Beautiful Disaster

He stops, then looks back at me, flexing his hands as if he is yearning to punch me. Hell, maybe he is. I don’t give a shit.

"Well?" I ask again when he still doesn’t say anything.

"You really don’t see it?" he asks, more incredulous than angry for a moment, but the rage is back within moments. "How can you not see it?

She saw it weeks ago! Weeks!" Jazz throws his hands up and starts to pace, then stops again, glaring at me. "How can you be so blind?"

"Maybe because I’m just a stupid f**ker?" I supply unhelpfully, but his anger is so contagious that I can’t calm myself down. I’m so fed up with all the secrecy, and I know it’s only going to get worse if I don’t stop this now.

"But how about for a change you just tell me what the f**k is going on?

Instead of whining behind my back that I’m too much of an idiot to get it?"

He takes an almost menacing step towards me, then opens his mouth, but at the last second closes it again. My patience snaps and I cross the distance between us, grabbing the front of his t-shirt to yank him towards me so I can sneer into his face from up close.

"Fucking tell me!"

"I love you, that’s what’s going on!"

He spits out the words, then shoves me away, hard enough to make me stumble and for him to shake me off. Once the meaning behind what he has just said registers, I’m stunned, and unable to react. I feel like a fish out of water, and my mind kicks into overdrive.

He loves me. He loves me? What the –

I swallow thickly, then force myself to think; all the while Jazz is staring at me, his shoulders heaving slightly with each shaky breath.

Part of me is waiting for me to freak out – what will happen now? How will Bella take it? Can our relationship survive me f**king up again, in exactly the same way as before? But the only thing I actually feel is relief. Because suddenly it all makes sense.

From the end of their spat it’s obvious that Bella knows, in fact has known for a while – and that also explains her erratic behavior of the last few weeks. She’s not one to keep secrets, and it must have been eating her up not to breathe a word to me. The fact that she didn’t tell me leads me to only one possible conclusion – not only did she bow to what must have been extensive begging on Jasper’s side, but she must be sympathizing deeply with him without being upset herself, or else she would have gotten in my face the second she got a whiff of it.

And Jazz’s own erratic behavior is clearly related to what just culminated to what must have been one of the hardest things he has ever admitted to anyone in his life. From the way he’s still looking at me, with panic and defiance warring in his eyes, it’s not hard to guess that he’s expecting me to either laugh in his face, tell him to f**k off, or kick him out at any moment now.

I should probably tell him that I don’t intend to do any of those things.

Though brief to me, my silence must have been endless to him, and he looks ready to draw his own conclusions from it.

"Aren’t you at least going to say something to that?" he gripes, his voice strained, his anger not completely gone.

I spend a fleeting second trying to come up with something, but nothing comes to mind. I just know how his words make me feel.

He hasn’t shoved me far enough away that I can’t cross the distance between us in two quick steps, but he tries to fight me when I grab his shoulders and pull him close. He seems so fragile as he stares at me, then opens his mouth to keep shouting, but I cut off the escaping sound by mashing my lips against his and pushing my tongue into his mouth.

Jazz shudders, then tries to push me away in earnest, but I only let go of his left shoulder so I can grab the back of his neck to keep him from dislodging my lips from his. The muffled grunt he utters in protest already speaks of his defeat, and a moment later I feel his hands on my body.

The need for any further communication dwindles fast when we start tearing off each other’s clothes, in our haste knocking over a chair. I feel the back of my legs get slammed against the side of the couch. Holding onto Jazz, I kick his legs out from under him while I turn us to the side, ending with us falling into the cushions of the sofa with me mostly on top of him. The impact has jarred us both enough to break our kiss, and for a moment we simply stare at each other, panting loudly in the otherwise silent room. Whatever he sees on my face makes him grin for a moment, then he pulls me down and we resume where we left off.

When I finally manage to get my hand into his jeans, I find him already hard, and more than willing to kick off the offending garment. I chuckle as he tears off my pants next, divesting me of them and my boxer briefs with a few jerky motions. We’re both needy for contact, kissing and touching each other with rising tension. Before long I rear up and search around for the bottle of lube that must be somewhere underneath the coffee table. After all, the couch has seen more action than our bed lately, no sense in not keeping the necessities at hand.

Jazz grins at me briefly when he sees my hunt has been successful, but when he tries to turn over I just lean into him, pinning him with my weight so that he has to stay on his back. Confusion remains on his face as he watches me squirt lube onto my palm, but he doesn’t resist when I grab his c**k and stroke it a few times, then nudge his right leg up towards the backrest of the couch so that I can reach his anus and push a wet finger into him. Leaning further into him, I grab his dick with my free hand and claim his mouth again, feeling my own hard c**k rub over his lower stomach.

Even though the need to f**k him is screaming inside of me, I take my time working my fingers in and out of him, feeling him relax gradually, then raise his hips to make them push deeper into him. I speed up a bit, then lean back as I watch him succumb to his lust gradually between both of my hands.

Of course, I have jerked him off plenty of times, but this time is different somehow. I love watching him writhe, love listening to the low moans and near growled grunts that he utters before he finally can’t hold back anymore and comes with a few spurts over my hand and his stomach.

Following an impulse, I lean over him and lick up his spunk, letting my teeth scrape over his abs on my way back up to his mouth. He chuckles when he tastes himself on my tongue, still a bit breathless from the exertion. I don’t intend to let him catch his breath just yet, though.

Moving back until I’m sitting on my haunches, I make a grab for the lube bottle again, but Jazz is surprisingly faster than me, his prepped hand already wrapping around my c**k before I can protest. Not that I would, but I’m still a little stunned, and all too happy to thrust a few times into his hand to get myself ready. Then I just can’t take it any more and push him back down, and with a decisive thrust I slide my c**k into him. The forcefulness of the motion makes him grunt, and my attempt not to smear any lube or jizz remaining on my hands onto the couch ends up with me nearly falling on top of him, the resulting friction delicious.

We end up face to face that way, and I grin down hungrily at him when I start to move, slow, deep thrusts that draw all kinds of sighs and moans from us both. He looks up at me with his eyes wide, his face flushed, then grabs my head and pulls me down far enough so that he can devour my mouth. Throwing all caution concerning altercations due to further ruining the couch deliberately to the wind, I put my hands flat onto the cushions to shift my balance, then pick up the pace, shoving my c**k deep into him.

While our movements get more frantic by the minute, the sense of this being more than just any f**k is all encompassing, lending a special quality to the moment – making it intimate somehow. When I finally come it’s with a loud shout before I sag down, my forehead against his shoulder, his breathy laugh filling my ears.