She parted her legs, even though they were drawn up beneath her—not a decision, but a physical instinct, her clit begging for attention. She thrashed a little more, crying out, screaming—oh God, what hot, strange pleasure!—until finally Jake’s hand came, between her thighs, where she was so deeply in need.
She thrust against it automatically, shamelessly—and in a few short seconds, the powerful orgasm was rocking her body, jerking her mercilessly, overwhelming her with the hardest, most jagged ecstasy she’d ever experienced.
She was drenched in sweat. Not to mention pie. Oh Lord. She lay in a heap, coming down from it—when behind her Jake said, “Oh fuck, honey—me, too. Here I come.” Those last strong thrusts shook her all over again—and reminded her:
Oh God, he’s fucking me in the ass
. It was at once strange to her that she’d never experienced this as Desiree and even stranger that she was experiencing it
now
—when her darker, dirtier self was nowhere in sight.
Except that . . . maybe they were becoming one. Finally. Maybe as she’d acknowledged once before, she was learning, with Jake, to let herself feel those darker, dirtier desires—without masking them behind a slinky dress and a fake name. Maybe she was finally learning to be who she really was. Because of him.
A
fter they both recovered and lay together in a heap for a few minutes afterward, Carly opened her eyes and began to look around. At the sheets. At their sticky bodies. At the remains of the mangled cream pie in the bed with them. And then she cracked up laughing.
Jake appeared a little alarmed at first, like maybe he feared she’d lost it—but when his eyes found the pie plate as well, he joined in the laughter. “God, it’s weird what some people will do in the midst of lust,” he said, and it made her laugh even harder.
After they shared a sensual shower together—Jake washing his hair and then hers, his fingertips making her scalp tingle as much as the sex had—they stripped the sheets from the bed and put on new ones, then flung themselves down on them, exhausted.
“Okay, the next time I go using pie as lubricant, remind me it’s a big mess to clean up afterward,” Jake told her.
She rolled to face him on her pillow and mused aloud, “It’s not something I’d want to do every day or anything—but . . . it was pretty hot.”
Jake’s blue eyes sparkled in the low light. “So you don’t mind that I demolished your pie?” Then he flashed a playful grin. “I mean, it’s a blueribbon winner, after all.”
“It was for a good cause,” she replied, smiling. “A
weird
cause, but a good cause. I think.” She scrunched her nose slightly.
And that was when he rolled toward her, too, clean and naked and beautiful, to draw her into a loose embrace. “
Definitely
a good cause, no thinking about it. I think
thinking
too much is probably what gets you into trouble, so knock it off. And anything that makes you feel good is a good enough cause for me, sweetie pie.”
Yet another laugh burbled up from her throat. “Sweetie pie?”
He offered up a self-deprecating smile. “That just came out. Because I’m a dork. Or maybe because I just got intimate with a pie.”
She nuzzled against him. “Don’t worry, I still like you anyway. And you can call me sweetie pie whenever you want.”
They both eased onto their backs then, relaxing, still recovering from what had turned into a tiring night. That was when his eyes seemed to catch on something, and he used his toes to pluck her long-forgotten panties from where they lay draped over the bed’s footboard. “So, do you always wear such sexy undies, little miss Carly?” He sounded pleased by the notion.
“Mostly,” she told him, adding quietly, without much forethought, “They’re another one of my secrets.”
“A
good
secret. I look forward to finding out what you have on under your clothes every time I see you now.”
“I like having you see them,” she admitted, swallowing past the nervous lump rising in her throat. It wasn’t the usual sort of conversation for her, so just discussing panties, even after what they’d done tonight, still made her blush. But on the other hand, it seemed silly to hold anything back from him at this point. That was probably why she barreled ahead, saying what was on her mind even if it didn’t pass her lips with total ease. “I mean, no one ever
has
before. Well, except for . . .”
“Desiree nights?” he asked.
