February 19. On Monday morning, Joey woke with a smile on her face and looked to her right to see the gorgeous guy who'd carried her upstairs to bed last night. As she shifted to get a better look, he moved a bit to lay on his back, still asleep. She smiled again. Pacey looked sexy, warm, rumpled, and completely delectable, and in that instant, she decided to put off getting out of bed for just a little bit longer.
She slid her tongue over her bottom lip. His head was turned to the side, his dark lashes resting against the soft skin beneath his eyes. She wanted to watch him sleep. She also wanted to kiss his eyelids and wake him for another round of incredible sex. Then another, more delicious thought came to her. She wanted to make his mouth stretch into a delightfully surprised grin when he woke up.
She carefully lifted the covers until she exposed his naked body. Her gaze leisurely traveled over his bare skin, feasting her eyes on his long legs, his flat belly, his firm chest. Masculine perfection. She wanted to kiss every inch of him, starting with his feet all the way to the brown hair on top of his head. Her eyes strayed to the patch of dark groomed pubic hair at his groin, and then to his magnificent penis, drawn up on his thigh and half-hard. Alluring her.
Her body tightened with memories of their night together. Just the mere sight of him had her breasts swelling and her center wetting. Every nerve in her body came alive with longing. She scooted down the bed and placed herself between his thighs. Deep in sleep he spread his legs to make room for her.
His penis seemed to sense her interest. It swelled before she'd even touched it, as if her breath alone was a caress. She licked his exquisitely sensitive flesh with tiny, delicate strokes of her tongue. He was salty, warm. Silky and tender. She inched closer, moistened her lips, opened wide to accommodate him, and brought the head of his semi-erect cock inside her mouth. She licked and sucked, and within seconds, he was hardening in her mouth.
Pacey murmured uneasily in his sleep. He suddenly awakened from nothingness to pleasure—unbelievable pleasure. Joey, it had to be Joey. Nothing else could make him feel this good. Sucking, stroking—slowly, languorously, up and down the length of his erection, bringing him closer and closer to ecstasy and release. He soared and began moving his hips as he worked along with the pleasure-giving warm suction of the wet mouth, enjoying it, luxuriating in it. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down to see the woman he loved.
Joey knew he had woken up and her pulse gave a little jump of excitement. With his hard shaft in her mouth, she glanced up at him and caught his smile. Every fiber in her being loved this new closeness between them. God, how she'd love to wake him up like this every morning just to see that sexy smile of his.
He moaned in appreciation and shifted beneath her. "You sure know how to wake a guy up, Potter," he said in a smooth voice that curled her toes.
Pacey brought his fingers to her hair, moving it away from her face so he could watch his cock slide in and out of her mouth. She loved that he was watching. She loved the look on his face. It made her feel sexy, beautiful, desirable.
"But I wanted to wake you up like that, Jo." There were no guests at the B&B, and he'd wanted to take advantage of being able to sleep in with her longer.
"You can wake me up like this another time."
Then she flicked her tongue over his slit, licking up a bead of his pre-cum, and he drew a sharp breath. "I'm not complaining, mind you," he quickly added, prompting her to continue with a smile.
Joey chuckled around a mouthful of cock, loving how crazed she made him. She loved him with her mouth, reveling in how easy it was now, how her complete lack of experience in this area before being with Pacey had grown into a real skill. There was no sense of embarrassment, no painful tension in her jaw. No wondering if she was doing it correctly or how long it was going to take. She flowed with it, rhythmic and sensual. She knew exactly how to please him, and this intimate knowledge of Pacey and his body sent a thrill shooting through her.
"Oh, baby, your mouth…" His head lolled as he touched the back of her throat. "Oh, God, it's so hot."
She felt sexy and wanton, purring with pleasure, flushed with power. She swirled her tongue around the swollen head of his cock at the end of each long, suckling pull. An electric pulse of energy tingled and rushed through her body from his, to his, with each slow, dragging caress. She squirmed around a throb of excitement between her legs. She loved having Pacey in thrall to her, moaning and helpless. She loved his vulnerability and his trust. She loved everything about him.
Pacey propped himself up onto his elbows to watch her, his face flushed with arousal. She consumed him with her passion, with exquisite pleasure. He could feel his balls tightening, his cock growing even harder in the hot slide of her mouth. His hand touched her cheek. His loving touch made Joey's heart swell, and her throat clenched with longing.
He stared with a dazed looked. "Do you, uh…" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to have sex?"
She rubbed the sensitive head of his erection against her soft cheek, licking and nuzzling him. "What do you want to do?"
He shook his head. "Anything. Any damn thing you want."
