Aflame (Fall Away #4) Page 11

  He backed up, smiling a little bigger before finally turning to go to his car.

  Unlocking my front door, I stepped into my house, immediately hearing little claws tap, tap, tap on the hardwood floors.

  I glanced up, smiling as Madman raced down the hall from the kitchen and shot up, supporting himself against my shins. He must’ve escaped the confines of Jax’s backyard and found his way through our doggy door. Jax and Juliet had been watching him while I was staying at Madoc’s. I could’ve taken him with me, but I had been so busy this week, he got more attention with Jax and Juliet.

  He was just a little guy—a stray dog—Jared and I had found ten years ago, and although he’d lived with Jared for most of that time, I was happy he’d been mine the past couple of years.

  The little dude never failed to make me laugh. Even now, as old as he was getting, his energy hadn’t wavered.

  I reached down, petting the top of his head and knowing exactly what the little hellion wanted. Food, water, and a belly rub—all at the same time.

  I made my way to the kitchen, walking past the mess the painters had made in the dining room this week. White sheets draped over furniture and on the hardwood floors, and I inhaled the familiar scent of paint.

  Of new beginnings and a fresh start.

  I refreshed Madman’s food and water in the kitchen and took in deep breaths, closing my eyes as I walked back through the foyer, savoring the old memories.

  Mom painted rooms a lot when I was growing up. She liked change, so the smell of the chemicals actually comforted me. It was home.

  And I hated that I was losing it. My father had turned down two good offers, and while I wasn’t sure why, I didn’t complain.

  I understood that selling the house was for the best. Although I would miss being close to my friends, and I couldn’t even think about anyone else living here, I knew I needed to get away from Jared. Away from the memories, away from his old room sitting across from mine, away from a future full of him showing up back in town without warning whenever he felt like it.

  So yes, change was necessary no matter how uncomfortable.

  When I was little, I cried when my mom had made me donate some of my toys before Christmas one year. She’d said I needed to make room for the new things Santa was bringing me, and even though I didn’t play with the old stuff, I almost felt like the toys were people. Who would they go to? Would they be taken care of and loved?

  But my mom said that everything is hard the first time. The more you embrace change, though, the easier it gets. Which is why she repainted rooms every couple of years.

  Change prepared us for loss, and she was right. It did get easier.

  I had to embrace the possibility of a relationship with Ben or whoever else came along, and Jared could do whatever he liked. That’s the way things needed to be.

  And no matter how uncomfortable it was to be around him, I knew Jared was most likely home to see his mother and be present for the birth of his sister. I didn’t want to ruin the visit for him.

  I picked my phone out of my pocket and walked into my bathroom while typing out a text with shaky fingers.

  I swallowed and sent the text to Jared.

  Leave me alone, and I’ll do the same.

  I squeezed the phone for about two seconds before setting it down on the sink and stripping off my clothes.

  And to make damn sure I didn’t dwell on him or whether he would respond or what he would say when he did, I brushed out my hair, slipped on my thin white pajama shorts and fitted black Seether hoodie, and got into bed.

  Turning off the light, I plugged my phone into the charger and curled under the covers. I wasn’t going to wait for him to respond. I wasn’t going to wait for him to react.

  I wasn’t going to wait for him.

  ***

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, finally noticing a text on my phone from Jared.

  I can’t, the text read. And neither can you.

  Glancing at the time on the phone, I saw that it was after two in the morning. I’d been asleep for only an hour.

  I’d assumed it was my dad texting, since he often forgot about the time difference and texted at weird hours. But remembering my text to Jared, telling him to leave me alone, I studied his response again. Was he insinuating I couldn’t control myself?

  “Arrogant jerk,” I spat out, my mad fingers typing out my only response.

  I whispered to myself as I texted. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come near me.

  I slammed the phone back down on the bedside table and ground my face into the pillow, determined to keep him out of my mind.

  It didn’t work.

  I punched the bed. What an ass!

  “Pompous, over-confident, son of a . . .” I growled into my pillow, hating that there might be a slice of truth to his words.

  I remembered very well how much I loved it when he didn’t leave me alone. Jared’s favorite place was anywhere he could get me naked.

  My phone buzzed and lit up again, and I blinked, knowing I just needed to ignore him.

  But I lifted my head anyway, still scowling as I read the text floating across the top of the screen.

  I won’t come near you. Yet. I’d rather watch you.

  My breath caught. “What?” I whispered to myself, scrunching my eyebrows together.

  Watch me? I swallowed and tried to compose myself, not sure if I was reading that correctly. Picking up the phone, I threw off the covers and tiptoed to the end of the bed, where I peeked out my French doors and through the tree of dense foliage.

