CHAPTER 24

“Civilized people must, I believe, satisfy the following criteria. . . Their hearts suffer the pain of what is hidden to the naked eye.”

Anton Chekhov, A Life in Letters



~Jennifer~

I missed you.” The words erupted, slipping from my lips before I could catch them. They’d been running through my mind for the last three days.

I miss him. I miss Cletus.

Actually, the sentiment had been running through my mind before Friday, but I’d been shushing the thought, pushing it away. Before Friday, I’d thought missing Cletus was futile, because I thought it would be endless.

But since Friday . . .

Happy sigh.

I’d gone back to the Piggly Wiggly first thing on Saturday morning to collect the bananas. I didn’t want to be a scaredy-cat or ask Cletus to come with me. I’d been picking up the bananas on my own for years, no reason to stop now. But I did conduct a sweep of the parking lot before leaving my car. And I asked Mr. Johnson—the produce manager—to walk me out to my car.

Presently, I was smiling at Cletus, like a goof, lost in his chaotically handsome features.

Cletus’s eyes moved over me slowly, as though he hadn’t seen me in a long time. “I missed you, too.” His voice was gruff and had my stomach erupting with butterflies. Beautiful, lovely, velvety butterflies. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and twisted his lips to the side. “That’s an interesting outfit.”

I glanced down at myself and that’s when I saw—to my horror—that I was basically half-dressed.

Oh my God! Look at me.” I endeavored to cover myself with my arms, trying and failing. “Wait. Don’t look at me! Crap! Turn around!”

Cletus lifted an eyebrow at my demand. “Really?”

Yes. Really, Cletus,” I said on a rush, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t have a bra on under this apron.”

I know.” He shrugged, his eyes skimming down, then up. Undaunted, he took a step forward.

My mouth fell open and I stared at him, frustration and embarrassment warring for control. Recognizing that Cletus had no plans to turn around or avert his eyes, I jogged past him to the back door. I felt his gaze on my backside as I slipped on my big coat and pulled it closed, holding the edges together.

When I turned I found him frowning. “You didn’t have to do that.”

A sound of disbelief tumbled from my lips.

Yes. I really did.”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. No pun intended.”

My eyes flickered over him and I felt my cheeks heat, feeling the need to explain why I’d been baking half naked. “I sometimes take off the dress when I bake late at night, especially if it has a built-in corset. It hurts my ribs.”

Makes sense.” He nodded once, twisting his lips to the side again. He was doing a bad job of fighting a grin, and the way his hooded eyes moved over my form made me feel warm and flustered.

My throat worked and my neck was burning hot as I searched his eyes. “I suppose you have lots of experience, with half-dressed women. It’s probably no big deal to you.”

A half-dressed woman is always a big deal.” A smile lingered behind his eyes, it felt dark and delightfully wicked.

Even at the Pink Pony?” I asked out of nowhere, surprising myself with the non sequitur.

I didn’t know what made me ask other than the fact that Beau and the owner of the Pink Pony were good friends; everyone was aware Cletus went fishing with them from time to time. I’d been having all kinds of crazy thoughts since seeing him last, usually involving best- and worst-case scenarios.

Or best worst-case scenarios, like—if Cletus went to the strip club—best-case was that he did so blindfolded and against his will. See? Crazy.

Cletus made a face. “I don’t much like those kinds of places.”

Why? Don’t all men like looking at naked ladies?”

His eyes dropped to my coat and they heated. “I like to unwrap my own presents.”

The butterflies ceased flapping their wings and instead stripped naked. I liked that thought. I liked the idea of being unwrapped, like a present. But only if I could unwrap him, too.

Did you come here to unwrap me?” I asked hopefully, relaxing my hold on the coat.

He smiled, his clever eyes narrowing just a bit. “Are you my present?”

Yes.

My embarrassed blush became something else. Heat still circled my neck, my heart still pounded, but the atmosphere shifted. My hot flash was no longer mortified at having been caught baking half-naked. Our smiles gradually waned as we stared at each other.

He took a step toward me, his eyes dropping to my jacket. Cletus inspected the edges, his expression thoughtful, then slipped his fingers inside the coat. I released my grip on the material as his hands parted the jacket and pushed. It fell to the floor.