She flicked her tongue tenderly against the taut, shining underside of his cock. "Do you want to come in my mouth?"
Pacey tightened and swelled against her tongue as her words filled him with burning lust. "Baby, you're killing me, here." He took several gasping breaths. "Uh… you tell me, Jo."
She lifted her head and clicked her tongue. "Oh no," she said. "We're not going to play that back-and-forth game right now. It's not always just about what I want. This is your blow job, Pacey. You tell me exactly how you want it to go. Do you want to come inside my mouth, or inside a condom?"
He sometimes felt like it made him a greedy, selfish bastard, wanting her to do this for him—an act that he clearly got a lot more out of than she did—but he loved the reassurance of the intimacy of it, what it said about their relationship without either of them actually having to say it. "I would love to come in your mouth," he replied raggedly.
"Well, lucky for you, that's exactly what I want, too."
Joey curled up comfortably and settled into a deep, lazy rhythm. Slow and steady, making it last. She was utterly aroused by this, the tingles of happiness seeping through her body. Giving this to him satisfied her, too, and she understood exactly why Pacey loved pleasing her so much. She took him in as far as she could, using her hand to mimic her mouth's movements as she stroked him over and over. A need inside her wanted him to come, wanted to please him yet torture him at the same time. As soon as it looked like he was about to come, she backed off until the wave eased down, and then she would suck him deep into her mouth again.
His hands tightened in her hair and his body shook. She'd gotten so good at this, knowing how to keep him teetering on the edge of sweet madness. The way she so freely gave him this pleasure, and obviously enjoyed giving it, only enhanced the experience. He only wished he had the strength to enjoy it for a lot longer. His need for release was quickly becoming a desperation.
"Please, Jo," he begged, watching her love him with her mouth. "Let me come. I can't take it anymore."
She smiled her assent, and then tightened both hands around him, pumping hard and fast, and the taste of him against her tongue changed, grew hotter, tighter, metallic. Pacey couldn't stop moaning—his cock was throbbing and pulsating; a powerful orgasm was about to hit him hard. Pleasure suddenly rocked through him, and he arched off the bed with a choking sound as his release spurted inside her mouth. Her lips closed around his throbbing head, the tight suction intensifying his orgasm.
Her clit had been tingling since she'd started touching him. With every thrust of his hips and moan from his lips, it had grown tighter and tighter, and now the sensation intensified rapidly. She clenched her inner muscles over and over again, the sensation expanding out from her core in waves as the pressure behind her clit burst into an orgasm. Writhing between his legs, blood rushing to her head, Joey moaned in bliss and drank in every last drop, swallowing everything he gave her.
Tears blurred his vision, sharp and stinging. He didn't have words. He couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. A knot of emotion in his throat suddenly threatened to choke him. He tried to breathe around it and found himself closed off. Pacey groped blindly for a pillow and flopped it over his face while she licked him clean.
She wiped her mouth, kissed his sensitive flesh, tenderly, affectionately, and then nuzzled his thigh. Her heart was pounding. Her hot center tingled with lingering spasms. Her mind was a pleasurable fog. "Pacey?"
He held up his hand, silently begging her to wait. She couldn't. She crawled up his body and straddled him. "Are you okay?"
He gave her a silent thumbs-up.
"Hey, you. Enough of that," she said sternly, leaning forward and wrenching the pillow from his face. "Be sociable."
He turned his head and looked away, but not quickly enough to hide that his eyes were wet, his face red. "Damn, Jo," he muttered. "Give a guy some privacy."
She stared at him, her lips parting. "Pacey, are you… are you crying?"
"No," he lied, his voice thick with emotion.
She threw him a skeptical look before her face contorted with concern. "Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?"
He finally turned to gaze up at her, gaping. "You made me come so hard that tears came to my eyes, and you think you did something wrong?"
She giggled. "Do you want a hug, Pace?"
He wanted a hug more than anything right now. "From you, Jo? Anytime."
She leaned over him, her soft breasts brushing the sensitive tips of his nipples before molding to his chest. His arms came around her back, hugging her close, relishing the feel of her bare skin against his. He felt warm and happy.
Her fingers smoothed his hair, and caressed his face as if trying to memorize his features. She kissed his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck, his ear. "I love you, Pacey," she said, her voice low, her warm breath brushing his cheek.
"I love you, too." Then his hand ran down her back, over her ass, reaching between her thighs. "What about you?"
"I came."
He pulled his head back to stare at her. He recalled both her hands being quite occupied with him. "You… came? From sucking my dick?"
She bit her lip and shrugged.
Pacey started to laugh.
