and thought:
How do you do something so very intimate and revealing with a man and
not
feel close to him?
How had she done that? She truly didn’t know, since it was her very connection with Jake that allowed her to look into his eyes right now and feel nothing but happiness to have shared this with him, and so, so lucky to have his sweet love.

He kissed her lips, then one breast, before resting his head next to hers on a throw pillow. She loved being so covered by the very maleness of him, every corded muscle of his body seeming to press against her. She ran her fingertip over his tattoo.

“Tell me something,” he said, voice low. “You still doing okay? About last weekend?”

She actually smiled in response. “Completely,” she promised. “I’ve really never felt more alive, more in touch with my . . . womanhood or something.” Her skin prickled at the memories.

And when he stayed quiet, she was swept up in
another
memory, part of the conversation they’d had on the drive home from Traverse City. He’d confided in her that as hot as it had been to watch her suck his friends’ cocks, “there’s a part of me that wants to see you fucked, too. If you ever wanted to take this a step further.”

She’d bit her lip and said, “I can’t deny the idea gets me hot. As long as it wouldn’t change how you feel about me.”

He’d acted as if she were crazy, like he was even getting a little fed up with it. “How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing you do is gonna change the way I feel. Sex is hot, but sex isn’t love. If you do it with another guy, that’s sex. But if you do it with another guy because we both want it, and if it makes us feel even closer afterward, that’s love.”

The idea had come back to her numerous times in the days they’d spent apart, and now that it was on her mind and they were talking about her being with his friends, she didn’t hesitate to share what was in her head. Because she no longer
had
to hesitate. “I keep imagining you watching another guy fuck me,” she whispered, her tone lower, sexier than usual—not by design; it just came out that way. “Just like you suggested on the way home. I’m still not sure I’m ready to take it that far, but the idea excites me. The same way it excited me when you shared me. I kind of . . . get worked up every time I remember being with all of you at the same time. Does it still excite you, too?”

She already knew the answer—she just wanted to hear him say it, wanted to let talking about it further arouse her.

He took a moment replying, though—and even shut his eyes. She watched his face carefully, trying to read it. And she thought he looked . . . unaccountably sad when he finally met her gaze and whispered, “Yeah, it does.”

Carly swallowed past the lump that had just risen in her throat. What was wrong here? And why did she suddenly feel . . . bad inside? It wasn’t shame, or guilt . . . but it was close. “What’s going on, Jake? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, eyes closed again. “Nothing.” It felt like he was shutting her out.

“Something,” she insisted. And when he didn’t respond, she got mad, and a little panicky, her heart beating too hard now, and said, “
Tell me
.”

Next to her, he sighed, opened his eyes, and said, “Don’t get mad.” But his expression still seemed weighted with sorrow. “It’s just . . . what I said about wanting you to fuck another guy—I don’t think we should do that. Okay?”

This did nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. And it wasn’t that she really cared so much about fucking another guy—it was his sudden change in attitude. “Okay,” she said quietly. Then, thinking this obviously required an explanation he wasn’t giving her, she added, “Um, why?”

His answer came out slowly, and yet . . . he sounded very sure. “I think all of that is a mistake,
was
a mistake. We shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have pushed you in that direction.”

Jake had never said anything that had left her quite so deflated. Because it felt like a judgment. On her. “What are you saying?”

He sat up, then took a deep breath. So she sat up, too. She found herself reaching for the afghan she kept on the back of the couch, pulling it over her breasts, even though she wasn’t the slightest bit cold.

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, his gaze planted squarely on the pizza box on the coffee table. “I’ve been selfish, Carly. I’ve been selfish about pushing you to do things that get
me
off. And I’ve told us both I was doing it for
you
, but in reality, I think it was all about
me
, about letting sex
drive
me,
control
me. And now . . . shit—now I’ve got you sucking other guys’ dicks just because
I
want it.”

“What if I wanted it, too?” she whispered. Even though he was making it sound so awful now that, suddenly, she was almost loath to admit that.

Yet Jake just shook his head and she felt almost invisible, as if he was so lost in his own thoughts that she might as well not even be there. “I pushed you to it. I brought it up before we went, and I brought it up again at the time. I wanted you to do it so bad I could fucking taste it. And now . . .”

“Now what?” she snapped.

“Now I realize I’m just feeding the problem.”

“The problem?”

“
Your
problem.”

She blinked. “Exactly what
is
my problem?”

Now he looked at her, his blue eyes seeming to bore into her. “You know your problem. Your father abused you.”

She drew in her breath, angry to be reminded. “You told me to let it go. Forgive. Move on. I did.”

He let out a long sigh and reached for her hand, but something in his manner made her feel stupid, or maybe childish. “It doesn’t just go away, Carly. It’s always there. And healing takes time. And for me to push you to do the things I’ve pushed you to do was . . . just fucking insensitive and selfish.”

She felt defensive. “But I thought it was good that I . . . you know, wanted to be . . . more adventurous.”

“Honey, for a victim of abuse, being that wild isn’t any healthier than being afraid of sex. It’s just the opposite end of the spectrum.”

