Truth We Bear Read online

  I want to watch you jack off

  while all these oppressed housewives

  secretly wish they were watching

  someone as sexy as you stroke that D.

  Jezebel…

  I was already painfully hard. My dick pressed against my jeans, and I shifted to ease the sting. Already, my crotch was peaked like some fucked-up tent.

  I’m not kidding, B. Strip. Now.

  I slipped out of my jeans, thankful for the release of pressure, and climbed onto the bed. I snapped a picture of my dick, still in my boxer briefs, and sent it to Jezebel, knowing my hard-on was obvious and in full force.

  Holy fuck. More.

  I slid my boxers down to my knees, and my dick sprang free. I snapped another picture, knowing she’d appreciate this one much more than the other. Long, thick, and pointing toward the ceiling, my cock was ready to sink into something soft and sweet. Sadly, at this rate, that something would be my hand, and my hand was nowhere near as soft and sweet as Jezebel’s tight, wet pussy.

  Stroke. Your. Dick.

  I laughed. I loved her dirty mouth. Before I could snap another picture, my screen lit up with a video-call. I answered.

  “Are you really video-calling me right now?” I said, unable to contain my smile.

  “Relax. My headphones are in, and I’m at a corner table.”

  I didn’t have to look past her silhouette to know that was true. Ever since her attack, she watched her surroundings, choosing corner booths over center tables everywhere we went. She once told me her attacker surprised her by cornering her, and I knew this was her way of ensuring that never happened again. I loved that she was more careful now, but I hated it was because of what he did to her. Her confidence and security had been crushed.

  “You’re insatiable,” I said.

  “I’m…in need of inspiration,” she said, smiling. “Show me.”

  I flipped the camera’s lens so it was focused on the view in front of me, which currently consisted of my hand wrapped around the base of my dick. Jezebel moaned softly as I stroked, slowly at first, hoping it’d tease her. I watched her face on the screen, my dick growing harder as she gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes focused on my every movement.

  “Are you sure you can’t come home early?” I asked.

  She grinned and tapped on the screen. When she looked back at me, my phone beeped.

  Why? What would you

  do to me if I was there?

  I smiled. “You know exactly what I’d do to you if you were here.”

  She groaned, rolling her eyes.

  “You want details?” I teased.

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “First, I’d strip you of those clothes. They’d definitely be in the way.”

  She giggled, finally releasing her lower lip from her clenched teeth. It was red, plump, and it made my dick ache. I wanted to do so many things to that mouth. I wanted to suck on her lip until her sensitive skin couldn’t take it anymore. I’d bite the skin there until she cried out. I wanted to shove my dick down her throat and watch as she took me as far as she could. I’d run my hands through her silky hair as I pushed her to every limit she had. I wanted to show her how amazing sex could be. But I knew I could never be that rough with her. Not anymore. Not after what had happened.

  Keep going. I’m so wet.

  Groaning, I grasped my dick harder. Trying to ease the urgency to throw on clothes, run to the café, and fuck her where she sat, I squeezed the head of my dick so hard it was almost painful.

  “Tell me what you’d do,” she whispered.

  “I’d slide into your mouth, letting your tongue get me good and wet. I’d watch as you sucked every drop of pre-come I gave you. And you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her breath hitched, and her chest was heaving. I knew she was aroused, so I kept going.

  “I’d push into that tight cunt fast and hard.” I quickened my pace and tightened my grip.

  Her skin flushed, and I was sure her panties were soaked.

  “I’d fuck you until you screamed my name, until you came so fucking hard you weren’t sure you’d ever stop coming.”

  She squirmed in her seat and closed her eyes. I imagined her squeezing her legs together, hoping for any kind of pressure she could give her throbbing clit right now.

  “After you came, I’d pull out and suck your swollen clit into my mouth, taking my time, giving you orgasm after orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore, until you were too sensitive and begged me to stop. You’d feel what I’d do to you for days after I was done fucking you.”

  She inhaled sharply, and I thought about continuing. I was eager to see if I could make her come with just my words and the image of me rubbing my dick while thinking about her pussy.

  This is so fucking hot. I want you. Now.

  And I came. Hard. Fast. I came in hot, milky streaks that shot out and landed on my chest. I moaned my release and told her I wished she were here. I wished I’d made her come with me.

  “I wish I were there, baby,” she said. She placed two fingers to her lips, kissed them, and then brought them to the screen. I loved when she did that. It was raw, honest, real, yet so terrifying. It was a gesture of true love, and my chest ached every time she showed me such care.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too.” She smiled. “Join me for lunch?”

  I nodded, promised I’d be there soon, and hung up. With a new sense of determination, I cleaned up, zipped up my pants, pulled out my phone, and finished what I started the moment I’d discovered the website all those years ago.

  Chapter Five

  Then

  I didn’t want to go to the pastor’s house for dinner. I didn’t want to meet his daughter, Abigail, and I certainly didn’t want to give up the few hours I had to play with my friends after chores were done.