"What's so funny? You don't think it's possible? Well, I'm telling you, it happened."
"No, I'm laughing at myself and how ridiculous I was for calling you a prude all those years. Damn, Potter. I feel like I struck gold."
She giggled. "It's the quiet ones you gotta watch out for."
He gave her a look. "Please. When were you ever quiet?"
With an affronted look, she sat up and grabbed the pillow, smacking him, and he laughed. "Quiet on the subject of sex and how I felt about it."
"Oh, well, yeah, I suppose that's different," he grinned.
Rolling her eyes, she climbed out of bed, and then smirked at him tauntingly over her shoulder. "I'm gonna take a shower. You wanna make me breakfast?"
Watching her naked body move across the room, he smiled. "Yes. Yes, I do."
After they ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs at the small round table in the kitchen, Pacey parked himself on the couch and played video games while Joey sat in front of her painting, continuing to work on it. They spent a lazy Monday, happy to talk now and then, or to spend hours in comfortable silence. In the evening they cuddled on the couch while watching television, and later that night, she fell asleep in his arms.
Then Tuesday dawned, and so did her period. The familiar dragging sensation in her pelvis was intense when she woke, and she pushed herself out of Pacey's bed, but not before checking the sheet, sending up a prayer of thanks that there was no accident. She went to the bathroom, checked, swore grumpily, and opened the bathroom cabinet.
Upon moving downstairs, Joey crashed on the couch underneath a blanket while Pacey made her some toast. After putting a kettle on the stove to boil, he came in the living room to kneel in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. "How're you doing?"
"I'll live. The toast was good."
"Is there anything as delicious as toast with butter?"
Gently, she cupped his face, feeling the shape of his cheekbone with her thumb. In reply, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. The kiss was light and delicate, mutual comfort. Pacey held the sides of her head, his thumbs running little circles on her earlobes, and kissed one cheek, then the other, and her forehead, before he stood and took her empty plate back to the kitchen.
He soon returned with a steaming cup and set it down on the coffee table. Then he dropped two pills next to it. "Painkillers, tea, and a chocolate bar," he said as he placed the wrapped treat on the table in front of her. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the television.
"You really are the perfect boyfriend."
"I try," he said with a smile.
"I seriously just want to be miserable, but you're making it difficult."
His chest shook with laughter.
"Get on the couch and cuddle with me."
"Okay."
Once he poured a big bowl of sugary cereal and added a decent amount of milk, he grabbed a spoon and joined her on the couch. Joey lay on her side, her head supported by a pillow, her legs in Pacey's lap beneath the blanket. She was just about asleep, her eyes drooping closed as Regis Philbin made a joke and Kelly Ripa's laughter filled the living room, when the phone rang.
He got up off the couch to answer it. "Hello?"
"Hi, Pacey. It's Dawson."
"What do you want?" He quickly realized how contemptuous his tone sounded and turned to see his girlfriend staring at him curiously. Shit.
Dawson breathed heavily into the phone. "I want to talk to Joey, if I can."
"Can it wait? She's not feeling the greatest."
"Yeah, I figured. I think I have something that will cheer her up, though."
He paused, bewildered. "Um…" He shrugged in defeat. "Sure. I'll ask her if she feels like talking." Lowering the receiver, he turned back to face her. "Dawson's on the phone for you."
Frowning, she didn't want to get up off the couch. She held out her hand. "Will the phone reach?"
"Nope. Sorry."
Grumbling, she stood up, wrapping the blanket around her, and took the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi, Joey."
"Hey."
"I heard you lost your job. I'm sorry. That stinks."
"Yeah, I did. Wait, how did you know?"
"Bodie told me when I was at the restaurant on Sunday."
"Oh. Okay. Well, yes, Dawson, I've rejoined the ranks of the unemployed."
"No thanks to Pacey."
She pulled a face. "I think you mean Drue."
"Right. Anyway. Well, remember when I told you about how my mom wanted me to join the waitstaff to fill that open position? How would you like to have it?"
Her mouth fell open. "Are you serious? But doesn't your mom have to make that decision?"
"She already did, Joey. I talked to both her and Bodie about it. She was going to call you later, but I told her I wanted to be the one to give you the good news. So, what do you think?"
"Um… give me a sec." Hesitating, she thought for a moment. She was sure it was a great place to work. Mrs. Leery would be a thousand times better boss than Mrs. Valentine, and she wouldn't mind working with Bodie. She knew Gretchen made really decent tips, and that was just as a bartender. And Dawson worked there, too. It would be nice to work with friends. Still considering the offer, she placed her hand over the mouth of the receiver and turned to Pacey.
