Just the Thought of You Ch. 02

He was at the kitchen island, a rather scary looking knife in his hand, chopping steadily. I was still trying to get over the fact he really did cook.

He turned his head briefly to look at me before going back to the mange tout he was turning into little green slivers. Of course he knew how to eat well. How else could he have that gorgeous lean muscley-ness. Him in those jeans. They just hugged in all the right places. And that snug little t-shirt. Damn.

His shoulders hunched as he worked and I got distracted for a little while just watching him. Lost in a fleeting memory of how those shoulder muscles felt under my eager fingertips. And maybe a little of how those hands had felt on my...everywhere.

Everything in the cottage was miniature. That's what cottages are, right? Miniature places for quaint, miniature people. Jarod - he just looked massive in comparison to everything in the place. Like some sort of enormous, dark eclipse of all the littleness and floral-print chintzness in all the world. Why did he have to look so huge and looming and...wonderful?

Not trusting myself near him I took the closest escape route and settled into a slipcovered easy chair, knees to chest, hugging tight.

"Are you okay now?" He was looking at me again, the knife blade resting on the cutting board. Waves of something - anger or tension - rolled off of him and towards me. The room practically bristled with it, heating the air around me. He was like some one-man forest fire. Run, little deer. Run.

"Yeah. I'm...fine." Lame, Steph. So lame. I sighed.

He went back to chopping but then stopped, tipping his head back, hands fisting on the counter-top.

"So what are you doing here?"

It hurt, when he said it that way.

What was I supposed to say?

Because I think I might love you? Because I couldn't go on living with you thinking I didn't give a damn? Because ever since first you touched me I haven't bee able to think about another single thing than being skin to skin in your heat and drowning myself in your eyes?

I settled for, "You invited me, didn't you?"

His eyes closed briefly. "You said no."

"I know."

"So?" He turned to face me now, knife still in hand.

I forced myself to meet his eyes, putting my feet onto the floor as if to somehow absorb some stability, some solidity out of the old stone flagging underneath me.

"You were right. We need to talk," my chin rising slightly.

He let out a sort of "Huh," noise, then turned back to his vegetables.

"You said there was nothing to say." He could have sliced the carrots with the edge in his voice.

This wasn't going well. This had been a very bad idea. It just wasn't going to work out doing it this way. I pushed myself out of the soft confines of the chair, surprised how shaky I was just standing up.

"I'm sorry Jarod. I shouldn't have come." I started on my tottery way towards the bedroom. I'd pack my things up, call the damned cab and put it on my credit card. Anything to escape the sheer weight of animosity pounding down on my shoulders from his general direction.

"Steph? SIT." He'd taken a step toward me, the tip of that knife pointed right at my heart from across the room.

What? Sit- WHAT?

"Sit, Jarod?" Anger flared up, hot and quick, out of nowhere. "What am I? A dog you can tell what to do? Sit. Stay. Beg??" I was flaming mad and didn't entirely know why. Hands clenched at my sides, facing him down. Because what? He hadn't greeted me at the door with grateful kisses and a passionate embrace? Because he didn't seem to want me there? Because I needed him with every damn fibre of my being and I hated him, just hated him for it?

"And don't you dare point that thing at me," I added, pointing back at the knife.

He blinked, looking down at blade for the first time, then back at me as if even he wasn't sure what he doing. He dropped his arm, still staring at the knife he'd just pointed right at me, shoulders slumping. He closed his eyes and turned back to the kitchen counter, dropping the knife on the cutting board and bracing his hands against the edge of the kitchen island.

"God, Steph. Why did you come here?"

I took a moment to think about my answer, still breathing hard from the anger that pushed hot threads of emotion through chest. It braced me. Gave me the strength to say it.

"Because you haven't told me everything."

"What?" His hands slapped on the counter-top and he turned to look at me. "What haven't I told you?"

I swallowed, absorbing the radiating anger, the force of it, feeling the heat of it spark past my still-damp hair.

"You haven't told me about her."

"Her-?" His head jerked back, confusion or incredulity all over his face. "Her who? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Her," I said again simply, more sure now what it was I'd come here to prise out of him. "The one who did a number on you. The one who's left you jumping at your own shadow. All the time."

