A/N: This chapter contains sexually explicit material.
September 4. Joey hated walking into a crowded classroom late. She absolutely loathed being late. She hated for people to turn and stare, which they always did when one entered a classroom even a minute after class started. That was why she had obsessively plotted the distance between her dorm room in Plymouth Hall to Lake Hall, which housed the Department of English. And she actually walked it twice on Sunday to make sure the campus map wasn't leading her astray.
Zero point three miles to be exact.
Eight minutes on foot.
She even left early so she would be sure to arrive ten minutes before her eight o'clock class began.
What she didn't plan on was an early morning demonstration drawing a large crowd on the college green. Activists shouted into megaphones, but she had no idea what they were shouting about. Joey had to go around them, and find a different route to Lake Hall. As she hurried out of the humid heat of the early Tuesday morning and into the air-conditioned brick building, it was already five minutes past eight and her English 101 class was on the second floor.
Racing up the wide staircase, she barreled through the double doors and smacked right into a wall.
Stumbling backward, her arms flailed and her over-packed bag slipped, pulling her to one side. Her hair flew in front of her face, a dark brown curtain that obscured everything as she teetered dangerously.
Oh, dear God, she was going down. There was no stopping it. Visions of broken bones danced in her head.
Something strong and hard went around her waist, stopping her free fall. Her bag hit the floor, spilling overpriced books and pens across the shiny floor. Her pens rolled everywhere. A second later, she was pressed against the wall. The wall was strangely warm. The wall chuckled.
"Whoa," a deep voice said. "You okay, sweetheart?"
She looked up to see hazel eyes framed with thick, dark lashes fixed on hers. She was pressed against him, thigh to thigh, her chest to his. Like they were dancing. She felt trapped, and he wasn't moving away from her. She forced herself to take a deep breath—to just breathe.
Anger suddenly rushed through her, a sweet and familiar thing, pushing away the panic and discomfort. She latched onto it and found her voice. "Let go of me!"
Hazel Eyes immediately dropped his arm. Unprepared for the sudden loss of support, Joey swayed to the side, catching herself before she tripped over her bag. Breathing like she'd just run a mile, she pushed the wavy strands of hair out of her face, and finally got a good look at Hazel Eyes.
He was gorgeous in all the ways that made girls do stupid things. He was tall, but about an inch or so shorter than Pacey, and broad at the shoulders, but tapered at the waist. Wavy brown hair toppled over his forehead, brushing matching eyebrows. A chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and perfectly groomed stubble completed the package created for girls to drool over. He looked like one of those guys in those perfume commercials where the man was chased by a horde of beautiful models.
And she ran right into him. Literally. Great. "I'm sorry. I was in a hurry to get to class. I'm late and…"
His lips kicked up on the corners as he knelt. He started gathering up her stuff and for a brief moment Joey felt like crying. She suddenly thought of poor Mitch in the hospital, currently in surgery, but what if something went wrong? She thought of Dawson, and Gail. And Pacey staying behind to be with them. She could feel tears stinging, feel her throat tightening. She was really late now. There was no way could she walk into that class and on the first day. Fail.
Dipping down, she let her hair fall forward and shield her face as she started grabbing up her pens. "You don't have to help me."
"It's no problem. You going to English 335, by any chance? On the fifth floor? I'm heading that way."
"Uh, no. English 101. This floor." Great. For the whole semester would she have to risk seeing the guy she nearly killed in the hallway? "You're late," Joey said with a frown. "I really am sorry."
With all her books and pens back in her bag, he stood and handed it over. "It's okay." His crooked grin spread wider. "I'm used to having undergrads throw themselves at me."
She blinked, thinking she hadn't heard Hazel Eyes right, because surely he hadn't said something as lame as that.
He had and he wasn't done. "Trying to jump on my back is new, though. I kind of liked it."
Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, she scowled. "I wasn't trying to jump on your back or throw myself at you."
"You weren't?" The lopsided grin remained. "Well, that's a shame. If so, it would have made this the best first day of class I've had at this school."
"As much as I'd love to continue this scintillating conversation," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as her eyes narrowed. "I really have to get to class."
Hazel Eyes' gaze dropped to the slip of paper in his hand. "Josephine Potter?"
Her stomach turned over. "How do you know my name?"
He cocked his head to the side as the smile inched wider, and held up the paper. "It's on your schedule."
"Oh."
He handed her schedule back, and she took it, slipping it into her bag.
"Don't you want to know my name?" he asked, smirking at her in amusement.
"I'm fine without it," Joey sneered
His gaze swept over body. "Yes, you are."
He bent over and picked up a tan messenger bag she hadn't noticed. Several longish locks of dark hair fell over his forehead and as he straightened, he brushed them away. "Well, time for you to make your grand entrance."
Joey's feet were rooted to the spot where she stood as Hazel Eyes turned and strolled a couple of feet and pointed to the closed door to room two-twenty. She couldn't walk into the class and have everybody turn and stare. Face the professor's disapproval that would likely affect the woman's opinion of her for the rest of the semester. Sweat broke out and dotted her brow. Her stomach tightened as she took a step towards the classroom.
He smirked, brows furrowing as a cocky expression settled on his face. "Have fun in there, sweetheart."
She scowled meanly, and then steeling herself, she opened the door. Joey stepped through the doorway and eighteen pairs of eyes cranked in her direction. Professor Walters halted mid-sentence. The seventeen students, most of them sitting two to a table, regarded her curiously.
The professor wore a tan jacket with green and gold stripes along the collar, and a dark green corduroy skirt that stopped at her knees. She was in her late fifties or early sixties, plump, measured about five-feet-four-inches, kept her graying brown curls short, and she wore wire-rimmed glasses.
"Name?" Professor Walters asked.
"Josephine Potter."
"Do you belong in this class, Ms. Potter?"
"Yes."
"Are you aware this class starts at eight o'clock sharp?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry I'm late."
"Just don't be late on Thursday."
"I won't."
"You're number eighteen. I've put you at Table One." The woman pointed to Joey's spot, smack in front of her at the head of the class.