  “James,” Mother said, her voice strained. I knew she was holding back a whoopin’, so I stopped whining. Maybe if I ate quickly, we’d be back home before the sun set, and I could still play outside.

  I combed my hair to the side, pretending not to hear my parents whispering.

  “Are we sure about this?” Mother asked. “We barely know them.”

  “You needn’t worry, sweetheart. We must think of the good of the community. He brings a wealth of knowledge. Everyone is placed in the area of his or her strength. You know this.” I watched as Father brushed a hair from Mother’s face, tucking it behind her ear. She smiled.

  “But power over the entire community? How do we know he won’t ruin everything we built?” she asked. She frowned. It was unnatural for her, and it made me grimace. Mother was always happy. The only time I’d seen her cry was when someone left to be with God, and even then, her pain was brief.

  “We’ve always said that God has brought us all together for a reason. Who’s to say God didn’t bring him to us too?”

  Mother exhaled slowly, but before she could respond, her gaze flickered to mine. I turned away quickly, as if I hadn’t just been caught eavesdropping.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” she said quickly. I heard her approach, so I ran to my bedroom and jumped on my bed, pretending I’d been reading my Bible the whole time. It didn’t take her long to find me. “Come, James. We’ll be late.”

  As we stepped outside, the breeze fluffed my hair. I groaned and combed it back to the side with my fingers. I scanned my surroundings, looking for my friends.

  The community was small, and the houses were built closely together in the living quarters. Every house at Living Light looked the same, with stairs leading to the front door. Each cabin was raised for fear of flooding. With each passing year, the wood used to build the homes grayed, leaving no remnants of the light-cream color it used to be.

  We arrived at the pastor’s house minutes after leaving our own. A line of stones led to the pastor’s door. I skipped my way toward his house, hopping from one slab to the next. When we reac
hed the door, I knocked, standing in front of my parents. Quickly, I ran a hand through my hair once more, sure the welcome summer breeze had made a mess of it once again.

  “Welcome!” the pastor said after opening the door.

  My stomach grumbled, and my heart shook. The pastor made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t sure what it was about him that I disliked, but being near him made my skin crawl. No one else seemed to be afflicted, so I ignored my instincts and offered a fake, wide smile whenever I saw him. He always looked at me strangely, as if he knew I didn’t like him. Maybe he didn’t like me either.

  My parents and I filed inside. I shook his hand and mumbled a greeting, but I was more interested in snooping around his house. No one had been invited in after he moved here. I was sure he was hiding something.

  My gaze landed on a girl. She was young, like me, and pretty. Her hair was light red, and her skin was pale. I wondered if he kept her inside all the time. She walked over to me and offered a small wave.

  “I’m Abigail,” she said quietly.

  “James.”

  Her eyes were light blue, kind of like mine. She had freckles on her skin that seemed to disappear when she crinkled her nose.

  “What’s that smell?” Abigail asked.

  The pastor laughed. It was a bellowed sound that seemed to shake the walls. I narrowed my eyes. Even his laugh sounded fake. “I should have warned you that I’m not much of a chef.”

  My parents laughed, but their laughter also sounded forced. Was no one happy to be here?

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Mother said, her lips in a firm smile. Why was she acting so…weird? Did she not like him either? “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, no. You’re my guest. Come, join me at the table. Abigail, have you finished your chores?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Perhaps you and James would like to retire to the living area?”

  I gasped. I was sure my eyes would pop right out of my head. I didn’t want to spend any time alone with her, but Mother would be upset if I made a scene. I watched as my parents joined the pastor at his table, leaving me alone with Abigail.

  “Living room is this way,” she said, walking in the opposite direction of my parents and the door to escape this mess.

  I didn’t want to go with her. I didn’t want to make a new friend. I groaned internally, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Exhaling sharply, I followed Abigail into the living room and sat on the floor in the center of the small room. If I turned, I could see my parents speaking to the pastor in hushed tones. Mother looked upset, and Father had wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her skin was flushed, and her hands were balled into fists.

  I turned back toward Abigail. She was sitting on the floor beside me, pulling her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and slowly rocked side to side. Her dress was long, and the bottom skidded against the wood floors. I sat straighter and watched the wall in front of us.

  “I like your dress,” I said robotically, not looking at her. I thought it was blue, but the dim light in the room might have played tricks on me. All I knew for sure was that blue was my favorite color.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “I like your house,” I added.

  “Me too.”

  “Do you like living here?” I glanced at her. I liked to ask people this question, because everyone always seemed to love it here just as much as I did. But Abigail was new, and she didn’t know anyone besides her father. Maybe they hated it here. Maybe they’d leave.

  She shrugged. “I don’t want to marry you. Can I stay if I don’t marry you?”

  This time, I turned to face her fully. “Huh?”

  “Father said we have to get married, but I don’t want to. He said he’s telling your parents tonight.”

  I frowned. “But I don’t want to be married.”

  “Don’t tell him that. He gets…angry when you disobey him.”