She nodded, still sheepish about that. She was glad he knew her truth—it was freeing in a sense—yet it still embarrassed her in a way she couldn’t get over in just a couple of days.
“Why do you wear them, then—when no one’s going to see?”
Ah, he was back to the panties. Good—that was easier than discussing Desiree. “I guess it was . . . a private way to feel a little bit sexy, even when no one thinks of me that way.”
“
I
think of you that way,” he promised her.
And her heart warmed. “I’m glad.”
They drifted into silence for a moment—a moment in which Carly let herself begin to really sink into this, feel comfortable with this . . . this
thing
with him. What was it? An affair? A . . . relationship? That didn’t matter right now, though—not as much as the fact that it was the first time she’d really started to feel like this was all okay. She had a lover. Maybe even a . . . boyfriend. And she was starting to care about him. And that’s what people did. They dated. They cared for one another. They had sex. Maybe not with cream pie all over their bodies, but that was beside the point.
She was beginning to feel normal. And happy.
“Speaking of secrets . . .” Jake began then, but he trailed off.
And her stomach churned a little.
Uh-oh—that’s what you get for feeling happy.
He suddenly seemed more serious, and maybe hesitant, and she considered not even replying. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to ignore him. “Yeah?” she asked softly.
He turned again to face her in bed, and when their gazes met, his looked probing—and kind of sad. “What happened to you, honey?” he whispered.
“Huh?”
He pressed his lips together, appearing to choose his next words carefully. “Something happened to you,” he said. “Something that . . . messed you up inside, about sex. What was it?”
Carly said nothing—because she wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure of the answer herself.
“I don’t meant to pry, I really don’t,” he went on. “It’s just been on my mind—I can’t seem to shake the question. It keeps coming back to me, worrying me.”
Her stomach contracted slightly. “I worry you?”
He sighed. “Can’t help it.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that. Was it sweet concern or . . . “I don’t want to be like . . . some needy girl, some charity case for the big-city cop who helps people.”
He tilted his head against the pillow, reached out to rest one hand on her bare hip. “Don’t worry, I don’t do sexual charity. And this has nothing to do with being a cop. It’s that I’m sleeping with you, and I like you, and . . . I just hope you’re okay, honey.”
She let out a breath—one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Okay, it was sincere concern, his worry. And maybe that meant . . . there was something worth worrying
about
?
She blew out a tired breath. She’d just . . . always refused to let herself examine this very much. And when she did . . . well, there were things that came to mind, but they were sickeningly unpleasant, so she usually just shut out the thoughts, the memories, and switched her focus to something else. “Are you sure something had to have
happened
?” she asked, still not quite wanting to go there. “Maybe . . . this is just the way I am. Maybe it’s . . . random, happenstance.”
And somehow, when he shook his head and appeared so very
sure
about it . . . damn. It made it hard to deny that there were things inside her that hurt, things she’d never let out—ever. And . . . hell. If no one else had these problems, there must be a reason she
did
. It was one thing to avoid thinking about this on her own—but to deny the issues out loud, now that someone knew about her private sex life, made her feel a little dumb, like someone in denial.
So as memories mixed and swirled inside her, she plucked one out. Kevin.
“Maybe it was . . . this thing that happened when I was eleven,” she ventured, hating the pinch in her gut that came with the recollection. God, she hadn’t thought about this in so long. Because it was just wrong. That it had happened. And that it had made her feel so bad inside, so bizarrely guilty. She could see that now, that the guilt shouldn’t have been hers—and yet, somehow she’d been made to feel at fault.
Jake’s blue eyes on hers were wide, patient, understanding—and it gave her the courage to tell the story. She’d told Dana—at the time. But only now, years later, could she see the full measure of how truly creepy it had been. “My family had a big Labor Day picnic at our house, with the whole extended family. My uncle Troy brought a friend with him, this guy named Kevin. Kevin was . . . completely charismatic—he was cute, funny, polite, helpful, and the whole family just gravitated to him instantly.” She’d gravitated, too. She’d never met someone who so effortlessly cast a spell on everyone around him.
