Blurred Lines Page 7

  Slowly coming back down Jason pulled Emma close to him and rested his head on top of hers. Even her hair smelt like Chanel and he breathed in deeply. He had so much to be thankful for and it was all down to this woman for helping him to see that there was still good in the world. Despite the reasons why they shouldn’t have just done what they did, he had no regrets and he knew that he wouldn’t have any in the future either. He’d never felt so at peace with himself or so ready to face up to his responsibilities again. Lying there in the dark with sleep just about to take over Jason knew he was ready to go back to work.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning didn’t bring the awkwardness that Jason usually experienced when waking from the night before, but then again, this time, he hadn’t been drunk and he’d been in complete control of his faculties when deciding to sleep with Emma.

  They’d both woken at around the same time and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Emma only had a few more hours before she had to leave for the airport and Jason didn’t want to spend it tip-toeing around wondering if she had any regrets.

  “So, about last night.” Emma looked up at him, and he felt himself being dragged deeper into her dark chocolate eyes. His cock twitched at the memory of those eyes looking down at him as he’d feasted on her pussy. He shook his head, trying to get back onto the subject.

  “I wanted you to know that I have no regrets. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so alive and I meant every word that I said to you. You are without a doubt the strongest, sexiest woman I’ve ever met. You’ve changed my life in ways I can’t even begin to explain and I will never, ever think that what we did was wrong.”

  “But…?”

  “What? No, there aren’t any buts. I guess I know that you’re headed off again today and the next time we meet will probably be when our parents are around and I don’t want there to be an atmosphere between us.”

  Emma felt a rush of gratitude flow through her. She’d tried her best to act normal this morning but she’d been worried about what Jason might be thinking and how things would be from now on.

  “You’re right of course. I absolutely loved last night. Don’t think that you’re the only one changed by this. I came here angry at you for not giving us a chance at being a family and now I don’t feel that anymore. Spending this time with you has been wonderful and I’ll always be thankful for that.” She grinned mischievously, “Mom and Donald are going to be so confused when they see us getting along so well.”

  Jason laughed. “Well, I won’t tell them the reason why if you don’t.”

  The idea of having a naughty secret between them felt quite empowering to Emma and she reached up and lightly nipped at Jason’s ear before whispering to him.

  “There was one thing that I will regret not getting to do last night.”

  Having a suspicion that he knew what she was talking about and not wanting to miss out on that, Jason looked up at the clock. “Well, we still have some time before I need to take you to the airport. What is it you wanted to do? It would be a shame for you to leave here with any regrets.”

  Emboldened by the night before, Emma was quick to sink to her knees. She could already see that Jason was semi hard through his jeans and she wasted no time in unzipping his flies and taking out his cock.

  The gasp that he made when she lightly ran her tongue over the tip filled her with desire and delight. With the salty taste of his precum on her lips, Emma took him further into her mouth, enjoying the feel of his cock growing harder as she sucked and licked it.

  “Jesus Emma, keep that up and I’m going to be coming deep in your mouth.”

  Although she really liked the sound of that Emma had a different scenario in mind. “Not yet you’re not. Like you said, it’s a few hours before I need to leave, plenty of time for you to fuck me again.”

  Standing up, Emma kissed Jason hard, her tongue lingering in his mouth so that he could taste himself on her. Already driven wild by the feel of his cock in her mouth Jason growled and pulled Emma’s hair slightly with his hand. His other hand made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt that she was wearing and exposing her naked body to his gaze.

  Seeing him run his eyes hungrily over her body made Emma’s pussy ache with need for him. She arched her back further, her breasts begging him to touch them. Still roughly holding her hair with one hand Jason lightly flicked at Emma’s nipple and Emma immediately groaned in response. She edged back slightly until she felt the back of the wooden table against her thigh. Pulling Jason with her she reached hungrily for his cock.

  “No more teasing Jason. Fuck me now please.”

  Lifting her slightly so that she was sat on the table Jason felt between her legs to make sure she was ready for him. Finding her pussy already dripping wet he wasted no time in plunging his cock deep inside her.

  “Yes, that’s it, that’s what I need.” Emma moaned as Jason started to fuck her. Bracing herself on the table with her arms she used her thighs to squeeze his hips, pulling him further into her. Jason’s hand reached up to tease her nipple again and she cried out as he his cock continued to drive into her.

  “You drive me wild Princess.” Jason moaned at her and Emma’s cunt squeezed tightly around him and her eyelids fluttered as she grew closer to orgasm. Flinging her head back further the only thing that mattered to her at this moment was Jason. The feel of his skin against her, his finger twisting and teasing her nipples and his cock filling her chased all other thoughts out of her mind. She was completely lost in the moment and the feeling of pleasure building and building inside of her. She came suddenly, without any warning. Shuddering against Jason as he buried his face into her hair and came hard inside of her.