  Only then did I notice the bruises on her arm, as if someone had grabbed her too tightly. I reached forward and touched them with my fingertips. She shivered and pulled away, yanking her sleeves down to cover the marks.

  “Why do we have to get married?” I asked, not really sure what it meant to be married. My parents were married, and I loved my parents. Maybe I could love being married too?

  She shrugged again. “God says so.”

  I nodded. “Then we should. God wants us to, and we always do what God wants. I mean, God is never wrong, right?”

  She giggled. “Wrong right?”

  We both laughed but were quickly silenced when the pastor called us to join them at the table.

  Chapter Six

  Now

  I glanced at the clock. Half past noon. The café Jezebel writes at was a short walk down the street. I’d be there in less than five minutes if I left now, but before I could join her, I needed to finish what I’d started. I grabbed my phone, scrolled through its contacts list, and clicked to call a friend.

  “Blakely, as I live and breathe. How’ve you been, man?” a familiar voice asked.

  “Reynolds. Good. You?”

  “Can’t complain. How’s the contractor life?”

  “Good money. Ready to accept my offer yet?” I asked. It was a loaded question. I knew Reynolds wouldn’t leave his desk job for the life I now lived. He was ready to leave behind a life of excitement and unpredictability for the stability his nine-to-five offered his family.

  “The money isn’t so bad here,” he said.

  “Glad to hear that. How are the girls?” I asked.

  “Monica stays at home now. She loves it. We’ve taken Bethany out of daycare. My in-laws are thrilled,” he said with a groan.

  “I’m surprised your mother-in-law hasn’t enrolled her in an online home school program already. I’m sure those have wait lists.” I laughed.

  His in-laws were constantly trying to meddle in his parenting. He hated it, but he never complained. He was just happy to have made it home alive from the military. Putting in a decade more than me, Reynolds was the first to admit he was ready to retire. His confession was what had prompted everyone to reject contract renewals.

  “She sends me brochures weekly.”

  I could practically hear him roll his eyes. He’d always wanted the best for Bethany, but that meant dealing with his in-laws on a daily basis now. Monica was trying to get pregnant again, without success, and everyone seemed to have an opinion on how he should raise the child they already had.

  “In-laws,” I nagged.

  “How’s Jezebel?” he asked.

  “Better,” I said simply. I never offered more than short, vague answers when it came to her recovery, both as a courtesy to her and an obligation to my profession. I trusted Reynolds with my life and secrets, but I wouldn’t betray her trust.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. You know I followed the news stories. I can’t tell you how many times I almost contacted the guys. We would’ve been there in under an hour to take care of the problem.”

  I smiled. I’d retired from the marines almost two years ago, and before I met Jezebel, I struggled with the decision to walk away. After my parents’ death, they were the only family I knew. It was hard to go from seeing them daily to just exchanging emails. Nevertheless, even though we rarely saw each other, we were still family. I would die for them. They would kill for me. And I knew by “take care of the problem,” he meant no one would ever find Brent Miller’s body. In these moments, I never knew what to say. Words couldn’t express the love we shared. The bond shared by the brotherhood in this life was unbreakable.

  “As much as I love just listening to you breathe, I should get back to work,” he joked.

  I grinned. “I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need some information on a girl. First name Abigail. Alfa. Bravo. India. Golf. Alfa. India. Lima. I don’t have a last name, but I have a website. Maybe you can link back to the source? Track her down f
or me?”

  “Website?”

  “Living Light Massacre. Lima, India, Victor, India, November, Golf, Lima, India, Golf, Hotel, Tango, Mike, Alfa, Sierra, Sierra, Alfa, Charlie, Romeo, Echo…”

  “Got it,” he confirmed after I relayed the entire web address. “Give me an hour.”

  I thanked him, hung up, and locked the door behind me as I left the apartment to meet Jezebel for lunch.

  I hadn’t seen my unit in over a year, choosing to skip our yearly retreat in order to stay with Jezebel during her recovery. We shared emails and text messages often, but it wasn’t the same. During Jezebel’s attack, she’d suffered severe wounds. Her brain had taken the worst of it, though, and she’d fallen into a coma. The doctor had assured me this wasn’t exactly out of the norm, but when I’d shared the news with Reynolds, he’d shown up at the hospital. It wasn’t an easy trek from North Carolina to where we were in Maine, but I hadn’t been surprised to see him at her door when someone knocked.

  I’d never told Jezebel—mainly because he’d shown up to do what he thought I was too busy to do: kill Miller. Little did he know, Jezebel had already done the deed in an attempt to save my life. He’d stayed with me for a few days, until I forced him to leave. His family needed him more than I did.

  When I reached the café, I didn’t go inside. Instead, I scanned the small restaurant. I found her sitting at her usual corner table and watched her as she packed her laptop into her bag. As if she sensed my presence, she looked up, and our gazes locked. She smiled, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out the door and toward me.

  Even now, after nearly a year and a half together, I was left awestruck by her beauty. In every way, she was stunning, from her dark-brown hair to her pale skin to her spunky heart. She was perfect.