Tybalt and Juliet Ch. 13

I glanced up from my book. Jake was setting out the glasses and cutlery on the dining table between the kitchen and living areas. He had his back to me. My eyes alighted on his butt; even through his jeans you could tell he had a fantastic bottom. Pert, firm, muscular. I shivered in anticipation. I was so lucky.

I don't remember the first time I saw Jake. But certainly, by the end of my first term at the school, I was aware of a handsome blond, about six feet tall, who carried his guitar on his back. He was one of the small group of students who lived in exile in the science block; I never saw him in lessons. For a long time, I wasn't even sure if he was in my year group - maybe I thought he was in the Upper Sixth. In any event I assumed he was already spoken for; Lauren seemingly never left his side.

Maybe it wasn't until Mr Lane put us together at the last minute for the Easter concert, that I actually spoke to him. I remember being struck by the sound of his speaking voice - a soft baritone that conveyed wisdom and authority in equal measure.

The following term, I saw Jake more frequently: The school put on weekly interview preparation classes for the students who were applying to Oxford or Cambridge. There were three of us - me, Jake and, of course, Ritchie. We'd meet with the headteacher for an hour to talk about current affairs, normally with a few newspaper articles to start us off.

Perhaps I should have wised up to Ritchie's character at that point, but I was still a little star-struck by the Head Boy's presence. He was brimming with confidence, born of a certainty that he was destined for one of the country's top universities. He had a chummy, smirking rapport with the headteacher, which he'd exploit to great effect - often to take over or pour scorn on a point that Jake was making. It was a routine honed to perfection in the confines of the school classroom, but in a professor's study in Oxford, it had fallen flat. Without Jake's ideas to steal or shoot down, Ritchie was simply lost - the empty vessel that made the greatest sound, as Shakespeare would have put it.

Jake participated in those classes as well as he could, despite Ritchie's interruptions and grandstanding. He'd speak slowly, thinking through the various aspects of an issue before coming to a position. There was a methodical character to his reasoning, which I think impressed his interviewers at Cambridge - they weren't looking for someone who'd prattle off a simplistic, one-dimensional answer and then sit back waiting for applause.

I shuddered. Why was I thinking about Ritchie on my 19th birthday?

There was the sound of a cork popping. I glanced up from my book. Jake was standing with his back to me, pouring out the wine. He picked up a box of matches and lit the candles on the dining room table.

He turned and smiled. "Dinner is served," he said quietly.

-

After the meal, we settled down to watch a DVD on my new laptop, the one I'd received as a birthday present from Mum. We'd watched Amélie together on our first visit to Dorset but, although Jake seemed to enjoy it, he really wasn't into romcoms. I'd been at a bit of a loss as to what to choose this time, until Rob had suggested Rear Window as a good introduction to Alfred Hitchcock. That was a great success and the two of us snuggled together on the sofa as the movie played on the small screen.

After the film was over, I cleared away the things from dinner and went upstairs to prepare for the night to come.

When I returned, Jake was sitting on the goatskin rug in front of the fireplace. He'd put a couple more logs into the grate and was watching as they caught light. He didn't react when I came down the stairs behind him, but just sat there staring into the flames.

I knelt down next to him and put my head on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently. "Is it Ritchie?"

Jake kissed me on the side of my head and the two of us stared for a few minutes at the burning logs.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I suppose it's lots of things."

I stroked my hand across his back and gave a low murmur of encouragement.

"But yeah, now we've got the date of the hearing, maybe it's all suddenly got real."

There was a hiss and a crackle as one of the logs shifted slightly in the grate.

"Everyone thinks I'm a hero for fighting him off," he continued, more than a hint of frustration in his voice. "Even your mum." He turned to me, an earnest look in his eyes. "But I'm not; I'm really not." He shook his head slowly.

"If I'd have been a hero, I'd have told the teachers about the scrap I had with him in the bathroom and taken you straight home. We should never have stayed at the prom. I'm sorry Amy, I let you down. I put your life in danger."

I shook my head. "But you didn't know he was going to do it," I said. "Nothing you did made Ritchie pick up that knife. That was his choice - that's why he's being tried."

He shook his head.

