All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... Book 3) Page 6
I didn’t know if I should talk about kids with Jake or not. I’d no idea what he thought about them. I was scared to ask him if he wanted any. Two reasons. I didn’t want him to reject my son, for one. But also, deep down, I wanted more. I loved being a mom. I did it the tough way the first time around, but I’d be willing to do it again. For love this time.
A lawyer once told me that you should never ask a question that you don’t want to know the answer to. I didn’t want to know the answer to that one, not yet, not while things were so new, so I stayed quiet.
“What do you write about?” He nudged his nose in the space between my ear and my shoulder blade and kissed my back.
“Romance.” He pulled his face away and turned me to look at him.
“Real life isn’t romantic.”
I flopped over all the way, fully facing him, and looked at him, perplexed, upset, and concerned. “How can you say that? We just had the most romantic date. There’s plenty of romance in our lives.”
He smiled his sad smile and kissed my nose. “I have to go back to work tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“I know. Taking today off means tomorrow is gonna be painful. And it means I have to work and won’t see you.”
God, why? He didn’t seem to hurt for money. “Why do you do that?” I asked, burrowing under his chin.
“What are your parents like?” he asked against the top of my head, not answering my question, running his finger up and down my arm.
Why didn’t he want to talk about it?
Still, I answered. “They’re great. My mom’s a clerk at Ralph’s grocery. My dad’s a mechanic. I have a sister, Celia who lives in Los Angeles and a brother, Gabriel, who lives in Dallas. What about you? Your parents? Any siblings?”
Jake stiffened and stopped the travel of his finger. Then he let out a breath. “My little brother Ethan died when I was fifteen.”
“Oh no,” I breathed.
“He was in a car accident. He was twelve.” Rob’s age. “My mom left my dad because of it. After that, I never saw my dad because he worked all the time. So I became a latchkey kid. My teenage years sucked. I went to school and got out of the house as fast as I could. And I learned to work. I learned to spend all of my time doing what it was I went to school to do. Because it can all be taken away and you have to work hard to keep it.”
What? No. Was I lucky because my work was my passion and it came easily? I put my hand on my hip. “That’s not true. The things that you are supposed to do come easy.”
“That’s not been my experience. I have never been allowed to do the easy things. I’ve had to do the hard things.”
Oh, Jake. “Who took care of you after your brother died? After your mom abandoned you?”
“Don’t say abandoned.” He didn’t seemed pissed, but he was defensive.
“Well, she did, didn’t she? And your dad escaped by working his ass off?”
Jake didn’t answer. Finally, after a pause, he said, “We do what we have to do to get by.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I couldn’t imagine not having the support of my family and friends. They were my community. “What did you do when you were in high school? Who was there for you?”
“No one.”
I wanted to keep asking, to keep pushing him on this. But something made me pull back. I believed that I got more out of him than he gave anyone else and I wanted to tread cautiously. Here was this dreamboat guy who was so artistic and romantic. And he seemed so unhappy with what he was doing every day. He went about it automatically, like he was forced to do it. Like he didn’t know that he had a choice in life. That he could do whatever he wanted.
And why hadn’t someone hooked up with him yet? He seemed so giving. He took time for me. What were his other relationships like? But I didn’t want to ask him about them right now, so instead, I just asked, “You sleepy?”
“Yeah.” He pulled me close. “Goodnight.” And he kissed me, warmly, and it got carried away. I kissed him back, he ran his hand down my side, and then he rolled so that he was nestled between my legs again.
“Are we going to—” I started, breathless again.
“In the morning,” he muttered against my neck. Then he rolled off of me, tucked me into him, and I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke the next morning, in Jake’s arms, him sleeping peacefully behind me. Wiggling around, I took advantage of this unprecedented chance to study him up close like an artist would.
His dark, ebony hair was the sexiest bed head I’d ever seen. He had tiny wrinkles around his eyes that made him look distinguished. His full lips were a little pouty, the softness counteracting the angles of his cheekbones and his jaw, which was now covered in stubble.
God, even his neck was erotic, angled so that I could kiss it, with his Adam’s apple going up and down as he breathed. I started tracing his shirtless torso very lightly with my finger, feeling his light hair, his soft skin.
My fingers started exploring, and I couldn’t help myself. I found my fingers tracing the edge of his boxer shorts, tentatively, playing with the elastic, teasing him, even though he wasn’t awake.
Then I decided to really explore and my hand went lower, feeling for his cock, starting to rub it under the thin cotton material, taking advantage of his morning wood. This play was arousing me. I wanted him awake.
I rubbed his cock, at first gently, very gently, then a little bit more firmly, and he groaned, opened his eyes, and looked at me.
A happy look grew across his face. “I thought I was dreaming, but it’s better than a dream.” And faster than I would have thought he could move for having just woken up, he tugged at the hem of my cami and whoosh, it was off. And then he pulled off my pajama pants. And before I knew it, his hand, flat and broad, rubbed my pussy, spreading the wetness, gently, but rapidly. I could come from that alone, my feet burning up, my hands warm, and my ears pounding. He kept going and going, until I came, hard.
