by Cora Carmack
“You are ridiculously sexy, you know.”
I lowered my heels to the floor, my calves burning too much to stay on my tiptoes. And I couldn’t look in his eyes any more. Every time I’d almost completely turned off my brain, he said something to turn it back on. I said, “You know you don’t need that line. I was already kissing you.”
“And what a good kiss it was.” His thumb brushed against my lip again, and he tipped my face back up toward him. “I’d like to do it again somewhere that isn’t your bathroom.”
“Oh, right.” Was he asking to go to my bedroom? I was pretty sure he was asking to go to my bedroom.
I fumbled with the doorknob for a few seconds before my clouded brain managed to swing the door open. We exited into the dark hallway again, and his hand found my back once more.
“Sorry, the hallway light is out, and I haven’t had a chance to change it.”
His lips were right by my ear when he answered, “I don’t mind the dark.”
All the tiny hairs along my skin stood on end.
We stepped into the living room, and I flipped on a light that actually worked. My apartment was a loft with an open floor plan. Two walls were brick, and the other was painted a pretty plum color. The ceiling was tall with exposed pipes criss-crossing above us. My bedroom was off to the right, separated from the living room by only a lavender curtain since I didn’t actually have a door.
“Well, this is my living room.” I gestured with one hand, unsure whether he expected a tour or if I should just skip straight to the bedroom. I’d never done this before, so I had no idea whether we were supposed to do the traditional niceties first. My heart ran wildly as he walked around the room, inspecting a painting here, a knick-knack there.
“It’s nice. Fits you, I think.”
I beamed. I loved this apartment. It always made me feel like I was in an episode of Friends.
“I’m ashamed to say that my place is still covered in boxes. Wouldn’t have made for a very interesting tour.”
God, how I wished we were at his place. Then he would be in control. I hated not knowing what I was supposed to do next.
His eyes flicked to the curtain that led to my bedroom. It was quick. His eyes were almost immediately back on the lamp he was standing next to, but I saw it.
This was it. I was about to have sex.
Should I tell him I was a virgin? I should tell him.
Should I tell him now? Or right before?
I remembered Kelsey’s advice, and forced myself to dial back my fears. I turned the volume down so low that I could pretend I wasn’t thinking at all.
Before I chickened out, I walked forward and held out my hand. He took it immediately, and I led him through the curtain and into my bedroom. There was no overhead lighting in this area, so I flipped on a lamp to my right, and then left him to turn on another beside my bed.
When I turned around he was holding up the indecently short mini-skirt that Kelsey had made me try on earlier.
His eyes met mine, and his grin made my lungs feel like they were on the verge of collapse. I snatched the skirt out of his hands, scooped up the few other articles of clothing still on my bed, and threw them into my closet.
“Sorry about that.”
“You don’t hear me complaining.”
I raised and eyebrow, and said, “Forget about it. You will never see me in that skirt.”
“Never? Is that a challenge, love?”
“It’s a promise.”
He skirted the corner of my bed to join me in the space between my bed and the wall. “I’d feel very comfortable helping you break that promise.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, his index finger dipping beneath the strap of my tank top.
“I’m sure you’d be comfortable helping me do a lot of things.”
His hand tightened on my shoulder and his eyes dropped to my lips.
“That I would.”
Then he kissed me.
He didn’t bother with soft and sweet this time. There was a hungry desperation in his kiss that had me gasping into his mouth. His teeth pulled on my bottom lip in the same way his thumb had earlier, and my whole body trembled in response. He bent slightly, and swept an arm around my waist, pulling me up and against him so that our bodies were lined up perfectly.
My toes barely brushed the floor, but it didn’t matter. He was holding me up. I buried my hands into his messy locks, and threw myself into the kiss. He took a few steps backward, and sat on the edge of my bed. On instinct, my legs went on either side of his lap, straddling him. The hand that had been around my waist curved around my butt and pulled me against him.
If I had any doubt about where this was heading, it disappeared then. He pulled me again, his own hips tilting up at the same time, and I broke the kiss, gasping. His mouth skimmed across my jaw and down my neck. His lips lingered over my pulse point, his tongue brushing across the sensitive skin. He continued down over my collarbone until my tank top blocked any further progress. I thought he would stop, but he slipped the tank top strap off my shoulder, and his lips never left my skin. His other hand snuck beneath the bottom of my shirt, teasing the skin around the waistband of my skirt.
My hands were still tangled in his hair, and I tightened my grip and pulled his face back to mine. His hand brushed higher as we kissed, smoothing over my ribcage, my skin burning in his wake. When his hand cupped my breast, I rocked against him, and he groaned. The skirt I’d thrown on earlier was up around my thighs, and there was so little between us. I tilted my hips forward again, and this time it was me who moaned. When his other hand found the edge of my shirt, it was to pull it up and over my head.
We broke our kiss to let the fabric pass between us. I resisted the urge to cover myself as his gaze raked over me. And God was I thankful that Kelsey had insisted I wear some cute lingerie. This particular set was black and white lace.
