Carmen Jenner - Welcome to Sugartown

Ana yawns, bringing my attention back to her. She lays her head back against the couch. Her feet are tucked away under her body and she looks so damn fuckable with her hair all dishevelled and her make-up smeared.

“You wanna go to bed?” I ask her, and I swear I meant that to be an innocent question. Maybe it’s the way I’m watching her, maybe it’s the two Stolis she had with dinner, or maybe it’s the fact that I want more than anything to know that keeping our distance from one another is as hard for her as it is for me, but a small frown turns down the corner of her lip and I think I see the crease form in between her brows, the way it does when she’s about to cry.

She rises and heads towards the hall. “Good night, Elijah.”

“Night,” I mutter, hating myself for constantly making her cry.

“Welcome home,” she says and then she’s gone.

Home. I’m beginning to think that word isn’t worth shit.

I sit bolt upright in bed. For a half second I forget where I am, and think the screaming across the hall is just another inmate seeking attention. Then I hear the shouting again and I’m out of bed and pushing open the door to the room opposite mine.

Ana thrashes on the bed. Her blankets are pulled tight around her, restraining her, and she’s whimpering in her sleep.

“No!” she cries. “Get off me!”

I race over to the bed and untangle her limbs, which may have been a piss-poor decision on my behalf because she lashes out and punches me square in the jaw. She’s sobbing and screaming, and I’m wondering how the hell she hasn’t woken the whole house.

I don’t bother trying to restrain her. I think that may only make things worse, so instead I sit on the edge of the bed and gently shake her shoulder while calling her name. She lunges upright with a gasp and lashes out at me again. I don’t fight her, I just sit there and let her beat on me until she comes to enough to realise that I’m not him. When it does finally dawn on her, she lets out a wounded, sobbing cry that tears me all to pieces.

“You’re okay, baby girl. You’re safe.” I fold her up in my arms and she clings tightly to me, tucking herself in against my chest. I’m buck-naked and she’s wearing only a pair of cotton knickers and a singlet top, but none of that matters. The only thing I feel right now is love and hurt and helplessness that I wasn’t there to save her that night. But I’d willingly spend all of my nights awake in bed with her body wrapped around me until she fell asleep if it meant she felt safe in my arms.

Safe with me.

I woke this morning feeling lighter than I have in months. For the first time since the rape I’ve slept the whole night through, which makes me ecstatic and gives me the hope that maybe I’m slowly coming to terms with it. I’ll never be able to erase it, or wash it out like I would a stain, but I might finally be able to look in the mirror and not blame myself.

Of course, the downside to being nightmare free is that, for the first time since Elijah moved in two weeks ago, I woke up this morning alone. And I actually kinda missed him, though waking up to a naked man every morning who’s tenting the sheets with his morning wood was becoming increasingly awkward and impossible to ignore. Still, I’ll never admit it but I’ll miss the way he held me in the middle of the night, and not just because he was the only one who could chase the nightmares away.

Holly has been bugging me to make my special macadamia pancakes for weeks now and, thanks to the public holiday on Monday, I don’t have to spend my entire day slaving over a hot stove so I’ve decided to give her what she wants. She’s always been a tad bit demanding, but pregnancy seems to have pushed her over the edge and into the homicidal maniac territory. Honestly, if I didn’t know that was Coop’s baby turning her into a crazy person, I’d think it was the second coming of Satan.

After having Holly buzz around me like an over-excited kid as I pulled together ingredients and a mixing bowl and turned my skillet on to preheat, I headed down the hall to see if Elijah’s awake and ready to eat. I knock but don’t really wait for a reply before opening the door, partly because I’m not thinking clearly this early in the morning, and partly because I’m sure he’s still dead to the world. But when I walk into the room I see it’s not sleep that Elijah is immersed in, it’s something entirely different.

