Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 03

© 2012 Brunne

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Many thanks to the many readers who voted and left such lovely comments on the chapters so far -- I hope you enjoy this one too.

For those of you have read my other story, 'Under My Skin', this is Jarod's side of the story (best to start from Ch 01).

- Brunne

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Jarod stared into his dresser drawer, somewhat stunned. Shit. Not to get ahead of himself, but it'd occurred to him that he'd better check on the state of his prophylactic supply, as he had no clue whether she was on birth control or not. Clean bill of health or no, he wasn't in this to become a parent.

Did condoms actually expire? Seriously? If the date on the box was anything to go by, they'd gone past the point of no return six months ago. Had it really been that long? No wonder he was a wreck.

Ironically, he found the knowledge somewhat comforting. Being completely unable to control his body's random and inconvenient expressions of pent-up frustration was beginning to wear thin. He'd been in the middle of a budget meeting this morning and failed to haul his mind back from its wanderings into the dangerous territory of bare skin and black lace. Well, more about how he was going to remove the black lace than anything... Thank heavens the CAPEX debate had pushed the meeting overtime or he would have had an embarrassing, sidling, paper-clutching exit of the room to contend with. He hadn't had such spontaneous erections since he was eighteen.

Shit. He tossed the useless box into the rubbish, and added condom-purchasing to his list of errands.

He had to do something to keep himself occupied. He'd had no word from her since their conversation the previous night. She must have opened the letter by now. He just hoped to hell she was capable of making up her mind quickly, because he wasn't going to last at this rate.

The waiting wasn't the only thing on his mind. He'd been experiencing a slight...problem, of late. He couldn't bring himself to masturbate. Ever since the first photo she'd taken he'd been going through crazy periods of arousal. But he'd start to take care of business and just...couldn't. It wasn't a physical thing, at least he hoped not. If he were to be truthful with himself, which he wasn't particularly willing to do at this point, he'd have admit to being scared out of his mind. Because the real reason he couldn't go through with it was that it made him feel...alone. Deeply, painfully alone.

His deepest, darkest fear was that somewhere in that thread of glowing light he'd crossed some sort of line. He needed to know he could still exist as an island, with no dependency on anything or anyone. Even as he said it to himself he doubted the wisdom of this, but right along with the spectre of loneliness rose the old pain, seeping up through his mental floorboards.

So he'd do this thing, and remain detached and not get involved. It would be purely physical. He focussed his thoughts, and added a silk scarf to the mental checklist. He didn't intend to risk his sanity by drowning in the depths of those wide brown eyes, either.

* * * * *

Jarod flipped the mouthpiece of his headset up and leaned back in his office chair, his left ear filled with the tinned holding music of yet another endless teleconference call. His eyes felt like they were pickled in their sockets. He flicked his mobile phone on and checked it. Again.

It had been three days, and he'd heard nothing. So she was willing to send nearly-nude pics, but was offended by a STD test?

The final stages of bug fixing on the project were keeping him thoroughly occupied, but it wasn't exception reporting or data migration his mind wandered to when he had a spare moment. Two days ago he'd banned himself from even opening the photo folder of his phone, and today he was rationing himself the checking of texts to once an hour.

"Fuck this..." he growled, thumb punching the new text button. He was getting pissed off now.

'So?'

The text glared back at him from the screen. He hit send.

* * * * *

The insistent buzz against his thigh stopped him midsentence, and the board members just sat there, staring at him expectantly. Fuck. Of all the times for her to reply.

Clearing his throat, he backtracked in his notes. He could feel the heat rising to his face. Shit. Was he blushing?

"Jarod? Are you alright?" queried a bespectacled Richard, staring at him hard over the tops of the gold frames. Oh, this was only getting better, wasn't it.

"Yes, sorry...yes..." he stammered, looking to the glowing presentation screen as if it could somehow save him. With great effort he reoriented himself and pushed on with the briefing, but his mind never entirely left his pocket, or the waiting text.

What ensued was the longest meeting he'd ever endured, not daring to even pull the phone out and check it under the cover of the boardroom table in case he found himself comprehensively unemployed.

