What the hell were you thinking?
The things he’d encouraged her to do with Rogan and Shane had seemed like a damn fine arrangement on the boat—because he’d wanted it, for both of them. But now that they were back in the real world, their real lives, he had no choice but to face what he knew: This kind of extreme sex wasn’t
really
good for either one of them.
For
other
people, people with normal pasts, maybe they could do this kind of thing and make it work. But Jake and Carly didn’t have that luxury. Shit, he could almost hear Dr. Jim counseling him back when he was a teenager: “Victims of abuse generally go one of two ways—they either become sexually withdrawn or hypersexual. Neither end of the spectrum is healthy, Jake. Remember that. You’ll need to find a happy, healthy medium in your sex life. You want to enjoy sex but not let it consume you.”
Was he letting sex with her consume him? Was
she
letting their sex consume
her
?
He knew his desires had consumed him on that boat. When those moments had come, he’d conveniently blocked out everything Dr. Jim had ever taught him. And God knew Carly had been sexually withdrawn when he’d met her. So what was he doing about that? Prodding her into hypersexual behavior.
Odd, it had seemed so . . . almost beautiful to him at the time—because it was such a departure from the girl who couldn’t even have sex with someone without wearing a disguise. But now he realized his thinking had been flawed.
Because
he
was flawed.
He’d thought he was so damn mindful and aware of his own issues, that he managed them so well. The truth was—he
had
managed them well, for a really long time, but he’d managed them
so
well that somewhere along the way he’d gotten lazy. He’d fallen into that pattern of dating submissive women. And then Carly had come along and changed
everything
. Fucking
everything
.
Somehow her issues had dredged up
his
issues, and her need for controlling the sex sometimes had amped up
his
need to control it
more
.
Now she doesn’t mind you controlling the sex. She told you so. So maybe that means things are fine. Maybe it means you’re back in another one of those comfortable situations where both you and she will be satisfied by letting you run the show.
Only what had he done when Carly had handed that control over to him? He felt like he’d abused it. He’d pushed her into places he shouldn’t have, places that probably weren’t very healthy for her. Shit—he’d seen Dr. Jim for ten years, his entire childhood. So had he truly thought it was a good idea to encourage Carly into a multiple-partner situation a few short weeks after she’d first faced her demons?
God, you’re a piece of shit, Lockhart.
And yet . . . other than momentary doubts, she’d seemed fine with what had happened. She’d told him on the ride home that she’d felt powerful and as if she’d been set free, let out of some invisible cage. So wasn’t that good?
Fuck. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.
Honest to God, if Dr. Jim was still alive, he’d call him, talk this through with him. But the man had passed away ten years ago after a heart attack at age fifty. And Jake had been pretty broken up about it, even gone to the funeral—but he’d never thought he’d actually
need
Dr. Jim again. And he wasn’t in the mood to go talking to just any random corner shrink about his tragic past or his complicated present.
You just have to figure this out on your own. Damn, if ten years of therapy wasn’t enough, probably no amount would be. So think this through. Figure it out.
The truth was, he wasn’t nearly as concerned about what was best for
him
as he was about what was best for Carly. He was in love with her, after all. And he wanted to protect her from anything bad. But that very thought seemed to conflict with encouraging her to suck his friends’ cocks while he fucked her. It seemed like . . . proof that he didn’t
know
what was best for her, that he
wasn’t
taking care of her, that he was instead just putting her in harm’s way.
You’re a selfish bastard, that’s all.
Sex could drive you to that, selfishness. He feared that somewhere along the way he’d forgotten about helping her heal, or he’d twisted it or something—he’d done what felt best to
him,
and had just talked himself into believing it was good for her, too.
Just then, his cell phone rang, and he looked down to see Carly’s name on the screen. “Hey,” he said, answering.
“Hey yourself. Are you coming over on your dinner break?” That had been the plan, and it was almost that time.