Looking at me with a naughty look on his face, he took one of his fingers and stuck it in his mouth, sucking on it. “You taste mighty fine for breakfast.”
I giggled, then I reached over to him, tugging at his boxers. He raised his hips to help me take them off and his cock sprang free.
Last night, I’d just felt it but I hadn’t really made its acquaintance yet. Now, on my knees, straddling him naked, I started to shimmy down his body, kissing my way between his nipples, down his belly, down, down, down, until I was looking at his cock.
It was really pretty.
I mean, I’m a romance writer and there are all sorts of euphemisms for the penis. Shaft or member or whatever. But Jake’s? It was a fantasy. The head was large, yes, but also smooth and not too purple. He was thick, but not too thick. Long, but not too long. Some veins popped out, but not too many. He was groomed and his balls were proportionate. All in all, it looked like the kind of cock that you wanted to lick or you wanted to be fucked by.
I picked licking.
Looking down as I straddled him (short girl taking note of the view from above), I bent and stuck my tongue out, then ran it, wet, the entire way up the underside of his cock, from the base to the tip, and he gasped. Then I moved and brought as much of his cock as I could in my mouth, getting him all wet. I could almost make it to the base if I relaxed my throat, which caused him to utter a guttural, “Christ, woman.” Then I repeated the move, licking him all the way up, then taking him all in, enjoying him moaning, enjoying him enjoy it, enjoying him writhe under me and try to stay still.
“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he groaned, “I want to come in you.”
“That can be arranged.” I hopped off of him.
I got a condom out of the bedside table (I’d bought some this week just for us) and ripped it open, putting it on him, rolling it slowly down, then flopped on my back on the bed.
He held me by my waist and scooted down. “I just want to make sure you’re wet,” he said, an
d he licked me. Now it was my turn to moan. “You are.”
Then he pulled me up by my waist as he rolled onto his back. “Ride me, make yourself come.”
I immediately climbed on to him, straddling his hips, and lowering myself on his big cock. I loved how I could control everything from this position—how fast, how deep, how much I bounced around. I explored. Then I decided to give him a show.
My perky breasts going up and down as I moved my body, I raised and lowered myself on his cock, enjoying the fullness, enjoying the pleasure, enjoying the thrilled look on his face. He reached out and fondled my breasts in his big hands roughly, but it felt so good. My hair fell in my face, my breathing increased, and his cock hit me in the right spot for the tightening to happen.
And then it did, and I came on top, all over Jake as he started moving his hips up into me, in rhythm with me as I crested over the waves of my orgasm.
Then it was his turn and I leaned down, eager to make him feel as good as I just did. I started running my body up and down the length of his. “Holy fuck, Lucy, that feels good.”
I kept at it, up and down, up and down, until he grabbed my hips and held me still as he thrust his hips up into me, his neck thrown back, his mouth open, as he came.
He looked like a Roman statue come to life when he did it.
After a moment, I collapsed onto his broad chest and he wrapped his arms around me, still connected at the root.
“Good morning,” I said, and he laughed.
After our breathing regulated, we got up, took a shower together, at which time he gave me two more orgasms, and ate breakfast. Then he excused himself to go to work.
“Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” I asked as he stood in the open door, in between kisses. I wanted to feed him, to take care of him.
“I do, but I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”
“Okay, so I won’t make the chile relleno casserole yet,” I sassed.
“Probably best. But I like being asked.” And he kissed me one last time and closed the door behind him.
The romance writer in me loved my romantic weekend with my imperfect hero and wondered if it would stay that way.
“I have an appointment with Amelia Crowley,” I said to the receptionist, who sat at a desk at the front of the law firm. She looked like Pink, with short blonde hair. Tough, like she could bend me in half and break me. Muscular, like she spent all of her time at the gym. Her name plate said Neveah.
“I’ll tell Ms. Crowley you are here,” she said politely. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.” I perched in a chair in the lobby. God, nerves. I dreaded being here. It wasn’t that it was a bad place. The law firm was nice, very Santa Barbara-ey, with the stucco walls and the red tile roof. But like going to the dentist or the doctor, it was better just to not have to go to a lawyer’s office at all.
The receptionist paged Amelia, and as I sat, a tall, handsome man in a dark blue suit strode through the lobby. My jaw flopped open as I recognized him.
“Jake?” I called, astonished.
“Lucy?” The look on his face said, what the ever loving fuck? But then he went to seriously pissed in an instant. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”
The fuck? “I have an appointment with my lawyer. What are you doing here?”
“I am a lawyer. I work here.”
What? I was so confused. “I thought you were in advertising.”
“No.” His eyebrows knitted together. “Why would you think that?”
“All of the product samples.”
“Clients bring me gifts all the time.” He looked at me, perplexed, a finger raised, head cocked, and I stared back at him.
So he was a lawyer? Why? That wasn’t artistic. I thought that he used his art skills for designing ads. But a lawyer? That didn’t make sense, given his artistic personality.