He deflated in front of me, looking in several different directions as if to escape, exasperation clear in every movement. He finally met my eyes, holding his hands out by his sides.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Yes you do." Yes, he did. Oh yes he fucking did. Me, who couldn't know him that well yet, even little me could see he was lying. I crossed my arms over my chest and prepared myself to stare him down.

"What does this have to do with anything? We need to talk about us. That's it. Nothing else." He turned back to his chopping board, shifting small piles of vegetables around aimlessly.

"That's just it. This is about us."

"It's the past, Steph. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means something to me, Jarod. I means something to me," I said, poking at my chest with a trembling finger.

"And why the fuck should I care?" He glared at me.

I lost it. Raised my voice. Waved an arm. "Because I fucking do, Jarod. I care." I took a deep breath, "Because I see a world of pain going on behind that icy-cold wall you keep putting up between us and I just..." I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow.

"I just want in, Jarod. I want you to just let me in. Is that too much to ask?"

He became very still. I could have sworn he was holding his breath. Then I knew he was when he let it out with a rush. He pointed to one of the bar-stools that pulled up under the opposite side of the kitchen island.

"Sit. I mean..." he corrected himself, and just in time, too. "Please just sit down, okay? Your hovering is driving me nuts."

I surrendered, walking around the island and hoisting myself up onto the seat, trying to ignore how badly I was shaking. I was directly across from him now, looking straight into his face, but he kept his eyes on the fennel he was holding, knife poised for cutting again.

"Okay, you want to talk about what, my past relationships? All the other women I've fucked? Is that it?" He stared at me, eyes full of challenge. He returned his focus to slicing the fennel as if he bore it a serious grudge.

I traced the edges of the tiled work-top with my fingers, mind racing. Where was I going with this anyway? With just a mad hunch and a whole lot of hot-air bravado? He could call my bluff in the very next breath and I'd know I was wrong to come here. Wrong about all of this.

I had to try.

Stab in the dark.

"I dunno. You still seem pretty mad about something. About someone. Someone who hurt you. Or a bunch of people. I don't know."

"And that's why you refused to come here this weekend?"

"No. That was..." I sighed. "That was all me."

He grunted softly. "So I'm supposed to confess my past sins and everything will be fine, is that it?"

I did my best to ignore the sting in his voice. Tried my best to fight the mixture of hope and surreality of sitting here, watching him be Mr Domestic God while trying to crack open the deep well of hurt I knew was inside him. Or was the well inside me, and I just needed to know I wasn't the only one stung so deep and hard by rejection that I couldn't let anyone in? But I would let him in. I would.

"You've always doubted me, Jarod."

He seemed to absorb that, not answering right away. "Well, I barely know you." He shrugged one shoulder and kept chopping.

"It's more than that. I know it is."

He actually growled at that, his full gaze on mine and boring into me, intense and dark and wild.

"What do you want from me?" He pressed his hands down, shoulders hunched, eyes still glued to me, not letting me escape. A few thunderous heartbeats passed. When I didn't answer, he straightened, throwing some scraps into the bin with a great deal more vehemence than was necessary.

"You want to know about how I had a girl practically accuse me of being a rapist? How she was all over me one second, and the next she was making it very clear to me how rough and horrible and beastly she thought I was? Just looking at me like I was some sort of...of...animal?"

A rapist? What??

He stared at me, breathing hard. Wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter-top, and I wasn't certain if he was trying to break the island in half, or just hold himself together.

"Jarod-" But it just caught in my throat, and he was already raising a hand to stop my words.

"No, Steph, you wanted to hear this, so you get to hear it all." He pinned me there, with his eyes. Wild, intent eyes.

"You want to know how I tried to change myself, for years, and make myself into Mr Nice Guy because of her? Because she thought I was a monster? To make myself into someone you women could actually tolerate?"

I was gripping the edge of the island, trying to cope with the flood of words that kept coming and coming out of him. I was trying, I really was. But I just didn't understand. What had he done that would make someone think that of him?

"I don't-"

"Don't what?" he cut in. "Don't think I'm a monster?" He leaned in towards me, his face twisted in the closest thing to ugly his face could ever be.

