Falling Away
Page 78
And his hair. I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping a little. His hair was gone. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
He looked more beautiful. Definitely. I hadn’t realized how much the hair took focus from everything else, and now that it was gone, you could see the whole picture. The mouth, the nose, the eyes, everything all together.
And his body, too, looked bigger without it.
But I had also loved his long hair. It was a sign of his defiance.
The hair was now cropped short and styled on the top. He made my mouth water, and I gritted my teeth, knowing just how much other women would be looking at him now, too. As if they hadn’t looked at him enough before.
Jesus.
Watching him, Madoc, and Fallon talk on the front lawn as Jax crossed his arms, pushing out his chest, I brought myself back to reality, and I suddenly didn’t care that the hair was gone. And I didn’t care about his new clothes, either.
So what?
Even if his appearance had changed, it was still Jax. The same one who had kicked me to the curb five days ago.
“Go on.” Tate nudged me. “Get cleaned up.”
Huh?
“What?” I asked, standing tall. “No. Screw him. After the way he acted, it’s going to take more than new clothes and a haircut.”
Tate let out a condescending chuckle and turned to face me. “Juliet, I’m speaking from personal experience, so pay attention.”
She grabbed my shoulders, and I sucked in a breath as she turned my body to face her, running her hands up and down my arms in a maternal manner. “When he comes in here, honey, he’s going to fix his eyes on you and look at you all intense. He’ll look mad,” she pointed out, talking down to me, “but what he’s really contemplating is whether or not to rip off all your clothes, slam you into a wall, and fuck the daylights out of you … from behind.”
My jaw dropped, and I clutched my laptop tighter.
“Then,” she continued, “he’ll corner you somewhere where you least expect it. He’ll lean in close”—Tate stepped up to me so our bodies were touching—“touch his lips to yours without actually kissing you, and you’ll feel how tortured he is simply by the heat on his skin.” She took my face in her hands, getting nose-to-nose, and her voice dropped. “Then, in barely a whisper that will have your thighs quivering, he’ll say, ‘Baby,’ and you will melt without him even having to apologize.”
I gulped, my mouth completely parched.
“Now, Juliet?” Tate hardened her voice. “That aqua and gold miniskirt I bought you in Tokyo? Go get it on. You look like shit.”
“Ugh,” I whispered.
She snatched the laptop out of my hand, slammed it shut, and tossed it on the couch. “He’s coming.”
After that I didn’t hesitate. I darted past her, racing up the stairs two at a time, and crashed through her bedroom door, slamming it shut. Hitting the power on the iPod dock, I dashed into the bath-room as Joan Jett & the Blackhearts started with “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” Music made me work faster.
Whipping off my tank top, I pulled my hair out of my ponytail and hastily applied eyeliner and mascara. Dabbing a little red on my lips—not lip gloss, because Jax hated it—I ran the straightener through my hair, smoothing it over with the brush, and then scurried for Tate’s walk-in closet.
Joan’s guitars kept my blood boiling, and my muscles were pumped. I sang along, suddenly very fucking hungry for pizza.
“ ‘I hate myself for loving you,’ ” I sang, bobbing my head.
I grabbed my long-sleeved, loose black silk top. High collar in the front, but draped low in the back, showing off ample skin.
If I was going to tell him to screw off, at least I wanted to look hot doing it.
I dropped my shorts, and then I unclipped the skirt from the hanger.
The drums vibrated in my chest as I stepped into the miniskirt and slid it up my legs. “ ‘Can’t break free from the things that you do.’ ”
But just then a shadow fell over me.
I gasped, looked up, and jerked the zipper up, staring wide-eyed at Jax.
Shit.
He had both hands pressed against the doorframe, leaning in slightly, and cocking his head at me like a challenge.
His eyes were like fire, and his jaw was hard. I swallowed and held his eyes, but the combination of his silence and stare had me so jacked up I wanted to scream.
Say something!
“Fuck off,” I choked out.
Then he rushed me, grabbing my face with one hand, my waist with the other, and sank his lips into mine.
“No,” I cried into his mouth.
But it was useless.
I immediately took his face in my hands and held his lips tight with mine as he hoisted me up and guided my legs around his body.
His arm was like a steel band around me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and tightened my thighs around him, unable to get fucking close enough to him.
His lips were everywhere, moving fast and hard, and we groaned, filling the small space with our heavy breaths and moans.
He tore his lips away, and I let my head fall back as he dived for my neck, licking, kissing, and biting a trail up to my ear.
“Holy shit,” I panted.
His hard shoulders flexed under my fingers, and the next thing I knew I was spinning around in his arms and entering the light of the bedroom as his heavy footsteps pounded on the hardwood floors.
