I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2) (25 page)

I nod and stay perfectly still, my sex throbbing beneath Chase’s heavy length. Slowly, he begins to move, soaking his cock with my wetness. Using slow and steady upward thrusts that allow the head of his penis, then his length, to stimulate my clit over and over, my boy brings me to orgasm. I arch and moan out, “Oh, Chase, god, yes.”

What he’s doing is hot and erotic, and so close to full-on sex that Chase comes right after me. He lifts up and hot liquid spurts onto my lower stomach. Neither of us moves, and what he’s just given me drips slowly down to where he just was. “Should we get a towel?” I whisper.

Chase kisses my lips. “Not yet, baby.” He touches my most sensitive area once more, his fingers mixing my juices with his own until I am slick with both of us. “I want you to come one more time for me. Okay?”

Before I have a chance to answer, which would definitely be in the affirmative, my solely focused man pushes into me as many fingers as I can handle, while his thumb gently circles my tender and swollen nub. I arch and move with him, and, soon enough, Chase Gartner gets exactly what he wanted.

We lie sleepy and drifting. I am nestled against Chase’s warm body, and he is telling me the specifics of what happened with the junkie. I know it shouldn’t, but it turns me on that he exacted revenge for me. He fought for me, did what I would have liked to have done to my assailant myself, but couldn’t. Does it make me a bad person to feel this way? Maybe. But mostly it feels like justice was served.

I am also thrilled when I learn Chase found Peetie. The fact that my ass-kicking, secretly soft-hearted guy not only remembered what I’d requested, but followed through, makes me love him all the more.

When Chase is done talking I tell him the details I left out earlier regarding my night out with Missy. My head is on Chase’s chest, and I feel him tense slightly when Missy’s name is mentioned.

This is my chance. I finally ask, “What is it with you two anyway?”

When he hesitates to answer I look up at him. “You never, uh, did anything with her, did you?” I cringe as the words spill out of my mouth.

Chase has to feel my heart rate quicken, seeing as my chest is pressed to his. He runs his hand down my back in a soothing manner. “You mean, like, fuck her?” he qualifies.

I wish I could see into his eyes, but the moon has moved to another part of the sky and the room has darkened.

“Yeah,” I confirm quietly. “That’s what I’m asking.”

“No,” he responds quickly. “I never fucked Missy Metzger.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, though something still feels off. I start to rephrase my question, but I’m interrupted by my own yawn. I am mind-muddled sleepy and physically worn out, so I ask nothing more.

Chase rolls to his side, taking me with him, and we snuggle. His strength and his power make me feel safer than I have in ages. “I love you,” I whisper as I drift off.

I hear Chase say it back, and then he murmurs something about “tomorrow” and “perfect.” I am insanely curious to learn what he has planned, but before I can ask for details, sleep consumes me.

Chapter Eleven

Chase

The next morning I wake up long before Kay. I stretch, and then watch her sleep for a little while before getting out of bed. My girl is so fucking beautiful. Her face is nothing less than serene when she’s sleeping. I hope she’s resting easy, knowing she never has to go back to that shitty apartment. Her home is here now. Well, next door at the apartment, but still, on my property, where her safety will never be jeopardized. I’ll make the fuck sure of that.

I flip the sheet back and get out of bed. The covers on her side slip down just enough to expose one of Kay’s breasts. I feel a stirring in my groin, making me think of a thousand hot-as-fuck ways to wake her up, but I leave her be. Kay needs the extra rest.

Sweet girl has had a rough night, at least early on she did. Hopefully, what we did before we went to sleep relieved some of that stress. I know it sure as hell helped me. I was so wired after everything that happened in the apartment parking lot that I needed a release. Kay needed a release as well, I am sure, and she got, well, several.

When it comes to sex, I think in some ways I may be opening a whole new world for my girl. I know her dickhead-south-of-Market prissy boy never did shit to her like I did last night. And I have to say I was pleasantly surprised to discover sweet girl has a little bit of a dirty side. Who knew? But she sure liked when I stretched her wide with my fingers, she liked me seeing her opened up like that. I was worried that I may have pushed it a little when I used my cock to make her come, but she fucking loved that too. Hell, she was so soaking wet, I almost couldn’t stop when I started to slip in. God, I can’t wait to actually fuck my girl. I am going to rock her world, that’s for sure.

I have a shit-eating grin and a hard fucking cock when I step into the shower, but then I remember Kay asking me about Missy Metzger. My erection subsides immediately. My girl suspects something, that’s obvious. I wasn’t lying outright when I told her I never fucked Missy, but it is kind of a lie of omission. After all, Missy and I did engage in sex acts—my fingers were in her pussy, and her mouth was on my cock. We made each other come, for fuck’s sake. I think Kay would probably want to know these things happened, even if they did occur before my girl and I met.

By the time I am out of the shower and dressed, I have myself convinced I’ll tell Kay everything, but not until she’s all settled in next door. One thing at a time, I remind myself.

Yeah, right, who am I kidding? I’m just stalling. But I’ll tell her, I will…later.