I felt the need to justify myself. “It’s rude to ask someone what they do for a living.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, incredulous.
I nodded.
“I asked you—” he started, then shaking his head like he couldn’t believe me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the seat. “We’re using a conference room,” he said brusquely to Neveah. Well. No manners. He whisked me into a nearby room and shut the door. I leaned up against the table, not understanding why he was acting this way and needing space I’d not wanted over the weekend. He stood by the door.
“What are you doing here, Lucy? Why do you need to see a lawyer?”
“My ex is trying to take away Roberto. He filed papers to modify child custody and child support.”
He looked angry. “Fuck. Who are you seeing?”
“Amelia.”
He nodded, satisfied, but I could almost see his brain working as he kept talking. “She’s excellent. But listen. There are ethical rules about attorneys seeing clients. Fuck. If I don’t work on your case . . . Fuck.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “It shouldn’t matter. But that will matter. No. I can’t. We can’t. Christ. Listen. You can’t tell anyone anything about me or us. You can’t . . . I don’t share. I don’t . . . My private life is my business.” His voice got harsher. “No you and me, no art class, no weekend, no nothing, you hear me?”
What was up with him? After we had such a perfect weekend, why was he being such an ass?
All of the emotions that Carlos normally brought up in me now transferred to Jake. Abandonment, loss, aloneness, not being wanted. Another man ditching me after he’d fucked me. I thought I’d healed that scar.
But no. My wound was gaping open and bleeding out. I’d been rejected again.
No wonder I didn’t do relationships. I’d been so worried about hurting Roberto. It turned out that I was the one to get hurt. I started, in a whisper-shriek, “Jake, what is wrong with you?” but was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened and my attorney walked in wearing a professional, black skirt suit. Amelia, a dark haired, curvy beauty with brains, helped me a few years ago when Carlos stopped paying child support. After two strongly-worded letters sent by her on letterhead, Carlos paid all of the arrears, with interest, plus her fee. I adored her.
“Lucy, how are you?” she asked warmly, shaking my hand, but she looked crestfallen when she saw how upset I was. “What’s wrong?” Then she noticed Jake and looked back at me, confused. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“He’s, uh,” I started.
“We’re neighbors,” he interrupted. “Until I get my remodel done.”
“Oh,” said Amelia brightly. “How lovely.”
“I’ll let you be,” said Jake, and he hustled out, leaving me rejected, alone, and with my lawyer.
Amelia sat down at the table and I tried to arrange my thoughts so that I was thinking about the court proceeding, but I was really wondering why on earth Jake acted so badly. She pulled out a file.
“I reviewed the petition that you emailed last week, and it looks like Mr. Castro is seeking to have greater custody of Roberto. The proportion of time that he is requesting is such that given your incomes, he would not have to pay any child support.”
“I just can’t believe this,” I whispered, indignant. To hear it out loud from another person made it seem real. Before, just reading the words, made it seem like it was a story, not my real life. A novel. Someone else’s story.
And then to my horror, tears started welling in my eyes. I never cried. But apparently, now I did. And I found myself telling everything to Amelia. I think that being served with the papers was the start, but Jake acting so weird was the trigger, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Carlos dated me for three months in high school, until he talked me into having sex with him. He got me pregnant the first time we did it. In his Toyota Camry. Not very romantic. And then he dumped me for another girl who was a cheerleader.” I wiped at the tears streaming down my face. Amelia handed me a Kleenex, listening.
“So there I was, pregnant with Roberto, and was Carlos there at all during my pregnancy? Did he go to any doctor’s appointments? No. He’d moved on to a girl on the dance team. And was he there when I was in labor? No. He was then dating a girl who used to sit next to me in math class. And did Carlos come to see his child? Not until he was a month old. And that was only because I went over to his house and pounded on his door, demanding that he meet him.”
I started sobbing in earnest, all of the old thoughts of the past coming to me now as I relived them.
“I was flat out abandoned and rejected by Carlos. He left me by myself, all those pregnancy hormones, all those feelings, all those changes. He didn’t care. And I couldn’t make him care. But it scarred me. It fucking scarred me. That bastard hurt me and now he’s doing it again. He doesn’t care about anyone except himself.
“So was it too early for me to have Roberto? Absolutely. Do I love him with all of my heart? That and more. But he’s my child. Carlos didn’t do anything. I had to chase him for child support.
“I had no money. When I had Rob, I was trying to get my GED and then go to community college. I lived with my parents. I worked at Taco Bell. I did anything just to get an education and to get money for my kid because there was no way in hell I was going to be another unwed, Hispanic single mother,” I spat. Amelia reached over and patted my hand as my sobs subsided. I dabbed my eyes, noticing all of the makeup coming off on the tissue. I took a deep breath.
“And yet, that was exactly what I was. What I am. And I’ve had to accept that, had to accept that I’m a stereotype and I’ve had to fucking pick myself up and do the work to make a wonderful life for me and Roberto.