He moved fast, gripping my thigh in one hand and my face with the other. The thrusts were deep, hard, punishing. He was expelling all his pent up anger, pushing in as deeply as possible without allowing me a break to recover. I opened my mouth and let out a pained sound, but he swallowed it again with his mouth, grunting against me. He sounded primal and felt animalistic. Somewhere in the midst of it, there was a gradual build of pleasure underneath the pain, but the more he thrust like this inside of me, the harder it was to concentrate on that pleasure.

“Slow down,” I whimpered against his heavy breath.

“No,” he retorted, driving his tongue into my mouth.

I tried to use my legs to slow him down, pressing them as hard against his hips as possible, but it was futile. He overpowered me, and though it was painful, I didn’t want to tell him to stop. It felt too good being with him like this. When he brought his mouth back down to mine, I moved away from his kiss, and he let out an irritated grunt, gripping my hair firmly at the scalp to hold me in place. He leaned in to kiss me, but I grabbed at his lip and bit down hard. He hissed, staring at me with a mixture of anger and arousal in his face. It didn’t stop him from kissing me, though. He took my mouth again, cautiously this time, lapping his tongue against mine.

He tasted so fucking good.

“Slow down,” I repeated in his mouth.

“Fuck no,” he groaned.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Good.” Why did I find that so fucking hot? I tugged hard on his wet hair like he was tugging mine, wanting him to feel what he was doing to me. Then I brought my hands under his arms and over his shoulder blades and pressed my fingertips into his back. I lost myself to the punishing rhythm of his thrusts, taking every bit of the aches he was giving me for the sake of being with him. He broke away from my mouth and trailed his tongue down my neck. I moaned when he nipped me with his teeth, and then sucked fiercely until my skin throbbed. The act had him slowing down, and abruptly I felt like he’d stripped my pleasure. Didn’t I want him to slow down? Confused, I grinded my hips into him, trying to bring him deeper inside of me. I liked the mixture of pain and pleasure; it was something I felt I needed.

“Faster,” I breathed.

He pressed his lips over mine and, to my horror, slowed down entirely, giving me shallow thrusts that put my pleasure at a frustrated stand still.

“Jaxon, please,” I begged in a state of delirious need.

“Did you miss this?” The random question had me opening my eyes to look at him. He was staring right into my eyes with a gritty, furious look.

“Yes,” I admitted, fighting the ache behind my eyes.

“Does my dick feel good buried inside of you?”

“Yes.”

“Better than him?”

His hard voice sent chills down my spine, yet lost in the arousal of the moment, I whimpered, “Yes.”

He thrust hard again, painfully digging his hand into my thigh while pulling my hair with the other. He buried his face in my neck, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want me to see him. We’d always looked at each other while we made love.

A tear escaped just then at the realization this wasn’t us making love. It was impersonal – the roughness that became of Jaxon was all the more cemented, even in sex.

My body betrayed my thoughts. It was aching for that release he’d started and was on the way of finishing. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I dug my nails into his back, muttering yes, yes over and over again… My breathing quickened, my groans became louder, and soon I clenched him as much as my strength would allow and felt the warmth of pleasure coat my body from head to toe. He followed after me, thrusting once, twice, and then stalling at his own release. He went limp, breathing hard against my neck. I could feel his heart beats through his chest, and when they eventually slowed down, he moved out of me and lay on his back beside me.

We were shoulder to shoulder, breathing in and out in silence. I didn’t know what I’d expected after this. Maybe I’d hoped, even for the briefest moment, I’d feel that connection again.

Only, I didn’t. It fled somewhere in the midst of our fucking. It was… strange. I felt misplaced, out of sorts… hurt. Yeah, I felt hurt most of all. There was no warmth like there’d always been after sex with Jaxon.

I grabbed the covers and pulled them over me, suddenly ashamed at throwing myself at him like that.

He threw his legs off the bed and sat up with his back against me. I hastily wiped another escaped tear from my eye. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he sat like that with his head straight for seconds that felt like hours. 