Great. Feeling everyone's eyes on her, with reddened cheeks, she sat down at the table beside another student. Joey placed her notebook and pen on the tabletop in front of her, and tried to pay close attention to what must be the driest class on campus. It soon became obvious that the class was very basic, that Mrs. Walters cared wholeheartedly about grammar, and believed in the power of books and speaking properly.
Try as she might to keep her rapt attention on the class, Joey's thoughts kept drifting to Mitch Leery, and the Leery family, and Pacey, waiting at the hospital for him to get out of surgery. She could only hope and pray he would make it out all right, and that everything would be okay.
"Ms. Potter."
Her attention immediately switched to high alert as the professor called her name.
"Welcome to the discussion. What do you want to get out of college?"
It was such an easy question, but Joey found she didn't have an easy answer. She honestly didn't know, or she was at least unable to settle on an answer in the moment. She'd spent so many years working her ass off to get here, and now that she was here, she wasn't sure what she exactly wanted to do with the next four years of her life. Just attend classes and figure it out, she supposed.
"Um… I guess to have the college experience."
Professor Walters sneered down at her through her wire-rimmed glasses. "Ms. Potter, college doesn't exist just to give you 'the college experience.' College is a means to an end; it exists to prepare you for what you want to become after college. Yet far too many students enter college with no real understanding of what they want to do after graduation—or even what awaits them in the real world beyond the campus. How can you prepare for something you don't see or understand?"
Joey had no answer to that. Her face grew hot.
The professor turned her attention to the entire class. "At the end of the semester, you will all be expected to answer this very simple question in an eight-to-twelve-page term paper." The woman's gaze settled on Joey. "And I hope you will have a better answer than the one you came up with in class today."
Frowning, she sank in her seat and sighed deeply.
As soon as the ninety-minute class ended, Joey bolted from the room. As she made it to those damn double doors, to her horror, she thought she heard Hazel Eyes call out her name from somewhere behind her, but she kept going. Her face was flaming as she hurried down the stairs. She was out of breath as she burst out of the building.
Her legs kept moving until she sat down on a bench outside of the adjacent library. The mid-morning sun seemed too bright and too hot as she lowered her face and squeezed her eyes shut. Geez. What a way to make a first impression in a new city, new school… new life. First that embarrassing residents' meeting in the Plymouth Hall common room, and now this.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl back into bed and not wake up until tomorrow, or maybe next semester. She wanted to know Mr. Leery would be all right.
She wanted Pacey.
Her next class was at eleven, and unfortunately it was another English class in the very same brick building that she'd just escaped from. Joey decided to hide herself away inside the library, and wait for Pacey's call with the news of Mitch Leery's fate.
After the drive from Hyannis, Pacey arrived in South Boston, quickly showered and changed clothes, and then Gretchen dropped him off at the back door to Ambrosia on Park at two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. He was early, but his sister had to get to work, and it was either come early or take the bus. He felt exhausted, but steeled himself and walked inside the restaurant. John greeted him with his usual cheerfulness, clasping him on the shoulder.
Once he'd donned his uniform and an apron, he walked through the double doors, and said hello to Chef Dom and the rest of the kitchen staff. Charlie smiled warmly at his appearance in the kitchen. All of them except Sean seemed happy to see him. Rolling his eyes, Pacey didn't care. He'd had a long day and night at Cape Cod Hospital, and he didn't have the energy to give a single fuck about the guy's issues.
Then the double doors opened and Gary the dishwasher appeared, calling his name. "Your sister's here."
Pacey's brow furrowed. She'd just dropped him off a minute ago.
"I say we meet this sister of yours, Witter," laughed Chef Andrew.
Almost everyone in the kitchen apparently agreed. Pacey's gaze locked with Charlie's, whose eyes had gone wide. When Gary appeared again, Gretchen was walking in behind him. Their eyes met, and Pacey walked over to her. She handed over his cell phone.
"You left this in the cup holder."
"Oh. Thanks."
"Well, are you going to introduce us, Lace Curtain?" Sean grinned, eyeing Gretchen up and down appreciatively.
Pacey's face hardened, but then he made introductions around the kitchen. His sister smiled at them all, only going slightly tense when saying hello to Charlie, and then Gretchen was gone. She had to get to Shaughnessy's Pub for her bartending shift.
When he started to make his way to the sink to start washing some of the dirty prep dishes, Dominic stopped him.
"Pacey, would you like to make the staff meal today?"
He blinked and swallowed hard. "M-me?"
Chef Tucci smiled. "Yes, you. Armando and I, and the rest of the chefs, would like to gauge your skillset, your talents, before we start assigning you any real kitchen work. James Moore has spoken very highly of you, but we need to see for ourselves. Is this okay with you? Are you prepared to cook something simple for us to eat? And can it be done by four o'clock so we can eat at the meeting?"
Holy shit.
From his peripheral, he could see Sean Sullivan smirking at him scornfully, his head cocked arrogantly. The guy obviously thought he didn't have it in him. Well, joke's on him. "Yes, Chef. I can do it."
"That's what I like to hear," Dominic smiled, and then walked back over to the stove to continue prepping for dinner service.
Pacey immediately went to the walk-in refrigerator and started gathering ingredients for the soup, the one that had actually impressed Chef Mao. The one Mr. Moore had said was "off the charts," and had wanted to start serving immediately to his important guests aboard the yacht. Thankfully, the fridge was stocked with everything he needed. He found a large stock pot and a clean cutting board, and got to work slicing, dicing, and mincing.
The calm, mild voice of Mao Jingchen floated through his mind, speaking to him of his personal cooking philosophy.
When you cook, it is a chance to draw out from yourself everything you are feeling. Yes? Add it to the food.
Staring down into the pot, where the diced pancetta was cooking, Pacey forced himself feel every raw emotion he'd fought hard to control and suppress back at the hospital. Tears stung his eyes. Removing the cooked pancetta from the pot and setting aside on a plate covered in a paper towel, he got rid of the fat, leaving only two tablespoons at the bottom of the stock pot.
Then he increased the heat under the pot to medium-high, and tossed in the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic. Pacey stirred the vegetables for the next several minutes, until they softened and began to brown. Glancing at the counter next to the stove, he took inventory of the rest of the ingredients he would need: broth, rosemary, cannellini beans, salt, pepper, and red chili flakes.