"I don't know what you mean."

He lifted his hands and dropped them, looking away from me in exasperation. "Do you really need all the gory details? You want to be my little therapist now? My shrink?"

I pressed my palm to my forehead, pressing tight to the ache that was building there. "No, Jarod. I just want to understand. That's all I want."

He folded his arms and leaned back against the fridge, nodding.

I thought he was just going to stay there, silent, I waited so long.

He screwed his eyes closed and blinked a few times before looking at me again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, flat.

"There was this girl. I didn't talk to a lot of girls. When I was younger, before university. Made me nervous and fuck everything up when I tried. But she was different. She didn't force herself into my space. She was just always there, hanging around the edges of things, you know?"

He uncrossed his arms and stepped back towards the cutting board, laying a hand on the handle of the knife, but not picking it up, just looking at it.

"We would talk on the phone a lot. Late at night, when we were supposed to be asleep. And we'd talk about all sort of things." He shifted his hips, slid his foot against the tile floor. "And we talked about sexual stuff." He shrugged. "Nothing really, just silly fantasy stuff about what we'd do if we could. I was just stupid I guess. And on the phone, she seemed to love it. Said it was exciting. Said I wasn't like the other boys."

He pulled over some green leaves and started slicing them, slowly, carefully. When he spoke again, each sentence was a slice. Sharp and fine.

"I knew what she wanted. She wanted us to make love. So I did that. I made love to her. It probably wasn't all that great because I didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing. But I tried to be gentle with her. I know I was gentle."

I didn't know. But I knew. Somehow knew what was coming next.

Everything in me wanted to crawl the short distance over that damned island and take him in my arms and not make him say the next words. To hold him tight and swallow that pain with my mouth on his. To suck out the poison like some sort of snake bite and heal him. But even I couldn't do that.

"I couldn't help it. I was being gentle, but then I'm nearly-" He stopped, running a hand over his face, grimacing as he continued. "I'm nearly coming and there are all of these words coming out of my mouth. Things I never meant to say to anyone, let alone her. I didn't plan to say it or think about it, it just came out. All the things I really wanted to do with her. To her."

He gave me one last haunted look before quietly laying the knife down next to the cutting board as if he didn't trust himself with it in his hands anymore.

"She went completely still, underneath me. I'll never forget that. I don't know what she was actually thinking, but she just looked horrified. Terrified maybe. She started pushing at me and crying and babbling. It was just..."

He looked at me, a deep weariness in his face.

"She thought I was a monster, Steph. Some sort of pervert. And she ran away from me as fast as she could."

His knuckles started to go white where he was pressing his hands against the edge of the counter-top.

"So I let the women come to me if they wanted. And I did things their way, and let them play their games and fucked them and kept my bloody mouth shut. Because there is always that moment when something slips out and I can see in their faces that it's over. I'm not who they thought I was. I'm not Mr Nice Guy anymore. I'm too much. Not enough. No good. No fucking good."

My chest felt like it wanted to crush in on itself. Like I needed to sob, but couldn't find the air. I wasn't on the chair anymore. I was standing next to him, trying to pry his fingers from where they were gripping the edge of the island, my breath coming out in funny gasps.

I finally got through the barricade of his arms and wrapped mine around his waist, ignoring the rigid stiffness of his body. Ignoring his protests, his ragged, plaintive and unconvincing, "Steph, no."

I leaned my head back, desperate to catch his gaze but he kept turning his head away, grimacing.

"Are you happy now? It doesn't mean anything. Just a stupid thing that happened. I-"

"Shut up, Jarod."

I kissed him. Yup. That's right. Mousy me kissed a completely resistant man about three times my size. A man with a very sharp knife.

He went completely still. It was like pressing my mouth to a statue. All stone and coldness. But I could feel him shaking just a little, his arms braced either side of me. One little quiver and I knew I had him. I let my tongue trace ever so gently along the curve of his top lip.

He groaned against my mouth, one reluctant hand gripping my hip as if to push me away. I pressed myself against him, shameless, begging him to respond.

And then he sort of snapped, grabbing my hips with both hands, his lips giving in to mine in the most glorious way.