I run over to the apartment above the garage to make sure it’s all sparkling and clean, and then I head back over to my kitchen to make some breakfast. Well, I toast some bread and pour some orange juice. A cook, I am not.

Just as the toast pops up, I hear the shower start to run. I smile, realizing I like the idea of someone in the house with me. It’s been way too lonely around here. But, no, that’s not exactly right. What I like is that it’s Kay who’s in my space. With her, I like sharing. In fact, I like it so much a big part of me wishes she would stay over here in the main house with me and share my bed every night. But I know, for now, the right thing to do is let her have the apartment, and keep my mouth shut about moving in together. I remind myself we’ve only just established ourselves in an official relationship. I need to slow the fuck down. But I can’t help it if I’m in a hurry to keep moving forward, I feel like I’ve known Kay for years. We’ve become that tightly woven.

I finish my toast and take my juice with me into the living room. I settle at the rolltop desk and turn on the computer. When I check e-mail I’m pleasantly surprised to discover my brother has actually done what he promised—he’s sent me some samples of his art, along with a picture of him and my mom.

In the body of the e-mail, he tells me the photo was taken last night, after Mom insisted he have a piece of the oversized birthday cake she bought him.

I enlarge the attached photo.

In it, Mom and Will are standing behind a table, a huge, heavily decorated cake in front of them. Will’s dark blond hair is longer than when I saw him a couple of months ago, and he looks like he’s really filling out, finally getting some muscles on his lean frame. He’s taller too. He’s got an easy half foot on Mom, which means he’s almost as tall as me.

I take a closer look at my mother; her smile is strained in the image. Guess Will had her stressing yesterday evening, same as yesterday morning. I have a feeling this trouble with my brother is only just beginning. I shake my head and move on to the next attachment, Will’s art.

There are two pages, pages from the comic book he’s supposedly putting together. From the illustrations in the panels, and the speech and thought balloons, I quickly gather Will’s story is an end-of-times tale. The action takes place in a war-devastated Las Vegas. The first couple of images depict several ragged, war-weary civilians wandering aimlessly along The Strip. Heavily armed, grim-faced soldiers stand posted in front of what’s left of the once magnificent and opulent resorts and casinos. The Luxor’s glass panels have been shattered and the turrets of the Excalibur are flattened. Fires rage everywhere. Cars sit abandoned on the road, vandalized, and stripped to the frames in some cases.

In the next several panels, Will introduces the reader to the hero of his tale, a man named Champion. Some soldier is barking for him to “move along.” These words are enclosed in a speech bubble, the font bold and jagged.

I take a closer look at the hero of the story. Champion is a tall man with defined muscles and a light-brown crew-cut. His primary mission appears to be rescuing scantily clad women in distress. In one panel, Champion saves a buxom blonde in a string bikini from the raised baton of a crazed-looking soldier who is about to punish her for breaking one of this new society’s rules. In the next panel, another woman, this one a redhead, and—I take note—even bigger tits, is trapped in a burning building. The hero rescues her as well. She hangs on to him, pressing her body to his with gratitude.

I chuckle at the subject matter, typical, testosterone-fueled teenage-boy fare. But I have to say, the art itself is fantastic. Will has developed into an impressive artist. The colors he chooses are bold and hold the eye, his lines are sharp and sure. My brother draws with a confidence I’ve never seen in him before. Maybe this is his calling.

While I am studying Will’s art, I hear Kay’s light footsteps in the background. I turn in my chair and give her a smile, then I ask her if she’s hungry. She says she’s not. My well-rested, satiated girl pads over to me. She wearing a cute, casual outfit—jean shorts and two tank tops, one black one over a white one.

When she reaches the desk, her eyes go to the computer. “Wow, did you draw that, Chase?” She leans in closer. “It’s really good.”

“It is good,” I agree, putting my arm around my girl’s waist, and positioning one leg so she can sit down on it. “But I didn’t draw any of it. This is all Will’s stuff. He sent it to me last night, but I opened it right before you came down.”

Her face turns to me, eyes wide. “He’s talking to you?” she asks.

I give her a quick nod and her arms are around me before I know it. “Oh my goodness,” she says into my neck. “Chase, this is so great. I knew he’d come around. I’m so happy for you both.”

She leans back so she can give me a kiss, a kiss that makes Will having been mad at me all worth it. After a prolonged return kiss from me, I fill my girl in on the events of yesterday. I explain why I was in such a bad mood during the early part of the day. I tell her all about Will’s “fuck off” text when I sent him a happy birthday message. I admit my mom’s call asking for help with my brother’s bad behavior—when I’m thousands of miles away—brought me down further. Finally, I wrap up with Will’s call, explaining how things were a little tense at first, but then we just started talking. I tell her I think he and I may be making some real progress. Kay seems happy for me, but a little wary. My girl is worried for my heart, I know, which is why I feel compelled to share with her that Will asked me for money.

Kay frowns. “Did you send him any?” Her voice is soft, her brow creased with worry.

I sit back and run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I did.” I admit, sighing. “I transferred a small amount into his account. Not much though.” I shrug. “It should be all right.”