"I'm being offered a waitressing job at Leery's Fresh Fish," she whispered.
With great effort, Pacey kept his face neutral. Golden boy Dawson Leery, here to save the day after yet another one of his fuck-ups. "Well, you need a job, right?"
"Yeah, but what do you think?"
"I'm not gonna be the one working there, Jo. It's up to you."
"But I'll be working with Dawson and your sister," she said, lowering her voice to barely even a whisper. "Are you okay with that? I won't take the job if it's going to bother you, Pacey. I can find something else."
"Well, it's a good place to work, right? And you won't have to deal with the bullshit you dealt with at the yacht club."
"True." She still felt uncertain.
"If you want the job, take the job, Jo."
"Do you want me to?"
"It's not about what I want. It's about what you want. I mean, you needed a job, and here's a job being handed to you. Why turn it down?"
"I'll only take the job if you tell me you're okay with it, Pacey."
He gave her a kind smile, his stomach in knots. "It's okay, really. I'm sure you'll like working there. Take it."
Heartened and encouraged by his assurance, she lifted the phone back to her mouth. "Okay, Dawson. I'll take the job."
"Are you sure? That was a long pause."
"Well, we were discussing it."
"Ahh. So, I'm guessing Pacey doesn't want you to take the job. Does he not want you to work with me? I mean, I'd hoped we'd all moved past what happened. I'm glad he let you take it. I'd love to work with my best friend."
"Let me?" She pulled another face, glancing at Pacey, who raised his brows at her. "You've got it all wrong, Dawson. He was the one pushing me to take it."
He was quiet for a moment. "Really?" he asked in a tone of disbelief.
"Yes, really. So, when do I start?"
"Well, that's great. Training starts Saturday at ten, but I imagine you'll get the hang of things quickly. I'm sure my mom will be calling you this week with the details. I can't wait to tell her the good news. She'll be relieved. The baby's almost here and she doesn't want to have to worry about the restaurant."
"Thank her for me."
"I will. Talk to you later, Joey."
"Bye, Dawson."
She hung up the phone and turned to Pacey, smiling. "Well, I'm no longer jobless."
He nodded and licked his lips. "That was a nice thing Dawson did for ya."
"More like Gail and Bodie, technically. He was just the bearer of the good news, but yes, that was nice."
His curiosity got the better of him. "So, what was with the faces? What was he saying to you? Drue came up?"
"Oh, well…" She pursed her lips and shrugged. "I think Dawson might've thought the reason I got fired was because of the fight in the cafeteria."
"Ah. So, that means he thinks it was my fault you were fired." Not surprised at all, he could only shake his head. His jaw clenched.
"And I corrected him, Pacey. It was Drue's fault. This whole mess is entirely Drue's fault, and no one else."
He sucked in his bottom lip and nodded, thinking over what he heard of her side of the conversation. "And Dawson thought that I wouldn't want you to take the job? Or that I wouldn't let you? That was his choice of words, right?"
She averted her eyes from his gaze and shrugged. "He seemed to think that you wouldn't want me working with him."
Well, I don't. "Dawson doesn't seem to get that it doesn't really matter what I want. It's your life, Jo. It's your employment. You can make your own decisions."
"I know, Pacey," she groaned. "Look, I took the job, and that's it. I don't want to talk about Dawson anymore." The awful feelings in her core intensified. It felt like her ovaries were being stabbed.
Seeing the pained look on her face, he came at her, lifting her into his arms, and began to walk them into the living room.
"I'm not an invalid, you know. You don't have to carry me, Pacey."
"Too late," he grinned, and then kissed her brow as he laid her back down on the couch. When he sat down next to her, she wrapped them both up in the blanket and snuggled up against his comforting warmth.
Pacey watched the TV while she dozed, her head in his lap, his fingers in her hair. Someone was winning a car on The Price is Right, but he had no idea how they did it. He wasn't paying attention to what was on the screen. Too many emotions were battling it out inside him. He wanted to rage at Dawson. He wanted to cry over the friendship that was now well and truly shattered beyond repair.
It was becoming clear to him that his, for lack of a better word, friend would be seeking any opportunity to ingratiate himself to Joey. And no doubt he'd be looking for opportunities to deliberately undermine their relationship, if that speech the guy had made in front of his house was anything to go by. But what probably hurt most was what Dawson was selfishly willing to put Joey through.
Dawson didn't want Joey, not really. He wanted some version of her, sure. The version that fit perfectly into the role he'd carved out for her in his life. Yet, they had tried that, twice, and both times failed miserably. Joey was not going to fit into that role, and Dawson was incapable of being who she needed. Somewhere deep down, the guy had to know that. He had to know that if he and Joey were to get back together, it wouldn't last. They'd end up just like before. And what was the point? With Dawson likely going away to New York or California after graduation, and Joey going to Boston?
