Cry Little Sister (15 page)

She pointed and Jordan wondered if this was how the witches felt in Salem. She felt nauseous but also angry. Very angry.

This day just kept getting fucking better and better.

“I don’t know what you think, Mrs. Phelps, but you need to calm down.”

“You are a heathen,” the woman said.

And that was that, Jordan snapped. She’d had enough. Of the confusion, of loss, of the horrible woman who should be embracing her brother and this nosy ass neighbor who was waving her fingers in Jordan’s face.

Jordan grabbed her finger and said, “You need to leave. Maybe if you didn’t spend your time looking in people’s windows, you wouldn’t see things that upset you.”

“I’ll tell,” the woman said.

Jordan yanked her finger hard enough to make Mrs. Phelps blanch but not hard enough to do any damage. “You do that. Who do you think everyone will believe? Two kids who just lost their father and are grieving, or an old busybody who spies on people to pass the time?”

The woman opened her mouth and shut it with a snap.

“You think about it,” Jordan said, turning toward the door. “Now get off my fucking porch before I call the police.”

She slammed her front door wanting nothing but anger and stoicism to come through. But inside the house, when she was safely out of sight, she started to shake all over again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jordan slipped the freshly assembled lasagna pan into the oven. In just over 45 minutes, they’d have a nice hot lasagna. She set about making a salad and searching the freezer for the loaves of frozen bread their dad had usually kept in the freezer. If she set one out now to thaw, it might be ready by bed time.

The front door slammed and she jumped.

“Gar! Is that you? You scared the shi—”

“What did you do?” He stormed into the kitchen, dropping his lunch cooler in the archway. His stance was aggressive, his face enraged.

“I…what?”

“What did you do, Jordan. What did you
do?”

His voice did not rise. Unlike other people, the angrier Gareth got, the quieter his voice. He was speaking so low she was having trouble hearing him over nothing more than the tick, pop and whoosh of the oven heating up and leveling off.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered. All of her skin had broken out in goose bumps. Her mouth had gone dry and her nipples had peaked painfully hard from the rush of adrenaline.

“Why would you meddle? Why would you shoot your mouth off?”

Her mind scrambled wildly to make sense of what he was saying. Was he talking about Mrs. Phelps and Jordan tossing her out? What did he mean?

“You should have just left it alone. No one asked you to butt in.” His jaw clenched taut with anger, his green eyes narrowed. He looked almost dangerous to her and it made her stomach tumble in on itself and her hands started to shake.

And then she made the connection.

“Oh…oh, Gareth. I didn’t know—” She tried but he cut her off.

“I didn’t
want
you to know. I didn’t want
anyone
to know. Who the fuck wants everyone to know that none of his mothers want him? That he’s a goddamn woman repellant unless it’s fucking.”

He threw his keys at the back door with a growl and they hit the small pane of glass, cracking in.

Jordan felt a burst of shock and cried out. He was advancing on her and she backed up a step in response.

“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone, Jojo?” His eyes were shiny like he might cry, but he shook his head. Tamping down the pain and letting the anger flare. “Get in the bedroom,” he said, pointing.

“What?” She was genuinely surprised.

“Get. In. The. Bedroom.” He ground out each word like he was spitting out rusty nails.

“No,” she breathed.

He took her arms in his hands, squeezing just enough to make her flinch, but no more. “Get in the bedroom, or get the fuck out,” he said. “Your choice.” Then he stalked into the mudroom and started untying his boots.

*****

She was ashamed of herself that she did it. But secretly thrilled, too. A dirty secret she wanted to keep even from herself. The way he ordered her, the anger in his voice, the ultimatum. He’d never been that way with her and Jordan remembered his offer earlier suggestion about paddling.

“You’re not a woman repellent,” she said to him. Her voice was soft and meek and her hands warred in her lap with nerves. She’d never take that tone or orders from anyone else, but this was Gareth. The person she loved more than anything in the world. Who was hurting. Who was alone, or so he thought.

“Be quiet, Jordan,” he growled and pushed his dirty jeans off. He tossed them in the hamper and then shoved his socks down and yanked them off. Every movement was performed with anger. Every breath was exhaled with frustration.

“I’m sorry.”

“Be quiet, Jordan.”

Her throat went tight and she fisted her hands against her jeans. She was fully clothed and she had no idea what he was going to do. None.

“Gareth, just let me—“

“If you say another word one of us is leaving and not coming back. I just don’t know which one yet. You want to test me?”

She shook her head and clamped her tongue between her teeth. She bit hard in frustration and tasted a sharp coppery burst of blood. She was a talker. Especially when nervous. So this was torture. Feeling sorry,
being
sorry, and unable to express herself was maddening.

“Take your clothes off,” he said. “Everything.”

She gave him a surprised glance and when their eyes met, and she saw the true anger there, she considered saying no. She truly did. But in those eyes was also love. And pain. And she had to trust he’d never hurt her for real.

Not for real.

She stood and pulled off her long sleeved pullover. It dropped into a navy blue puddle at her feet. Bra followed and then her loose faded jeans. No panties underneath so that left her in slouch socks, which Jordan promptly kicked off.

His eyes ate her up but his hands stayed down, straight but rigid, by his sides. “On the bed, face down.”

Jordan took a deep breath, trying to still her rattled nerves. Then she slowly splayed herself on his bed, face down, arms out and legs down. Maybe all he needed to calm down and talk to her was some contrition. Some penance.

The straps were back out and he tied her wrists and then her ankles. Her body was tense with worry and she considered telling him about Mrs. Phelps but thought better of it.