She barely knew how to react, what to say. She felt shaky inside, and as if she’d been cheated somehow. Jake had told her over and over again that it was okay to do what felt good, and that he wanted her to have all that pleasure, and that he would always love her the same afterward . . . but now that suddenly all felt like a lie. And she felt as if she was somehow being scolded. And with that came the familiar flood of shame, the gut-deep sense that she’d done something wrong. Dirty. The
bad
kind of dirty again.

Finally, she summoned words. “If it’s all so awful, then why did you let me do it?”

His expression changed over to worry as he grabbed both her hands. “Honey, it’s not awful—that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just probably not
healthy
. For you. At least right now. And as for why I let you do it . . .” He stopped, ran one hand back through his already-mussed hair. “Shit. It’s like I told you. I was selfish. I . . . got caught up in my own old issues. I wanted that fucking control too damn much. I have no good excuse. I’m sorry.”

He was sorry. “Sorry for what exactly?” she snapped. “Sorry you told me it would make me stronger? Or sorry you’re telling me the exact opposite now? Sorry I was brave enough to do what felt good? Or sorry to be making me feel like I’m nothing but a huge slut now that it’s too late to take it back?”

“Aw, damn me to hell,” he wrenched out, eyes shutting as he bent forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looked as anguished as she felt. And when he sat back up, a tear rolled down one cheek. He sounded choked up as he slowly said, “I’m sorry for
all
those things.” Then he shook his head. “But please, baby—please know you didn’t do anything wrong. I would never see you that way.”

Yet whether or not she believed him was only one piece of the big ugly can of worms he’d just opened. She’d never felt so . . . turned upon, or misled.

Well, once maybe. Her father had turned on her in a way, hadn’t he? And, well, now that she thought about it … it had felt like her mother had turned on her, too, when it came to what had happened with that Kevin guy.

As a girl, as a woman, how did you possibly win? When faced with a whole damn life full of sexual situations and decisions, how did you possibly make all the right moves? And it wasn’t Jake’s fault that this horrid revelation had just hit her—but what was happening right this minute,
that
was his fault. And she couldn’t help it—she finally just exploded.

“Who the hell ever put you in charge of my problems?” she shouted, rising to her feet. If she didn’t stand up, she actually feared she might slap him. Her hands tightened into fists where she held the afghan in front of her. “Who the hell asked you to be my goddamn therapist? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and can’t do? Should or shouldn’t do? And to . . . God, after all this, to make me feel bad about it—how dare you!”

Jake pushed to his feet as well. “I never meant to make you feel bad, Carly, I swear.”

“Well, you did, and it’s one more thing that can’t be taken back!” The rage inside her rose even higher as she yelled, “What the
fuck
gives you the
nerve
to take charge of my
problem
, as you called it? When you can’t even handle your
own
fucking problems? You acted so smooth and smart about all this—when you’re really just as messed up as me!”

At this, Jake sat back down. And answered very quietly. “I don’t know. Because you’re right. I’m . . . more screwed up than I thought. And now I’ve hurt you. And that’s the last fucking thing I ever wanted to do.”

She just swallowed again and said nothing, emotionally beat up and a little drained—the last way she’d expected to feel even a few short minutes ago. My God, he’d just had wildly intense sex with her. Like nothing was wrong.

Carly wrapped the blanket around her, feeling too naked, vulnerable. And still so, so angry. She slumped down into a chair near the couch, purposefully avoiding being next to him.

“This . . . has been on my mind for a few days, I guess,” he admitted.

“Were you going to tell me about it if I hadn’t brought it up or dragged it out of you?”

He lifted a glance her way. “Probably not. I was avoiding it. I knew . . . it probably wouldn’t make either one of us feel very good.”

“And yet it didn’t stop you from fucking my brains out.”

He nodded, looked grim. “That’s part of the problem. Even as I want to control you, I can’t control
myself, with
you. I knew I should talk to you about all this tonight, but when I got here, I couldn’t quite do it. Because when I’m with you . . . hell, honey, when I’m with you I want to be
with
you.
In
you.
On
you. Especially after days of not seeing you.”

Carly felt physically torn. His words aroused her against her will, made her pussy go liquid and warm. And yet that lust felt so wrong in this moment, almost offensive. Love and sex had gotten tangled together here in weird ways she couldn’t decipher. And he was telling her it wasn’t healthy. And she had no idea if she agreed or not—it was all so complicated.

But she knew she still loved him. She was mad as hell at him right now, but she loved the man.

And she knew she still wanted him. Her physical response had just told her so. And even rumpled and upset now, he looked no less than beautiful to her sitting on her couch naked.

All that was on the tip of her tongue—she was just trying to find the right way to say it—when Jake told her, “We shouldn’t see each other anymore, Carly.”

G
od, he hated the look on her face. Pure torment. “What?” she said.

He just shut his eyes again. Because he hated hurting her so fucking much. And because this was so fucking hard. And he was a bigger asshole than he’d ever known he could be.

“I’m not the right man for you,” he tried to explain. The words stung in his throat—because this hurt him, too. He loved her. He wanted her. He craved her. But this was too damn much, too consuming. It was everything Dr. Jim had ever warned him about and more. Almost from the moment they’d met—he just hadn’t recognized it then.

“I’ll never
be
the right man for you,” he went on, each word more agonizing than the last. “Because people like us, with our pasts . . . we just aren’t good for each other. Carly, you should be with somebody else.”