28
Sloane
Willa: I joined Violet in this chat to get the full picture. What are the chances that sweet Sloane and the grumpy hockey guy will hook up before they get back to Chestnut Springs?
Summer: Why are you so interested in this?
Willa: Nobody deserves the last name Woodcock. He’d have to look like Henry Cavill and fuck like Peter North for me to overlook him.
Violet: Ew. Have you seen Peter North? So tanned. So greasy.
Willa: That’s why I said he would have to look like Henry Cavill.
Summer: Wait, please. Googling Peter North.
Violet: Lmao. Careful.
Summer: Well, he seems… talented. It doesn’t make me angry.
Willa: I’m just mad at Sloane for not responding.
Violet: Based on the way she and Jasper have been looking at each other, I think she might be busy.
Sloane: You guys are a bunch of dirty, nosy bitches.
Summer: Where’s the lie?
Willa: Just tell us! On a scale of one to Peter North, how big is P Jasper?
I get out of the shower for the umpteenth time since Jasper and I started fucking. It seems getting dirty is his new favorite pastime. And I’m definitely not complaining.
“Get on the bed,” I hear from behind me.
A shiver runs down my spine before I even turn to him. The bite in his voice makes my insides twist with anticipation, and when I turn to look at him, I’m instantly wet.
Makes you drool in your boxers and an open flannel shirt. I see my tattoo peeking out above her ribs, and a blinding flash of jealousy hits me, clawing painfully at the back of my throat as I wonder how many women have run their hands over that tattoo.
-I’m the only one? I blurt out, ignoring his order to get on the bed.
His head tilts, and he looks almost predatory now.
-The only one?
I realize you’re not in the mood for this conversation. I realize he’s let his head wander where it shouldn’t, and this look is that.
Jasper is nervous, probably about the trip home, and I push him anyway.
-In your life. The one you are with. “I hold the white towel tighter as if it could keep me safe from this very insecure conversation I’ve started.
“Get on the bed,” he repeats. Now.
I want to demand that he answer me, but I also want to pretend that I never told him. I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, probably looking as sullen as I suddenly feel.
Maybe it’s because our stay here has already ended after two short days. This morning we packed our bags and hitched the truck back to an empty trailer.
Maybe it’s because this morning I had to say goodbye to Violet and everyone else before they went back to work. I miss seeing my cousin. She is my closest and most constant friend.
Or maybe it’s just the hot damn mess of this last couple of weeks piling up and making me feel a little emotionally twisted.
“Lie down.” But turn around. I want your head on the side of the bed.
I do what he says. The emotion of the way he orders me drives away the doubts from my mind. It’s still Jasper. My Jasper. The boy with sad eyes and a heart of gold that I have trusted for years.
Lying here waiting, I hear him approaching. In a few seconds he is in my field of vision, above me. Serious eyes, clenched jaw.
He leans down and kisses me, pulling my wet hair to tilt my head. This kiss is not soft or searching, it is a demand.
When he decides it’s done, he pulls away and growls in my ear, “You’re the only one, Sloane.” Never doubt it.
His tone gives no room for debate, but I blurt out: “I know there has been…
He interrupts me with a dismissive shake of his head.
“We’re both adults, Sloane. Let’s not pretend we haven’t lived our lives. We’ve both been with other people. But the real question is….
His thumb caresses my jaw as he pushes the towel away, exposing my body as his eyes devour every inch.
“The real question is: do any of those other people matter when I only see you?” When I only think of you? When I’ve done nothing but become more and more obsessed with you since I was told to stay away from you?
Whine. Or moan. Or I make some kind of noise you might make when someone punches you in the gut.
“Do they matter, Sloane?” Do they matter? Does any of that seem to matter compared to what you and I are going through right now? In view of eighteen years of friendship? In view of loving each other for so long? Is anyone else even a factor? Even a blip on the radar?
“No,” I whisper instantly. When he says it like that, no.
No no no no no.
“None of that matters.
-That’s how it is. His fingers run over my lips. The answer is no. None of that matters. Because it’s you and me. We are. Improbable and inevitable at the same time. We are forever.
I nod, suppressing the sudden sting in my eyes. Because Jasper is not an overly emotional man, and this may be the first time I’ve heard him admit what all this means to him.
What it meant to him.
With a quick squeeze to my throat, he murmurs into my hair, “Now hang your head over the edge of this bed and open your mouth.”
I watch enthralled as his impressive cock swings above me, without his underwear. Last night he put me on my knees and taught me how to suck him, like I asked. I came from his dirty words and the pressure of my thighs clenching as I sucked him off. Without a doubt, it was the first time someone had convinced me to have an orgasm.
I lick my lips as he drops his cock onto my face and gently positions me. Then he is leaning on my body, with his hands resting on the bed on either side.
The panels of his button-down shirt fall like curtains on either side of my face. I open my mouth hungrily and his soft length slides between my lips. Its fresh, earthy scent swirls around me. It’s a heady combination.
“Play with your tits, Sloane. I want to look at you while I take your mouth.
I moan on his length and start touching my breasts. I caress my nipples. I lose my mind as he sets a slow rhythm between my lips.
This angle is new to me, and my eyes are watering from how far back he is able to push, but he is always careful with me. Be careful not to push too hard or too far. Be careful not to hurt me or alarm me.