  Where are you? I texted, not seeing a light coming from his old room. How could he watch me unless he could see me? All of a sudden I straightened, a stream of light slipping through my sheer curtains from a lamp in his old room, now illuminated.

  I tucked my hair behind my ear as a nervous heat flared up in my chest. I pushed up my sleeves and crossed my arms over my chest, my heart fluttering with quick beats.

  Jared appeared at the window, and I backed away, blanketing myself in darkness. “Shit,” I whispered, as if I thought he could hear me. Why is he home and not at Madoc’s?

  At least since he was the one with the lights on, I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.

  He still wore his black pants from before, but his belt and T-shirt were now off, and he just stood there, looking like he knew exactly where I was. Even from here, I could see his playful eyes, and I knew, without a doubt, that if I opened my doors, he would come over. Just like old times.

  Knowing that sent a shiver up my arms.

  He brought up his phone level with his waist, texting, and I let my eyes linger on his body—the abs, tight and narrow that I’d traced with my tongue more than once.

  I growled low, averting my eyes.

  My phone vibrated, and I slid the screen to look at the message.

  You were beyond beautiful at the track tonight.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to harden myself against his soft side. He rarely showed it, which gave it more of an impact, and I didn’t want him saying nice things to me.

  Even after all this time, you still kill me. I still want you, Tate.

  “Don’t,” I whispered to no one, and then, sighing, I lowered myself to the end of the bed, still seeing his dark form out of the corner of my eye.

  I missed the way your body used to move with mine, he texted again. I dropped my head forward, reading the texts as they came in.

  But I never forgot it.

  I remember every inch of your skin. Every taste, every sound you’d make . . .

  The moonlight fell on my lap, and I could see my fingers turning white as I squeezed the phone.

  He did know every inch of me, and he could play me like an instrument. His demanding hands and mouth were so greedy, and I dropped my head back, feeling a
trickle of sweat glide down my spine.

  Shit.

  My fingers tingled, and I knew what he was trying to do, and I didn’t want him to stop.

  Seems you’re the one with poor conversational skills tonight, he texted.

  I rolled my eyes.

  You may think you’re different, but you’re not. I know you still feel me, he wrote, and I gritted my teeth at his arrogance, even as I clenched my thighs at his memory.

  So many times I was inside of you, he taunted. Tell me you remember, or I’ll have to remind you.

  I closed my eyes, my pulse pumping through my body like a drum.

  Jared.

  I ran my hand down my thigh, fucking loving the rush between my legs. It had been so long.

  “Damn him,” I gasped under my breath.

  Do you want me to stop? he asked.

  I took in short, fast breaths as I stared at the screen.

  Do it. Tell him to stop, I told myself. This is fucked-up, and he can’t have you.

  But my skin was on fire. And it felt like home.

  Like warmth and peace and no matter what changed in my life, the people I met, the things I lost, or where I lived, if I was in his orbit, then I was home.

  Even when I was eleven and it had been one year to the day that my mother had died, Jared was my beacon that day. He didn’t leave my side, even when I ignored him. He just pushed me on our old tire swing in the backyard for two hours until I finally stopped crying and started talking. He was my friend. We had a strong foundation.

  And then, as he became a man, the feelings became stronger. So much stronger.

  I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.

  He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.

  I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.

  My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.

  You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.

  I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.

  Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.

  I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.

  I craved his rough hands on me again.

  I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.

  You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I fucked you from behind.

  “Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.

  That was your favorite position, wasn’t it?

  I didn’t answer, because he already knew. Ever since the kitchen table, I always loved it when he had me on my hands and knees.

  You never melted underneath me, either, he continued. Every time I pushed, you pushed back. I’d thrust my cock inside of you, and you’d push your fucking back up off the bed, rubbing your nipples against my lips and begging for my tongue. You always liked it hard.

  The ache at my entrance was so hot and sweet. I needed him so bad. No one drove me wild like he did. The rush of need flooded me, and I felt the wetness through my shorts as I rubbed the nub harder.

  I closed my eyes, imagining him flipping me onto my stomach and sliding into me. Sweat covered my brow as I remembered, just like it was yesterday, that fucking fantastic pain I always felt when he entered me. It was a small hurt, but I loved it. He’d hit so deep inside, and the stretch and pressure were sweet.

  I brought up the phone to see his new message.

  Do you remember graduation night? In my car, out by the lake? It was so hot. Your dress was torn and on the floor of the car, and you put on my necktie. It was the only thing you were wearing.

  I remembered. I’d straddled him in the backseat with his tie lying between my breasts. He couldn’t take it. He’d attacked like a wild dog, nearly eating me alive.

  Tate, you don’t know what you do to me. You drive me out of my mind. Your words, your laughter, your tears, your eyes . . . everything about you owns me.

