More Than This by Jay McLean

  I remove them, “It’s not embarrassing… so like, not even oral?… or sex? None of it?”

  She shakes her head no. “After a while I just had to start faking it, just so he would stop. I even planned to see a doctor about it, you know, like something might be physically wrong down there.”

  We haven’t moved positions, she’s still straddling me and I’m still hard as a rock. “Wanna know what I think?… I think he’s just a selfish asshole who obviously couldn’t take care of his girl. I should’ve punched him twice when I had the chance.”

  She laughs which causes her whole body to rock, against me, in all the good ways.

  She moans again and I swear I’ll come if I hear that noise again.

  I slowly move my hands higher up her thighs while I gently push up against her, just once. She’s staring into my eyes and I stare back. Her eyes are hooded and filled with lust, and if this happens, when this happens, planets are going to collide, and the world around us will explode.

  We slowly start rocking together and it feels so incredible, better than being inside any girl I’ve ever been with.

  “Shit,” she whispers as she continues rocking against me. My hands creep higher on her thighs until they slide over her ass and to the skin above the band of her shorts. I start to thumb under the material. There’s a silent question I’m asking, and she nods slowly in response. I start to move my fingers into the material, under her shorts and panties and I cup her ass gently.

  She moans at the slight touch and I swear my dick is so hard it could snap right off.

  I remove a hand and she whimpers in protest. It may be the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I cup the back of her neck and bring her down towards my lips. It’s early morning, neither of us has brushed our teeth, there’s no way I’m going in for the kiss. Plus, if I’m going to kiss her, then I’ll want to taste her, all of her, and I won’t be able to stop. And today, I need to be able to stop.

  I start to kiss her neck. The top half of her body pressed on top of me, legs still straddling me. One hand on her ass, the other resting lightly on her waist. Once the kisses become licks and sucks, her breathing becomes heavier, she’s practically panting and her grinding has taken up a faster rhythm. God she feels so fucking incredible.

  Her movements become more rushed and she starts panting louder. I can feel her heart beat pounding against my chest and I know she’s close. I squeeze her ass tighter, and with my other hand, go for the front of her shorts.

  “Shit, Jake!” She comes undone almost instantly and I surprise myself by letting go too.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, Kayla.”

  Chapter 20

  *Jake*

  Nothing says awkward like coming in your pants while dry humping.

  *Mikayla*

  Nothing like a mind blowing orgasm to keep a goofy smile on my face.

  Oh. My. God. Jake. Fucking. Andrews.

  My whole graduation ceremony is a little dull, it’s nothing compared to Jake’s, our school must suck compared.

  When my name finally gets called, everyone claps. Mostly pity claps I assume, small town, everyone knows the girl with the dead family. Jake's family clap the loudest. Jake does this ridiculously loud wolf whistle that breaks through the air and people laugh. I also hear my name being shouted from far back in the crowd and I see Logan, Heidi and Dylan, and Lucy and Cam. I had no idea that they were coming but I appreciate so much that they’re here for me.

  I still haven’t heard from Megan. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

  The rest of the students get called up, and apparently one of the students I’ve never spoken to before does a quick speech about the death of my family, and how courageous I am. I wish I could absorb and appreciate it but the whole time I’m sitting there, all I can think about is Jake and his hands, and his mouth and his…

  I’m rubbing my legs together, when loud cheers erupt and hats are thrown in the air.

  Yaye, were done. I need to see Jake.

  ***

  I head over to Jake and his friends and family. They get me in a huge group hug and Mandy goes nuts with the photos. I pose with everyone individually and she gets about a trillion with me and Jake.

  Mandy, Nathan and Julie head back home.

  Logan’s giving me shit about how small my hick school is, when James walks over to us.

  Jake immediately tenses and puts a protective arm around my shoulders.

  James sees it and a sneer appears on his face before he can recover.

  The group walks a little away from us, Logan hangs back for a second, “Dude, if you feel like punching him again, just tell me, I’ll do it. Don’t risk fucking up that hand, UNC won’t be happy.”

  James’ eyes narrow in confusion, and then widen when realization sets in. “You’re that Jake Andrews?”

  Jake just shrugs and squares his shoulders.

  James looks back to me, “Nice job on my truck, by the way.”

  The group must hear this because they all cackle with laughter.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling like a cheshire cat.

  James shakes his head, looking down. When he looks up, there’s a whole other emotion there.

  “Look Mick…” he starts, but then huffs out a breath.

  “Could you maybe ask your bodyguard here to give us a minute?” He nods his head to Jake.

  I look up at Jake, then back to James, “Nope,” I say, making the ‘p’ pop.

  Jake stifles a laugh next to me, his mouth on my hair.

  “Forget it,” James mutters as he turns to walk away.

  “Hey, James?” He pivots and starts walking backwards, waiting to hear what I have to say. “How’s Megan going?”

  He freezes, opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it again, before turning back around and walking away. For good, I hope.

  We say goodbye to the gang, and tell them we’ll see them when we get back from the wedding. Jake and I head home. Home? Home.