He also saw the faces of Mitch and Gail Leery, Dawson, his parents, and Joey. Always Joey. The anger, the fear, heartache, the relief, the love and affection rose up from deep inside him.
Pacey added it to the food.
At four o'clock, Chef Tucci called the daily team meeting, and the chefs and cooks took their usual seats on the stools around the large wood-topped island in the middle of the room. The dishwashers hung back against the wall, and the waitstaff gathered to join everyone in the kitchen. As Dominic began speaking, Pacey started handing out bowls of his white bean and pancetta soup, along with slices of freshly-baked garlic bread.
Then Pacey stood back against another wall, separate from the others, and watched with keen anticipation as everyone began to eat. He'd sampled the meal for himself, of course, ladling soup into a bowl and devouring it. He thought it had come out pretty good, but he was anxious for the other cooks' opinions.
Stir in a pinch of sadness and a spoonful of fear, and what do you think! Something magical happens.
At the first taste of the soup, Dominic's eyes lit up. "Pacey, what recipe did you use for this?"
"Um, I didn't, Chef."
"This is your own creation?"
"Yeah…"
Dominic then slowly exchanged a pointed look with Armando, who stared at the head chef with silent surprise, clearly taken aback by the quality of the meal. The other cooks had similar reactions. Sean's eyes actually went wide as saucers, and his mouth was agape for a moment. Everyone seated around the island slowly turned on their stools, seeking Pacey out. His heart pounded in relief against his ribs, his chest swelling with pride, as he saw Chef Tucci beam at him from ear to ear.
And then the compliments started flying.
Pacey, leaning back against the wall and watching them eat, felt more gratified than if he himself were eating; happy, like the way a man wanted the woman he loved to be happy.
The restaurant's doors closed at ten, and he finished up his dishwashing duty. Then Pacey worked alongside Gary and Sheldon, making sure every surface inside the kitchen was shiny and spotless. Although Dominic and Armando went home around eleven, the other chefs and cooks sat around the island, drinking wine and talking.
When the clock was nearing midnight, they heard a knocking coming from the back door. John went to answer it, and then returned, grinning.
"Hey, Pacey, there's a young lady out here who claims she's your girlfriend."
A confused smile started to spread across his face. "Really?"
John stepped fully inside the kitchen, holding one of the double doors open, and in walked Joey, wearing tight dark blue jeans and a burgundy tank top. His heart skipping a beat, warmth spreading through him, Pacey crossed the kitchen, quickly closing the distance between them.
He pulled her into a hug. She melted against him. This. This was what she wanted. What she needed. When she pulled away, he kissed her on the forehead and squeezed her hands.
"What are you doing here, Jo? Did you take the bus here this late at night? You shouldn't do that."
"The restaurant isn't that far from campus. Southie's a lot farther."
"And a lot less safe," Pacey pointed out. "Never take the bus to Southie at night by yourself, Joey. Promise me."
"I won't. I promise."
"Are you bored of your dorm room already?" he grinned.
"I've been sexiled," she muttered, and he laughed breathlessly. "And… I just needed to see you."
His brow creased with worry. "Is everything all right? How were your classes? You had two, right?"
Her throat tightened. She tucked her hair behind an ear, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Uh-oh." Pacey gathered her in his arms again. "Rough first day?"
She nodded, her hands sliding up his chest. "Between my classes, and worrying about Mitch… Thank God he's all right. But Gail called me this afternoon, and she said he's gonna need a lot of physical therapy." She frowned, her eyes becoming wet with emotion. "Anyway, I just don't wanna be alone. Can I stay with you tonight, Pace?"
He gently squeezed her hips. "Of course. You don't have to ask, Jo."
Then the double doors opened and Sean Sullivan walked back into the kitchen. "Well, well, well, what have we here? Is this Mrs. Lace Curtain?" he sneered.
Joey pulled a face. "What? Lace curtain?"
Pacey closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh. "It's an Irish thing. Ignore it."
"What, your lady ain't Irish?" he scoffed derisively.
"Nope. German, with some Dutch and English thrown in," he answered.
"Why don't you mind your damn business?" Joey spat.
Sean threw the other chefs a look. "She wants to come in here and be a smartass?"
"Take it easy," Pacey said.
"I bet this bitch is from the Cape, too," the guy sneered at Joey. "Don't run your mouth like you're better than me."
Pacey's face hardened. "Don't call her that, you piece of shit." Annoyed, he rubbed his fingers in the space between his brows. The guy plainly had had too much to drink. "Just cool it, all right?"
"'Cool it.'" Sean started walking back over to the island, and laughed as he looked at the other assistant chefs. "Listen to this douchebag. I bet she fucks his asshole in half."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Pacey retorted.
"I know what's wrong," Charlie said, crossing her arms, and looking at Sean with disdain. "His soup was wicked good, and you're just annoyed that he knocked everyone's socks off with the staff meal."
Joey looked up at Pacey in surprise, and smiled. "You cooked?"
"Yeah." He grabbed hold of her hand. "Come on. Let's just get out of here. He obviously needs to sleep it off."
"Well, must be your good looks or our good fortune, Witter, that's bringin' in all the new snatch. First your sister, and now this one here." Sean turned and ogled, his gaze sweeping over Joey's body. "There's been some good-lookin' pussy in here tonight."
The room went silent. Joey tensed. Her stomach flipped. Eyes blazing, jaw clenching, left hand tightening into a fist, Pacey stepped forward, placing himself in front of Joey, blocking her from Sean's view. "Disrespect her again, and I'll pull your fuckin' card."
"Is that a threat?"
"Try me! Watch what happens."
The other chefs then intervened, Andrew and Richard pulling on Sean, telling him to knock it off.
Charlie shook her head in disgust, and then turned to Pacey. "You should probably leave. Your work's done, right? You can go home. We can handle him."
On the bus ride to South Boston, Joey tucked herself against her boyfriend, his arm around her, holding her to him. "What is that guy's problem?"
"His own inadequacy," he replied shrewdly. Wanting to change the subject, he kissed her forehead. "Tell me about your day."
Joey took a deep breath and told him everything, the detail of every fiasco that had befallen her that morning, including the jerk she'd had the run-in with outside her English 101 classroom.