Because the point wasn't Joey herself, not really. What Dawson truly wanted was to beat him. Dawson was possessive and jealous, always had been, and wanted to steal her away just so he could say he won. This wasn't the last-minute decision to recklessly enter a boat race. This was careful calculation. If Dawson did win, then as soon as he got what he thought he wanted, and it inevitably turned out that the independent, free-willed spirit that was Joey Potter was not the dream girl he wanted her to be, and that he couldn't control her, it would all go to shit. Again.
But he knew Dawson didn't care. Not as long he could say that he was the winner, and Pacey Witter was the loser.
That night, while Joey lay curled up at his side, her hand on his chest, leg hitched over his hip, her head in the crook of his arm, he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't get thoughts of Dawson out of his head. It would've been smarter had the guy not said a word to him that day he'd driven him home from school. Why would he show his hand? Why not pretend everything was fine and that he wanted to be friends? Why not continue the charade until he got what he wanted?
Unless Dawson thought that things might go easier for him if he started behaving like a jealous asshole. Pacey refused to play that game. He was not going to act like the crazy jealous boyfriend who just might lose his cool if his girlfriend was too friendly with another guy. Dawson probably wanted him to play that role. Wanted him to be the reckless one. The angry one. The one who forced ultimatums.
He wasn't going to play the jealous boyfriend because that wasn't who he was. He did admittedly have a jealous side, especially when it came to Joey, ever since they were kids, but he wasn't some crazy jealous man. Not like Dawson. He wasn't going to threaten or manipulate her into behaving the way he wanted her to behave. He wasn't going to make her choose, or try to control who she could or could not be friends with. To risk losing her, hurting her, was something he was incapable of.
Beside him, she shifted in her sleep, snuggling closer to him. He turned his head and looked at her in the darkened bedroom. Her eyes were closed, lips parted. She was all he could ever want in a woman, and had once believed he could never have. Just the thought of losing her, of giving her up, brought a fierce anger to his heart. His eyes pricked with emotion. Never, never, he told himself, and quickly pushed the foreboding thought away along with the tear that slipped from his eye.
He really was in love with Joey Potter. True, desperate, crazy love. It was the kind of love that ran bone-deep and couldn't be torn out. The kind of love that probably didn't happen to a man more than once. The kind of love you'd never get over if you lost it. This-woman-could-break-my-heart-into-a-million-little-pieces kind of love. Pacey could only hope and trust that she wouldn't.
By Thursday morning, Joey was feeling a lot better. The painful cramps were long gone, and her mood was vastly improving as her period was almost over and Pacey had forced her to rest while he doted on her. She carried the cup of tea that he had made her into the living room, where he sat on the couch watching the Cartoon Network. She moved the easel into the best light, making sure her boyfriend couldn't see it if he were to turn and look at her, and then removed the sheet from her partially finished painting. She closed her eyes and conjured the colors in her memory. The paints she then filled her palette with were black, white, brown, green, blue, red, and yellow. She had already finished the background and now she needed to give attention to the subject of the painting.
Her brush moved, guided more by the emotion of her memory rather than thought. Tears blurred her vision as the image took shape. Outside, the sun rose high in the sky. She kept moving her brush across the canvas. Several hours later, her cup of tea long forgotten, she laid down the palette and brush. Her tears had long since subsided, and now a bone-deep tiredness descended on her. The painting tore at her heart. It encompassed every emotion the memory evoked, the grief and despair of the setting, as well as the love and sympathy and hopeful longing of the subject. The sadness she felt, and the deep affection. She might not be able to articulate the confusing mixture of feelings, but she could paint them.
Joey left the finished painting on the easel to dry and draped the cotton sheet over it. After washing the paint from her fingers, she made her way to the kitchen door, and opened it to step outside and check the mailbox. With the mail in her hand, she stepped back inside the house and closed the front door behind her. She set the stack down on the table and smiled at Pacey.
"You got a postcard from Italy," she informed him. "Sounds like Andie's having a great time."
A surprised smile spread across his face and he moved off the couch. He rifled through the small stack of mail, and then there it was: a gondola on a Venetian waterway. He turned the card over hungrily; he hadn't heard from Andie since she left in the fall. He recognized her handwriting at once: the left slope of the letters, the ink so dark a blue it was almost purple. And applied firmly and neatly, as if by the hand of someone who didn't do anything unless it could be done perfectly.