“Fuck,” he growled, and dropped me to the bed, falling on top of me.
He looked more beautiful. Definitely. I hadn’t realized how much the hair took focus from everything else, and now that it was gone, you could see the whole picture. The mouth, the nose, the eyes, everything all together.
And his body, too, looked bigger without it.
But I had also loved his long hair. It was a sign of his defiance.
The hair was now cropped short and styled on the top. He made my mouth water, and I gritted my teeth, knowing just how much other women would be looking at him now, too. As if they hadn’t looked at him enough before.
Jesus.
Watching him, Madoc, and Fallon talk on the front lawn as Jax crossed his arms, pushing out his chest, I brought myself back to reality, and I suddenly didn’t care that the hair was gone. And I didn’t care about his new clothes, either.
So what?
Even if his appearance had changed, it was still Jax. The same one who had kicked me to the curb five days ago.
“Go on.” Tate nudged me. “Get cleaned up.”
Huh?
“What?” I asked, standing tall. “No. Screw him. After the way he acted, it’s going to take more than new clothes and a haircut.”
Tate let out a condescending chuckle and turned to face me. “Juliet, I’m speaking from personal experience, so pay attention.”
She grabbed my shoulders, and I sucked in a breath as she turned my body to face her, running her hands up and down my arms in a maternal manner. “When he comes in here, honey, he’s going to fix his eyes on you and look at you all intense. He’ll look mad,” she pointed out, talking down to me, “but what he’s really contemplating is whether or not to rip off all your clothes, slam you into a wall, and fuck the daylights out of you … from behind.”
My jaw dropped, and I clutched my laptop tighter.
“Then,” she continued, “he’ll corner you somewhere where you least expect it. He’ll lean in close”—Tate stepped up to me so our bodies were touching—“touch his lips to yours without actually kissing you, and you’ll feel how tortured he is simply by the heat on his skin.” She took my face in her hands, getting nose-to-nose, and her voice dropped. “Then, in barely a whisper that will have your thighs quivering, he’ll say, ‘Baby,’ and you will melt without him even having to apologize.”
I gulped, my mouth completely parched.
“Now, Juliet?” Tate hardened her voice. “That aqua and gold miniskirt I bought you in Tokyo? Go get it on. You look like shit.”
“Ugh,” I whispered.
She snatched the laptop out of my hand, slammed it shut, and tossed it on the couch. “He’s coming.”
After that I didn’t hesitate. I darted past her, racing up the stairs two at a time, and crashed through her bedroom door, slamming it shut. Hitting the power on the iPod dock, I dashed into the bath-room as Joan Jett & the Blackhearts started with “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” Music made me work faster.
Whipping off my tank top, I pulled my hair out of my ponytail and hastily applied eyeliner and mascara. Dabbing a little red on my lips—not lip gloss, because Jax hated it—I ran the straightener through my hair, smoothing it over with the brush, and then scurried for Tate’s walk-in closet.
Joan’s guitars kept my blood boiling, and my muscles were pumped. I sang along, suddenly very fucking hungry for pizza.
“ ‘I hate myself for loving you,’ ” I sang, bobbing my head.
I grabbed my long-sleeved, loose black silk top. High collar in the front, but draped low in the back, showing off ample skin.
If I was going to tell him to screw off, at least I wanted to look hot doing it.
I dropped my shorts, and then I unclipped the skirt from the hanger.
The drums vibrated in my chest as I stepped into the miniskirt and slid it up my legs. “ ‘Can’t break free from the things that you do.’ ”
But just then a shadow fell over me.
I gasped, looked up, and jerked the zipper up, staring wide-eyed at Jax.
Shit.
He had both hands pressed against the doorframe, leaning in slightly, and cocking his head at me like a challenge.
His eyes were like fire, and his jaw was hard. I swallowed and held his eyes, but the combination of his silence and stare had me so jacked up I wanted to scream.
Say something!
“Fuck off,” I choked out.
Then he rushed me, grabbing my face with one hand, my waist with the other, and sank his lips into mine.
“No,” I cried into his mouth.
But it was useless.
I immediately took his face in my hands and held his lips tight with mine as he hoisted me up and guided my legs around his body.
His arm was like a steel band around me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and tightened my thighs around him, unable to get fucking close enough to him.
His lips were everywhere, moving fast and hard, and we groaned, filling the small space with our heavy breaths and moans.
He tore his lips away, and I let my head fall back as he dived for my neck, licking, kissing, and biting a trail up to my ear.
“Holy shit,” I panted.
His hard shoulders flexed under my fingers, and the next thing I knew I was spinning around in his arms and entering the light of the bedroom as his heavy footsteps pounded on the hardwood floors.
“Fuck,” he growled, and dropped me to the bed, falling on top of me.