"He clearly thinks he's God's gift. And the way he'd said undergrads always throw themselves at him. So… what? Is he a grad student? A T.A.? Then he's way too old to be acting so immature."
"Two jackasses in one day," Pacey commented. "I'm sorry, Jo."
"It's okay. Hopefully I won't run in to that guy too often. Anyway, I'm just gonna try to forget about my first day disaster." Her hand slipped around his waist, and she kissed his cheek. "I'm with you now. You're my happy pill, remember?"
Smiling, he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, his thumb moving over her soft skin. "I remember."
Then Pacey dipped his head and kissed her.
Later as they lay in his bed in the loft of the Southie apartment, he pulled her close. "Is it okay if we just… sleep? I'm just so tired, Jo."
"I set the alarm for six," she said, frowning in sympathy. "I know that's early for you, but I have class at eight."
"It's okay. I'll probably just fall back asleep, or I might not even wake up at all."
She stroked his face, ran her fingers through his hair. He could barely keep his eyes open. "That might happen to me, too," she quipped.
Pacey rolled onto his side, and settling into a spooning position behind him, Joey cradled him in her arms. Hours later, he woke to her alarm to find her still holding him tightly. Spooning him. With her sweet body warming his own. For a few minutes, he just lay there. Relaxed. Comfortable. She kissed his hair, and he felt her move off the bed. And then he succumbed to sleep once more.
September 10. On Monday evening, Pacey sat on the couch in his living room facing the television. Gretchen was spending the night at Charlie's place, and he thankfully had the loft apartment to himself on his night off. He'd ordered delivery from a pizzeria in the neighborhood earlier. He turned his attention from the Broncos-Giants football game to the coffee table, which held a half-empty bottle of soda and two glasses, a few open books, and his sexiled girlfriend sitting on the floor in front of him hunched over it with a notebook and pen.
Joey had come over around ten-thirty that morning, an hour after her only class for the day ended. This was the first real chance they'd had to spend any significant time alone since Labor Day Weekend. He'd been driving back and forth from the Cape every day since the accident. He spent his days helping out the Leerys, and his nights working the prep cook station beside John at the restaurant. Mitch came home from the hospital on Friday. Pacey was there to help out Gail and Dawson.
Since she'd spent the night Tuesday, he and Joey had primarily subsisted on phone calls.
"So, Pace… in this article for biology, and it says that contrary to all previous thinking on the subject, human beings may actually be able to regrow brain cells."
"So, I guess that means the whole 'this is your brain on drugs' thing is moot," he deadpanned.
"I wouldn't go toking up just yet," she said, and he clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers in disappointment. She smiled. "But I think what it means is that at some point in the not-so-distant future, it may actually be possible to forget all the bad stuff and only remember the good."
He pondered for a moment. "I don't know. If you ask me, I think that's already possible. Speaking from personal experience, my brain has blocked out a lot of bad stuff from my childhood that it just doesn't want to remember. What stuff in particular are you thinking about?"
She tapped her pen against her notebook. "Oh, I don't know. Life in Capeside, I guess. Not just mine, but yours, too."
"You thinking about Dawson?"
"He's part of it, I suppose. It's like… I'm just now opening my eyes to all the things that were bad, unhealthy, that I just didn't realize for so many years. I honestly think it's going to take a long time to forget all the bad stuff where he's concerned. And forget to the point where being in his company doesn't make me want to jump out of my skin."
"Like when I'm around my parents?"
She turned around to face him, and her hand reached up to rub his knee, a comforting gesture. "I'm sure being on the Cape a lot this week wasn't easy for you, Pace. But if it's any consolation, it made me feel even prouder, and respect you even more. It was very selfless of you."
His gaze met hers, and he smiled. "No, it wasn't easy. But sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same. After everything the Leerys have done for me, I couldn't just stay back here and do nothing to help them out."
"I know." Her hand caressed him again. "You're a really special person, Pacey. The best man I know."
A blush crept into his cheeks. "Thank you," he replied, smiling sheepishly. "But how many men do you know, exactly?" he joked.
"You're right. Not many. So, maybe you're not that great," she said, shrugging one shoulder casually.
He chuckled, and then she turned back to the coffee table and her biology books.
Some time had passed, and he sighed. Tearing his gaze away from the TV screen, he looked down at her. "Are you going to study all night, Jo?"
She grinned over the book she was reading. "No, not all night."
"Can't that wait?"
"Well, I really need to make some headway with this, Pacey. I have to submit the final draft by the end of the week."
He groaned in frustration.
She laughed. "I promise I'll give you lots of attention later."
"Hmm," he replied, his tone denoting a hint of skepticism. "Promises, promises."
She rolled her eyes and smirked over her notebook.
After twenty-five minutes had gone by, and the football game was going off the air, he lost any interest in the TV and found himself gazing down at the back of her head. Her hair was up in some elastic and the milky, soft skin of her neck was exposed. He slid down and sat on the floor behind her, setting his back against the couch and sliding his legs around her.
"Pacey, what are you doing?" she asked as she drove her pen across the notebook, jotting down notes on the amygdala.
"I'm tired of sitting on the couch by myself. If the mountain won't come to Mohammed…"
She snorted.
He stared at the back of her neck. He brought his hand up and began to gently brush her skin with the tips of his fingers.
"Please don't distract me, Pacey. I really need to concentrate on this."
"Mm-hmm," he replied, without taking away his hand, and continued to slowly brush his fingers up and down the soft skin of her neck.
She sighed after reading the same paragraph three times.
He smirked, and dipped his head to kiss the back of her neck, darting out his tongue against her skin.
She let out a small gasp and closed her eyes, dropping the pen on her notebook and letting her hand fall to her lap.
"I want to find all your spots, Joey," he whispered.
She sighed again as he returned his lips to the back of her neck, stroking her skin softly with his tongue.
Soon Joey started to squirm, feeling hot desire begin to pool at her center, and Pacey brought his arm around her waist to hold her to him. As his mouth made its way around the side of her neck, she tilted her head, keeping her eyes closed, and moved her right hand behind her to the back of his head, running her fingers through his brown curls.