  The work is still going strong on the garage, the termites can’t have done too much damage, I haven’t really seen them rebuilding, but I’ve never actually been in the garage so I wouldn’t know.

  We pack and head back out to Jake's truck, saying bye to his family on the way out. I thought they might give Jake and I a lecture about being by ourselves in a hotel room, but I guess being here, living with each other, is basically the same.

  When we get to the driveway, Travis, one of the workers is there. He’s a nice guy, always smiles and says hello in the mornings when I take Julie to school. He sees me and smiles again. “Hey, Mikayla. How are you today, darlin’?”

  Jake removes the bag from my hand and holds it in the same hand as his bag. He holds my hand tightly and brings me to his side, leading me to the passenger side of his truck. He throws our bags in the bed and makes sure I’m seated, before closing the door.

  Instead of getting in the truck, he walks over to Travis and says something to him. It looks like a heated conversation and Travis’ arms go up in surrender. By the time Jake gets in the truck, his face is red, brows drawn together and his jaw is clenched. I don’t say anything to him.

  Half way to the airport, he hasn’t changed.

  Hesitantly I take his hand in mine and he seems to calm down a tiny bit.

  “What happened, Jake? Did something happen with Travis?”

  “How do you know his name?” he bites out.

  “I don’t know, he just introduced himself one day.” I’ve never seen him like this and it scares me a little.

  “And you rem-" His head whips to me, but then he sees my face and calms his features. “I’m so sorry, Kayla.”

  He takes a few deep breaths. “I’m just sick of that asshole eye fucking you whenever he sees you.”

  “Jake, he wasn-"

  “Just leave it alone, okay? He’ll be done next week.”

  ***

  The wedding is beautiful, Mom would have loved it. The reception, however, was amazing.
/>
  Jake and I ended up drinking a bit too much and we’re stumbling as we make our way to the hotel room. We got in last night, but after having dinner with Lisa and her fiancé, we just crashed and burned immediately after hitting the pillows.

  Lisa, being the awesome ‘Aunt’ she is, has supplied us with a little alcohol in our room, considering we’re only 18 and all.

  We’re both buzzed sitting on the floor, our backs to the bed.

  “You know the legal drinking age in Australia is 18?” he says.

  “No shit?” I empty the remains of the beer bottle in my mouth.

  “Mmm-hmm” He fishes through the packet of nuts, searching for something. “It’s the same for driving, well, where we were anyway. Some other states, it’s like 16 or 17 or some shit.”

  “Where were you from?”

  “Melbourne.”

  “What was it like?”

  “We lived in the suburbs, believe it or not it’s a lot like home, more traffic lights in Melbourne though.”

  “We’re you a bad little boy?” I ask him.

  “That kind of sounds sexy and borderline creepy,” he laughs.

  I smack him on the shoulder, he mocks hurt, rubbing it before continuing. “Nah, I mean, I was like, 14 when I came back, so over there I was just a standard little punk. I think the worst thing I ever did was accidentally knock over a pot outside a florist trying to do sick tricks on my skateboard.” I laugh. “I felt so bad, I told my mom the minute I got home and begged her to pay for it. She made me apologize to the owner and took it out of my pocket money.”

  I laugh even harder. “You are so fricken adorable.”

  He chuckles under his breath.

  It’s quiet for a moment, while I lean my head on his shoulder.

  “Tell me more about it? Australia I mean, we didn’t get to travel much, I’ve never been out of America. We had always planned on going to The Philippines for a family holiday, that’s where Mom’s dad was from, my mom’s half Filipino.”

  “Aaah, always wondered where you got that amazing color from,” he says, rubbing my arm with the back of his finger.

  I nudge him, “So…? Tell me about it.”

  “Okay, umm… let’s see..” He looks to the roof contemplating.

  I stand up to get another beer from the fridge.

  “Shit,” I groan. “We’re out of beer.”

  “What? No way!” He comes behind me to look. “Crap, well, we got champagne?”

  I pout. “I can’t have champagne without ice.”

  “To the ice machine!” he announces, one hand on his waist, the other in the air like he’s a fricken superhero. I laugh and jump on his back, grabbing the ice bucket on the way out.

  “We call sandals ‘thongs’,” he says, turning his head so he can face me.

  “WHAT?!” I laugh.

  “Yeah, the first time I came back, I was living with my Aunt and Uncle, and this girl invited me to her house for a pool party. The whole class was there. I had taken my ‘sandals’ off just outside the pool, and when I went to get out I asked this smoking’ hot, for like 13, girl to hand them to me, except I said to her ‘chuck us me thongs!’” I throw my head back in laughter so hard, he loses balance and has to readjust himself, and then me. “After that, people kept teasing me, telling me I wore thongs, which in Australia is called a g-string, just FYI. Anyway, it took me like, a good two months to convince people that I didn’t wear thongs, and that I was asking for sandals.”

  I’m all out laughing now, and I’m glad he’s holding on to me because if he weren’t, I’d be rolling around on the floor.

  “Mikayla, is that you?” I look up to see Lisa's mom smiling at me.

