Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

20

Charlotte

The days in Eastland began blending together.

We spent two more days at Judge Benjamin’s house, first finishing the fence and then pulling weeds around the perimeter. After that were three straight days fixing potholes around town, using cheap bags of cement mixed in a wheelbarrow. Jayce complained that the cement would crack in the heat and the town would have to fix them all over again in a few months, but Mindy only shrugged and said that she didn’t make the list, the judge did.

We worked through the weekend, which made me happy since I just wanted to get my hours completed as quickly as possible.

Now that things were out in the open with Jayce, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. We chatted about anything and everything. Music, movies, sports. Which parts of Georgia were worth visiting (Savannah) and which should be skipped entirely (Macon). We were like college roommates, pressed into proximity every day and forced to get to know each other.

We flirted, too. A comment here, a dirty joke there. I made the mistake of stretching my arm and saying, “I’m really tight today.” I was talking about my muscles, but Jayce only smiled and said, “Bet you’re tight every day, Peaches.”

I spent the rest of the day blushing after that one.

But our flirting was lighthearted and innocent. Part of just passing the time. Jayce couldn’t be with anyone, and I respected his decision.

But it didn’t stop me from dreaming about him.

The dreams were getting worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it. Jayce didn’t just spread my legs on the bed and eat me out. He bent me over the chair and ravaged me until I was screaming with ecstasy. He straddled my face and filled my mouth with his hard length while rubbing my slit with his calloused fingers. He took me in the shower, slowly and passionately while the water ran over our slippery, soapy bodies, and his kiss silenced my cries of ecstasy.

I woke each morning wet and aching for him. I couldn’t get Jayce out of my head.

Just two more weeks, I thought to myself. Starting a countdown wouldn’t help the time pass faster, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed a way to keep my mind off Jayce.

It got harder—no pun intended—when we started texting more.

The first one, sent one evening while I was lounging in bed, was innocent enough:

Jayce: Mindy’s got fresh cinnamon rolls at the diner. She only bakes them once a month, so you’d better grab one while you can

Charlotte: UGH, that’s tempting but I just ate a Snickers bar that cost me $3 from the motel lobby.

Charlotte: I would much rather have a cinnamon roll! Maybe I’ll get one in the morning before we work.

Jayce: I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t gonna be any left in the morning

He was right—they were all gone by morning. Mindy shrugged and told me I needed to be faster next time. There won’t be a next time, I thought, checking the mental countdown clock in my head.

But over time the texts got more casual, and more personal.

Charlotte: There’s a dude on channel 3 who looks just like you!

Jayce: Devilishly handsome and hung like a horse?

I blushed at my phone screen, and wondered if he was bragging or just making a joke.

Charlotte: He’s cute, but they don’t exactly show full-frontal nudity on the evening news.

Charlotte: Turn it on and you’ll see what I mean. He’s got numbers tattooed on his arm just like you

Jayce: I don’t have a TV

Charlotte: Seriously? Weirdo

Jayce: Why would I have a TV?

Charlotte: To watch shows? Or sports? I bet you’d love Real Housewives of Atlanta

Jayce: I have no idea what that is, but I’ll pass

Then the texts really escalated.

Jayce: Whatchya up to tonight, Peaches? Anything fun?

I had just finished getting ready for bed: brushing my teeth, changing into pajamas, and rubbing moisturizer all over my face. But that wasn’t very sexy, and the words on my phone were tempting me to have some fun.

Charlotte: Why do you ask, Nosy McNoserson?

Jayce: Just making conversation with my favorite community service partner.

Charlotte: I’m taking a nice, relaxing bubble bath.

Jayce: Damn, Peaches. Now you’ve got my mind wandering.

Charlotte: Oh? What’s so exciting about a naked woman taking a bubble bath?

Jayce: All of it. Every word in that sentence. Even the punctuation.

Charlotte: Taking a bath is part of getting clean. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about it.

Jayce: That’s a lie. You want to send me a picture?

Grinning to myself, I did consider it. But only for a second.

Charlotte: Sorry, but you’ll just have to use your imagination.

Jayce: Already am.

Charlotte: What are you imagining?

The text message bubble remained for a long time as he typed it out. I stared at the screen and waited with bated breath.

Jayce: You’re lifting a leg out of the water, letting the bubbles slake off you like a sexy waterfall. You stretch the leg, toes curling like you’ve just been kissed. The kind of kiss that leads to more. Your hand slides over your wet skin, up your beautiful tits and across a hard nipple. They look perfect this way, with you reclining against the tub and glistening with moisture. Your hand caresses your face, leaving a trail of moisture across your plump lips, and then your hand is sliding back down. Over the mounds of your breast, across your cute little belly button and dipping underneath the water, and then…

I bit my lip, chest heaving, as I waited for the rest.