Gareth went to the closet door and opened it. She had her head turned in his direction so she could see everything he was doing. His body was long and lean and gorgeously muscles—and his cock was hard, jutting out in front of him almost angrily.

He seemed to be searching for something. She expected it to be a paddle he pulled out but she felt the blood drain from her face when he pulled out a crop.

“She called me at work,” he said, testing the crop on his own palm. It made a teakettle whistle in the air as it flew and a maddening heavy crack when it landed. Gareth nodded with approval before moving toward her.

“She called me at work to tell me to stop sending my crazy friends to bother her.” The crop landing with a whistling crack on the meaty part of Jordan’s ass. Her entire body jumped with the impact. The sharp and biting pain quickly dulled to a roaring throb and then slowly bled into a rush of adrenaline fueled pleasure. She felt a flicker deep in her cunt even as a sob ripped out of her throat.

Sweet Jesus. What was this insanity?

“She thought I sent you. How pathetic would I seem if I sent you? I mean she told me in no uncertain terms that she’d handed me off to dad the moment I was born because she did not want me. And she
still
did not want me. Nothing had changed.”

Lulled by his voice, she had relaxed some, pained at hearing the sadness and anger in his voice. So when the warning whistle sounded she didn’t react immediately. Gareth striped another blow along her other ass cheek. The meaty bit of her taking the blow and absorbing most of the impact. That sharp bite of stinging pain stealing her breath and making her eyes water. No sound came out of her this time. The pain was too great. She gritted her teeth until that stealthy slow fade arrived and then on its heels a tawdry rush of bliss.

Her cunt flexed tight. She imagined if he pushed a single finger into her she’d come. She imagined if he so much as touched a fingertip to her clit or, sweet Jesus, the tip of his tongue, she’d come like a firework bursting on a hot summer night.

“She wanted me to know that if she heard from me again—or you for that matter—she’d call the police. So thanks, Jordan,” he growled and laid a third blow across both cheeks, hitting the first two striped with a horizontal contrast.

She sobbed on that one. The pain was fierce—with teeth and claws and fire on her skin—and sudden. Her fingers reflexively clutched at the sheet beneath her and when the tears that stung her eyes rolled away, she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision.

His face pale, green eyes wide, mouth set tight. She dropped the crop like it had burned him and quickly walked out of the room.

She almost called out to him, but wasn’t sure if she should. Wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She lay very still as the pain faded away in slow, concentric ripples. As the core of her punishment started to burn like hot, red coals. After a few moments, when he didn’t return, Jordan shifted on the bed, her pelvis driving down into the resistance of the mattress and she was surprised—but not really, not honestly—to feel a blip of pleasure from the contact.

Her bottom was hot and feverish and felt marked, but under all that she was worried. About her brother, about her lover, her friend. About how her meddling had pushed him and made him hurt.

She heard her timer go off but didn’t call out to him. Gareth wasn’t stupid. He’d check the oven and turn the timer off. She strained to hear and finally did hear him open the oven and then the bang of it being closed. She heard the fridge and then the shower cut on, the pipes shaking the wall behind her head.

He was really angry. He was leaving her here.

She pushed her hips down again, feeling the grind of the firm mattress, feeling the slow slide of pleasure in her cunt. She spread her legs even wider than the straps held her and tilted her pelvis as severely as she could. The pressure was remarkable and sweet and she humped against the bed shamelessly.

It didn’t matter that it was something she’d have sworn she’d never do. It didn’t matter that he could catch her if he left the water running and popped in—in fact, the thought of him catching her made her pussy that much wetter and her hips move that much faster. It didn’t matter that she felt the hot blush of embarrassment for her predicament.

None of it mattered. What mattered was the liquid and lazy contraction starting deep inside of her. She ground harder and flexed her internal muscles, gritting her teeth with the effort.

Jordan rolled her hips from side to side-desperate and hopeful—like she was doing the hula. When the water cut off and fear lanced through her, she came. It was a sudden shock and it rocked her hard enough to make her bite her lips so Gareth wouldn’t hear.

Fear. Adrenaline. Punishment.

She was learning a lot. She just hoped she could do damage control with her brother. The thought that she’d truly hurt him made her chest ache.

*****

He came in after another half an hour had slipped away. Jordan had watched the red numbers slowly change until she thought she’d scream. Finally, he came in, hair still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats. He had a piece of her lasagna on a plate and a fork.

The bed sank with his weight and he took a bite of what was supposed to be their dinner.

“You always did make good lasagna, kid,” he said softly, forking up a bite. “And you still do.”

She had to crane her head over her shoulder to see him. He wasn’t sitting within her easy line of sight. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I had to leave you.”

“No you’re not,” she said, tears she hadn’t expected stinging her eyes. “I was sorry that I upset you with what I did. I didn’t know you’d been there. I was trying…” Her voice wavered and she stopped talking. She didn’t want to cry. Not even a little. Then she would feel stupid on top of angry and sad.

“Were trying to what?” Gareth asked softly. She heard him take another bite. Jordan had to let her head rest or she’d hurt herself trying to see him.

Why wouldn’t he let her see him?

“Do something nice for you. Surprise you. It was wrong, I guess, but it wasn’t with malice.”

“And you think I left you in here alone due to malice?”

She nodded, silent and angry as the next wave of unshed tears assaulted her. Jordan swallowed reflexively to keep them at bay. “Yes. It’s all part of what you’re
teaching
me. All part of the game.”

“Wrong.” He stood and set the plate on the dresser. When he came back, he sat right at her hip and smoothed his hands over her bottom. The tender places jumped with blood and Jordan couldn’t help but sigh.