Dear Pacey,
The Grand Canal in Venice is wonderful, just as I remembered it from the last time that I was here. I'm on a weekend trip with some friends I've made. Admittedly, it would've been nicer to visit in the summer, as it's chilly and wet right now, but oh well. Venice is still Venice! Even in February. Happy belated 18th birthday, by the way! I'm sorry I missed it. Jack said you had an "interesting" party. Sorry about your dad, and I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch. Florence is awesome and I'm having the most amazing time. The food is incredible. The people are beautiful. I think you'd love Italy. You should definitely make the trip if you ever get the chance.
Miss you and can't wait to see you again,
Andie
He chuckled as he flipped the postcard over to look at the picture again.
Joey watched him smile as he read the note a second time. "You miss her." It wasn't a question.
"I do, yeah, but I'm just glad she sounds so happy." He walked over to the fridge and attached the postcard with a magnet.
"She'll be back here in Capeside in a few months." The realization hit her. The school year was almost over. Graduation was just four months away, and then they'd all be moving on. The future was looming large in her mind, but as long as Pacey was with her, she would be okay, she would be safe. No matter what happened, what college she ended up at, where her life would lead her, as long as she had Pacey, then everything would turn out all right.
Later that night, after Pacey had cooked them dinner, he surprised her by taking her out for dessert at the French bistro in town. The Grand Marnier cheesecake was so delicious, they ended up ordering more slices to go and brought them back to the house. That night before bed, she took a shower. She blow-dried and brushed her hair until it shone. She put on clean underwear and a tank top, and crawled into bed beside her boyfriend. He gathered her into his arms, and she relaxed into the surrounding comfort and warmth.
Her mind was on her finished painting downstairs in the living room, wondering what Pacey would think of it, still trying to put into words how the memory made her feel, why she'd felt inspired to paint it in the first place. She watched as his eyes began to close, unable to fight off sleep any longer. She snuggled closer, and wasn't long before they were both fast asleep.
On Friday afternoon, Joey felt the painting was finally set and dry enough to show it off. She lifted the sheet from the easel, folding it up, and then she walked out of the living room. She hesitated when her eyes fell on Pacey, wanting to show him her work, yet filled with nervous anticipation over how he'd react to it.
"My painting's finished," she announced quietly.
Pacey turned from the sink, where he'd been washing their breakfast dishes, and stared at her. "Yeah? I can see it?"
A flush colored her cheeks as she nodded. "Yes."
He made his way into the living room. He was facing the back of the easel and had to walk around it to see the painting. Stylistically similar to her other portraits he'd seen, it employed a neutral-toned, and according to Joey, "impressionistic" background, around a single figure, with areas of brighter color. Like her mother's red sundress in the painting on his bedroom wall. The boy and this setting, however, sent Pacey reeling.
For several seconds, he gaped at the painting in disbelief. In the midst of the bleak, rainy landscape of a cemetery stood a preteen boy, dressed in a black suit and holding a black umbrella. He gazed out from the canvas in sorrow, but also with longing. Longing to comfort, console. The longing of unrequited love. Yet somehow there was also a glimmer of hope. As if the boy knew the longing wouldn't last forever. The entire painting was in tones of black, brown, and gray, but for two spots: the boy's blue eyes, dancing with flecks of different shades, and the bouquet of red and yellow lilies clutched to his chest.
"Jesus Christ," Pacey swore.
He knew exactly what he was looking at.
There was a fluttering of his heart, and his hands trembled. The pain of the memory crashed in on him like relentless waves on a beach. The greatest masters in the history of art could replicate this painting and it would be worth nothing. Joey herself probably could find some flaw in it, and bemoan her inability to render it as perfect as she could see it in her mind. But this painting, this simple thing, was everything to him.
He stepped closer, taking in every detail, every brushstroke, every subtle change in light and shadow. The boy was beautiful and emotional. The way his fingers clenched around the bouquet of lilies brought tears to Pacey's eyes.
He felt Joey's arm go around his waist. "For a long time afterwards, I had blocked out all memories of my mom's funeral. There were times that I'd wake up having forgotten what happened—that my mom had died. I didn't want to remember. Most of my memories of that day are still hazy. I remember the people standing around and all the hugs I was forced to endure. I remember the itchy tag on the collar of the dress Bessie made me wear. I remember my dad crying, and the feeling that nothing would ever be right again.
