Enjoy Your Stay (10 page)

“Because everyone loves cunt. Sweet dreams, Jackie-boy. Hope your sleeping bag isn’t too wet in the morning.”

“Get fucked, dickhead.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

“Yeah, laugh it up, fuck-stick. You’re just lucky she’s my cousin, or the minute your daughter became legal I’d tap that shit just so you knew how it felt.”

“You’re one sick bastard. You know that, right?”

I laugh and twist around in my chair, meeting Holly’s gaze across the camp. She and Ana have just come back from the shitter, and she’s dressed in these cute, little short-shorts and a white singlet, and I swear, even from here I can see the outline of her sexy-as-fuck nipples as she brushes her teeth outside our tent.

As Cade and Ana disappear into their tent, I get up and walk over to Holly, taking her toothbrush from her hand. I squeeze a small amount of toothpaste onto the brush, and shove it in my mouth before she can protest. “The fuck? That’s my toothbrush, Jackarse.”

“Darlin’, my mouth’s been worse places than on your toothbrush.”

“Yeah, so not a comforting thought.”

I stop brushing, and stare at her. “That what you want? Comfort?”

“Did you and Cade share a crack pipe while Ana and I were gone? What’s wrong with you?” She shoots me a suspicious look. I spit out the toothpaste, and rinse my mouth with the water bottle she hands me.

“Nothing.”

“Well, good night, Mr McCrazy Pants, I’m going to bed.”

“Night,” I whisper, and walk back to the fire to put it out before turning in for the night.

Once I climb inside our tent I see Holly splayed across the entire air mattress. Little shit always was a bed hog. I sigh, zip up the tent, and wedge myself onto the corner of the mattress. I lie there, squashed into a space that wouldn’t even be big enough for Sammy to fit comfortably into before I kneel up, slide my hands beneath her body, and gently lay her back down on her side of the bed. Holly stirs, and makes a little mewling sound—the same one she makes when I pull my cock out of her—then she tugs my arm down so I have no choice but to lay behind her and spoon myself around her body.

Her crazy hair is splayed all over the pillow, and smells of watermelon and her shampoo. I shift it aside so I’m not smothered by it in my sleep, and then as I lay there thinking about this thing between us, I do something I haven’t done since I found out she was pregnant. I slide my hand down her front, and cup the small bump of her belly with my hand.

Holly lets out a contented sigh in her sleep. I freeze, because for half a second I think she’s going to wake and tell me to get the fuck off, but she doesn’t. She just snuggles deeper into me, so I leave my hand there, and eventually drift off to sleep.

I
DON’T
know what’s worse. Waking in the middle of a sex dream when you’re just about to come, or waking to a massive penis pressing against your arse, and not being able just to jump on, and ride the hell out of that thing like you were riding towards your morning coffee.

Coffee
. Another thing I’m not allowed to have during this stupid pregnancy. Okay, technically that’s not true. I could have decaf, but have you tasted that shit? Yeah, not really what I call coffee. I just hope this kid appreciates all the things I’m giving up in order to not have him come out with brain damage. Although with the way Jackson fucks, that’s never really a guarantee.

And speaking of … I rock my hips back into his, and feel his hand tighten around my waist. No. Not my waist. My belly. My … bump. When he draws his hand away, it’s sweating, and my skin prickles with the combination of the moisture and cool air.

“Mornin’,” Jackson whispers in my ear. He runs his hand over my hip, and down between my legs. “I have morning wood.”

“Yeah. I kinda felt that.”

“Hols?”

“Mmm?”

“I gotta have you.”

I roll over and face him. Partly because I love seeing his sleepy head in the morning, with his lazy, indulgent smiles, and his hair all mussed from the pillow. Mostly, I want to see if he’s being genuine. Or if this is another of the weird, cryptic exchanges, like the ones we shared last night.

His clear blue eyes search mine. His expression is oddly vulnerable. I don’t have a clue what to make of it, but I know this is a bad idea—despite what my lady parts are saying.

“Jack—” I begin, but he cuts me off by taking my mouth with his, slow and sweet, forcing my legs to fall open for him.

“Sweetheart, stop thinking and just feel,” he says as he slides his fingers inside my knickers. I’m soaking wet on account of the dream, and Jack sucks in a sharp breath when he delves between my lips, discovering just how turned on I am. He revels in my arousal, softly stroking me from clit to opening and back again. Then he gently pinches my clit, and a current runs right through me from head to toe.

Oh, God. Why couldn’t he be terrible with his hands? Why couldn’t he fumble, and never be able to find
it
? At least then I wouldn’t be such a complete mess the minute he touches me?

“Jack,” I protest again, but it’s really more of moan than a plea for him to stop.

“Hols,” he says as the runs his mouth along my jaw and down my neck. “Shut the hell up, and let me fuck you.”

I nod, because it’s all I’m really capable of at this point, but it’s all the permission he needs. He kneels up in front of me and tears off my shorts and underwear. Jackson’s not wearing anything at all—kind of convenient, really—and he rubs the tip of that beautiful cock over my entrance, coating the head in my desire. He pumps his fist up and down over his glorious cock, and then slips inside, balls deep. I moan, and rock my hips forward to meet his, wanting it harder, faster, wanting to feel him hammering into the very end of me. Jack grabs my hips in his big, calloused hands and holds them down. “Easy, baby, today we’re taking it slow.”