When his tongue found that soft area of flesh just behind her earlobe, she gasped. He smiled at having the knowledge of this particularly sensitive spot. His tongue continued its attention there until she started breathing heavily, then his arm left her waist, and he dropped his hand to her jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper, as his own member began to stiffen inside his pants.
"Touch yourself, Joey," Pacey whispered in her ear.
Her eyes flew open. "Wha… what?"
"I want you to touch yourself. I want to watch."
"You do?"
"Well… yeah. Remember over the summer? When we were on the phone a lot?" He paused, and she felt her face flush with increasing warmth. "I believe I said on a number of occasions that I wished I was there watching you."
She couldn't help the insecurity and cringing embarrassment that fluttered in her gut. "I'd rather you did it, Pacey," she whispered, after a pause.
He returned his mouth to her neck, while mentally chiding himself. He could feel her tense up as soon as he'd said it. He had obviously made her feel uncomfortable. He snaked his hand down the front of her jeans and inside her lavender cotton underwear, his fingers finding her clit and the growing wetness there. He felt his erection harden. Joey closed her eyes and, to Pacey's delight, soon started moaning.
His fingers on her clit and the feel of her ass squirming against his swollen cock started to make his head spin and his groin tighten. She felt the first stirrings toward orgasm, when he pulled his hand away. She whimpered. He grinned into her ear.
"Let's go up to my room, Jo," he whispered.
They stood up and made their way to the loft bedroom, his hands never leaving her body. Once they'd closed the door behind them, she turned to face him and his mouth was on hers, kissing her passionately. Pacey loved kissing Joey, and sometimes felt that was his favorite part.
She lifted his T-shirt up, and he pulled it over his head. His gray tank undershirt followed. She then began to kiss his chest, running her tongue over his sensitive nipples. He groaned, as his hands went to her hair, pulling it free of the elastic and sinking his hands into it. She ran the tips of her soft fingers across his chest, down his firm torso to his slim waist. She knelt in front of him and slid her hand up and down the front of his khakis, her hand closing around his erection, and stroked the impressive bulge through the fabric.
"Joey…" he breathed, closing his eyes. But as he reached down to lift her off the floor, she put her hands out to block his arms. Pacey chuckled. "We have to get you undressed, too, you know."
She looked up at him. "Not yet."
He stared at her. His heart started pounding furiously. "Tell me what you want."
She was sitting on her knees in front of him, and she was determined. She met his intense gaze and held it. "I want to suck your cock. And I want you to come in my mouth."
Pacey's eyes nearly rolled. There was a time in his life when he'd never imagined that such language was part of Joey's vocabulary.
Her eager hands went to his narrow hips, her strong grasp tugging him in so she could bend forward and nuzzle her face into the straining crotch of his khakis. Nimble fingers undid the button and pulled down the zipper while Pacey swore and groped for the wall with his right hand. His left hand was still buried in Joey's dark hair. He could feel the delicate shape of her skull under his knuckles, every move of her head as she mouthed wetly at the tented cotton of his dark blue boxers, sending pulses of teasing pleasure through his erection.
The sight of Joey on her knees, the pink flicker of her tongue, the sly peek of brown up through the curtain of hair falling over her forehead below his hand—Pacey had to plant his feet shoulder-width apart and brace himself against the wall to keep from sinking to the floor. He wasn't going anywhere. There was no way he'd miss a second of this.
Her fingers were eager and sure as they arranged Pacey's open pants. She tugged the elastic waist of his boxers down below the head of his cock where it stood firm and tight against his belly. Cool air caressed the sensitive, wet tip of his cock, and Joey made a low, desperate noise in the back of her throat. She gave her full attention to his erection. He was so beautiful. He was big and hard and thick and… male. He smelled like salt, and something else, something uniquely Pacey. Her mouth started watering.
The she grasped his erection firmly with both hands, and flicked her tongue over the engorged head. His eyes rolled and he let out a groan. She repeated the flick of her tongue a few more times, before flattening her tongue and swirling it around his sensitive head.
The whole world tipped sideways when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of his dick and sucked. Hooking the elastic band under his balls, she dove down, licking a trail of fire as she went. Her head bobbed and Pacey cursed at the rub of Joey's soft palate over his sensitive cock tip.
"Fuck, sweetheart…"
Then she took him fully in her mouth, and the guttural moan this elicited from Pacey caused a surge of confidence to rise up inside Joey. In her mind, he was confident and powerful. Although he was the kindest, gentlest person she knew, and he loved her with such tenderness, he was also her fiercest protector. The way he'd defended her in the restaurant against that miserable Sean character…
Without question, she trusted that no real harm could ever befall her if he was there. To Joey, Pacey had real power, a power that came from somewhere deep within him. And she held his pleasure in the palm of her hand. He was at her mercy, and he trusted her with his vulnerability. It made her feel powerful.
From the first flick of Joey's tongue, Pacey was gone. Every movement of her mouth around him was mesmerizing. But then she started to stroke one hand up and down, twisting around his shaft, and sent her other hand lower to cup and squeeze his balls. He started moaning and felt like his knees were going to buckle.
Stars sparkled at the edge of Pacey's vision as every ounce of blood drained from the rest of his body and straight into his ramrod erection. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the soft, humming sounds Joey was making, the slip and suck of her mouth, the shock of tightness when she shoved forward and swallowed. It felt so fucking good tonight. It had to be because she was so hungry for it. The way Joey wanted it...
How did she keep up the dancing tongue when her lips were sealed tight so close to the base of his cock? Pacey blinked down at the slender, strong body bent between his legs, and his fist tightened unconsciously in her hair.
Joey moaned—and it wasn't a moan of protest. Brown eyes flashed up at him, lips stretched and beautifully obscene, and she let her neck go loose so that he felt the weight of his control over her movements. She stilled, and sat there, unmoving. Power rushed through him, tightening every muscle and sharpening all his senses. The lines of the bricks in the walls were crystal clear in his peripheral vision, the dark corners of the bedroom, the lines between the hardwood planks of the floor—Pacey felt the universe stop.
Or maybe that was just his heart.
Joey waited, breath lodged in her throat and mouth deliciously full. Do it, she thought. Fuck my mouth.