His overly large body is buck-naked and stretched out on top of the doona, and the muscles in his chest and arms are straining as he pumps his fist up and down his shaft. I know I should look away, I should walk out and quietly close the door behind me, but I can’t. Has there ever been a more magnificent sight then a man pleasuring himself? If so, then I haven’t seen it. This is not the first time I’ve witnessed Elijah touching himself, but it is the first time I shouldn’t be allowed to watch. He’s not aware he has an audience—not that I think he’d mind if he was made aware of it, but it’s the principle that counts here. I shouldn’t be watching because he’s not mine anymore and this sight, as glorious as it is, is not mine to see because I gave up that privilege when I told him we couldn’t be together.

It’s at the exact moment, when I decide to leave quietly, that he opens his eyes, rolls his head toward me and says, “You just gonna stand there, baby girl, or are you gonna join in?”

“I didn’t know you were … I am so sorry,” I blurt and grab for the doorknob behind me.

He slows his stroking and looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m not.”

I swallow hard. “I’m just going to go now. So, have fun. I mean, enjoy your … bye.”

I’m just about to slink from the room like a dog with its tail between its legs when he whispers, “Stay.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t be entering my room without knocking either, but you still did and here we are.”

“I did knock. I just didn’t wait for a response … I really should go.” I mutter.

“You should, but you won’t,” he says with certainty, and begins stroking himself again, faster this time.

He’s right. A hurricane couldn’t tear me from that room. I lean my weight back into the door and ignore the humming sensation between my legs that quickly turns electric. His hand glides up and down over his length, and he makes no effort to pretend he’s not staring at me. And why should he, when I’m clearly eye-raping him?

“Take off your clothes.”

The hint of a smile pushes at my lips, despite the fact that I know we’re walking on dangerous ground. “No.”

“Please?” he grunts.

“Come on, Cade, you and me, naked in a room together? That spells disaster.”

“No, baby, that spells fucking incredible sex.” He moans and his eyes glaze over. I don’t know how he hasn’t come yet. I’m ready to explode from watching him alone. “Please, Ana, don’t make me beg. Just this once, let me come while I’m looking at that fuckable little body. I won’t touch, I swear. Please, just let me see you and then we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Maybe it’s the pleading in his voice or maybe I’ve just lost my ever-loving mind, but whatever the case, I find myself slowly peeling off my singlet top. I let it fall away to expose my breasts. My nipples harden into peaks and I can practically feel his tongue gliding over them as he wets his lips, though I’m still standing several feet away.

“Pants too, baby, don’t cheat me outta seeing that beautiful fucking pussy,” he commands, and I hesitate with my hands on the elastic waist of my PJs. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready for something like this.

“No,” I whisper.

“Ana,” he warns.

“No. This is as far as this goes. I don’t trust either of us with any more than that.”

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

“The feeling’s mutual, Cade.”

He lets out a long sigh and begins stroking again. One hand is cupping his balls and his eyes never leave my body as he drives himself closer to orgasm. My heart kicks into overdrive, my head is spinning questions and my body is screaming out for his touch, but I don’t do anything more than lean against the door with my breasts exposed as I watch the single most erotic scene I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know what I’m doing here and yet I can’t turn away. My heart feels as though it’s cracking open.

“Touch yourself,” he commands.

“No.”

“Come closer.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Fuck! Why is it always no with you?”

“Because I don’t trust myself with you.” There. I said it. It’s a dangerous admission, especially in a situation like this, but I said it all the same, and oddly enough the sense of relief I feel is overwhelming.

As if in retaliation, Elijah quickens his pace. His hands on his body are no longer languid but almost punishing. He’s brutalising himself as punishment, and I don’t know if that punishment is meant solely for him, or me, or for the both of us.

His eyes lock with mine as the first wave of pleasure rocks through him and that’s exactly where they stay until his creamy semen spurts from his cock all over the bed. As Elijah rides out the euphoria I swiftly throw on my shirt and then I quietly creep out the door the way I should have before I let it get this far.

Have I just ruined everything by allowing that to happen? And what exactly did just happen? God, I really have to learn to knock.

I lean against the door for a beat until I hear Holly calling out about wanting her pancakes, so I quietly tread up the hallway and head into the kitchen like nothing has happened.