Jagger: A Caldwell Brothers Novel (12 page)

I pull away and kiss down her belly, making sure I kiss the fading yellow bruises on her ribs, and she squirms.

“Do they hurt, Totty?”

“More,” she says, so I kiss lower.

I kiss from hip to hip as I hook my thumbs inside her skirt and panties and slowly lower them, kissing and licking her skin as each inch becomes bared to me. When she lifts her hips, I pull them the rest of the way off.

Her knees fall apart, totally exposing her to me. I kiss the apex of her thighs as I cup her gently and pet her softly. She moans and her back arches, pushing her pussy harder against my hand.

I part her sweet little lips with my finger, causing her to take in a big breath and clench the comforter. I run my nose across her pussy and inhale her scent, a growl escaping my chest as I flick my tongue across her taut little clit.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she whimpers.

I lick her again, and she murmurs something incomprehensible, her thighs closing around my head. I lean back, and she sighs.

She is glistening, soaked with want for me, for more good touch.

I push a finger inside her and curl it up, and she immediately tightens as her pussy quivers around my finger.

I swear I’m gonna come watching her, smelling her, hearing her, so I break away before I do and roll on the condom.

Propping myself over her, I tell her, “Look at me, little one, and don’t stop. I wanna see you when you come. I wanna see you come all the damn time. Fuck.” I stroke myself between her hot lips, then place my head against her opening, and her back arches, letting me know she wants more. “No, Totty, don’t do that shit. I wanna do you nice and slow. You do that and it’s gonna be over before I’m all in.”

She reaches up and pulls my head down, kissing me, and I push inside a little more. I focus on her tongue, my tongue, our mouths as I slowly, inch by inch, fill her until I can’t possibly fill her any more. Then I pull back so we can both breathe.

She is watching me like I asked, intensely, hungrily. I move slowly in and out, in and out. She whimpers my name with each inward thrust.

“I’m gonna do this to you all night long,” I say with determination.

“Please,” she whimpers.

Tangled in each other with no sheets and the light from the nightlight illuminating her, I take her soft. I take her slow. I make her come over and over until she is too fucking exhausted to move anymore.

Finally, I can’t ignore the burn anymore. “I’m gonna come.”

“Yes,” she moans. “Yes.”

“Then we’re doing this again.”

“Harder,” she whimpers.

“As you wish,” I say, taking her hard, pounding out my release.

I wake up to the smell of coffee, and when I open my eyes, I see him, my scarred prince, standing beside the bed.

He leans down and kisses me. “Sleep well?”

I yawn, smile, stretch, and look around. “I sure did.” I start to sit up and am immediately aware of the ache between my thighs.

“Sore?” he asks, trying to seem concerned, yet there is a glint of something else in his eyes—mischief.

I smile. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“It was good touch, wasn’t it?” he asks, sitting down and handing me the cup of coffee.

“Sure was.” I hold it in my hands, taking in the warmth.

He’s looking at my chest, and I feel my nipples tighten from my awareness.

“Mmm,” he says and stands quickly. “I’m gonna head over to the gym and tie up some last-minute details on Shaw’s services tomorrow. I messaged Johnny. Your old man’s ashes will be ready to pick up by noon. If you feel up to it, we’ll take him to the river. If you don’t want to, we can put him in the Dumpster. Your call.” He bends down and kisses my cheek.

“I want to do what’s right by him.”

He looks at me, and I’m not sure if I made him angry or not.

“Is that okay?”

“Whatever you want, I want,” he replies.

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what? Sexy? Strong?”

I laugh, and he smiles.

“All of that, but also upset with me.”

“You just look at the world differently than anyone I ever met.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“No, Totty, not bad. I knew you were special, different…better.” He pauses, and I like the way he is looking at me. “Fucking beautiful.” He adjusts himself. “You make me hard as hell instantly.”

“So I guess you kind of like me.” I smile and look down.

“I more than like you, Totty. Way more than like you.”

“Good, please don’t stop.” I feel so warm, so…happy.

“Try to make me.” He winks. “Okay, I’ll lock the door on my way out. Why don’t you look around and maybe shower while I’m gone? Then I want to hit the cop shop, the river, and that bed again.”

Jagger leaves, and for once in my life, I am excited for someone to come home after spending so many years alone and happy being that way because alone meant safe.

My mind goes over all the new information. I am, indeed, a US citizen, so they can’t send me back to Russia. I have money, though I don’t know much about having money and what to do with it other than hide it. Father hated banks. He always went on and on about corrupt systems stealing hard-earned money. Jagger will help me figure it out, though.

I smile to myself. Wow, I am smiling. Jagger Caldwell gives me that. If this is really what love is, please don’t let it ever stop.

Moving around the space, I take in the home. There are no pictures on the walls. The furniture has seen better days but is in better shape than the stuff I have. I sit on the worn couch with faded olive-green fabric that probably came from the seventies as I look around me. The television is the only new piece of electronics in the place. I chuckle, wondering if there is cable.