I didn’t come over here for this,” he said distractedly. His eyes studied the front of my apron as he pulled the tie at my back.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was a mess of wanting to tear his clothes off, and wanting to kiss his face off, and wanting more of what we’d done three nights ago. I simultaneously had the urge to shove him to the floor and attack him, and stand still to see what he would do next. Ultimately, I decided to stand still. I could always attack him later.

The bow holding the apron around my neck unraveled and the apron joined my coat on the floor, leaving me in just my panties and stockings. He looked at me. He looked at my body like I was his present. Like he had lots of ideas how he would play with me. I wasn’t cold, yet I shivered.

His eyes lifted, hot with intent, and he took a step forward. Instinctively, I took a step back. He gave me a barely there smile and continued to advance until my back met with the counter. Then he stopped.

My dearest Jennifer,” he grumbly whispered, his fingers looping into the waistband of my underwear, “in case you’re making a list, this is the only thing I want for my birthday.” He lowered as he tugged the lace down my legs. I trembled again as his hands traced a light touch on the backs of my knees and calves.

I stepped out of my panties and watched as he pocketed them. Leaning forward, his eyes on me, he breathed a hot breath against the apex of my thighs.

I swayed, my hands coming to his shoulders for balance, my heart thundering. I was hot and cold all over, the ache of longing sharp and deliciously painful low in my belly. He used the leverage of my hands to cup my bottom, lifting me onto the counter. I sat perched on the edge and he spread my legs, his fingertips tracing my inner thighs until he parted me with his thumbs.

My brain was rioting, in chaos, and I was embarrassed, yet enthralled.

My pen pals had told me—in French, Japanese, and German—what having sex was like. They’d described what it felt like to have an orgasm, so I knew what we’d done on Friday had resulted in an orgasm for both of us. But nothing they’d described revealed the true intimacy of the act. How it was something beautiful and terrifying, to be naked and vulnerable, to be touched.

My breath hitched. I leaned backward at an angle and fought the urge to press my knees together. He was looking at me. His exhales falling across my exposed center made me clench and tense in anticipation and anxiety.

Cletus?” I asked, with a mixture of uncertainty and eagerness.

He licked his lips and lowered his mouth to me. The air left my lungs as his wet, hot tongue connected with my wet, hot center. His tongue moved and my body gave a reflexive and inelegant lurch. I gasped. Unthinkingly, my fingers threaded through his hair and I pressed him to me, afraid he would stop.

It felt so good.

So good.

So. Good.

SO. GOOD.

My body shuddered again and I widened my legs, my hips rolling instinctively. He moaned, like I was delicious, like he’d been starving for me. His hands wrapped around my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of my thighs.

Then his eyes lifted to mine.

Oh God,” I breathed. The force of his gaze was both sobering and intoxicating, and potent with knowledge. Knowledge of me, of my body, of my taste. He watched me, drinking in this secret sight of me.

He watched me while his mouth was on my body.

He watched me as he did sinful things with his tongue and lips.

The hunger in his eyes as his possessive gaze moved over my breasts and neck and mouth sent a sudden spiral of need and greed straight to where he devoured me. Suddenly I was coming in a powerful pulsing, quaking, and piercing release.

I threw my head back, the force of the tremors too unwieldy and strong. I existed only as a feeling. He held me in place, lapping and savoring, as though my mindlessness fed a need in him.

He held me still until it hurt—wonderfully, tremendously, spectacularly—and then he slipped his fingers inside me and I came again, crying out sharply with desperation and thoughtlessness. I couldn’t stay upright. I couldn’t hold my own weight under the force of my climax, so I fell backward.

His hands were suddenly there, he was suddenly there, standing and pulling me forward into his arms. He lifted me from the counter and I was limp in his arms, spent. A force field of warmth and satisfaction encased me, made me boneless. I snuggled my forehead against his neck and gripped his shirt weakly.

The couch,” I sighed. “Let’s go lie on the couch.”

He squeezed me, and turned. He glanced to the left, then the right, hesitating. “Where is this couch?”

I chuckled lightly, then nipped his neck. “In the back.”

Is that my voice? Good Lord. I sound sexy.

It was deeper than usual, which I liked it. I liked how I sounded after Cletus unwrapped me. I liked how I felt. I liked my body in a new way that made me feel powerful and knowledgeable.