She wanted to feel it, wanted to see Pacey loosen his grip on the reins and let himself take what he wanted. She wanted to know that right here, in this moment, she was exactly what he wanted. Deliberately relaxing her throat muscles, Joey breathed calm and steady through her nose and relished his sexy, masculine scent.
She always set the pace when giving Pacey head. He never grabbed her, thrust into her, took control of her movements in any way. She'd heard other girls talk about guys who thought it was okay to shove their heads down toward their crotch, or who had the bad manners to thrust and try to choke them.
But as she stared up at Pacey's intense face set in lines of stunned pleasure and hunger, Joey felt every muscle in her body go lax. The urge to surrender, to spread and yield, was as startling as it was inescapable. Pacey was different from those other guys she'd heard talked about. She didn't have to worry about him choking her, or hurting her, or doing anything she wasn't ready for, anything that made her feel uncomfortable.
Pacey had helped her explore and become comfortable with her sexuality so far. Even now, she was still getting used to voicing her wants and needs, speaking those naughty words aloud, words that still made her blush and sometimes even cringe with embarrassment. She was getting better at it, though. Why should that stop? Why not continue to explore and become comfortable with new, different things they'd never tried before?
She trusted him. She trusted him enough to try.
The shockwave of that rolled through her, making everything below her waist clench. She shuddered, lapping at the thick cock in her mouth and staring straight into Pacey's blue eyes, darkened with desire. The fingers in her hair tightened, and it felt weirdly good. Everything felt good, from the hard floor under her knees to the scratchy fabric of Pacey's pants under her palms on his lean hips.
He looked down into Joey's eyes smiling up at him and it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life. Her soft, pink mouth was hot and wet. Her swollen lips looked incredible around his cock. And as he watched her tongue lick up and down his shaft, he had to fight the urge to grab her head and rock his hips against her. He clenched his hands into fists and started digging his fingertips into his palms.
She could see he was restraining himself from doing something he obviously wanted to do, and slightly pulled away from him. "Do it, Pacey. Trust yourself. Trust me."
He stared down at her, swallowed hard, and then unclenched his fists.
Spearing his left hand into Joey's hair, he savored the slip of silk through his fingers before tightening his grip. He watched Joey for any hint that this wasn't what she wanted, but all he saw on her face was honest hunger. When he flexed his fingers, urging her closer, that smart, wicked, perfect mouth fell open on a moan that vibrated straight to his balls.
Pacey felt it surge through him, power and control and desire and the bright, sharp snap of their deep emotional connection.
He tugged her forward just as she gripped harder and pulled him in, swallowing hard around the head of his cock. Pulling back until only the head remained in her mouth, Pacey paused for the space of a heartbeat before surging forward again. Joey moaned encouragingly and opened her throat, keeping her lips tight and the suction strong.
The feel of him driving into her was incredibly sexy—the only thing sexier was the watchful, protective way Pacey gauged every thrust. Never too hard or too deep, he fed her exactly the right amount of cock. She'd thought she wanted him to lose control, but this was even better. With Pacey paying such close attention, she was the one who was able to give it all up.
Joey wasn't entirely conscious of the moment when she began rubbing her thighs together, desperate for some friction. Frustrated, she whimpered and Pacey groaned. She was pretty sure she'd go crazy if she didn't get off in the next few minutes. She sucked air through her nose, spit gathering at the taut corners of her wide open lips as Pacey's thick cock rode past them and nudged the roof of her mouth. He thrust a little harder, inspired by the knowledge that Joey was as turned on by this as he was.
He felt his groin tighten and the pressure inside his balls build. "Oh, my God, yes…" he breathed.
She felt another strong sense of power surge through her body. She couldn't stop moaning against him.
Pacey looked down to watch her and he felt his body strain and throb even more. Just an hour ago this mouth was talking to him about the hippocampus being the catalyst for long-term memory but how memories are actually stored in the cortex, and now that same mouth was devouring his hard cock. Oh, sweet Jesus.
He watched her return one of her delicate, warm hands to cup and squeeze his balls, and he felt jolts of pleasure streak through his groin, down his thighs, and up to his stomach. His hips bucked against her. "Joey…" Pacey panted.
She could hear the desperation. She took him deeper into her mouth, sucked a little harder, and squeezed a little tighter as he thrust his hips. They strove together for long, quivering, coiling moments. He felt the jolts of pleasure turning into a surge. Explicit language started to tumble out of his mouth, and she knew he was close.
Then Pacey's hand let go of her hair and he pulled out of her mouth. Joey blinked, set adrift. Her mouth watered, as wet and empty as her pussy. She stared up at the strange expression on Pacey's face—stunned amazement mixed with something she had no name for.
He trailed his fingers down the side of her face, thumb pressing tenderly at the hinges of her jaw, brushing along the seam of her slightly parted lips. His cock, huge and throbbing, bobbed in front of her face. It was perfect, so hard and so thick, and she loved how it felt in her mouth, how it felt deep inside her. The way he stretched her… she always felt so full, so complete. And suddenly she couldn't help imagining how it would feel filling her up in a completely new, different way. Her brain flashed an erotic image of Pacey positioned behind her, his hands on her hips...
Her ass clenched instinctively.
Joey's mouth opened on a panting moan, her eyes fluttering shut, and Pacey growled. Cupping her jaw, he rested the head of his cock on her bottom lip. Joey stuck her tongue out. He groaned when she explored the slit, licking up every drop of pre-come. She hummed her pleasure, her gaze tangled with his.
Staring down at her, Pacey swallowed tightly and grated out, "You want it?"
"Yes," she whimpered.
Pacey slid his cock back into her mouth.
"It's so hot and so wet," he groaned. "It feels so good, Jo." After only a few more thrusts, his knees locked and his hands gripped her hair tighter as his waves of pleasure became a flood. "Oh, fuck, I'm coming."
It was perfect. Joey sucked in long, grateful pulls. Her eyelids fluttered as she felt him go impossibly harder, then came the pulsing of the big vein against her tongue, and she went boneless as thick jets of cream hit the back of her throat.
"Joey." Pacey moaned and swayed against her, and she leaned into his thighs. She held him steady and upright, his rock, his anchor.