Since it is quiet, I continue to sit and think. Peace. For the first time, I am sitting on a couch, not worrying about the next task, getting it right, and what kind of mood the monster I lived with would come home in.

I sit.

It doesn’t take long before I can’t simply sit, but I have nowhere to go. Well, I should probably go back home and sort out the building. I can’t, though. Not yet. I don’t have it in me to figure out what happens next. I also can’t go back to that place without the memories assaulting me.

I don’t know what is worse, the physical scars he left behind or the mental ones I can’t run away from.

I get up and try to shake off the dread from my past. Going to the kitchen, I look under the sink for cleaners.

Typical man,
I think to myself as I find a box of Brillo pads and a bottle of soap. Well, this will have to do. I start to clean the countertops and stove, only to find they have barely been used. Most of the kitchen seems untouched. I dust what has settled, but there isn’t the usual grime. Then I wipe down the papered walls, my mind going back to the old wallpaper of our run-down apartment.

So many times, I used school glue to try to tack the peeling paper back up. Maybe, for some people, wallpaper wouldn’t matter. Maybe, for some people, dust wouldn’t matter. It’s not about what I had or didn’t have, what I have now or what I will have. It’s about taking care of it and taking pride in it. Just because I didn’t live in a house adorned in chandeliers, it doesn’t mean I wanted to look at peeling wallpaper. I spent all of my time inside my home, and every part of me needed to feel like it was home. My father may not have cared about being in the slums, but I could make the best of being there.

I rub the fragile paper between my fingers, and the grit of the material gives way as it rips. There’s no glue and not enough moisture in the decorated paper to make it stick. My instincts scream to pull it back, tear it down, and make it fresh again.

I stop myself.

This isn’t my home.

The weight crushes me, and I drop to my knees.

Where is home?

I let the tears fall, needing to purge. I need to let it all out. I cry for the little girl who once had a mom, a mom who really did love her, from what I saw in the pictures. I cry for the little girl who hasn’t known family. I cry for the girl who grew into a woman who is now lost. I cry for the woman who has to pick up the pieces.

Then my tears change, and I swallow the lump. I cry because I am free. I cry for the woman inside me who is ready to rebuild. I cry for the wallpaper that needs to come down to give fresh life to the space I occupy. I cry because, like that wallpaper, my skin will heal from the bruises that can’t be seen anymore. I will be freshly covered and new in the life I now lead. I will not be the tattered and torn paper, but a woman who is not defined by the scars marking her past.

I am free.

I am me.

So caught up in my thoughts, I don’t hear him return. It’s not until his large hands grip me and pull me to standing that I look teary-eyed into the face of everything good in my life. Jagger Caldwell’s deep-brown eyes are wide in worry, while my dark eyes dance in emotions unspoken.

“Little one,” he whispers, looking me over and trying to understand why I’m upset.

Smiling, I blurt out, “I hate wallpaper.”

“Okay, so we change it,” he states.

“Jagger, I
really
hate wallpaper.”

He releases me without speaking and pulls at the piece that curled back. He yanks and the paper comes off in a big piece, leaving some behind. Then he turns to me, and using his thumbs, he wipes my tears.

“Don’t cry over wallpaper, Totty.”

I reach up and grab his wrists. “I’m ready to let go. I’m ready, Jagger.” Fresh tears fall as he studies me.

“Well, let’s get the ashes.” He doesn’t move, keeping my face still cupped in his large hands.

“Good touch.” I smile softly. “Everything good.”

He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead.

Quietly and respectfully, we spill my father’s ashes into the Detroit River while a breeze blows, and a soft smile plays on my lips. In my little-girl dreams, that was my mother wrapping her arms around me. She loved me. She really loved me. The loss of my father gave me that. It gave me the truth.

Hand in hand, Jagger and I walk back to his truck. He opens the door and makes sure I’m settled before closing it and moving to his side.

I watch as the muscle in his jaw tics. He is deep in thought, which allows me to sit and admire the man who is stronger than the muscles in his body, the man who is more than any prince, hero, or knight in shining armor.

Jagger Caldwell is the good in a world full of bad.

My father gave me that without knowing it. Maybe my mother gave Jagger to me. In my little-girl daydreams, I like to think he is a gift from an angel.

His arm is stretched out to the steering wheel, controlling the movements of the truck. The script of the word
Legacy
flexes and moves with each movement of his fingers and arm. It is like the word is part of him.

He is a legacy. Forever, he has touched my life. Forever, I will remember him. Forever, I want to make sure he carries on.

We pull up to his new place from Shaw and make our way inside. Needing to wash my face, I go to the bathroom. When I’m done, I come out with a serious need to be connected in every way with Jagger. This is more than a need to have him touch me. This is a carnal desire from my soul. I need to feel the good from the inside.