That tiled edge of the island was suddenly digging into my back, but the only thing I could really feel was his mouth open over mine, fierce, punishing me for my forwardness. Nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth, the pain sharp but so, so welcome.

"Steph, Steph..." he groaned against my cheek, and I was lost, sinking down into a heavy heat. Clinging to the solidity of his neck and shoulders I could only just hold on when put his mouth on my neck, open and ravenous and threatening to take more, to bite deep.

* * * * *

JAROD

He could feel her breathing so hard, even where he gripped her, high on the hips, just where her waist dipped in. He dug his fingers into the softness of her, not allowing himself to worry if he was hurting her. She'd come to him. No line set down. No rules given. She didn't even have to say it. What her kiss promised was the one thing he'd never allowed himself. The curl of her tongue the beckoning of a creature that wanted him. Wanted him.

But who was he? Maybe he was gentle. Maybe he was a sadistic bastard. Or maybe all these things and maybe more. All he wanted now was the salt-sweet taste of her on his tongue and the faint flower scent of her hair in his nose. And nothing else. Fuck everything else. There was nothing but this.

That fluttery pulse in her neck hammered against his tongue, just there. It called him and egged him on.

He couldn't get over how she felt through that damned cottony top. What was she wearing? Some thin, stretchy leggings that felt like barely anything at all. His chest was already burning from the breaths he couldn't take in between tasting the sweet spot under her ear and the hollow of her throat. All he knew was he wanted to dig his fingers into that soft, female warmth that was all her.

That and just roll those soft girly hips against his straining, aching erection. He groaned against her skin just at the thought of how it was going to feel. Rock hard against yielding, gorgeous softness.

He held off though, waiting for it, savouring the little frantic noises she was making when he threatened her pale, silky skin with his teeth. Scraping just hard enough to raise the goosebumps right up her arms and set her whimpering and trembling in his arms.

He wanted her focus. He wanted her to be in no doubt who she was with right now. Not one of those useless idiot boys who'd probably only seen far enough to con her into some cheap and filthy blow-job in the backseat of their hatchback and who'd completely missed the incredible woman he held. Right here. All his.

He left the sensitive skin of her neck alone for a moment, straightening, letting go of one of her lush little hips long enough to get a handful of her still-damp hair. It clung to his fingers like cold little snakes, twining, trapping him, drawing him closer to the warmth of her scalp.

"Steph. Stephanie. Look at me..."

The sooty line of lashed fluttered, then her eyes opened to his. He sucked in a unsteady breath at the dark dilation of her pupils and the sheer, naked need. Need for him, he hoped. So hoped.

He spread his hand along her lower back, tugging her away from the counter-top, eyes lost in the lazy heat of her gaze. He rocked his hips forward as he pulled her closer, pressed her against himself. Stifling a groan, he took a few very necessary deep breaths. God, she felt so good. Tight against him. Like her body was made for him to press his cock against. He had to swallow hard before he could speak again. When he did, he barely recognised his own voice.

"Do you feel that, love? Do you feel how much I want you?"

She shivered at that, a low humming moan in her throat, her eyes closing momentarily as she arched against him.

"You feel so good, babe-" he gasped, pushing her back to the counter again, both hands sliding around the sweet swell of her ass, rocking her up against him. How could something be so damned satisfying and so hunger-growing at exactly the same time. Feel so perfect but be so so far from enough all at once.

"Jarod-"

He drew back just barely, pushing his fingers into her hair, thumbs stroking softly at her temples, searching her eyes for the concern he'd heard in her voice.

"What is it babe, what's the matter?"

She shook her head, eyes closing. When she spoke, her bottom lip trembled, the shine of tears beneath her lashes.

"-Missed you. I missed you...so much-" the last bit coming out in a little hiccupy sob.

He crushed her against his chest. A chest gripped with a sudden tightness. She'd come back to him. That was all that mattered. She was here.

He drew back just far enough to look down into her face. Her eyes still damp, but the curve of her mouth told him it wasn't sadness she was feeling right now. One arm hitching her close around her waist, the other he allowed to gather in the heavy strands of her hair, tugging her head back swiftly enough to trigger her indrawn breath, her lids lowering instantly with a knowledge of what he was probably about to do next.