"But if Billy hadn't been there, who knows what Ritchie would have done with that broken glass bottle in his hands. I was out cold on the ground - I couldn't have protected you. I let you down. I'm sorry." he said miserably.

I shook my head. Jake hadn't talked like this before. I was a little shocked - he'd been keeping this inside for all this time.

"But Billy was there," I said quietly.

"That's not the point," he snapped, exasperated.

"It's exactly the point," I retorted.

I got up and walked over to the chair where his jacket was hanging. I fished in the pocket for his phone and unlocked the screen. I made my way back to the fireplace, scrolling through the photo galleries.

I found the picture I was looking for: two boys with blond hair, dressed in tuxedos, excited and ready for the prom, arms on each other's shoulders, smiling together as if the best of friends - Jake and Billy.

"I know you asked Billy for this photo," I said, presenting the screen to him. "I know you did. You told him that you'd look back on it when you were old men and wonder why you'd hated each other."

Tears were welling up in Jake's eyes.

"This is the moment, Jake, that your enemy became your friend," I continued, more softly this time. "This is the moment you made sure that Billy ran after Ritchie. This is the moment you made sure I wasn't left on my own. This is the moment Jake, that you protected me."

I flung my arms around him, embracing him. He buried his head against my shoulder as he fought against his tears. He'd been my rock for the past six months - he'd shown me the person I really was; now I was holding the mirror up for him.

A long silence passed between us, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire.

"It's such a waste," he said quietly. "Ritchie's ruined his life for what - two minutes of anger. He's a bright guy, he deserves his time at university - a good university. He'll be inside while we're having the best years of our lives. He's thrown all that away, all of it - for nothing."

I turned and stroked my boyfriend's cheek gently, wiping away the tears. Ritchie would have loved to think he could get under Jake's skin from the comfort his cell. He'd have revelled in the knowledge that Jake felt hatred and anger towards him - that there'd still be a score to settle, years down the line.

But Jake didn't feel any of that at all: No anger, no hatred, not even fear.

Pity was the only emotion Jake felt for Ritchie. Whether he knew it or not, that was the greatest insult he could pay him. His attacker's defeat was absolute - he had no way back into Jake's head, he never had. That was Jake's victory.

My Jake. My hero.

I stared deep into his crystal-blue eyes. My heart surged with love as I held his hands in mine. I wanted to honour him, to be united with him, to give my body to him, more than ever.

I put my arms around him and pulled his chest against mine, holding him close as he nuzzled my hair. I felt him gently stroke my back through the soft cashmere of my sweater, as the shadows around us danced in the firelight. I felt so secure in his embrace.

I thought back to the first time Jake had held me in his arms. We'd been at the party at James' house and I'd run into the kitchen to get away from Ritchie. I'd been frightened, so frightened - scared that the same thing that'd happened to Mum would happen to me. But at the very moment I needed a protector, Jake had appeared from nowhere - ready to defend me, ready to comfort me. Within seconds, he'd sent Ritchie packing and then he'd held me, safe, as I sobbed quietly into his chest, waves of relief washing over me.

My Jake. My hero.

I pushed back a little, watching the soft glow of the fire shining in his eyes. I kissed him lightly on the lips, then pressed against him more firmly.

I felt him recoil slightly in surprise, but he responded willingly, letting his tongue play against mine. The heat was rising in my core; I moaned into his mouth, betraying my passion to him.

Blindly my fingers searched for the hem of his sweater. I gripped the smooth cotton of his shirt and pulled it upwards, freeing it from his trousers. I ran my hands under the fabric, exploring the cool firmness of his skin.

I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead against his, praying that he wouldn't push me away, fearing he'd protest that he wasn't in the mood.

But to my relief he didn't.

I held my fingers against his stomach, feeling the ridges of his muscles and the line of hairs leading downwards from his navel. How I longed to follow that trail, to dip below his waistband, to take hold of him.

I pushed away from him and our eyes met. I recognised the look he was giving me, it was the look he gave when he wasn't sure what I wanted - confused, slightly anxious even - wanting me to take the lead, however briefly, to show him what I needed him to do.

He stiffened a little as I removed my hands and the tiniest flicker of disappointment flitted across his face. But I grabbed the hem of his sweater and slid it upwards, trying not to catch the buttons of the garment beneath. He reached down to help me pull it over his head.

