tagRomanceJust the Thought of You Ch. 03

Just the Thought of You Ch. 03


© 2014 Brunne

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, lovely readers – here is the final chapter of Stephanie and Jarod's story (chapter 3 of 3).

For those reading for the first time, you will want to go back and read:

* PART ONE - 'Under My Skin'

* PART TWO - 'Deep in the Heart of Me'

...otherwise not much of these chapters will make much sense!

For those of you who have waited all this time to read more and have kept me going with your encouragement - thank you. You are brilliant.

x Brunne

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


He couldn't keep them there like that forever. Her, half naked, splayed out on the unforgiving tile of the kitchen island. Him, crick steadily developing in his neck and an ache in his lower back. But somehow just resting there, face pressed against her stomach, feeling the steady throb of her pulse and the rise and fall of her breathing wasn't something he wanted to stop doing right now.

The euphoria was already beginning to drain away. Seeping down through his body. Leaving a coldness behind. And questions.

He rested his chin on her hipbone and stared up along her body to her face. She just lay there, eyes closed, still breathing fast, lashes fanned dark against flushed cheeks.

Why had she come all the way out here? Trekked all the way on her own, in the rain. Surely not just to get some confession of his past hurts.

And regardless of the fact she'd turned into a writhing passionate mad thing in his arms...well, that was just her. That was how she was. It didn't say anything to him, other than that the fact she was purely, simply being who she was. It didn't promise anything. It didn't explain anything.

Had she always been such a complete and utter mystery to him? Did he have any chance of ever understanding where she was coming from or going to?

He shifted their tangle of limbs and pushed down the groan that seemed to want to bubble all the way up from where he was still aching. Painfully aching.

Backing up slowly, he let her legs slide down next to his hips as gently as he could.

"Up. Come on," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral.

She turned her face away from him, not even making an attempt to pull herself into a sitting position.

"You're going to hurt yourself lying there," he said, knowing how insufficient it was as soon as he said it. How the words were a million light years away from what he should be saying to her right now. He just couldn't find anything else inside his head that wasn't bound up in some deep confession of feelings he didn't have the first clue how to articulate. All he could focus on was the fact that this thing wasn't sorted out yet, she was lying much too close to sharp kitchen implements on a very hard surface and he was still desperately aroused.

She groaned. Tried rolling up on one shoulder, before flopping back down again in defeat.

He didn't really stop to think. Just got a hand under her knees and the other just under her shoulders and rolled her into his arms. She clung to him, small hands clenching tight at his arms, gripping the material of his t-shirt in her little fists.

He rocked her back, her head nestling against his shoulder, her limbs boneless. He had to shift his grip so he didn't drop her.

He turned sideways when he got to the bedroom door, carefully watching that her feet didn't catch on the frame. Her face was buried against his neck. All this registered in his mind in some sort of hierarchy of sensations and observations, somewhere below the feel of her weight in his arms and the soft, soft skin in the little hollow at the back of her knee.

What he wasn't expecting when he lowered her onto the bed was the punch to the shoulder. And the other blow that landed on his chest. And then she was like some sort of wild thing, arms and fists flailing at him, her knees up, pushing him, some sort of mewling growl coming out of her.

"Steph, what-"

He made a grab for her wrists, trying to calm her, but she wasn't having any of it, jerking away from him and scooting up the bed. Where she sat, eyes wide and such an expression of anguish on her face. Her cheeks shone in the dim light. Oh fuck no, not tears again.

He sat himself on the edge of the bed, his back to her, head in hands, fingers combing through his hair.

"Every time, Jarod," she said, voice trembling, hands busy pulling her shirt down to cover her nakedness.

"What?" It burst out of him, sharper than he'd intended.

She crawled back a little closer to him, but stopped short of where he sat. "You know exactly what."

"No, no I don't," exploded from him, appealing to her, hands held out in front of him.

"You go cold, Jarod. Every single time. Just when I think we're finally getting somewhere. Finally getting close to something. Sharing something. And then I'm faced with a wall. A big brick wall made entirely of ice."

She was up on her knees, her hands in fists at her sides. How he longed to just lean. Lean in towards her and those little fisted hands and the arms he knew would wrap tight around him if he did.