“Slow? Since when do you do slow?”

He stops thrusting completely, and stares down at me. “Since today.”

“Ooookay. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling something,” he says as he pulls the entire way out, and then slides back in again. He wraps his hands around my ankle and takes my leg up so that it’s resting on his chest, and then he kisses his way down my calf before saying, “I don’t know if it’s right, but I’m feeling it.”

Am I still dreaming?
What happened to the Jackson who fucks fast and hard, and doesn’t pull any punches? This Jackson is sweet, and not at all douchie, and it’s damn confusing. His hands follow the trail down my leg left by his wet kisses, and he circles his finger around my clit. I no longer care that he’s acting so weird. All I care about are his hands, and his cock, and the fact that though we’ve never been here before, I gotta say, it’s every bit as good as sex with Jackson always is. Maybe even better.

He presses my heels into his chest and leans forward, forcing himself further inside, until we’re fused together, and as close as we could possibly be. His gaze solders to mine. At first it’s raw, pure lust, but the longer I stare, the more I think I see something there, reflected in his eyes. Jack continues his gentle thrusts. He slides his calloused fingertips over my pussy, focusing on the tiny bundle of nerve endings, until I come apart in his hands. My orgasm crashes into me, and I’m completely surprised by the wave of emotion that slams home directly after. I’m panting and crying all at once. Fear and need are waging war with one another in my heart.

Jack doesn’t notice because he’s lost in his own release. I feel him spill into me, and then he slumps back on his knees, eliciting a shockwave of pleasure as he slides out. His eyes open, then they widen in surprise at the tears pouring out of mine. I cover my face with my palms and try to turn away, but he catches me up in his arms. I fight. Of course I fight—this is me we’re talking about—but it doesn’t do any good, because Jackson’s a heck of a lot stronger than I am, and within seconds he has my arms pinned to my sides. “Hols, did I hurt you?”

“Just leave me alone, Jack.”

“Not gonna happen. Talk to me. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I can’t do this,” I say, close my eyes, and then my tone turns accusingly bitter. “You can’t fuck me like that. It’s not … it’s not how
we
do things.”

“I’m confused. You don’t like it slow?”

“No I don’t like it slow, I don’t like it intimate, and I don’t like you staring at me like there’s anything more to us than just basic animal, primal fucking.”

“Nice, Hols.” He lets out a bitter laugh, and stands up. Of course, Jackson being so tall, he hits his head on the tent poles, and then a string of expletives follows. He rummages under the covers we’d thrown off earlier to find his clothes, and he shoves his legs into his jeans and yanks a T-shirt down over his head. “You know, if knocking one out is all you’re worried about, I’m pretty sure they have rubber cocks for that. Or you could always just use your hand.”

“Don’t you dare make out like this is all me. I told you two weeks ago this was a bad idea—”

“Yeah, and two weeks later you’re still riding my cock like a greedy whore, and making out like you’re completely innocent.”

“Fuck you, Jack!”

“Not this time, sweetheart,” he says, and unzips the tent, leaving it wide open, and me completely exposed to the rest of our campsite. “Happy
fucking
birthday.”

Jack storms off, and I throw a few choice words after him before wrapping the sheet around me, zipping up the tent, and crying into the mattress we just made love on, and as much as I hate that fucking namby-pamby term—as much as I loathe it with every fibre within me—that’s exactly what Jackson just did to me.

What’s even worse is that I
felt
something. It
meant
something. And now I don’t know how to switch that shit off.

I
T TAKES
me the better part of the morning to cool off. Once I left the tent, I shoved my feet into my work boots, grabbed a bottle of water and a muesli bar, and took off down the walking track toward the falls. The hike was no fucking picnic, but neither was my mood, so it was probably best for everybody if I just kept clear for a few hours.

“Maybe she needs to feel more from you than your cock.”
Last time I listen to that wanker again. Oh, I gave her more alright, but she shoved it back in my face and asked to use my Johnson as a dildo. And the tears? Jesus Christ. Tears can mean only one thing: that the sex was so fucking woeful it made her vagina cry.

This has never happened to me before.

I follow the walking track down several turns. It’s peaceful here, aside from the cluster-fuck going on inside my head, that is. Everything is lush and green. There are cicadas singing, and the rush of the waterfall can be heard in the distance. It’s a Julie-fucking-Andrews moment, and all I wanna do is smash that nun’s face in. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme. But come the fuck on, what the hell does that woman want from me? She asks me to fuck her? I fuck her. She wants me to take her to the movies, or an appointment, or out for fucking ice cream, and I do. I do all those things gladly, because beneath all the primal sex, and the angst, and the inherent need to just piss her off and make her even crazier than what she already is, I care about her. We’ve been friends a long time, which is why I was so god damned crushed when I found out she was pregnant. I was sure it meant the end of whatever weird shit we had going on. And, in a way, it did, and still does. I don’t know if I can look past the fact that she’s having another dude’s baby, but a part of me wants to, and that scares the shit outta me. And this morning, for the first time in my twenty-seven years, sex became something more than just burying my dick inside a warm, wet hole. It became more, and what’s worse is I want more of that feeling.