And I now understood why some people were “indiscriminant bakers.” Everything about the act felt good and right and necessary. Or maybe it was being with Cletus that was good and right and necessary.

On our way to the couch, Cletus retrieved my coat from the floor in an impressive display of flexibility and strength. Upon arriving in the back room, he kissed me on the forehead.

I have to set you down so I can put this jacket on the couch.” He sounded like releasing me was something only to be done out of necessity or under duress. “Can you stand?”

I nodded and he tipped me to the side until my feet hit the ground. Quickly, he removed the back pillows, spread out my coat, then his, leaving the sofa mostly covered. Then he guided me to my side and moved to join me.

Wait,” I stopped him, kneeling on the cushions and gripping the edge of his shirt. “Take this off.”

He frowned, hesitating. “Jenn—”

Just your shirt. I miss your skin.”

His expression cleared as his eyes heated and he removed his white cotton tee. I resumed my reclining position and he joined me, pulling my body halfway on top of his. I kissed his shoulder and sighed.

As I was saying, I missed you.” I ran my hand up and down his chest, threading my fingers through the sparse hair. I loved the hair on his chest and I loved the ridges of his muscles. I loved how different our bodies were, the texture and feel of him. “When can we do that again?”

He chuckled, his hands caressing my body like he was greedy for the feel of my skin. “Ten minutes?”

We both laughed and I rested my elbow on him, my chin in my palm. “So do I get to give you a blow job now?”

He tensed and his eyes narrowed on me. “Not yet.”

Why?”

His gaze moved to my back, where his fingertips trailed light lines between my shoulder blades. “I’m shy.”

I laughed again, and so did he. A good, rumbly laugh. A mischievous laugh. I loved it.

You are not shy.”

Cletus shrugged, still not meeting my eyes, his grin becoming something else, and said, “I’ve never done that.”

My lips parted in surprise. “You’ve never had a blow job? No one has ever done that to you?”

He shook his head, his lips pulled to one side in a wry smile. “There’s a lot of teeth in a mouth.”

So, you’ve never trusted anyone enough to do it,” I guessed.

His eyes cut to mine and his fingers stilled. Cletus stared at me for a long moment, pointedly not answering, then cleared his throat.

I’d like to come over tomorrow again, if you’re around after work.”

That’s sounds good. Come by every day this week if you want.”

I decided to let him change the subject, but secretly I was planning my attack. One day soon, I was going to seduce him. Now I just needed to figure out how to go about seducing a man. Maybe my pen pals had some ideas.

I can’t,” he sighed, but his eyes twinkled. “I have Jethro’s bachelor party on Thursday and I’m responsible for the entertainment.”

Entertainment?”

Yes. Remember I told you about my stripper friend, George? The retired Navy SEAL? He’s the entertainment.” Cletus wagged his eyebrows.

I gaped at him, not sure whether or not he was serious. Seeing he was, I burst out laughing.

They have no idea.” He chuckled evilly. Truly, it was an evil chuckle, full of malicious intent and wicked anticipation.

Too bad you didn’t tell me earlier, I could have made a cake for him to jump out of.”

No, no. He’s going to repel from the ceiling. Ropes are part of his routine.”

Well, good luck with that.” I wiped my tears of hilarity away with the back of my hands. “Tell me about your day. How was work?”

Cletus lifted his head and blinked, like I’d said something surprising.

What?” I placed my chin on the back of my hand and stared down at him. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head slightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t remember the last time someone asked me about my day, not since my momma died.”

Oh.” I frowned, because this struck me as sad. My family wasn’t perfect, but we always asked about each others’ days. Granted, I knew there were some parts of my day that my parents didn’t want to hear about, but they still asked. I was surprised the Winstons didn’t do the same. “Doesn’t your family ask?”

His lips curved into a rueful smile. “No. They know better.”

Know better? They know better than to ask about your day?”

Yep. I typically end up saying something they don’t want to hear.”

That’s true with everybody. My parents never want to listen to me talk about my pen pals or my garden. Or my essential oils. Or teaching the scouts.” I frowned. Mostly they liked hearing about new recipes. “Or any other non-baking hobbies and activities.”

My brothers don’t want to hear about my plans and activities. At all.”