Now the shirt. It was the same one he'd worn on the night we lost our virginities. The cuffs were fiddly to unfasten, I remembered - nerves had made the task so much harder. I moved down the line of buttons on the front, releasing each one in turn, revealing his torso methodically, unwrapping my real birthday present!

I slipped my hands across his chest, raking my fingers through his little wispy hairs, then eased the shirt from his shoulders. I pressed my head against his pecs, inhaling his scent. Magnificent. Heavenly. Intoxicating.

I held my balance as I rolled back a little and swung my legs either side of his - now I was sitting, not kneeling.

I felt him delicately kiss my forehead, almost in encouragement, as if he knew what I was about to do. I reached upwards, holding both arms above my head and looked again, deep into his eyes.

"Please," I whispered.

He obeyed and lifted the hems of my sweater and blouse, pulling them together over my head. Cradling my face in his hands, he held his fingertips against my jawline as we kissed.

I leaned backwards, lowering my body to the rug, sinking my shoulders into the soft fur of the goatskin. Jake was still kneeling upright, alert between my legs. His bronzed skin glowed with a radiance that I hadn't seen before and the silky, golden threads on his chest shimmered in the light of the fire.

My mouth was dry with anticipation.

I tried to picture the image I presented to him: Lying below him, my face framed by the dark curls of my hair, my upper body naked except for the peach satin bra I'd bought for only him to see.

I looked upwards. I knew that expression so well - the lopsided half-smile, his eyes glazed, lust painted all over his face.

I reached up with my right arm, took his hand and gently pulled him downwards to lie on top of me. Jake's face moved over mine and he looked down at me. He stroked a few stray curls from my face.

"You're so precious to me Amy," he whispered. "I love you so much."

I reached up to wrap my legs around his bottom, pulling his crotch against mine. He was so hard! I gasped in delight. His smile widened.

Again, I was transported back in time: Easter Saturday - the first time we'd made out properly. Our relationship was barely a week old, but I'd seen Jake every day. He'd sat opposite me in our dining room, working diligently away on his exam revision. Six feet of blond magnificence, across the table from me - a forbidden fruit - the ultimate torture. I'd longed to explore his body, to kiss him, to caress him, but I couldn't. My family were always in the house with us; Mum was trying to catch us out; I didn't dare do anything.

All week, the monotony of schoolwork had stoked the tension within me. I'd lain awake on the Friday night, gently stroking myself to orgasm, imaging Jake's firm body on top of me, his hardness against my sex, his skin against mine. I'd cum so hard, so, so hard. I wanted him, I needed him.

I'd woken on the Saturday morning, hornier than ever before. Finally, we'd be alone in the house together!

But of course, it had been nearly impossible to get my chivalrous boyfriend upstairs. It had taken three goes before he finally crossed the threshold to my room. I'd jumped on him, had ripped his top from him and then let him do the same to me. I'd asked to keep my bra on, quite why I don't know, and then he'd lain down on top of me. We'd ground against each other - it hadn't taken much, I'd been on the edge all week - he'd made me cum for the first time - held me as the waves of pleasure crashed through me.

The fire crackled, waking me from my memories. I looked up into my boyfriend's eyes.

"Please Jake," I whispered. "Make love to me."

He glanced across the room, looking towards the stairs, as if deciding how best to carry me to the bedroom.

I placed a hand on his upper arm.

"Here Jake, please," I whispered, "in front of the fire."

His eyes widened and an excited smile crept cross his face. I felt the soft touch of his lips on mine, then down my neck to my collarbone. He kissed across the tops of my satin-clad breasts and down the little valley between them. I hoped he'd notice the clasp was at the front, I hadn't worn a bra like that before.

More kisses, across my abdomen. He looked up at me, his eyes shining.

"You're getting a six pack!" he teased. "It's all that riding!"

I smiled back but didn't answer. There was only one thing I'd be riding this weekend and that was Jake.

He kissed across the waistband of my jeans, then, after a quick glance to check it was OK, he unfastened the button and cautiously slid the zip downwards. He shuffled back on his knees, giving himself space to ease my trousers from me, revealing first the peach satin panties that matched my bra, then the knee-length white stockings that I'd bought at the same time.