  ***

  A few hours later and Jason found himself walking into his empty quiet house. His goodbye with Emma had been tinged with sadness and yet they had both realized that whilst they might never get to have sex with each other again the relationship between them was strong and it would never again go back to how it was before.

  Looking around his clean and tidy house, free of all bottles apart from the remains of one that he’d shared with Emma last night Jason also knew that his life couldn’t go back to how it was before either. Admittedly, he still had some way to go before he was completely over Mattie’s death if he ever got over it at all. But he was determined not to slip back into the ever spiraling darkness. In fact, he’d decided that he would ring his therapist tomorrow so that he could get back to work as soon as he could.

  Placing his keys down onto the side table he was shocked out of his thoughts by the sound of the phone ringing beside him. He looked down at it with slight confusion, most people just rang his mobile, who would ring the house phone? He picked up the receiver and spoke briefly to the person on the other end before softly putting it down again. He spent a few minutes staring at it whilst trying to take in the information he’d just been given. It looked like he wouldn’t need to go back to the therapist yet after all. He was back on duty and needed to pack immediately for North Africa.

  THE END

  Pump It!

  Chapter 1

  Tiffany checked the time on her phone and sighed gustily.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she said out loud, even though she was the only person in her apartment. But Tiffany had been living alone in a one-room apartment in busy Brooklyn for nearly two years now and was used to talking to herself. In the beginning, when talking to herself, had made her feel like a bit of a spazz, she’d bought herself a potted fern. She christened it Livingstone and drew a curly mustache on its pot to give it some character. Whenever she was worried that she might be starting to lose it, she would remind herself that she wasn’t actually talking to herself but to Livingstone. She didn’t mention this to anyone else because she had the sneaking suspicion that it would only make her sound crazier. Her mother was already making enough pointed remarks about cat ladies as it was.

  Tiffany sighe
d again and rolled her neck to ease the kinks out of it. She’d been working on this project for three hours without moving and her back was killing her. But she was only halfway through the necessary word count and the project was due tomorrow. When she’d first decided to become a romance novelist it had seemed like a great idea – she could work from home or her favorite café, choose her own hours and take projects that interested her.

  But Tiffany was an introvert by nature and she soon realized that if she wasn’t forced to talk to people – either at work or at school – then she tended to hole up and be a hermit. And here she was, predictably, holed up and acting like a hermit. Because the truth was that if Tiffany didn’t talk to Livingstone then there would be days when she never said a word out loud at all. And that seemed even more depressing to her. So she talked to Livingstone.

  With one last glance at the blinking cursor on her screen, Tiffany saved the document and left her desk, stretching her arms up over her head as she went. Opening her closet, she grabbed her gym bag. It was already 8pm and she was dying to hit the gym. The project could wait until she got home. She didn’t mind working late – it wasn’t like she had anything to do early the next morning. Picking her way across her messy studio apartment, Tiffany grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” she told Livingstone. “Don’t wait up. Who knows – maybe I’ll meet some hot guy at the bench press. Dream big, right?”

  Livingstone said nothing, but Tiffany thought he rustled his leaves in an encouraging kind of way. And, when it came to guys, Tiffany needed all the encouragement she could get.

  The elevator was empty when she got in and she used the mirrored walls to take a good long look at herself, tilting her head from side to side. Tiffany had always been pretty – even as a little girl her creamy skin, precise features, and enormous smile had made every photo taken of her a gem, no matter how badly her father had framed it. At 20, she was a classic southern belle with long, muscular legs, a trim waist that flared into a perfectly shaped ass, and a delicately-boned square face with long-lashed green eyes and thick tawny hair. In her small hometown in Georgia, her aunts had always joked about how her father would have to keep his rifle at the ready as soon as she hit middle school.

  “You’re going to be fighting the boys off left, right, and center, Harold,” Aunt Marge would cackle.

  “They’ll be climbing down the chimney while you sleep,” was Aunt Hettie’s favorite line.

  “Best start stockpiling buckshot now,” Aunt Grace would add, toasting her sisters with her ice tea, while Tiffany buried her red face in her arms and her father had glowered at his sisters-in-law. “You’ll need all you can get your hands on in a few years.”

  The good-natured teasing had always made Tiffany blush because, despite her good looks, she was shy and always felt nervous around strangers, especially boys – much to the chagrin of the local teens. Sometimes she wondered if it was because everyone always made such a fuss about her appearance that she felt so self-conscious. She wished everybody would just forget about it.

  When she moved to New York to attend design school, her mother had been thrilled, imagining that soon her daughter would catch the eye of some famous fashion designer who would put her up on the catwalk, which was where her mother believed she belonged. When Tiffany had tried to explain that she was going to New York to learn to design clothes, not wear them, her mother had waved her explanations aside and breezily told her not to be blind.

  “Anyone can see you were made to be admired. I just wish all those pageants had worked out. You could have been famous years ago by now,” she had said, brushing a curl of Tiffany’s hair behind her ear.