Instead, he shrugged. Tugged at the knees of his jeans. Scowled.

Idiot. What are you doing?

He closed his eyes. Sighed, then breathed deep.

"Why, Steph? Why did you really show up here?"

She sat back on her heels, hands still clenched tight against her thighs. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know. To berate me? To tell me what a complete prick I am?" He knew. He wrestled with it. He knew he should just man-up and say it and stop playing stupid, silly, petty games. This was too important to fuck up. He sighed.

"Okay, so...maybe you wanted us to talk."

She sat back a little further, as if she hadn't expected him to give in quite that easily. Nodding slowly, she tucked what she could of her thin, cottony shirt under her legs.

"Yes," she said, still smoothing her hands over the fabric. "To talk."

But he wasn't thinking quite so much about understanding her line of questioning. Instead, he was staring at the bottom edge of her shirt, where it barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. And at the shadowy promise beneath.

* * * * *


I should have known from that particular dark glint in his eye as he looked at me just then. Should have known he would suddenly be up on the bed and on top of me, pushing me back into the soft give of the duvet-covered mattress and the raft of pillows at the head of the bed. Should have expected the open-palmed pressure of his hands on my wrists and the rough knee pushing my bare legs apart.

"I don't think you really want to talk," he breathed, lips right up next to my ear, brushing lightly against my hair. Tickling, tingling down my neck with his words.

It was true, of course. Talking was rather far from my mind at that exact second. Especially because with his knee between mine, I couldn't escape the distinct sensation of his erection pressing insistently against my inner thigh through his jeans. I think I arched up off the bed from that alone. But then he grabbed my hand and pressed it right there, tight against him, moulding my palm along the inescapable jut of it, pushing against my hand.

"Does that still feel cold to you? You think I'm anywhere near cold?" he growled into my ear.

God no. Heavens no. Even through his jeans he was just radiating heat and an eagerness that was making it nearly impossible for me to breathe. My fingers closed in around him without a thought. My greedy little fingers trying to map the length and breadth of him through the rough fabric, thrilling at the low, guttural groan he buried against my neck.

He was right. This was exactly why I'd come all this way. To feel him looming over me. Holding me down. Coming apart in my hands. This was exactly why I was here.

His mouth was finding a cosy home against my neck, making my breath catch every time he opened his lips over my skin, pressing hard with the slick flat of his tongue, razoring over that same sensitised area with those evil teeth of his.

I just wanted to feel it again. That heart-stopping rush when he bit down. When the pressure and the sharpness and the sheer wrongness of it burst through and plunged me into some swirling depth where the only lifeline was him. Connected by a glowing strand of light, tugging, pulling me closer. Swamped in wave after wave of that light. That's what I wanted.

It was as if he sensed my unspoken request. He stilled. Knee still pressed up against me. Hands spread in restraint over mine. He lifted his head and looked down into my face. Such a dark thing roaming behind those eyes of his. A sorry, lost creature. Desperate to come home. To come in out of the cold.

With everything in my being I said the only thing that could be said.


At first I didn't think he was going to. His eyes left mine for just long enough to make me think he might. But then he was dipping his head and his lips brushed against mine. Soft, so softy. Caught my lower lip with his teeth, teasing, sharp, but not what I was begging him for. I couldn't speak, only press my frantic thoughts into the air between us in some desperation that he wouldn't make me beg for it.

"Say it," he whispered against my mouth.

Oh god. No. Don't make me say it.

"Please Jarod..." I shivered, my body rising off the bed without me asking it to.

"Please what?"

I opened my eyes and he was still levelling that lost look at me. He wasn't playing games. He needed me to say it. Wanted my permission. My approval. Of him.

"Bite me...Jarod, please-"

But his mouth was already pressed hot and wild against my neck, just there in the hollow where it met my shoulder. He went very still. Held himself there, a slow slide of his tongue over my skin the only thing moving in the room. In the entire universe. Just the points of his teeth resting lightly on my skin. And then the explosion of incredible pleasure-pain when his jaw clenched and he bit down. So hard, so so...