I know you have all these sinister irons in the fire, but every day can’t be that bad.”

It is. They are.”

Okay, so what kinds of daily plans and activities? What don’t they want to hear?”

Like . . .” He thought for a moment, his eyes moving to where his hand was rubbing circles on my back. “Like about how I’d like to give Jackson James leprosy.”

I wrinkled my nose at this, scrunching my face to show my disbelief. “You do not want to give Jackson James leprosy.”

I do. And if you see him scratching around the collar it’s because I blackmailed someone into putting itching powder in his dry-cleaned shirts.”

I was about to laugh and call Cletus on his silliness, but something about the way he was looking at me, as though he were bracing for a reprimand, gave me pause.

He stared at me. I stared at him. My mouth fell open.

He’s serious.

Cletus Winston. You did not.”

I did. And I don’t regret it.” His tone was flat and insolent.

Why on earth would you do it? That’s just mean.”

Jackson James has been harassing me and my brothers—specifically Duane and Beau—for years. He pulls us over for no reason, causes delays, and so forth. He’s a little shit and I’m tired of it.”

I studied him, saw that he believed he was in the right.

Are you surprised? Didn’t you already know he’s vengeful? Didn’t he tell you himself?

See? That’s why people don’t ask me about my day.” His hand drifted lower on my back, caressing my bottom possessively.

Why don’t you report him? Go to the station and file a complaint?”

Cletus gave me a grumpy side-eye. “I’m not a rat.”

I barked a disbelieving laugh. “So you’ll blackmail someone into putting itching powder into his shirts, but you won’t work through proper channels to resolve the issue, because you don’t want to tattle. Do I have that right?”

It’s more complicated than that. But yes, that’s the gist of it.” His grumpy expression persisted. “I like deciding how to deal with those people who insist on being assholes.”

You like control.”

Some of his grumpiness was replaced with suspicion. “That’s one way of putting it.”

I examined him, the unhappy set of his jaw, then spoke without premeditation. “I’d like to understand you.”

I told you, I’m not very understandable.” He wasn’t meeting my gaze in a way that felt like avoidance.

On a hunch, I said, “Your brothers said that you don’t like bullies.”

Cletus’s hand stilled. He took a breath, then responded, “I don’t.”

Maybe your vengeful impulses stem from your dislike of bullies. Speaking from firsthand experience, bullies can make you feel like you don’t have any control. And, if that’s the case, you are exceedingly understandable.”

He lifted his eyes to mine and our gazes held. I sensed he wanted to say something. I remained quiet, hoping the silence would drive it out of him.

He turned me such that my back was against the couch and we were both laying on our sides facing each other. His fingers dug into my hip.

Jenn . . .” He stopped, as though he didn’t know how to continue.

I cupped his jaw and placed a soft kiss on his lips, then leaned away to gaze into his eyes.

He gathered a large breath, clearly torn about proceeding. I waited and offered a small, encouraging smile. Instead of speaking, he kissed me. He kissed me, and he tasted like me, and that thought had me warm and tingling all over.

Eventually, he pulled away, shaking his head. “Never mind. Never mind about that.”

I pressed my lips together to hide my disappointment, but said pragmatically, “One day, Cletus. One day you’ll trust me enough to speak your mind.”

His gaze moved over my face. “I already trust you.”

But not enough.” I scratched his jaw through his beard. “One day.”

Jenn, some of my secrets won’t make you happy. In fact, they’ll horrify you.”

I know.” I continued threading my fingers through his bushy beard, liking the texture just as much as the hair on his chest. “Remember how afraid of you I was? When I first came to you? I know you have dark corners, and I think I know why.”

Cletus’s expression became carefully blank, but his eyes communicated a depth of sadness that felt like a punch to the stomach.

Oh, honey.” I gave him a small smile of compassion, then kissed him again, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body to his. “You take your time. Anything you want to share, I want to hear. But something you taught me over these last few months is that no one can control who you are—fundamentally, who you are in your heart—except for you. The decision is always yours.”

His arms came around me tightly, holding on as though I might disappear. Or I might leave.

No matter what happened in your past, what ghosts might lurk there, the road you take is ultimately up to you,” I squeezed him back, “but—selfishly—I hope it’s always the road I’m on.”