When he looked at me, it was with such obvious desire that I knew he didn’t care about that little pudge that had stressed me out earlier. His right hand kneaded my breast gently, while his left found my neck. He pulled my face close to his. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but at the last second, he swerved, and he pressed his cheek against mine. He dropped a kiss on the edge of my jaw, just below my ear. And God did that feel amazing. It was just a small innocent kiss, but it had me gripping his hair, and pushing my hips down against his. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Did I say ridiculously sexy? I meant unbelievably sexy.”
I was unbelievably turned on.
He kissed me again, and then turned and laid me back against the bed. He paused to pull his shirt over his head, and for the first time I got to see the hard planes of his body that had fascinated me earlier. He rose up on his knees, my legs still splayed on either side of him. He stopped to study me again.
This was the part where I should tell him. I should just say it. Just spit it out.
I’m a virgin.
Just three words.
Not that hard, right?
I swallowed, and cleared my throat.
Then he ducked his head, and pressed his lips against the skin of my stomach, and all my thoughts disappeared.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS POSSIBLE that I might not make it to the sex. With the way he was mapping out my body with his lips—I was going to spontaneously combust before we ever got that far.
His fingers trailed up my thighs and stroked the skin of my hip just below the waistband of my panties. Something in my brain detonated, and panic filled me.
I was going to be so terrible at this . . . the worst he’d ever had probably. And then he’d never want to see me again (and I really wanted to see him again). I’d probably be traumatized and never want to have sex again, which meant every relationship for the rest of my life would fail, and I would end up alone and miserable with nine cats and a ferret.
I didn’t want to end up alone and miserable with nine cats and a ferret.
>
Then one of his hands pushed my panties to the side, and I was anything but miserable.
Black danced around the edges of my vision, and all the feeling in my body seemed to narrow to that one spot where he was touching me, and holy heart failure, it felt amazing. His fingers hit a spot inside me that had me arching up and towards him. His head dipped, and he started dropping kisses across my chest.
My hands had a mind of their own as they kneaded at his back, and then slipped around to his stomach, where I flicked open the button on his jeans. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and his lips crashed against mine. He kissed me fiercely, pressing me down into the mattress. The kisses kept building—harder and faster, and I needed something more. I slid my hand along the taught skin of his stomach, to the front of his jeans. Then his lips broke from mine with a groan. He didn’t pull back, but kept his lips millimeters from mine. His breath came out in a rush.
“Oh God, Bliss . . .”
He placed a final lingering kiss on my lips, and then pulled back until he was kneeling above me. I heard the metal clink of his zipper, and kept my eyes focused on the frame of his shoulders as he fiddled with his clothes. He stood for a few seconds, and I fixed my eyes on the ceiling. I wanted this. Badly.
I was about to repeat my mantra again when his lips and hands came back to me—frenzied, almost desperate.
I could feel the pressure building low in my core, and every muscle in my legs was pulled tight as I waited for what I knew was coming.
Then he dragged my panties down my legs, and his body settled into the crook of my thighs, and it was like I’d just been submerged in ice.
I was about to have sex.
With a guy I’d just met, who I knew absolutely nothing about.
And He knew nothing about me . . . including the fact that I was a virgin.
And God, I wanted to go through with it. I was sick of being a virgin, and he was unbelievably sexy, but this wasn’t me.
I couldn’t do this. Not with him.
I just . . . couldn’t.
I froze up beneath him, but his mouth continued worshipping at the juncture between my neck and shoulder.
I should have told him I was a virgin or that I wasn’t ready. It wouldn’t have been pretty or easy, but at least he would have understood . . . probably.
Instead, my eyes locked on the porcelain cat cookie jar I’d inherited from my great grandmother, and my brain created a ridiculous excuse out of the first thing that came to my mind.
“Stop! Cats! Stop . . .”
What the hell was I saying?
I put the heels of my palms against his shoulders, and pushed up slightly.
He pulled back, his eyes dark, his hair mussed, and his lips swollen from our kisses. I almost changed my mind then. He looked almost irresistible. Almost.
“Sorry, love. Did you say cats? ”
“Yes, I can’t do this . . . right now. Because . . . I have a cat. Yes, I have a cat that I need to, um, get? Take care of! I have to take care of my cat! So . . . I can’t do this. “I gestured between us, hoping to God that I didn’t sound as crazy to him as I sounded to myself. Improbable.
I don’t even have a cat!
I don’t know what synapses misfired in my brain, but I wanted to kick myself. I wanted to punch myself in the face until I lost consciousness. Right about now, I could probably dive into a pool of hydrochloric acid without even a pep talk.
His brain must have been as clouded as mine, because he paused for a few moments, processing, then looked around.
“I don’t see a cat.”
My throat was getting dry, the way it always did when I lied. I was a terrible liar (as evidenced by, well, me).
“That’s because . . . it’s not here. Yes. The cat that I own is not here because . . . I have to go get her. I forgot, I was supposed to go pick her up.”
He glanced at the clock, which now read 12:20 AM.
“You’re supposed to pick her up now?”