Shit. “Actually . . . I’m pretty wiped. If I stop moving for long, I’m afraid I’ll just fall asleep. Trust me to make it up to you?”
“Sure,” she said, sounding a little sad, but still like the sweet Carly he knew and loved. What he’d said about being wiped was true—and besides, he didn’t think he’d be very good company right now. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to face the girl he suddenly feared he wasn’t any good for. “Love you,” she said.
“Love you, too,” he told her. That, too, was the truth. One truth among many. The question now was: Out of all those truths floating around inside his head, which one was the most important? Loving her? Or that loving her might also mean damaging her?
J
ake was sleeping. And Carly officially missed him. But he’d worked superlong hours for three days straight, and now, on his first back-to-normal day, when he would pull only one eight-hour night shift, he was catching up on rest. So Carly missed him, but she understood.
As she set out toward Schubert’s to pick up her lunch, she grabbed a sweater from the hook on the door—it was chilly out, the first day she could feel autumn blowing in. It made her sad in a way—she’d had probably the best summer of her life, and even though Jake wasn’t going anywhere, she didn’t like seeing the season end.
Walking up the street, she greeted people she knew, and she thought how shocked they’d all be if they had any knowledge of what she’d done with Jake and his friends. They’d be horrified. And that would be their right. And yet . . . the thought didn’t make
her
feel horrified. Such things used to, back when Desiree was the only wild part of her. But now she saw things differently. Now she saw herself as a woman who was learning to accept her sexuality, her desires. She saw herself as someone who was more evolved, who could look beyond her small-town upbringing and the strange, twisted messages she’d gotten about sex and see that only
she
could weigh and choose her morals, only
she
could decide what was right and wrong for her.
Sure, she’d still be mortified if the people she knew ever found out the things she’d done. But that was because of how
they
felt about those things, not how
she
felt. She’d learned she could be a bad girl without feeling like a bad
person
inside.
And maybe that was why she missed Jake so much right now. Because he’d given her all this—he’d opened the whole world to her. And she burned to be with him.
“Howdy, Carly,” Frank Schubert said as she stepped up to the counter.
“Hey, Frank,” she replied with a smile.
As she paid Frank for her lunch, Tommy Gwynn sidled in and took a seat on a bar stool next to her. “Hey there, Carly.”
“Hi, Tommy.” The truth was, she’d never known Tommy well, and until Jake, they’d never been very friendly, despite him once asking her out when they were young. Yet he and his wife, Tina, had seemed very welcoming when they’d had Jake and Carly over.
“Not eating with Jake today?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He’s still recovering from his double shifts.”
He gave a short nod, then grinned. “That’s what he gets for taking off on a holiday. And hey, that reminds me, I heard about your wild weekend with all of Jake’s old buddies.”
Oh, dear Lord
. Carly’s stomach plummeted as a sharp, stark panic paralyzed her, much like the awful, gut-wrenching fear she’d suffered in this very spot when Jake had first come to town—but even worse. Because—
what had Jake told him? Everything? Was it possible? How could that be?
But just as quickly Tommy went on, saying, “Jake told me it turned out you were the only girl and you felt a little uncomfortable—guess I can understand that. But hell, sounds like it was a fun time anyway—fancy boat, swimming, great weather.”
Oh. Okay. He didn’t know. Thank God.
And . . . of course he didn’t. What had she been thinking? Jake loved her—he would never share her secrets or do anything else to hurt her. She could breathe again. Sort of.
But she still felt light-headed.
“You okay?” Tommy asked. “You don’t look good.”
She got hold of herself—even though her body was still coming down from the fear—and climbed up on the stool beside him. “You know, I might be a little dehydrated, or need a little sugar in my system or something.”
“Frank,” Tommy called, since the older man had walked away, “can you get Carly a Coke, pronto?”
Frank complied, and Carly drank her Coke and, in fact, ended up eating her lunch there, too, chatting with Tommy the whole time. Once she got her head on straight about the conversation, she even managed to talk a bit about the boat, the nice scenery, and how nice Jake’s old police academy friends were. And all was well.