Joey swallowed dreamily, pulling back far enough to catch the last few spurts on her tongue, tangy and bitter and unbelievably erotic. She kept him in her mouth, licking and sucking and loving him until he started to twitch, and she knew he'd gotten too sensitive. Regretfully letting him pull out, she rubbed her hands up and down the back of his legs as she looked up at him.
He stood there with his eyes closed, breathing hard and with his hands still in her hair. It was some time before he could trust that his legs would be able to hold him up if he moved.
Joey had never felt more turned on in her life: the salty taste of him and the power he gave her and the control she'd given up to him. She'd trusted him, and of course, he hadn't let her down. He hadn't hurt her, choked her, or done anything to make her feel uncomfortable.
She had never felt more confident.
She watched him pull his boxers and khakis back up around his hips, eyes closed and still panting for breath. "Pacey… do you still want to watch me?"
His eyes flew open and he stared down at her agape. He nodded his head vigorously, eyes wide. His mouth then devoured hers as she stood up. Joey threw her arms around Pacey's neck, kissing him with ardent passion. He held her tight to his chest, and walked her until the backs of her thighs hit the side of the bed.
He turned down the bed and then picked her up, sitting her on the mattress. His hands went to the waistband of her jeans, pulling them off her long legs as she lay down. She removed her tank top and tossed it to the floor. He gazed at her perfectly round breasts before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her lavender underwear, noticing they were soaked through, and pulling them down her legs.
Pacey climbed up on the bed to sit beside her. Joey lay on her back, and she gave him a small smile as she saw his head turn to look down at her center. Then she bent her knees, and spread her legs. He gazed at her. "You're so wet for me. Touch yourself, Jo. Show me how badly you need it."
Her cheeks flushed with slowly rising embarrassment. She loved sex, needed it, and wasn't ashamed to admit it, certainly not to Pacey, but she'd also never masturbated in front of an audience before.
Joey found herself struggling at first. Her fingers were sliding through her slick folds. She knew how to pleasure herself, but suddenly, with him watching, it was like she was trying it for the first time and it felt awkward. She couldn't get the rhythm right, but then her middle finger brushed over her clit and she gasped as a pulse of pleasure shot through her. Maybe it would be easier if she pretended he wasn't there.
With keen anticipation, Pacey had watched her left hand slide down her stomach down past the crown of her trimmed dark feminine curls. She now pulled her middle finger through her wet slit, and up to circle her engorged clit. He watched her close her eyes, arch her back, and press her head into the mattress. He watched her begin to rub herself, giving her movements his rapt attention, burning them into his memory.
"Eyes on me, my skittish kitten," he murmured in a gentle, teasing tone.
She forced herself to look at him, meeting his dark blue eyes. With flaming cheeks, her fingers moved against the slippery flesh between her thighs. Joey started breathing heavily and making small mewling sounds as she rubbed her clit faster. And Pacey watched, wide-eyed, as her other hand palmed her breasts, then rolled and pinched her nipples. His mouth watered. The touch of her hands made her succulent peach nipples stiffen and turn a shade or two darker, the way they always did when she was aroused. His groin tightened and his dick twitched inside his boxers.
She was aware that her face was flooded with crimson, but it was easy to forget about it as she got lost in the sensations of her body's building pleasure. She shut her eyes tight, and her breathing quickened.
Pacey lay down on his side next to her and brought his hand to her jawline. "Look at me, Joey."
She turned her head to the side as she opened her eyes, and he gazed into them. His hand went to the side of her throat, brushing his fingertips up and down her soft skin. Her delicious moans and whimpers sank straight to his cock, hardening again like steel.
"I love watching you touch yourself," he said, his eyes bright and shiny with excitement. "Come for me," he whispered.
"I want to watch you, too, Pacey," she breathed.
He grinned and put a hand over the bulge in his pants. He stroked himself a few times through the fabric, and then reached inside and stroked again. His face tightened and he bit his lower lip.
"No fair," she said.
Pacey's laugh came out a little strangled. "Okay."
He pushed his pants down and threw them over the side of the bed along with his boxers. He gripped his erection. When he stroked down slowly, she couldn't decide where to look: at his face, taut with desire, or at his cock, so deliciously hard.
Her body responded. Her breath came faster, her pulse sped up, her clit grew tighter beneath her fingertips. The sheet covering the mattress beneath her bare ass had warmed to her skin, smooth, and she slid on it as she arched her hips. They'd made love on this bed many times since his arrival in Boston, and she thought of that now. Of how Pacey's hard cock felt inside her as they rocked, how good it felt when her throbbing clit rubbed against his stomach, how easy it was to thrust and move when she was on top of him.
Pacey's hand moved up and down his erection. She did love watching him. There was something singular in him stroking himself, and in watching how he moved his hand to bring himself the most pleasure. He added a twist to his wrist as he stroked the broad, swollen head of his cock. She caught a glimpse of pre-come glistening at the slit.
She knew exactly how he'd taste and the sound he'd make when she closed her lips over his cock. She didn't, though. Not this time. She watched him stroke himself instead as she brought herself closer and closer to climax.
They could have finished this way, watching each other. But Joey wanted something else, something better.
"Pacey," she said.
That was all it took. He reached for her immediately. "What do you want, Jo? Tell me."
"Your tongue."
His eyes blazed with lust, and his mouth curved into a knowing smirk. Pacey shifted on the bed to lie between her legs. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, bending her knees and spreading them apart. His eyes roamed over the slick, swollen seam of her hot center. Her tight rosebud beckoned him.
"I've been dying to eat this pussy all week," he growled, before licking a line from her anus to her clit.
He pinned her in place, and she gasped at what he'd done.
"Where do you want my tongue, baby?" he murmured.
Pacey's gaze never left her face as he watched her grow red from the shock of desire his tongue on her asshole had incited.
"Here?" He swirled his tongue over that taut ring of muscle, and she cried out. "Or here?" He stiffened his tongue and thrust inside her pussy, eliciting a moan. "How about here?" He flicked back and forth over her clit three times, then suctioned his mouth over the little bud of nerves and sucked hard.
Joey shrieked, fisting his hair and pulling on him. She would have thrashed her hips if he didn't have her completely pinned down.
"Which one, sweetheart?"
"A-all of them," she confessed, her face burning, but with lust or embarrassment or both, she couldn't say for sure.