"I remember everyone dressed in black. I remember everything being dreary and dark—the clouds, the rain, the brown grass. At the time, it felt appropriate. It all matched how I felt inside." Emotion tightened her throat, and she took a shaky breath. "I, uh, don't know how to explain it, really, but now when I remember that day, I can see bright colors, and the colors are you. I remember. I remember you. I remember you being the only one who brought lilies to put on her grave—her favorite flowers. I remember they were red and yellow, and that you laid the red lilies on the grave, and you gave the yellow lilies to me. I remember the way you looked at me. I remember your tears."
Tears filled her own eyes and she sniffled. "But I was thirteen years old then, and was too consumed with my own grief to notice or be concerned with anyone else. Now when I think about that day, I can picture you, and it somehow makes the memory of my mom's funeral less dark and dreary. I still remember the pain of that day, but now I remember the bright colors of your flowers, and I remember the love shining out of your blue eyes. The love you had for my mother, for me. I'm glad to remember. I want to remember."
The arm around his waist hugged him tighter, and she felt his arm come around her. "That boy was my soulmate, and I think somewhere deep inside he knew that. So, no matter how awful I was to him, through all the bickering and the fighting, he never gave up on me. He never stopped caring. There was something else underneath it all. Something stronger. Something that had always been there. Something I refused to put a name to until you forced me to open my eyes. I just wish I'd realized it sooner."
She smiled at him. "You and me, Pace. For the rest of our lives, it'll be you and me."
Pacey couldn't speak, he was so overcome with emotion. The words were caught somewhere in the back of his throat. Joey's heart was laid bare in the painting, and he adored it beyond all reason. She'd crafted it out of love, and pain. It blazed with her inner fire. It was utterly, completely priceless. Nothing he could give her would ever equal it because nothing could equal her. She was untouchable. Beyond worth.
"Joey—" he started, and then shook his head, at a loss. He had no idea how to describe everything that he was feeling. "This is… I don't know what to say."
For a long moment, they just looked at each other, their hearts saying everything they were seemingly unable to speak aloud. Then she moved closer and put her lips to his jaw. "I'm done with my period," she murmured against his skin. She felt him grow still.
His love for her welled up strongly in his heart, so full that he thought it would burst inside his chest. His heart called to her, and it seemed she also realized that their bodies could show their love in a way that words couldn't express. Pacey bent forward slightly and Joey lifted her face to meet his, and then his soft lips pressed against hers. They moved deeper into each others' arms, and pressed their bodies together, each feeling the other's heartbeat. They were one, they always had been and always would be, and they both savored that knowledge.
Once upstairs, Pacey closed his bedroom door. "Want you naked."
Joey smiled as she pulled off her clothes.
Gretchen would be back home tomorrow. He'd warned her that Joey had decided to stay until Sunday. She didn't care, but he wanted to be open with her. This week had been a dream, and there was no going back. He and Joey were done sneaking around and having afternoon quickies and only enjoying small windows of time together alone at night before their siblings inevitably interrupted. He was going to spend the entire night with her as often as he could. He was going to take his time with her, worshipping her body, showing her just how much he loved her.
They moved to the bed, kissing, and he pulled back the comforter and laid her down gently, dark chocolate hair spread beneath her head on the pillow, all smooth, glowing skin, shiny eyes, and enchanting smile. He undid the buttons of his shirt, before shrugging it off his shoulders and down his arms, eyes wandering over the slender curve of her body, the shadow between her legs, the way her toes curled into the sheet. And she watched him, too, eyes moving over his shoulders and chest and abdomen as he shed his shirt, heating as he stepped out of his jeans, socks and boxers.
He lay down beside her, hand on her belly, his head propped on his hand. "I love you, Jo."
Luminous, soulful brown eyes gazed up at him. "I love you, too, Pacey."
His chest clenched with emotion and he pressed his face between her breasts, breathed in her scent, then kissed the inside curve of each succulent breast. When he brushed his lips over her nipple, she drew in a sharp breath.
"Yeah," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "You like that. I know."
He took a nipple into his mouth and sucked, caressing his tongue over it. She tasted so sweet and her whimpers told him she loved what he did to her. He moved to the other nipple, tasting it too, played with it in his mouth while his fingers played with the other, tested the weight of her breast in his palm, squeezing it gently.
"That feels good, Pacey." Her fingers sifted through his brown hair, loving the soft feel of him. Her body twitched and writhed against him. "So good."
He drew back to study her nipples after his attention, so pretty and peach and tight. He leaned down and licked his tongue across each taut peak, making her shiver yet again. She arched her hips. Her wetness was started to drip down to her thighs. "Pacey," she breathed, aching for him.
He moved over her and she reached for his cock, long, thick, hard, and throbbing. "Inside me, please."