As she walked back to Winterberry’s, though, she still felt shaken by having been thrust so easily back into those old fears. She hadn’t thought about those early days with Jake—those days when she’d been so sure he would destroy her—in what felt like a long time. Even remembering those old emotions felt a little like moving backward.
But the whole thing had been silly. She knew to the depths of her soul that Jake would never betray her.
T
he following evening, it was Carly who was working late. She’d started carving some intricate designs on her new heart-shaped boxes and had found herself not quite wanting to stop. So, with the door locked and the Closed sign in the window, Oliver sat curled lazily in the front sill watching over Main Street and Carly remained pleasantly surrounded by the smell of wood and sawdust, absorbed in her work—when Jake rang the buzzer.
She looked up with a smile—because she might be into her work, but she was more into her man. She eagerly set her tools aside, dusted off the thighs of her jeans, and went to answer.
And wow, after several long days apart, he looked delicious and good enough to eat. He wore a slightly rumpled long-sleeved button-down shirt with jeans, and she noticed his hair needed a trim and he was unshaven—but it all just made him seem even cuddlier. They greeted each other with a warm kiss, leaning over the pizza box he carried. “Hey, sweetie pie,” he said, stepping in the door.
Funny, the silly endearment had become truly that now, an endearment, and she no longer heard the silly part—it had become his pet name for her. And that was a first for Carly—having a pet name.
Yet something in Jake’s demeanor struck her as a little sullen. “You seem . . . down,” she told him. “Is something wrong?”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No—just still tired. Thanks for not minding when I suggested we stay in.”
She shook her head. “In or out, either way is fine with me.”
After that, they headed up to her apartment, where they did what they’d done on their very first date—shared a pizza and a bottle of wine. But as he filled her in on his last few days at work and she did the same, things were so much more comfortable now.
The truth was—she was having a hard time keeping her hands off him, and by the time they were done eating, she knew he felt that way, too. Finally he grabbed her wrist and said, “I can’t take it anymore—come here,” pulling her on top of him on the couch.
And . . . God, what was it
about
this man? She never got any
less
turned on by him, it seemed—only
more
. As she ran her fingertips over the dark stubble on his jaw, his arms tightened around her waist, and they instantly sank into deep kisses that made her feel she was melting in his embrace. She tingled all over, especially when he started getting hard against her thigh. That very hardness, as always, tightened her chest and made her a little feral, not at all like the good girl people in Turnbridge knew. And she no longer tried to push that feeling away—it was just a part of her now, a
strong
and
welcome
part.
When he raised her shirt up over her bra, then let out a sigh merely at the sight, she said, “So you’re not too tired to fuck me?”
He kissed her again, hard this time. “
Never
too tired to fuck you, baby,” he said with a rasp, then lay her roughly back on the couch, angling his body over hers. His mood instantly seemed changed—he’d gone from tired to animalistic in a heartbeat, and her cunt swelled.
Within moments they were both naked and he was sucking her breasts with abandon as he thrust two fingers in her pussy. “Unh,” she moaned.
And he said, “Damn, I thought I’d need to get you wet, but you’re
already
wet.”
Her stomach contracted as she confessed, “I’m wet every time I even think about you.”
And as he parted her legs, then plunged his cock inside her, she didn’t mind being under him, not one little bit. Control was truly the last thing she needed now, and she loved the dark heat in his eyes as he pounded into her, making her cry out over and over.
After a while, he put her on her hands and knees—one of his favorite positions—and drove into her from behind. As always like this, he felt bigger, his every stroke echoing all the way to her fingers and toes. Like that first night on the boat, he grabbed onto her hair and pulled just slightly, just enough to make her scalp tingle hotly as he rammed into her, and that along with the memory of Rogan’s eyes on her heightened her arousal, made her feel dirty and beautiful all over again. She almost wished he were here watching now.