She tugged on his hair again, wanting him to lick her everywhere. He planned to drive her mad with that talented tongue of his. Pacey made a satisfied sound in his throat, and repeated his first move of licking the soft line up her perineum. When he swirled his tongue around her clit, her cries grew more urgent.
Then he thrust two fingers inside her wet heat and stroked her g-spot while circling her tight rosebud with his tongue. She was growing unbelievably wet, her sweet juices seeping from her hot core. He made his tongue pointed and pressed to the center of her anus. He could feel the tight ring of muscle open up to him, and he groaned. His cock throbbed excitedly and he pressed himself into the mattress.
The coil of need inside her wound tighter and tighter as Pacey pushed her up the spiral. Higher and higher he took her toward the ultimate explosion. It felt so good, she couldn't help pressing herself against his tongue, and even her shock at the way her body was responding to it didn't lessen her need for more.
She felt the hot, wet flesh of his tongue fuck her in a steady rhythm while his long fingers curled and stroked that sweet spot inside her. "Please," she begged, and felt she was on the verge of sobbing with need. "Please make me come. I can't take it."
Obeying her wish, and wanting her to come with his tongue in her ass, Pacey withdrew his fingers from her pussy. His deft fingertips, coated in her wet desire, found her swollen, needy clit and rubbed in quick circles. Joey tensed, and she began mewling, whimpering, moaning uncontrollably at the sparks of intense pleasure.
"Faster, faster," she said, her voice breaking.
He liked that she was becoming so vocal, and encouraged her by thrusting his tongue harder and working his fingers relentlessly. He felt her body surrender and his tongue slid deeper until she had no choice but to come for him. All at once, the tension burst, and Joey spasmed and broke against his mouth and fingers.
"Pacey!" she cried out. Her high, keening moan seemed to go on forever as she writhed underneath him, waves of outrageous pleasure wracking her body. He had to squeeze the base of his shaft just to keep from coming right then all over the bedsheet.
When the storm of sensation passed, she cautiously opened an eyelid. Pacey still lay between her thighs, the look on his handsome face a tight, intriguing combination of hunger, frustration, and masculine satisfaction. Joey suddenly wanted to make him feel just as good, wanted to drive him just as crazy.
Moving towards him, frantic with lust, she rolled him onto his back in the middle of the queen-sized bed. She almost came again when she pressed her hands against his chest and straddled him so that his erection slid against her clit in just the right way. It felt so good, and he looked so good lying stretched beneath her.
He pulled her tight against him, and the world tipped a little as pleasure swooped over her again, but she breathed deep and managed to hold it off. Their mouths locked as his hands cupped her ass. She could taste the salt tang on his smooth, warm lips. She found the earthiness of it unbearably erotic.
"Your cock feels so good," she moaned. "And I bet this feels better than your hand," she teased.
Pacey let out a groan as she slid against him. "God, you're so fucking sexy," he rasped as his hands reached up to fondle her breasts. His eyes locked with hers, and he bit his lip as his hips moved in perfect circles below her. "You're gonna make me come, Jo."
What they were doing felt so good, so raw. She dropped her gaze to watch the tip of his cock, pressing against his stomach as she slipped over his long, thick shaft. Joey could come again like this, too—admiring his huge erection beneath her, and the way his head fell back against the bed.
"I want to make you come," she whispered. "I want to watch you."
His face contorted in erotic agony as he let out a deep moan. He did nothing to hinder Joey's movements. Both of them were frantic, racing toward an end they both knew was near. She could feel her body begin to tense, her smooth strokes over Pacey's cock becoming sharper and more erratic. His eyes were barely open, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure. The tip of his cock was nearly purple and beaded with moisture.
"I'm so close, Joey."
He choked out a few unsteady breaths and squeezed her ass with both his hands. And she found herself wanting his fingers to slide between her cheeks, to caress and rub that tight ring of muscle again, where he'd caressed and rubbed that first night in her dorm. Imagining his fingers slipping inside, and maybe even his cock. But to speak the words aloud, to ask for it, still made her inwardly cringe. She couldn't. There was no way, no matter how badly she suddenly wanted it.
The desperate feeling caused her to grind against him even harder, and she felt another orgasm nearing to the point that she wouldn't be able to hold it off much longer. Not that she wanted to. "Oh God," she huffed.
Pacey was reveling in the feel of her clit rubbing against him. He was elated as he felt the wet heat of her sweet pussy push down on his erection. Tearing his gaze from her face to look at where their bodies joined, he groaned as he saw the fat head of his cock slide between her soft, swollen lips. The sight and the feel of her grinding against him made his head fog and his entire body burn with lust. It took only a few more strokes of her body over his before he was moaning with intense pleasure, his cock spurting his hot release onto his stomach in quick bursts.
"Fuck."
And that was all Joey needed to push her over the edge. She felt her heart swell with her desperate love for him as she looked into his eyes. The exquisite tension increased, and finally the growing pressure behind her clit burst, and exquisite pleasure throbbed at her core before surging through her body, her mind.
Her insides clenched as she slid over his pulsating length, milking every drop from him as she rode out her own climax. Then Pacey captured her cries with his mouth, kissing her passionately.
The release she'd felt tonight, both atop Pacey and under him, was different from any she'd experienced before. It was sweet. It was consuming. It was intimate, raw, new, and different. And it was fucking dirty as hell.
She looked at the sticky remnants of their orgasms between them and then gave Pacey a soft kiss on his lips before sitting upright and taking both his hands in hers, threading their fingers.
"How about a shower?" she suggested.
"Good idea," he chuckled, his head in a fog of pure bliss. He gazed up at her, a stupid grin spreading across his face. She was one amazing woman. How the hell did he get so damn lucky?
Later, satisfied and sleepy, Joey laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, and watched his eyes close as he peacefully drifted. She curled into him and traced lazy circles on his chest, loving how completely relaxed his profile appeared in the darkened room. The stars on the ceiling glittered above them. She watched Pacey fall asleep, his energy drained, exhausted by her love. She kissed his chest, and a smile curved his lips, but he didn't wake. God, she loved him. As she snuggled against him and closed her own eyes, she smiled and felt warmth spread through her body, a deep flush rising in her face.
She wanted to experience everything with him, too.