Her hands on him felt sublime, soft yet firm, stroking him in long pulls that had pleasure licking over his skin. Reaching into the drawer on his bedside stand, he retrieved a condom. Once his erection was covered in latex, he let her guide him into her, felt her wetness, then her heat, surrounding the swollen head of his cock. Hot velvet, squeezing him. A low, rough sound tore from his throat. He held his weight on his elbows and straightened his arms a bit to hold his body higher. She parted her legs wider, and he pushed inside her. The air ripped out of his lungs.
"Joey, God."
"I know," she murmured in his ear. Her hands clutched his ass, pulling him in deeper. "My tight pussy feels good around your cock."
"Fuck." His eyes nearly rolled at her words, at the seductive tone, and the blood started pounding in his ears.
"Make love to me, Pacey."
His groans mingled with her sighs as their bodies came together, perfect, easy, right. He surged inside her, their eyes locked on each other in a connection that was so intimate; not just their bodies but their hearts and souls. Something touched him deep inside, as it did each and every time that they joined like this, a searing, exquisite sensation that he knew was love. An overwhelming desire to protect and take care of her, to be with her forever, made his eyes sting.
Love was fucking scary. He'd thought he had it once before and it had crushed him. Then he found it again, and this time it was the real thing. He had never felt this way before. Sure, he'd been infatuated with different girls over the years, and had fancied his puppy love with Andie to be the forever kind. But this was completely different. Sometimes he could feel it painfully throbbing beneath his ribs. The love he felt for Joey was a love more powerful than he could've ever hoped for.
He loved her more than he'd ever thought it was possible to love anyone. Making love to her sent him to places he had never known existed. He finally realized why lust and sex and love could drive people insane. Why empires had been built and destroyed, and wars waged over it. There was nothing more terrifying, or more wonderful, than being in love. For as long as he lived, he knew he would never love another woman. He also knew the power this gave Joey to utterly destroy him.
But he trusted her with that power. He saw the love in her eyes, the shadows of regret for not having loved him sooner, and the absolute trust she had in him. She trusted him not to break her heart, not to destroy her. And he was going to be worthy of that trust until his last breath.
His hand caressed her face, and his gaze held hers. He saw a reflection of his own devotion, his own longing, his own hope, in her eyes, drawing him in. He knew she loved him. He felt the strength of her love for him in every fiber of his being. He believed she would never break his heart. Never. "I love you, Joey."
Her hands stroked over his back, her touch full of tenderness, and she whimpered in pleasure. She lifted her face to brush his lips with hers. "I love you, too, Pace."
They moved together in a rhythm already familiar, already perfect. Pleasure coiled deep inside them as his hard cock stroked her sweet pussy. Right where he belonged. She felt her climax building, inching closer. She held onto him, never wanting to let go. She loved Pacey so much. The extraordinary certainty of it wrapped firmly around her heart. Everything inside her clenched and stars danced behind her eyelids.
Her body tightened beneath him and around him as she came, squeezing him inside and out. Joey cried out as her orgasm surged through her, and he watched her face, humbled by her beauty, awed by the ecstasy he saw there because of him, gratified by her love. Pressure tightened the base of his spine, sliding into his balls, building to his own exquisite peak of pleasure. Her hands gripped his hips as he drove into her. She moaned his name and sexy, loving words of encouragement in his ear.
He exploded. Lights sparkled as he squeezed his eyes shut with the intensity of his orgasm. Crying out her name, he thrust harder and lost himself inside her. His climax seemed to stretch on for an eternity as he poured himself into the condom in long, hard spurts.
When he finally came down from his high and pulled back to look at her, she simply buried her face against his neck.
"I think you're determined to sex me to death, Pacey Witter," she said quietly, nuzzling against him as she kept her body wrapped around him.
Her words pulled a surprised laugh from him. "Me? Excuse me, Potter, but I think you were the one trying to kill me this past weekend. My cock was so sensitive and numb, I thought it was gonna fall off." The sound of her giggle sent satisfaction welling up inside him. "Based on recent history, three days is quite a dry spell, Jo. This was just us making up for lost time." He smirked at her.
"Stupid periods," she joked. "Who needs 'em?" She looked up at him with a teasing glint. "I hope I was worth the wait."
He pinched her butt. "You know you were."
She grinned widely. "What do you say we clean up, you cook us some dinner, and then we'll eat some of that cheesecake we took home last night?"
The way Joey said "home," as if his place was hers, stirred something deep inside Pacey. He knew that no matter where he was, no matter where life would take them, she was his home. As long as he was with her, he didn't really care where he lived. Capeside, Boston, some other place—it didn't matter. As long as she was with him, that was the only thing that mattered.