I pushed at him again, and this time, he rolled off of me and to the side easily. He was completely naked, and I was in my bra and skirt with my panties still hooked around one ankle.
“Yes . . . she’s at the vet! It’s a, um, 24-hour veterinarian . . .”
“A 24-hour veterinarian?”
“Uh, yeah. We have those here . . . in America. Totally.” That hydrochloric acid was sounding incredibly appealing right now. “And I was supposed to pick her up hours ago.”
“You can’t go by in the morning?”
I tried to slip my panties back on my other foot, and I toppled backward, ass-planting on my hardwood floor.
“Jesus, Bliss!”
He hopped off the bed and knelt beside me, which only made me more flustered considering he was still naked and still, um, ready.
“I’m fine, promise. I’m fine. I just . . . if I don’t pick her up tonight, there will be a fee, and I can’t afford it.”
“Well, let me get dressed and I’ll go with you.”
“NO! Um, no, that’s okay. Shouldn’t your locksmith be coming soon?” I finished with a smile that I hoped said, this is no big deal. I’m sure it actually looked like I’m a crazy person, run now while you can!
He glanced at the clock, his gorgeous face marred by a frown.
“I guess, yeah.”
“Great. I’m just—I’m just going to run. You can, um, let yourself out whenever you’re . . .” my eyes wandered over his body again, and I felt like melting into a puddle of idiocy and mortification and arousal. “Whenever you’re, um, ready. Um, done. Um, just whenever you like.”
Then I flew through the curtain that shielded my bedroom from the rest of the apartment, and bolted out the door, ignoring him as he called out my name.
It wasn’t until I’d walked halfway across the parking lot that I realized:
1. I wasn’t wearing shoes.
A. Or a shirt.
2. I didn’t bring my keys
A. Or anything really.
3. I’d just left a complete stranger in my apartment.
A. Naked.
Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOUR.
That’s the number of people who saw me hiding around the corner from my own apartment in just a skirt and a bra.
Eleven.
That’s the number of ant bites I got on my shoeless feet.
Twenty-seven.
That’s the number of times I was tempted to do myself physical harm because I am an IDIOT.
One.
That’s the number of times I tried not to cry, but failed.
Garrick stayed in my apartment for a good ten minutes after I left. The entire time my mind was like a five-year-old who just drank a bathtub full of energy drinks. What was he doing in there? Was he just getting dressed reeeaaally slowly? Was he looking through my things? Was he trashing my place because I’d run out and left him there like the biggest jerk this side of Kanye West at the 2009 VMA’s?
When he finally exited, I watched him close my door, and then pause. He looked at the metal apartment number nailed into the siding, and just stared at it for a while. Then he shook his head, and started toward his own apartment.
I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore, and then I waited for another five minutes just to be safe (6 more ant bites, 1 more passerby, and 4 visions of self-harm later).
As soon as I got inside, I curled up on my bed. The same bed where I’d almost had sex. The same bed where I had wanted to have sex . . . sort of. The same bed that had held an incredibly sexy, incredibly naked British boy. Perhaps I had just jumped off the cliff into Crazy town, but I could swear that the comforter was still warm where his body had been. Like a complete psycho, I leaned my face into the pillow and sniffed like girls in books and movies always do to see if I could still catch his scent.
I couldn’t. And I felt super
creepy.
I also couldn’t sleep in this bed without going crazy.
I moved my pillow to the couch, where I sat numbly, probably in shock. At the very least, I could reassure myself that this was only a private humiliation. No one else had to know how pathetic I was. And after my borderline schizophrenic display earlier, I was pretty sure he was going to avoid me as avidly as I planned on avoiding him. We might live in the same apartment complex, but if I had my way we’d never have to see each other again.
MORNING CAME TOO early, and I was stiff from sleeping on my crappy couch for the entire night. Plus, my head was pounding like I actually had punched myself in the face like I’d been tempted to the night before.
Stupid tequila.
I moved sluggishly, dragging myself into and out of the shower at a much slower pace than normal. My hair was still wet when there came a knock on my door. Kelsey practically fell on top of me when I opened the door because she’d been trying to peek through the peephole.
Silently, she smiled and mouthed, “Is he still here?”
I sighed and said, “No, Kels, he’s gone.” I turned away from her, grabbing my head to try to stop the turning that was happening in there, too. I left the door open, and walked away, knowing she’d come in whether or not I issued an invitation.
“Someone’s a crabby camper this morning. What is it? Was it awful? Was he like . . . miniscule?”
“He was not miniscule!” Not that I had a great deal to compare it to, but I was pretty positive that wasn’t the case.
“Oh, so it was just bad?”
I should have just told her that I hadn’t gone through with it, but my head was pounding, and my stomach was churning, and I did not want to be forced into going out again tonight for try number two.
So I lied.
“He was fine. I’m just hung-over.”
“Fine? FINE? Come on, that boy was gorgeous! Please at least pretend that you liked it!”
“I did like it!” If by ‘it’ we were talking about the single greatest make out session of my life. “I liked him.”