I didn't recognise the sound that came out of my chest as me. Relief, gasping relief and the most incredible heat and rolling pleasure blooming up from low in my body up and through my limbs. I could hear him moaning against me, groaning when he shifted his grip with his teeth and bit slowly down again.

He pushed my hands up higher, over my head. His knees shifting and pushing my legs open, his hips seeking me. His mouth still on my neck and the heat and the pressure of it. Behind my eyelids it was all blinding white and breathless airlessness.

The shock of it slowed. Replaced by a growing warmth. Glowing, growing warmth. The pressure on my neck released, slowly. Replaced by a lapping tongue. Soothing lips. Light kisses. I felt him relax into me, his shoulders dropping, his hands flexing closed around mine, chest rising and falling in time with mine.

"God, Steph-" he whispered against my cheek.

Something hot and wet began at the outer corners of my eyes and turned out to be tears. Tears of what?

I tightened my fingers around his, rubbing with my thumbs, soothing. Then not soothing. Stroking, licking at him with my fingers, the friction of my finger tips on his skin, pressing deeper.

He rocked forward with his hips, and I couldn't think about my hands any more, even when he pressed them deeper into the pillows. Just the pressure of his body. The rough scrape of denim against parts of

me he'd already rubbed raw with his stubble.

It obviously wasn't enough for him. Not close enough by far. With one last squeeze of my fingers he pushed himself back onto his heels on the bed. My legs still draped over his thighs, my shirt pushed up around my hips.

He was fighting his way out of his t-shirt. And I wasn't unhappy about this. In the dim light filtering through from the living room, I had all the visibility I needed to start digging my fingers into all those pretty little muscular indents along his ribs. Rubbing in with my thumbs, catching his jagged in and out breaths. Such a short little journey up to where his nipples stood out, as if waiting for me to touch them.

Just the one barest of touches with my fingertips and he was hissing in a breath and grabbing for my wrists. Such a sensitive boy. He stared down at me, eyelids lowered and his lips just that little bit parted from the fast breaths he was taking. Dark eyes, despite their pale, pale grey. He released my wrists, but the look in his eyes pinned me down in a way his hands and his legs and his body couldn't.

I lay, unable to move, listening to the snick and drag of his belt being unbuckled. I disappeared in a cloud of cotton when he took the hem of my blouse and stripped it off over my head. A few tugs, and my bra followed it to the floor.

I had to close my eyes and breathe deep breaths when he pulled back and rolled to the edge of the bed to tug his jeans and boxers off. That heavy, intoxicated feeling was kicking in. I only opened my eyes again when he crawled his way back up my body, wrapped my legs around his hips and walked his hands up next to my shoulders. His beautiful, stern face hovering there, over mine. Lips dipping low and capturing mine, slow and thoughtful. Testing. Tasting. Just the slight flick of his tongue drawing the breath of a whimper from my chest. The nudge of his hips and his erection brushing gently against my stomach making me arch greedily.

But he was taking his time. Making the kiss deeper, resting his elbows into the pillows either side of my head and just taking his damned time. Like he'd never kissed a girl before and needed to find out how everything felt and tasted. Except that at the same time he knew exactly what to do. I could feel the drug of it filling my body. Deep, thudding, expanding. Slick tongue doing battle with mine. And then something kicked off and he was suddenly hungry. Kissing me hard and wild and greedy. One hand tangling in my hair, the other digging fingers into my hip. Maybe because I'd started to rock up against him without meaning to. And moaning. A lot of moaning.

He slid his knees back away from me on the bed, flattening his body over mine. Pressing me into the bed so I nearly hadn't got the breath to go on. My nipples brushing up against the silkiness of his chest hair had me shivering and arching for more. But still he held himself away from me, braced on his arms. Except for where our hips came together. There he was shifting himself down and flexing and somehow finding the aching wetness between my legs and just sliding through it with that amazing cock of his. Pressing and rubbing against my clit with the unyielding ridge of himself. Slow and steady like he had all day. Like he didn't have me whimpering and bucking underneath him.