  I get down from Jake's back to give her a hug, trying to hide that I’m buzzed, or wasted. Probably closer to wasted.

  “Hi Mrs. Jennings, what a lovely ceremony.”

  “Oh yes, dear, it was. Now, Lisa told me what happened, I’m so sorry. I would have been at the funeral but unfortunately we can’t leave Albert alone anymore.”

  “That’s fine, I understand.” I smile at her.

  “It’s so good to see you can still smile and laugh, dear. Your parents would be happy.” She looks to Jake. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, he’s not-"

  What is he? I look up at him, he’s eyeing me, waiting for my reaction, goofy look on his face. I laugh a little, and take his hand.

  “This is my Jake,” I say proudly.

  Jake eyes me sideways, a smirk on his lips, then shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He holds up the ice bucket. “I’ll get the ice and meet you back in the room,” he states, before walking away.

  When I get back in the room, the ice bucket is filled and sitting near the bottle of champagne on the little dining table.

  I can hear the shower running. Wierd.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him to get out.

  When he does, my jaw drops. He’s shirtless, with just sweatpants on. They ride low on his hips, so low you can see the band of his boxer briefs peeking out. He has a towel in one hand and he’s drying his still wet chest. The steam from the bathroom pours out through the open doorway and he shakes his head to rid some of the water. My mouth goes dry.

  My fingers itch to reach out and run them over his stomach. I sit on them so I don’t get too tempted. My eyes are roaming his body and he has to know what I’m doing because he hasn’t moved since he walked out and noticed me. I must be wasted, because I’m positive that time definitely stops. Like, the second hand of a clock just decided I deserved some goddamn luck and let me just stare at this masterpiece of boy.

  I’m rubbing my legs together, trying to ease some of the tension down there.

  Then he moves and sits next to me on the bed.

  So fucking close to me that his bare arm is rubbing on mine. I can feel his heat against my side, and it’s not the only place I feel heat.

  I’m a sick and twisted hornbag.

  I’m too ashamed to look at his face, I don’t know what his reaction to my stare-athon is.

  In my mind, this is what I look like: A giant St. Bernard, huffing and panting with sloppy drool falling out of my mouth, whimpering, like I need to lick and taste a giant bone inches from my face.

  He can be my giant bone. Oh. My. God. Bone.

  I should lick him.

  Just his chest.

  NO! I’m not that wasted.

  Is he? Maybe he won’t remember if I just have one lick.

  I start to turn to my side and face him, my eyes on his chest.

  Do it…

  “Kayla?”

  “Mmm?” I’m literally eye licking him.

  “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna have to ask you to take your shirt off so we’re even.”

  Chapter 21

  *Mikayla*

  I snap back to reality at that comment and jump back a bit.

  I was legit 2 seconds away from licking him.

  I laugh to myself and haul ass to the bathroom so I can steady my breathing and get some space.

  I look in the mirror, but in my mind all I see is that St. Bernard.

  I laugh out loud this time.

  “What’s so funny in there?” he asks, yelling, so I can hear him through the bathroom door.

  “I was totally going to lick you!”

  “WHAT?!” he yells.

  What the fuck? Why did I say that?

  “Nothing…”

  ***

  When I finally get out of the bathroom, he’s half lying on the bed, legs on the floor, like he just flung himself backwards from that sitting position, one arm over his eyes. He hears me coming out but doesn’t move to look.

  “I’m like, in a euphoric state of buzzed right now,” he mumbles. “How are you holding up?”

  “Me too, I think I’m a little worse off though.” I sit on the bed. “Hey, Jake?”

  “mmm?”

  “You need to put a shirt on.”
/>
  He doesn’t say anything, just gets up, goes to his bag and throws on a shirt.

  He then walks over and pours two glasses of champagne, with ice, and hands one to me.

  Half an hour later we’re on the floor, laughing again.

  “We should play truth or dare!” I yell, like it’s the greatest idea in the world.

  “Orrrrr…” he says, finger up in the air like he has a better idea, “I could braid your hair and we can watch Hannah Montana, that would be swell.”

  “I’m serious.”

  We’re both back to being past buzzed.

  “I’m serious too, Kayla. You don’t need to pretend to play games, if you want to fool around, just say it,” he jokes, while reaching out to grab a boob.

  I swat it away with my hand and giggle. He feigns disappointment. “Seriously, Kayla. Ask me anything, I’ll tell you the truth. Same goes for you though, okay?”

  “Done,” I nod. “Me first, though. How many girls have you slept with?”

  He moans and rolls his eyes. He pours himself another glass of champagne as he says, “Shit, I’ve gotta hit the gym tomorrow.”

  “All right, ‘Caption Deflect-O’, answer the question.”

  He sighs. “I can’t give you a number, Kayla.”

  I look at him, eyes wide, asking him to continue. “I dunno,” he shrugs, “between like 30-50, I guess.”

  My nose scrunches when I give him a disgusted look.

  “Don’t look at me like that, and don’t judge me. I was a different person then,” he says.

  “A different person? As in maybe there were 5 or 6 physically different persons? That would make it less pig-ish then.”