Jake's mouth hung open; his eyes wide with delight. He was mute, dumbstruck by the vision before him, bewitched by the sight of my body below him. He was under my spell - that was so hot; I nearly came there and then.

He searched for words, struggling to find his voice.

"Fuck Amy, you are so beautiful, wow, just amazing!" he gabbled, delirious with lust.

I lifted my legs to place my feet on his abs. I could see the outline of his cock slung diagonally towards his hip, imprisoned by the denim. That had to hurt - the poor boy was straining for release. I ran one of my big toes along his bulge, testing his length. I always marvelled at his size, even now after six months.

"Fuck Amy," he groaned, closing his eyes and leaning back a little.

Emboldened, I gripped his cock between my feet and rubbed across the surface of his jeans. He caught one of my ankles and lifted my foot to his face. He kissed the end of my toes and the the sole of my stocking.

I let him push my legs either side of his. He moved forward a little, catching my waist and pulling my crotch upwards to meet his; I ground against him, my shoulders still resting on the rug, straining to rub my mound against his hardness, gyrating my hips like a slutty pole dancer. I was shocking myself with my own behaviour; nice girls didn't do things like that. But I didn't want to be a nice girl anymore, I wanted to be Jake's bitch!

"Fuck Amy!" he cried, "that's so fucking hot you little minx!"

He bent forwards again to kiss me, then lay down on top of me again. I threw my arms around him and gripped his hips more tightly with my legs. He pressed against me again, harder this time, grinding against my furnace.

"Amy," he whispered, half-catching his breath. "I'm gonna flip us over."

Now I was on top of him, rocking my hips, rubbing my sex against the monster hidden in his jeans. We were both hot and horny, both breathing hard. Our skin glistened with perspiration as the flames danced in the grate beside us.

My fingers scrabbled for the brass button on his waistband. I found it and ripped the fastening apart. I released the zip, then stood as I removed his trousers and socks with a flourish.

My boyfriend lay beneath me, naked except for his white boxer briefs, the embodiment of divine beauty, a demi-god ready to unleash his power on me. My eyes alighted on his delicious cock, ready to burst from his underwear. A little drop of pre-cum had seeped onto the fabric - I licked my lips. My heart pounded in my chest and my nipples throbbed in anguished anticipation.

It took all my self-control not to leap on him and ravish him as he lay there. But I couldn't -we needed to be protected.

I bent down and kissed him. "I need to go upstairs," I whispered. "I'll come straight back. I promise."

I ripped my eyes away from my man and ran up to the bathroom to grab a towel; then, to the bedroom, to retrieve two condoms and a bottle of lube from my bag.

I flew back down the stairs to rejoin him. Jake was kneeling with his back to me, stoking the fire. I picked up a cushion from the sofa and crouched down behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest. We watched together in silence as the fresh wood caught alight, the flames licking greedily at the new logs.

"Time to fuck the birthday girl!" I whispered in his ear.

I pulled him to his feet, manoeuvring him into the centre of the rug. Proudly I stood before him, watching as he feasted his eyes on my body. Slowly he reached forwards with both hands and undid the clasp at the front of my bra. I purred with delight as the cups fell open, exposing my breasts to him for the first time that evening.

He swept his palms across my pert mounds, then drew his hands upwards to slide the loose straps from my shoulders. He bent forwards to kiss me, brushing the underside of my jaw with his fingertips, spreading that warm, tingling sensation throughout my body. He was such a good kisser - the way he let his tongue dance with mine - simply magical - sometimes softer, sometimes firmer, swirling, caressing, always tender.

Jake picked up the cushion from where it was resting against the coffee table and placed it on the rug in front of me. Then, resting his hands lightly against my hips, he knelt to worship my breasts.

Instinctively I moved my hand to cradle his head, sinking my fingers into his rich, blond curls. How I loved his hair, the way it would move and shimmer as he laughed. I closed my eyes as I felt his tongue sliding across my nipple.

I loved the way that Jake kissed my breasts. The two of us had spied on his cousin and his best friend making out in one of the barns back in the spring. Danny's technique (if that's what you could call it) could not have been more different; he'd slobbered over Lauren's ample bust with the grace of a thirsty bloodhound, noisily coating her nipples with enough saliva to sink the Titanic.