It wasn't until I could start to feel the trembling in his arms that I knew he was just as near the edge as I was. I was losing all control over my body from the sheer need to have him inside me. I clutched at his arms, digging my fingers into the already straining muscles. He just slid his hands further up under me, cradling my upper body on his arms, never stopping with the rub and slide against me that had me gasping and nearly weeping with needing him.

He slowed his movements and dropped his mouth down near my ear. Warm breath bathed my skin. Lips just brushing my ear. Voice low and breathless, but intense, insistent.

"Say you'll stay..."

Stay? Stay where? Did it matter? If it was with him...


"I can't hear you," and he braced himself above me, staring down. Storms fighting in those grey eyes.

"Yes, I'll stay," I said, speaking each word in-between little whimper-cries when he rubbed himself just there. I was so close. So near the edge. An orgasm just on the other side of the next press of his slick, velvety skin against my clit. But not yet. Please not yet. Not until he was deep inside and filling up every emptiness I'd ever felt.

"You'll stay with me..." He was gathering his knees under him now, his arms tightening around my ribcage.

Of course I will. Where else could I go? Where else could I be?

"God, Jarod...yes, always-"

The 'always' seemed to wring a ragged groan out of him, his head tipping back. Then he was bending down again and his lips were finding mine. Insistent tongue seeking me out, consuming me entirely with his mouth. And he was dragging a hand out from under me to tug my legs higher around his waist, settling the head of his cock right against me. Pressing in, slow. Pulling back and pressing again. Then sinking deep and deep, getting me right at the end with a sharp little thrust.

That's about the point where I started to go to pieces. The orgasm just started there and built in waves as he angled his hips to mine and began to fuck. Slow at first, grinding into me with each agonising thrust. Then losing rhythm and growing faster, more frantic. Letting himself go.

I had my hands gripped to his shoulders and felt it. The moment he dropped everything and just let the control roll away. The moment when he gave in to the free, flying soaring feeling he was already giving me.

* * * * *


He woke in the dark. The small, low wall of her body pressing tightly, warmly, into the front of him. He'd fallen asleep with the soft scent of flowers. He'd dreamed of flowers. He buried his face deeper into the silkiness of her hair, and slept.

* * * * *


When I surfaced from sleep again, it was with sunlight streaming in through a little window on the far side of the room. I just lay there, body numb with the rise from sleep. That and the realisation that I was in bed alone.

I pulled the pillow over my head. There was no way I could face the dancing dust motes in that beautiful golden sliver of light. How could it fade so quickly. The feeling of really being with him. And yet here I was again. Left alone in the bed. Discarded.

I threw the pillow off the bed and flipped onto my back, tangled in the sheets and biting back the urge to scream. My hands opened and closed in fists next to my buzzing ears. No, dammit, I was not going to cry.

With my eyes screwed shut I only just heard him open the bedroom door. Then I was being jostled, his big warm body clambering up the bed and up my body until he was half draped over me.

"We have a problem." He announced this.

Fuck. He wanted to have this conversation while pinning me to the bed? What, so I wouldn't run out half-way through?

Then his thumb was pressing on my forehead, rubbing in a slow, sweet circle, right between my clenched eyebrows.

"I mean, it's serious. But not that serious," he said.

I cracked an eye open. He was staring down at me, head cocked to one side, frowning.

"What?" I said, perhaps with little too much vehemence. A vehemence which may or may not have had something to do with the warm curls of sensation his body pressing down on me was creating low in my belly. Really?

"We haven't got any eggs."

I blinked and stared at the ceiling for several seconds before turning my head back towards him.

"That's our problem. No eggs," I repeated, stupidly.

"Yeah," he sighed, with what sounded like genuine disappointment.

I tried to turn towards him, heaving at the leg holding mine down, giving up when he wouldn't budge. I had to satisfy myself with shifting my upper body. Anything to get a better look at this stranger in the bed with me. What had he done with Jarod?

He just lay there, those silver eyes warmed almost golden with the sun pouring through the window. Who knew morning stubble could be breathtaking? Tousled head propped up on one hand, the other one straying somewhere dangerously close to my hip. I swatted it away, and instantly wanted it back. There and maybe...other places. Damn him!

"You're serious." I stared at him.

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