“So I and my female cousins instantly had crushes on Kevin, and he was so nice to us, actually paying attention to us in a way you wouldn’t expect an older guy would with little girls. We were flattered when he played badminton with us, and when he sat with us to eat. And we were all sort of jockeying for attention with him and . . .” She stopped, bit her lip at the irony. “And I . . . won.”
“Won?”
Her breath caught in her throat and a strange frisson of disgust fluttered through her midsection. “He started paying more attention to me than the other girls. Flirting. And even touching me—hugging me, putting his arm around me, holding my hand.”
Dark suspicion edged Jake’s voice when he asked, “How old was this guy?”
“Twenty-two,” she said, still shocked by that herself.
She saw Jake’s jaw set. “And you were
eleven
?”
She nodded.
“What happened?” Jake asked then, more softly. “What did that bastard do to you?”
“Nothing,” she answered quickly, wanting to allay his worst fears. “Just the things I told you. But . . . somewhere along the way I realized it had gone beyond just being friendly—I’d wanted his attention, but I’d never expected to really
get
it. Not like
that
. And . . .” She stopped, swallowed uncomfortably. “And I . . . felt things. You know—girl things, sexual things, a response. And I began to realize he was, too, and how wrong that was—and I didn’t see that coming, and it just felt so ugly inside.”
She slowed down, took a deep breath—it surprised her that she could still feel it all so freshly, as if she hadn’t had lots of very grown-up sex since then, as if she were eleven all over again. “And around the time I started to feel uncomfortable,” she made herself continue, “my cousins got jealous and went to my mother—they told her I was flirting with Kevin and hanging all over him. Even though it was much more the other way around. I mean, I was
eleven
. I’d never done any more than talk to boys in school—I didn’t know
how
to hang all over someone.
“So my mother and grandmother came to me about it together . . . in a way that made me feel I’d done something wrong. Looking back, I know I didn’t—I
couldn’t
have. Like I said, I was so completely innocent then. And
he
was the freaking adult—the one who had control of the situation. And I suppose my mom and grandma were just alarmed, and maybe they were more concerned with finding out what was going on than with how their approach would make me feel. But in the end, I felt terrible. Like I’d done something to be ashamed of. But all I did was talk to him. I swear.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, honey,” he assured her firmly. “I
know
the guy was wrong. I know an eleven-year-old girl isn’t responsible for something like that.”
“And—and once it started, I didn’t know what to do, how to stop it. I’d actually gone into the house and into my room, just to get away from him, by the time my mother came to me.”
“Good for you,” he said, nodding staunchly, and then he hugged her. Tight. Just held her for a long minute. And finally he murmured, “Do you know whatever happened to the guy?”
She shook her head. “No. We never saw him again. I don’t think he was from around here.”
“That’s probably good. Because if I knew where he was, I might have to hurt him.”
She drew back just enough to look into his eyes. “That’s very chivalrous—but remember, even as icky as it was, he didn’t actually
do
anything to me.”
“He would have if he’d gotten the chance. And a guy like that very likely did things to some other little girl along the way.”
Again, he sounded so certain, not an ounce of doubt. “How do you know?”
“Because that’s how people like him work. That’s just how it is.”
She said nothing, not wanting to believe he was right, not wanting to remember how . . .
dirty
the incident had made her feel. At eleven. She sighed, her stomach tightening just slightly.
“I guess,” Jake began a moment later, “that could explain why you fear people will think badly of you if you . . . have any sort of sexual identity whatsoever, why you care so much what people think. The first time in your life anyone ever saw you being attracted to a guy, the people you cared most about made it seem wrong.”
Still in his embrace, she let out a sigh. She truly hadn’t ever let herself think through this so carefully until now, yet maybe that made sense. Because God knew she’d never wanted to feel that way again. And it had always made her feel ashamed if anyone—even Chuck—thought she really
wanted
sex, really
felt
those kinds of feelings.