His final escape was to the closest promise of privacy; the stall in the men's toilets. He flipped the seat down gingerly and eased himself down onto the lid, wrestling his phone out of his pocket with a worrying degree of anticipation. He forced himself to stop for a moment before switching it on. You've got to get a grip, man. This is just about sex. Nothing else, right? He took several cleansing breaths and then pressed the button.

'Done. Just waiting for results.'

He stared at it dumbly. Done? Already? And here he'd been expecting to just hear if she was done thinking about it...not that she'd gone ahead with it! He ran a hand through his hair and reread it just to be sure. Shit.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket he unlocked the stall and wandered over to the sink where he braced his hands against the cool porcelain, staring long and hard at himself in the mirror. What are you up to, Jarod? he asked himself. What game are you playing that you're trying to fool yourself about all this. She's got you, deeper than you like. Much deeper.

But there was no point wasting thoughts on that now. The wheels were set in motion, and unless she backed out he was going to do his damnedest to fuck her so long and hard he wouldn't ever feel this sort of need for another person again. The chill in his own thoughts hit him low in the gut. So maybe he was a bastard after all. As if there was anyone to care whether he was or not?

* * * * *

"So we're fully live on the new platform, then?

"As of four AM this morning, sir, yes," Jarod said, trying to keep both the triumph and the relief out of his voice.

"Good, good..." Richard muttered absently.

Jarod was used to this. The moment a crisis passed, and the man had his mind on the next problem. The good thing was it meant he was off the hook, for now.

"I'll bring you the usage stats when we get the last gremlins out of the reporting interface," Jarod added in an attempt to sound helpful.

But Richard was well and truly on to the next thought, and only nodded, and said, "Yes...yes..." in reply.

Jarod counted himself dismissed and turned to go, his hand on the door handle.

"Jarod..."

The mixture of concern and question in Richard's voice stopped him short and kicked off a sick churning in the pit of his stomach. What was it now? Images of each heated encounter with Stephanie flashed through his mind, and the churning moved straight into dread at the thought that they'd been found out.

"Yes?" He could only bring himself to turn halfway towards Richard, and had to force himself to meet the other man's eyes.

"You've not been yourself lately...I hope it's not the work getting to you?" The gaze from the older man was stern.

Relief edged Jarod's voice as he realised it was probably his slip in the boardroom that had caught the MD's notice. "No, no...the work is fine."

"You're sure?" The eyebrows crept higher as the eyes stared out at him over the gold frames.

"Yes, of course." Jarod shifted nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets, the smooth surface of his phone only reminding him more intensely of the dangerous game he was playing.

"Good, good," Richard answered, tapping at his chest, "Stress is a killer, you know. You don't want to end up with a bad heart, believe you me," he added, ruefully.

"I'll keep that in mind," Jarod said, a stiff smile firmly in place, before escaping out through the door into the corridor.

* * * * *

It had taken at least an hour for the adrenaline to subside, but even as he buried himself in the error fix reports he couldn't escape a simple fact. People were beginning to notice. It was starting to become obvious that something was up with him. And here he'd been trying to convince himself it was just a case of pent up sexual frustration and the temptation of a pretty girl. When had he ever let his work slip this much? Even then, when had it ever been so obvious that other people...senior managers no less, began to worry?

Just the thought of her, and he caught himself flicking his phone on out of reflex and habit. Stephanie. His own, personal, infuriating distraction. Did she have any clue the effect she was having? And what if she did? What did that make her?

But his thoughts were put on hold as he stared at the little envelope icon blinking up at him from the screen. When had that come in? Why the hell hadn't he heard it?

'All clear. I can bring the letter with me.'

He read the words over several times. But of course she was all clear. He hadn't really doubted that for a second, but the implication of the message sent a wave of heat up through his body and out to his extremities before rolling back down to his groin. There was nothing stopping them now. Nothing standing in the way of going through with what he'd promised himself. He'd have her, satisfy this damned restlessness, and then he'd move on. By tomorrow morning the torture could be over and he'd be...himself, again. It was the only reason he'd accept to explain the tendrils of thrumming excitement that started up at the thought of her. That and the fact his breathing had just sped up of its own accord. He couldn't wait any longer to have her.

'Tonight?' was his reply, a slight tremor in his fingers, every nerve in his body conscious that she was sat just across the office, with only several desks and his door separating them and no one else the wiser of what he had planned.