“You’ve changed,” he finally said, and without a clear shot of his face and the flat tone in his voice, I couldn’t determine what mood he was in.

“Changed how?” I managed out.

“You’ve grown. Body wise anyway.”

I sighed, wearily. “Bigger was the word, wasn’t it?” The question wasn’t malicious; it was actually coated with sadness. Had I become that repulsive to him? Is that why he didn’t want to look at me?

Instead, his answer surprised me.

“Better is what I should have said.” His voice went tight, and I wondered if he was struggling to be nice to me. His shoulders slumped and then a hand raked through his thick hair. “Everything that I said to you the last two days had been said out of anger. I… I didn’t mean a lot of it. There’s just…” He exhaled and shook his head. “Get dressed and have your bags ready. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Disappointed at the change of subject, I watched him get up, butt naked, and gather his clothes off the floor. He changed with his back to me, dressed in the same soaked clothing and bloodied top. Even when he was done he didn’t look my way. Decidedly not wanting to be nude around him, I gathered the covers around me and walked to the suitcase in the corner of the room. I grabbed the first things I saw: hobo looking lounge pants and an oversized hoodie. These were my fat clothes I often wore to bed in cold weather. I went to the bathroom and changed, taking an insanely long time because every bit of my body felt tender and sore. My insides felt mashed to bits, and I had to pause to take in a deep breath of air. It was like having knives at the pit of my stomach. Is this what he wanted, for me to feel pain even after our time together?

Looking in the mirror, I shook my head at what I saw: red, puffy eyes, black bags under them, pale cheeks, swollen lips, dark hair that was taking on a mind of its own. I pulled out a hair tie from my purse and gathered my hair up, but then abruptly stopped when I noticed the red mark on the side of my neck. Instantly those pale cheeks went crimson. He marked me. Badly. I leaned in forward to look at the gigantic hickey and ran my fingers over the bump. Were hickeys even meant to be this pronounced? I brought my hair back down, combing through the tangles with my fingers, and set it over my neck.

He was waiting by the door looking down at his cell phone, reading something that had his eyebrows bunched together in heavy thought. He’d grabbed my suit case and set it beside his feet. I felt queasy walking past the bloody puddles on the floor on my way to him. Knowing I was there, he tucked the phone in his pocket, picked up my suit case, opened the door and walked out.

I threw the hood over my head and followed. It was so nice being in dry clothes, but the weather was still having a heart attack, pouring buckets of rain down over the streets. I rushed to his car and jumped in, not caring how filthy I was getting the leather seat (he could afford getting it cleaned) as I brought my legs up and set my knees to my chest. He put my suitcase in the trunk and then took a seat behind the wheel of the car just as his phone started ringing.

“What?” he answered, starting the car. The car roared to life, and I took this opportunity to throw my hands over the vents and soak in the warmth. “No, tell Finley I’ll be there tomorrow.” The name caught my attention. It was the name the bearded man had been mumbling to himself. He hung up, and with a long sigh, started the drive back to his mom’s house.

*****

After an uneasy silent ride there, he parked the car in the garage and I followed him inside. Looking up at a clock on the entrance wall, I saw that it was only quarter to eight. It felt like midnight to me. I was exhausted and desperate for some sleep.

“Mom!” Jaxon called out.

Lucinda appeared out of the hallway and, to my surprise, so did Christy. When I saw her, I looked away. Guilt filled in my chest at what I’d just done with her man. I peeked at him and wondered if he had a similar look, but I only saw irritation.

“Sara!” Lucinda remarked, and then she paused and took in Jaxon’s shirt and her mouth dropped, along with Christy’s. “What on earth happened? Where did you…? Are you both alright?”

“Long story. We’re fine. She needs a place to sleep,” Jaxon said, motioning to me without looking at me. “Give her one of the bedrooms.”