  Tiffany had shuddered, just like every other time her mother brought up pageants. One of her mother’s greatest disappointments in life was that her daughter had not been a pageant winner – which was not for a lack of trying on her part. She’d entered Tiffany in every local and state pageant she heard of until it became impossible for even her to deny that Tiffany just wasn’t cut out for it.

  Tiffany’s first pageant had been at the age of eight and her talent had been making music by running her finger along the rims of glasses filled with various levels of water. The assistant stage manager had wheeled out the trolley covered in glasses and Tiffany had been so nervous staring out at the dark crowd of strangers that, before even getting a single note out, she knocked over a glass, which had knocked over another glass, until suddenly, with an enormous crash, there was water and bits of broken glass everywhere. Two people sprained their ankles trying to stand in the slippery first row and a shard of glass escaped the cleaning crew and ended up wedged in the ballet slipper of one of the other girls in the next act. Tiffany was still crying when they got home, despite her father buying her an extra-large ice cream sundae with hot fudge sauce on the drive back.

  For all her mother’s efforts, it soon became clear that every time Tiffany went near a stage something catastrophic was soon to follow. After two years, four hospital visits, and half a dozen threats of legal action, Tiffany’s mother had finally given up on her dream of having a pageant star for a daughter – much to Tiffany’s relief. But by then she only had a few years left before the local boys started taking an interest in her – and that was a whole other set of humiliations.

  Caught up in her reminiscing, Tiffany left her building and headed for the subway. Sitting on the A line, she leaned her head back against the window and thought back to some of her more spectacular high school dating mishaps, doing her best to ignore the admiring glances the men (and several women) in the subway car were giving her while they pretended to be reading the paper or playing with their phones.

  In freshman year, Tom Cutler, the cutest boy in school had asked her to the spring dance. He was, as her best friend Sara had once squealed, “The cutest thing in saggy jeans ever to be seen in the state of Georgia.”

  With Sara by her side, Tiffany had gone out and bought a new dress just for the occasion. And that was when everything had begun to go wrong.

  “You have to take this one, Tiff. It looks amaaaaazing on you. It makes your skin look like gold, I swear to God,” Sara had said, waving a gauzy white dress with spaghetti straps by its hanger.

  “But it’s white, Sara. You know how klutzy I get when I’m nervous. I’ll spill something on it,” Tiffany worried. “What about this purple one? It’s nice and dark.”

  “Purple shmurple,” was Sara’s blunt reply. “It makes you look like a skinny eggplant. This one makes you look like a virgin, but shows just enough skin to make him wonder.”

  “But Sara,” Tiffany had whispered, blushing bright red, “I am a virgin. I don’t want to look like one too.”

  “Pff,” said Sara, who, having already made out with four members of their school’s football team, was recognized as the far more experienced of the two. “Boys like to think that they’re corrupting something innocent. Let them have their fantasy. Besides, like I said, it makes your skin look incredible. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, honey.”

  Tiffany did not want to flaunt it, but there seemed no other alternative. She bought the white dress.

  At first, it seemed like Sara was right. When Tom first caught sight of her in the school parking lot he’d stood with his mouth hanging open. The dress wasn’t particularly provocative, but it let you see just enough to kick-start your imagination– especially if you were a teenage boy whose imagination was already working overtime.

  Once he’d gotten over himself and closed his mouth, Tom had draped one long arm around her shoulders, bringing her tight to his side.

  “You look so hot,” he’d whispered in her ear with all the usual eloquence of a 16-year-old. His breath had smelled like tic tacs and the cheap beer the boys paid Marty Patterson’s older brother to buy for them. Tiffany had smiled, taking deep breaths to keep herself calm. Entranced, Tom had watched the way her breasts strained against the filmy white
fabric of her dress whenever she took a breath, her cleavage stretching the sweetheart neckline in a way that made his breathing go ragged too. Tiffany hadn’t had the nerves to tell him she could see he was watching.

  When he’d managed to tear his eyes away, he’d smiled that lopsided grin that made all the girls in school weak in the knees and asked if she wanted a drink.

  “Yes, please,” Tiffany had whispered.

  Squeezing her again, Tom led her to the food stand. She could still remember the feeling of his fingers stroking her bare shoulder and how it had made her skin prickle and her pussy tingle, which had made her blush.

  He bought her a coke, and that’s when everything went wrong.

  It made Tiffany so nervous to have him standing so close to her that her hands began to shake as she opened the bottle. They’d shaken so badly that, when she finally got the top off, coke exploded everywhere, covering them both in sticky brown soda from head to toe and ruining Tiffany’s new dress. Tiffany had been so mortified that she’d shoved the half-empty bottle back into Tom’s hands and took off running before he’d even managed to say a single word. By the time she’d gotten home, she was nearly in hysterics.