When I come out, Jagger is on the couch, looking contemplative.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You.” His answer is short, yet laced in heavy emotion.

“What about me?”

He crooks his finger, directing me to him. Once I get within reach, his hands snake out and pull me on his lap.

“You are so beautiful.” He nuzzles into my neck, sending shivers through me. His arm rests over my thighs, and I trace the letters of the word
Legacy
. “Momma,” he whispers.

“More than Momma, Jagger. You are a legacy all your own.”

“Just a man, Totty. I’m just a man who was raised by a strong woman who taught her sons to love fiercely, protect always, and no matter how hard or long the fight, you never give up.”

“She gave you good, Jagger.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I didn’t have good,” I whisper, turning myself to straddle him, “until you.” Brushing my lips to his, I don’t give him a chance to reply.

His lips part, and I press my tongue between them, finding entrance into his hot, wet mouth. His hands slide up my back, where he pulls my hair into a bunch in one hand and tugs. The jolt of my hair being pulled lights my nerve endings on fire. He pulls a little harder, separating my mouth from his. The V-neck of my shirt exposes my collarbone, and he drops his head to nip at it. I rock against him, seeking friction as I wind my hands around his neck.

“Give me good, Caldwell,” I moan, and before I know it, my clothes are flying along with his.

Lips crash to mine as he pushes my head to him. His words come back to me.

A strong woman who taught her sons to love fiercely.

Something inside me ignites, and the fire burning deep in my soul explodes as I take control, sliding myself onto his hardened length.

“Fierce,” I whisper. “Give me fierce.”

I bite my bottom lip, sliding up and down, arching my back and pushing my small breasts to his face. He quickly takes the right one in his mouth while his hand comes up to twist the nipple of the left.

He sucks hard.

I want more.

I arch and push myself onto him. “Harder!”

Once he complies, I am on edge, wildly riding up and down his shaft. Then his hands grip my hips, stopping me. Lifting me effortlessly, he slides me off him, and I instantly feel empty. I can’t stop myself from pouting.

“Protection, little one.” He smirks, going to his jeans to get a condom. “I’m too close to going off.”

His words hit me again.
Protect always.

Oh, how I would have loved to have known his mother, to have someone like her in the darkest of times. I can see how they could get through it together.

I had my will. I had my drive to have something better one day. I had my little-girl dreams of a man just like Jagger Caldwell being the one to give me good in my world full of bad.

Dreams really do come true.

I am on my back with my ankles around Jagger’s neck when he slides back into me.

“Harder,” I cry out. I want to feel him. I want him to pound into me and make all the bad feel oh so good.

He gives it to me hard, his gaze locked on mine, sweat beading on us. He brings my ankles to his shoulders, straightening my knees and keeping my thighs together. Then he slides all the way out and slams back in. My muscles contract, and every inch of me wants more.

Reaching up, I tweak my nipples, pinching harshly at the same moment Jagger enters me. I push my hips up, sending him deeper, and it makes me see stars.

My stomach visibly contracts, as do the walls of my pussy, as the aftershocks of the orgasm roll through me, and Jagger’s eyes remain bright with restraint.

His words hit me again, escaping in a sultry whisper. “Never give up on me, Jagger Caldwell.”

“Never,” he groans as he slides out and back in.

After three more times, I am on edge. “Harder,” I beg.

He drops my ankles and spreads me wide. He wraps one leg around his waist, the other hanging off the couch. Then his rough hands rub the insides of my thighs almost where we are joined, and my body trembles.

“Need,” I pant, “you.”

“You’ve got me.”

“Harder!”

His hands grip my thighs, pressing me wider. His thumbs move my pussy lips open, and the air hits me with every thrust, giving me an entirely new sensation. The rough feeling of his masculine thumbs against the sensitive skin of my pussy lips as he rubs the hair there only sets me more on fire.

In and out, he thrusts, his balls slapping me with each thrust. The sensations become too much, and I cry out my orgasm. His hands move up my sides as he drops to his elbows, hovering over me. Gently, he then kisses me as he slides in and stills, and I pulse around him, draining us both.

He pushes the hair out of my face. “You’ve got me, Totty,” he repeats his earlier statement, and I smile.

After taking a few moments to get our breathing to normal, he slides out and guides me up and to the shower. In the bathroom, I can’t help laughing at the peeling wallpaper.

“Little one, I must be doing something wrong if the thought of having a shower with me has you laughing.”

I turn to him, heat in my eyes. “I hate wallpaper.”

He laughs with me before we take a shower, during which he makes sure I forget about the wallpaper and only think about holding on to the wall as he brings me to another orgasm, this one from behind.

Stepping out of the shower, he gently dries me off before I put on pajamas, and he slides on boxer briefs. We snuggle together in the bed we share here in the guest room.