“Of course. Let me just fetch some clean sheets in the cupboard for you, Sara. Give me a minute.” Lucinda hastily turned around and disappeared down the hallway, leaving me awkwardly standing amid an uncomfortable stare down between Jaxon and Christy.

“What are you still doing here?” Jaxon asked rudely.

There was a steady decline in her emotions: joy at seeing him, then hopeful, then confused, and now it was disappointment marring her beautiful features.

“I thought I’d wait for you,” she said quietly.

“I told you to let Josh take you home.”

“I didn’t think you’d take so long.” She glanced at me, but not viciously like I’d have expected from someone whose boyfriend had disappeared with for two hours. “You said you were just going to drop her off.”

I took a hesitant step back, nearing the steps. The awkwardness went to a whole new level at realizing she hadn’t sent him to drive me to the motel after all. He’d decided to on his own.

“As you can see, things happened,” he said gruffly.

I was so confused by his demeanour. Looking back at the way he held her hand the previous night and the smile he’d given her, I thought they were happy together. Yet she was looking at him like she was used to the indifference.

I sighed in relief when Lucinda reappeared with bed sheets in her hand. She looked between Christy and Jaxon, and then shot her son an angry look as she past them and smiled warmly at me. “Follow me, darling.” No problemo!

We climbed the stairs and she led me through a second living area and down a hallway with four bedrooms. She opened the last door and walked in. I paused outside of the door and hastily took my shoes off. The bedroom was carpeted and I didn’t want to leave any messy footprints.

“Jaxon sends a housekeeper once a week,” Lucinda told me, noticing my apprehension. “Don’t worry about making any messes.”

I walked into the giant bedroom that had an ensuite bathroom, walk in closet, large window overlooking the street, and was furnished beautifully with a custom made queen bed, a dresser with a huge squared mirror, and two night stands. It was plain, impersonal, and so evidently a guest room.

I watched her make the bed in silence, thinking only of what might be transpiring downstairs between Jaxon and Christy. Oh, God, what had I done? Jaxon had only meant to comfort me when I cried like a little baby on that bed. I was the one that initiated the whole thing. Yeah, but he didn’t back down either, my snotty little mind remarked.

Lucinda looked at me frequently as she set the sheet down and housed the pillows. She was thoughtful and concerned, and I hated that I must have looked like I was so obviously hurting.

“He hasn’t been with her long,” she quietly told me.

“What?” I looked up at her in my guilt to see that she’d stopped the bed-making entirely.

“He’s been with her maybe two weeks. Best record yet since you, though I wouldn’t classify it as a relationship. He doesn’t have relationships. Why do you think I give him death glares every chance I get when he’s around her?” She sighed and walked around the bed and stopped when she was in front of me. Her eyes looked tired, and I imagined she’d had a long rough day of her own having to redo a client’s hair and all.

“Mind you, she’s a great girl. I’ll give her that much, and she really likes him, but she’s not you.”

My breath thinned at the end, and I shook my head. “We’re not–”

“He’s going to want you again. Now that you’re here, he’s not going to let you go. You left him once, and it ruined him.”

I gulped down hard at her words. “I’m sorry I didn’t–”

“You left for reasons that I’m sure made sense, but he’s angry and he’s messed up about it. He’s… been through a lot the last few years, Sara, and he’s changed a lot in that time. I’ve tried really hard to make him right again, but he’s…” Wiping away a sudden tear of her own, she sat on the bed and looked vacantly down at the carpeted floor.

“Look at him,” she continued, hopelessly. “Bad attitude, barely smiles, keeping secrets from me… He comes home with blood on his shirt, and that’s not the first time either.”

“It wasn’t his fault tonight. He saved me,” I blurted out. “I got attacked at the motel by some drunk.”

She looked at me horrified. “I told you that part of town is unsafe–”

“I didn’t think anything would happen to me.”

“That’s always the way, isn’t it? No one ever does, and then they die and wind up dumped in some back alley.” Clearly irritated at me, she shook her head. “Did he kill him?”