Jayce: …and then you pull your phone out of the water, snap a nude selfie, and send it to the guy who’s been giving you sandwiches every day.

I’ll admit that it gave me a really good laugh. But I wasn’t the kind of girl who sent nudes to a guy she barely knew. Even a ridiculously handsome one who I couldn’t stop dreaming about.

Charlotte: So THAT’S why you’ve been giving me sandwiches. I knew there were strings attached.

Jayce: You’ve got me.

Charlotte: As entertaining as your sext message was, my phone isn’t waterproof. Next time do your research.

Jayce: That wasn’t a sext.

Jayce: You’ll know when I send you a sext.

Charlotte: Please elaborate.

Jayce: Sure, in exchange for a photo.

Charlotte: I asked you first!

Jayce: That’s how this works, Peaches. I give you something, you give me something. And the way I see it, right now you owe me a selfie.

I considered something sarcastic, then something more flirty. Indecisive, I stuck the phone above me and took a selfie of my smiling face. Just my face.

Jayce: As much as I like your smile, that’s not the selfie I was hoping for

Charlotte: Should have been more specific!

I waited for him to pester me more, but that was the last text of the night. Neither of us acknowledged the flirty texts the next day. I brought him a coffee, he gave me a sandwich, and we went about our community service while pretending it hadn’t happened.

But I noticed him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and I found myself doing the same.

That night, while I watched my burrito spin in the microwave, I got another text.

Jayce: How about that selfie, Peaches?

Jayce: A SEXY selfie. None of this smiling-for-your-school-photo bullshit

Charlotte: You first, hot stuff.

Jayce: What, you want a dick pic?

Charlotte: Sure. Show me what tattoos you’ve got going on down there.

Jayce: Hate to disappoint you, but there’s no ink on my junk. It’s all natural.

Charlotte: Prove it

I took my burrito out of the microwave and carried it over to the little table in my room. I nibbled at it slowly, savoring the shredded chicken and creamy cheese sauce inside, but there was no response from Jayce. I wondered if I’d pushed it too far, or if I should have given him a shot of my cleavage first.

Then the text message arrived.

And it was hot.

The photo showed Jayce’s bare abs at the top and his junk in the center of the frame. His tight grey boxers hugged his muscular thighs, and showed the scintillating outline of the bulge of his cock. I could make out every detail underneath the soft, grey cotton: the ridge of his crown, the thickness of the shaft. It ran diagonally toward his left thigh, not quite the girth of a roll of cookie dough, but thicker than a tube of toothpaste.

Holy crap.

I realized I was holding my breath, so I let it out slowly. My heart pounded and I was out of breath like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster.

Jayce: How’s that, Peaches?

I put my burrito down and considered what to send back. I started to respond that the photo didn’t prove whether or not he had tattoos on his junk, but then I deleted it and typed something else instead.

Charlotte: This photo is satisfactory.

Jayce: Satisfactory?

Jayce: It’s just SATISFACTORY?

Charlotte: It’s a solid C+. Passing grade.

Charlotte: I accept extra credit, though ;-)

Jayce: All right, Peaches. Time to show me yours.

I took my time finishing my burrito while contemplating what to send him. Then I stripped my jeans and panties, swapping them for a pair of tight boy shorts. Turquoise with little white ocean waves on them, which I’d bought at a surf shop in the Outer Banks. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror examining and adjusting myself, pulling the boy shorts up into the crack of my butt, showing off all of my curves.

I snapped a dozen photos of my ass, then spent another ten minutes choosing which one to send Jayce.

My body tingled with excitement the moment I hit send. I wasn’t the kind of girl who sent scandalous photos to guys I barely knew. Even a reasonably innocent photo without any nudity made me feel like I was being bad.

But being bad felt so good right now.

Jayce didn’t respond at first. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. With each passing minute I grew more self-conscious about the photograph. Had I gone too far? Was he waiting for more? Or did he not like what he saw?

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Charlotte: I guess you’re not a butt guy, huh?

Jayce: Sorry, Peaches. That ass is so fine I think I went into a coma for a few minutes

Jayce: I chose the right nickname for you after all. That ass is juicy.

I grinned to myself the rest of the night.

The next day was like the previous one, where we both pretended like nothing had happened. But the way he called me Peaches held a little extra meaning.

Between the monotonous community service work, the microwave burritos, and the increasingly scandalous text messages with Jayce, I was settling into a nice groove during my time in Eastland.

Until Tuesday.

That’s when Scott called.