But where? He thought back to their interlude out by the park. No, nothing like that this time. This time he would have her in private and in bed. His bed. The unsolicited image which presented itself at the thought had him shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Fuck.

He pondered the wisdom of his hasty plan for some moments. Did he really want to bring her back to his flat? His mind drifted back to the swathe of black, blinding silk that lay, folded neatly, next to a certain pair of white lacy underwear in his top dresser drawer. He wasn't planning to let her see anything anyway. Why didn't he just extend that so she didn't know where she was going either?

Decision made, he typed the words, 'Bring sunglasses. Dark ones.'

He could make a run back to the apartment at lunchtime. He sure as hell wanted to make sure there were clean sheets on the bed.

* * * * *

For the third time he caught his leg drumming in a nervous twitch against the car door. He'd long ago failed to find something to do with his hands, and finally just let his fingers drum along with his jittery knee. It was four-thirty when he'd given up all pretence of working and made his way down to the carpark to wait for her. And waiting, sitting, stewing...had been a spectacularly dumb idea, as it just drew the torture out and made it and even more excruciating.

He checked the glowing numbers on the console clock again. Five minutes after five. She was due anytime if she didn't get held up. He checked his phone compulsively, but there wasn't anything new from her in his inbox. The question that had been plaguing him grew ever larger and louder in his mind; would she come?

At this point he was wound so tight with anticipation he wasn't sure what he'd do if she didn't. For that matter, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do if she did.

The familiar click of the basement door echoing through the cavernous space broke into his thoughts, and craning his neck, he spotted her. Head high, but walking with those short quick steps of hers. It was her walk that always gave her away.

He turned the key just enough to get the lights working so she'd see which car it was. As if she'd miss it. It was the only one with a pathetic pervert of a man sitting in it. Lying in wait. He knew it wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely not true either. Firmly pushing down the surge of self-loathing, he reached across and opened the passenger door for her.

She slid into the seat quickly without even turning her eyes in his direction. She wore her hair down and it fell in soft, dark waves, just as it had when he'd first seen her. As she felt for the seatbelt it swung forward and hid her face, the tension in her clear as day in the way she held her shoulders and continued to stare at her knees. Fuck, not this again. If she felt this way, why would she do this to herself? Despite himself he felt the urge to reach out, brush her hair back and smooth away the anxious furrows he was sure sat between the curved sweep of those pretty eyebrows.

"You okay?" he asked, the genuine concern in his voice surprising even him. Where had the hardened, take-no-prisoners Jarod gone to? Was he to fall at the first hurdle?

She turned at his voice, and he found himself slipping, senseless, into the wide open promise in her eyes. Blood rushed in his ears; the rest of the world vanished. Danger! his logic warned, battling with him to break this connection that threatened all sorts of long-held hurts. He dragged himself away, but it was a quicksand he walked through, only broken when she spoke.

"I...I brought the paper," she said, her voice hesitant but firmer than he'd imagined it would be. How little he'd heard her speak. How much more he wanted to hear. The soft tones tugged at threads deep down. He snapped himself back. The letter. He blinked.

"Do you want me to read it?" He wondered what difference it would make, but was keenly aware that it meant something to her. It was as if she needed to prove something to him. That she could be trusted? Why did she want his trust? Why would she want his trust?

He took the folded paper she thrust towards him and opened it, but his eyes just skimmed the surface, his mind on other things. On the next thing. On the first, deep, flower-scented breath he was drawing in. It had been too long. The need in him expanded and grew until it towered over everything.

"Did you bring your sunglasses?" he asked, steady, neutral, on the verge of slipping over.

She nodded as her hand groped inside her bag and emerged holding them. She waited for his next words. It wasn't just that she didn't speak. She waited. Didn't assume. It was driving him nuts. How could someone just wait, and not impose in any way what they wanted? It was a foreign feeling, and stirred up the things that frightened him. It gave him too much space. Too much space he could expand into and stretch into until he blotted everything else out. Some other part of him spoke.

"Put them on. Close your eyes, and keep them closed."