“Oh, okay.” Kay shifts on my leg.

She begins to study Will’s comic pages, examining every panel intently. She’s quiet, too quiet, but I know it’s because she doesn’t want to say too much and put a damper on the excitement I’m feeling over rebuilding all the shit I ruined with my brother. I realize my girl doesn’t want Will manipulated me, or taking advantage of my wanting so badly to repair the relationship with him. I don’t want that, either, but he and I have to start somewhere.

Kay, still studying Will’s art, suddenly says, “Did you notice the hero—this Champion guy—looks kind of like you?”

She points to one of the panels, and I lean in to take a closer look. “Huh, I guess he does resemble me a little.”

“He definitely does, Chase.” She laughs. “His hair is just shorter, but other than that…” My girl takes my chin in her hand and smiles knowingly before she lets go.

Shit, maybe she’s right. And maybe that means there’s still a part of Will that looks up to me.

Kay turns back to the computer and clicks the jpeg file. The photo of Will and my mom expands, filling the screen. “Your mom and Will?” she asks.

“Yep.”

“They sure look a lot alike,” she muses.

“They do.”

My girl turns to me, then back to the picture on the computer screen. “You look a little like your mom, Chase, but not a whole lot. I guess you take more after your Dad?”

Ha, understatement of the year.

I don’t say a word. I just locate a folder of old photos my gram scanned and saved onto this computer. When I find the right one, I double-click it. Scanning the thumbnails, I search for a picture of my dad from when he was about my age. When I find what I want, I open it. The picture enlarges, replacing the one of Will and Mom.

Kay’s jaw drops. Her eyes slowly move from the picture on the screen to me, then back to the photo. The picture is of my dad out on the front porch of this very house. Jack Gartner is holding up what would end up being one of the first of many award plaques he received over the years. This one was for quality home-building. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the photo was of me. That’s how much he and I look alike in this image.

Kay stares at the photo, and then her eyes dart back to me again. She reaches out and trails a finger down the smooth skin of my recently shaved cheek. “My God, you look exactly like your father, Chase.”

“I know, baby, I know.” My hand covers hers and I bring her palm to my lips.

She thanks me for showing her the photo. She also gives me a sad smile; my girl knows how hard it is for me to be reminded of my father.

I close the picture. Kay’s still eyeing me and biting her lower lip. I know that’s her contemplative look. “What are you up to?” I ask.

“Hold on,” she says suddenly, twirling out and away from my hold. “I have something I want to share with you too.”

She’s out of the room in a snap, but gone for only a few minutes. When she returns, there’s a small photo album in her hand. It’s the kind you slip the photos into, the type with clear sleeves on either side. But when she stands next to me and flips through the album, I notice it’s mostly empty.

“My mom has all our best pictures,” she hurriedly explains when she sees me staring sadly at all the empty sleeves.

I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to explain anything to me, ever, but she just shakes her head, so I stay quiet.

Kay reaches a page with pictures and puts her thumb there to hold her place. She whispers, “Even though I don’t have many, I still have a few…a few of the very best.”

I can’t see the photos since the album is mostly closed, but I put my hand on her hip and give her a reassuring squeeze. Sweet girl smiles at me and slowly hands me the album.

There are four photos—two per page—of a cute little girl who is smiling big in every shot. She beams like my girl does when she’s really happy, this little girl definitely has Kay’s smile, and her hair is the same chestnut-brown shade as Kay’s hair. But the little girl in the photos has green eyes, not the caramel browns I’ve come to know so well.

“That was Sarah,” Kay says, voice cracking. “She was five in those pictures.”

As hard as it was for me to pull up my dad’s picture, this is obviously fucking ten times harder for Kay. I put my leg out and she sits down on my lap, she rests her head on my shoulder. I hold the book where we both can see. I trace the edge of one of the sleeves holding a picture of Kay’s little sister. “She’s adorable,” I say quietly.

“She was,” my sad-voiced girl says back.

All of the photos are of Sarah in an apple orchard. From the fiery colors of the leaves on the trees, it looks to have been around harvest time. In the first two shots, Sarah is picking ripened apples from a low-hanging branch. In the next one, she’s sitting on the ground, placing her just-picked apples in a bushel basket that’s almost as big as her. In the final shot, Kay’s little sister is grinning wide at the camera, looking up with love at the person taking the picture. Kay doesn’t have to tell me she was the one behind the lens.

“We went apple picking that day with my dad.” Kay’s voice is soft and bereft. “That was Sarah’s last autumn.”

My girl shakes her head once, and I see she’s trying not to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay to be sad.” I rub her shoulder.

Kay fans her face and takes a deep breath. Only one tear escapes and she swipes it away quickly. She apologizes for getting emotional, and I tell her, “You never have to apologize to me for what you’re feeling.” It’s the truth.

Kay turns the page and there’s one more photo of Sarah. In this one, Kay’s little sister is sleeping, holding the stuffed rabbit I rescued last night. “She couldn’t sleep without Peetie,” Kay whispers, and then she sits up abruptly and her tear-filled eyes search mine.