A Piece of Heaven (Allendale Four 1)

“It’s fine. I’ll let her know I wasn’t alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. Thanks for hanging out tonight.” I gave him a quick hug and he hopped in his car, driving away without another look back.

“Lost the straw draw?” I asked, after he drove off, car rattling down the road.

Jackson gave me a quizzical look.

“Checking up on me? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” My attitude was salty and he got the brunt of it.

“I certainly didn’t lose,” he replied dryly. “But yeah, we agreed someone should make sure you got home okay after hanging out with the guy that got you into a heap of trouble. Is that wrong?”

I sighed and re-explained that our families were friends. That we had known one another since we were kids. That Justin and I were also just friends.

“Babe, I know the story. We’re not mad or jealous about any of that.” Doubt flickered in his eyes.

I tilted my head. “Then what?”

“We don’t like that he got you in such a mess.”

“Without that mess, you guys never would have spoken to me.”

He grunted, still not convincing me he wasn’t just jealous, but he pulled me down on the step, lowering me into his lap, and kissed me. He needed my reassurance. I got that. And in turn, I gave it.

“We had a bonfire on the beach,” I said, about the smoke, between kisses. “You smell a little smoky yourself.” But not the same kind. His mouth had the faint tinge of beer. His eyes were lazy and a little red. He had probably smoked with the boys hours before. His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me closer, dragging me right over the hard ridge in his pants. Holyhardness.

“Does that hurt?” I blurted. Really, Heaven? Really? Thank god it was dark. Jackson stopped kissing me and stared at me with the funniest face. “Sorry. Inappropriate,” I said. “Ignore me. More kissing, please.”

“It’s okay. Nah, it doesn’t hurt. It feels pretty awesome. You feel pretty awesome.” He grabbed my hips again and slid me over that rod of steel. This time though, I was distracted by the feelings in my own pants and not just his.

“Oh,” I breathed. And then some form of jumbled, “Yessss,” choked out from under the emotions I was trying to control. Because this is the exact moment my brain broke down. Between my crotch and his crotch and his fingers slipping under my shirt, and his cock getting harder and my pants getting wetter and it was too much. Too. Fucking. Much.

I bit down on his shoulder and groaned.

“Shhh…,” Jackson warned about my volume. I didn’t care, maybe since I had been faking slut for so long my body and mind went a little porn star on instinct. I tugged the zipper on my hoodie, shrugging it off my shoulders.

“Umm...” he mumbled, eyes glued to my chest. Tight, white ‘beater, black lace bra. He licked his lips. I licked mine. He licked my lips and ran his hands down my now-bare arms, skimming down my scars, toying with my fingers. Nope. Not enough.

“Put your hands on me.” The words flew from my mind to my mouth but it worked. Two massive boy hands were suddenly cupping my breasts in the most pleasurable way. His thumbs rubbed across the material like he’d done this a million times before, like he’d planned this out. But they hadn’t been here before, and I felt like my boobs were connected to the spot between my legs and that moment I’d been dying to recreate since being in the car with Oliver was close, so close. He pulled the straps of my tank so they fell down my arms, but he didn’t go further. Just enough so the tops of my breasts threatened to spill over but they were held back by the magic of cotton and lace. And Jackson, holyshit Jackson, with his reddened cheeks and nimble fingers that were dragging over my nipples and stroking my skin, now looked at me with glazed-over eyes. With adoration, and dammit all, if I didn’t adore him back.

Abruptly, he changed tactics and his hands moved to my hips again, pushing and dragging. I watched as his eyes flicked from my heaving (yes--heaving) chest to my lips, to my eyes until I closed my own and just sank into the feelings. Who knew that rubbing and skin and jeans and seams, combined with the sound of his labored breathing, low, next to my ear, would cause my insides to wind and twist and wind and clench and wind and wind until everything became so tight there was no space left, nowhere to go but break into a million splintered pieces?

Not me. Holy-mother-of-All Things, that wire shattered, causing my body to experience the grandest of all things. And then apparently he did as well, because he froze and grunted twice, in a deep weird, cracking voice before dropping his sweaty head onto my shoulder and muttering, “Fuck,” next to my ear.

Fuck, indeed.

Chapter 20

I woke up feeling good.

Like, really good for the first time in a long while. I told Justin the truth about the Allendale Four and the world hadn’t imploded. I saw Spencer out in public and didn’t scratch his eyes out. I dry-humped Jackson on my front porch and damn, I wanted to do that again.

The dance was in a week. Like I told my mother, I had found a dress—online. It was two pieces; the top was a beaded halter—the bottom, black tulle. A thin strip of belly showed between the two. It was fun. Sexy. The guys were going to love it.

I did need shoes and I’d planned to ask my mom to take me shopping that afternoon. Playing it safe and putting on my best daughter expression, I dressed in jeans and a sweater before running down the stairs. I hoped to catch her before she got busy with her day.

I found her in the kitchen, still in her pajamas, which was odd for this time of morning. She sat at the table, her iPhone in her hand. She scrolled down the screen, a line of worry across her forehead. I passed by to get a cup of coffee.