He watched her, saw the eyebrows rise ever so slightly as she began to comprehend. Noted how her lips parted just a little. For now, this was her blindfold. A blindfold that no one else could see but her. He could take her anywhere. Ask her to do anything. And she just might. The waiting in her told him so.

The truth was, he'd brought something too. The black silk scarf was burning a hole in his pocket, but he couldn't put that on her now, not in broad daylight. But as soon as they reached his apartment...

Feeling himself slipping too close to the edge of something he didn't understand, but feared, he turned his focus to the car. To the hard edges of the keys in his hand, the flash of lights and the steady hum of the engine.

* * * * *

He blinked, hard, trying to focus as the rush-hour traffic ebbed and surged around them. If he didn't concentrate on driving, he'd just be staring at her trying to imagine her without her clothes. Because that's what grown men do when they're reduced to the mentality of a hormonal teenager with their first real live girlfriend.

He gripped the gear shift a little tighter and grimaced. She was just so damned close. And they just drove along in excruciating, endless silence. Why didn't she say anything?

With a relief bordering on desperation, Jarod made the final turn into his street and took the ramp down into the condominium carpark. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her brace herself against the dashboard, her skirt riding up as she slid forward in the seat, baring smooth, deliciously rounded knees. Good lord. They weren't even inside apartment and his dick was about to explode. He tore his eyes away just in time to avoid losing half the paint on the car to the unyielding curve of the ramp wall.

There was an edge. Like a cliff with a dark void beyond, and he felt as if he was being drawn to it, inexorably, inevitably, dragged towards that edge. He tried at every turn to dig his heels in and resist, but it pulled at him mightily, and he was no match.

The familiar feeling of sliding the car into its parking spot calmed him momentarily and his hands went through the unconscious motions of switching off the ignition and pulling out the keys. He sat, breathing deep, clenching the keys in his fist tight enough for the metal to bite into his hand. The pain helped him centre. Kept him from reaching across the short distance to where her skirt rode ever higher up her thigh.

He was up and out of the car in a single movement, leaning back on the car door for support as he shut it. Where was his detachment? Where was his usual skill at simply charming a woman into bed before charming his way back out again? Something had a chokehold on him, and he had to fight the tightness in his chest with every breath. Breathe, Jarod. Fuck.

He walked around the back of the car, steadying himself as he went, using it as a chance to draw in a few extra breaths before he walked back into the intoxicating flower-filled air that surrounded his silent passenger. Fortifying himself, he pulled on the door handle to release her.

Her hand reached out blindly, and he caught it in his own as she probed the air, first with one foot then the other before finding the ground beneath her. Her hand felt so small in his, delicate as a bird's wing, those fingertips brushing lightly against his wrist. It struck him again, the contradiction, in him. In her. That he wanted to take so brutally something which felt so fragile, but at the same time, so strong. Stronger than him, even. How could that be?

Once he got her standing and the door closed, he moved his grip to the relative safety of her elbow. Now he just had to get her into the apartment without screwing the whole thing up. He peered down behind the sunglasses as best he could, satisfying himself that she'd kept her eyes closed. Between her eyebrows her forehead pinched with effort as she did her best to keep her eyelids tightly shut, and her sheer earnestness to do as he asked stripped away something raw in him. Determined, he pushed the feeling away and propelled her across the carpark to the exit.

The lift took a mercifully short time to appear, but as he got her angled close to the wall and the handrail, the bloody thing dinged again and opened on the ground floor. Shit. He tried to calm his breathing and gripped her arm a little tighter as a white-haired couple shuffled in and pressed the button for the floor above his. He nodded to them, making the usual brief, polite eye contact and murmured greeting that is lift etiquette, ignoring the clench of anxiety that seized his stomach. What? he asked himself. What difference does it make? But his paranoia only deepened, and he became increasingly certain that the lavender-permed woman was staring at him suspiciously from where she stood clutching the arm of her slope-shouldered husband. With huge relief he greeted the opening of the lift doors, and mumbled the appropriate good nights, ushering Stephanie into the hallway. Shit. What did it matter what anyone thought anyway? It's not as if he'd get pulled up at the condominium meeting for being seen in the lift with a woman. Then why did he feel so damned guilty? Maybe it had something to do with all the things his contorted mind kept thinking of doing to the dark-haired girl he was steering to his evil lair.