  “Me, too,” I whispered, a tear spilling out of the corner of my eye and dripping down my temple.

  I swallowed, rubbing my legs together to get rid of the ache.

  I’m a better man, but there’s never been a better woman for me. There’s never been anyone like you, he texted.

  I fisted my hands, needing to come. I gasped, wanting him to make me come, but I crashed my fist to the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

  He’d hurt me too much, and no matter the physical attraction that still existed between us, that hadn’t changed. I needed to remember that.

  I want to crush his fucking hands when he touches you.

  But honestly . . . , he continued, it’s a hell of a turn-on watching another man have what I want.

  Yeah, just like me seeing him with another woman. I hated it, and it hurt, but it made me feel possessive, too. It made me want to fight.

  In fact, I’m steel-rod straight right now.

  My lungs emptied, and I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth, almost smiling, but I stopped myself. Jared—hard and ready—was a sight that never failed to make my mouth water. I pictured him holding himself right now, even though I was lying down and I couldn’t see him.

  It was another minute before he texted again.

  You look hot. You should take off that sweatshirt before you go to bed.

  My eyes rounded, and I shot off the bed, gaping out my French doors. He didn’t see me, did he? It was dark in here. Light over there. I ran my hand though my hair, shame heating my face.

  Peeking to get my line of sight out the doors, I saw Jared still standing in the golden glow of the lamp that he’d turned on before. Even through the tree and the darkness, I could see the self-satisfied look in his eyes before he looked down and texted once more.

  I remember everything, Tate, he texted. And I know you do, too.

  I let phone drop to the bed, seeing the amusement in his eyes turn to a dark threat as he pulled the drapes closed and disappeared.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 8

  Tate

  I pounded along the sidewalk, sneakers cushioning the impact as I leaped over the curb and across the street. Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You” blared through my earbuds, and I was covered in sweat from my stomach up to my head.

  I was in good shape, and I normally didn’t push for speed on my runs, but the fact that I was gulping in air let me know that I’d gone too far and hard. I never got out of breath on my regular morning jogs.

  Slowing to a walk as I stepped onto the sidewalk on my side of the street, I pulled up the hem of my black tank top and wiped off my face.

  My cropped black stretch pants were damp with my sweat, and the fabric itched my thighs.

  They were pissing me off.

  My ponytail dragging across my back was pissing me off. My aching feet, and the fact that I hadn’t managed to run my unwanted energy out of my body, both pissed me off.

  I hadn’t been this pissed off in a long time.

  I’d woken to the sound of Jared’s motorcycle piercing through my sleep like a flood of hot water over my skin, and I lay in bed, flattened to the mattress, suddenly desperate for one of his mornin
g visits. I’d always been in the mood more in the mornings, and having his naked body nestled between my legs, begging for entry, used to be a damn nice way to wake up.

  But he’d sped off, and I certainly didn’t want what my body might have craved.

  I walked into my house, set my keys, along with my iPod and earbuds, on the entryway table, and walked into the kitchen, Madman trailing behind me. Firing up my laptop on the table, I proceeded with making an omelet while I downed two bottles of water and chopped some fruit.

  It had been hard to try to eat healthy with the schedule I kept. The hospital always had boxes of Krispy Kremes, cookies, and other treats floating around, and since I was either reading at the library, reading at home, or working on my car when I wasn’t working or at school, I had a hard time not grabbing what was convenient in a rush. Thankfully, my weekends were free, so I food prepped by premaking salads and healthy snacks.

  Although I did still snatch up a chocolate-glazed doughnut any chance I got.

  Sitting down at the table, I dialed my father for our once-a-week video chat.

  “Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, cutting into a piece of my omelet with spinach, mushrooms, and cheese. “How’s beautiful Italy? Staying away from all of the wine, right?” I teased, stuffing the loaded fork into my mouth.

  “Actually, wine is good for the heart,” he pointed out with laughter in his blue eyes. My eyes.

  “Yeah, one glass,” I clarified. “Not five, okay?”

  He nodded. “Touché.”

  My dad wasn’t big on alcohol, but I knew he’d taken a particular liking to the food in certain countries where he’d been assigned over the years. Italy being one of them.

  But a few years ago his lifestyle finally took a toll on his body. He had a hectic schedule, little consistency in his routine, poor eating habits because he was always on the go, and little to no exercise due to the travel. He had two heart attacks while abroad and didn’t even tell me. I had been livid when I found out.

  Now I stayed in better contact to nag him more. I’d dipped into my savings and sent him a treadmill for Christmas one year, and I even scoped out the grocery stores in whatever area he lived in, so I could push him to their salad bars and organic selections.