It would have been so easy to jump down his throat right then. I could have blamed him. Told him that it was his fault—their fault—that I’d ever allowed anyone to see me without my clothes on at all. But I didn’t, because I truly wasn’t ashamed.
“It’s not something to be ashamed of,” I told him. “It’s just a different kind of dance. Even when I was stripping, and the clubs were dark and seedy and smelled like cheap beer and bad cologne, I wasn’t ashamed. I was proud of myself for finding a way to make it. Did I want to do it? No. Was I scared at first? Absolutely. But it was just a job. I never slept with men for money, but even if I had, so fucking what? It’s my body.”
Josh dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair over and over again. “It’s not safe.”
He had me there. My job invited all sorts of assumptions, some of which could get me into dangerous situations. “I am smart. I have a top-notch security team. Back in the day, a bouncer always walked me to my car. I was never hurt.” I’d told them this before. “You should be proud of me, too.”
“I am,” he replied. “Of course I am.”
There was no of course about it.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Westin said. He sat back on his heels and then onto his butt. He propped his elbows on his knees and looked up at me. “I wanted you to be the dancer you dreamed of being. I hoped for it. And when I saw your name all over the place, I was relieved.”
Relieved. That was a strange emotion to be connected to my fame. “Why?” Wait. Unless. “Because I wasn’t your responsibility?”
Wes’s blue eyes flashed, and his skin flushed bright red. “Fuck no. You could make a billion dollars and you’d still—I was relieved because you got what you deserved. You deserved people being amazed by your dancing. You deserved all the accolades and fame. I was relieved people were finally treating you the way you deserved when I—”
So much unsaid. Each of the boys did this, I was learning. They cut off, afraid to say something. I wasn’t sure why. If it was because they didn’t want to reveal a secret or how they felt, I could only guess.
Wes shifted, and his foot bumped the ottoman, causing me to suck in a breath.
“Sorry!” He went to his knees, reaching for me. I stopped him with my hand out. I needed to breathe through the sharp pain before anyone touched me.
I was surrounded by all four of them, and I flushed under their stares as I waited for the throbbing to stop. As they stood there, eyes serious, looking so male and strong, another sort of heat built up inside me. And it made me mad.
What would it feel like for them to hold me again? What if I just—I didn’t know—opened my arms to Wes and let him embrace me. What if I begged Brant for a kiss because I wanted to feel his soft beard on my skin? Or if I asked Josh if I could do what he was doing and run my fingers through his hair?
And Landry. What if I asked Landry if I could see what that tattoo on his chest said and if I could trace it with my tongue?
No.
I shut my eyes and leaned back on the chair.
“Are you okay?” Landry’s voice was raspy and closer than I expected it to be. I could feel the heat from him, like he was leaning over me, studying me. I could do it. Just to see how he’d respond. I could fist the collar of his shirt and drag him down to me so I could kiss him.
The temptation was driving me mad, but so was my indecision. Eyes shut, I asked the question again, but a little differently. “Why do you still want me?”
Landry inhaled, but I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes closed and stayed still, afraid that if I moved, I’d lose my nerve.
Or they would.
“Betsy,” Landry said. “I sure as hell don’t deserve you, but God made you for me, and I want you. I want you with every cell in my body, but I need you, too.”
“Our lives without you, Bets,” Brant took over, “don’t mean shit. I fought in a fucking war, and all I could think about was, why didn’t I fight for Betsy?”
“All we want is a chance,” Josh said. He touched the skin on my arm, trailing his fingers from the inside of my elbow down to my wrist, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Can we try? You were always braver than us, Betsy.”
“Be better than we are,” Westin whispered. It was just like he’d written. Be better.
I hurt. My body hurt. My soul hurt. And my heart—an organ I thought had seized up and died—thudded in my chest, but I wasn’t sure if it was telling me to go for it—or warning me.
A chance.
“I’m not your girlfriend,” I said. What was I doing? “I’m not yours. But God knows I’m attracted to you.” I opened my eyes. “I don’t know who you are anymore.” Wes said to be brave, well, I’d let them know who they were getting when they said they wanted me. “I know I want you, but I don’t know if I’m going to like you.”
Lies.
I met Josh’s gaze. His brown eyes were so hopeful, but it was his smile that went straight to my heart, giving it an electric shock that made it beat again.
“Do you want me?” I asked.
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe the question, and so he answered in an utterly Josh way.
He kissed me.
Fifty
Brant
Fuck Josh.
Fifty-One
Westin
I never expected this guy’s game. But man, he fucking had it.
Fifty-Two
Landry
This was going to end one of two ways.
I stood, making my way to the door, Brant and Westin behind me. Props to Josh. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. I’d give him and Betsy time and privacy, but this better not fucking blow up in my face.
Fifty-Three
Josh
The world stopped spinning.
It was a corny thought, but it was what happened when my lips touched Betsy’s. Every single thing in the world disappeared and there was just her. Just me.
In the back of my mind, I knew my friends were around, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if they watched, and I didn’t care if they wanted to murder me for trying this.
I had to.
Betsy opened the door, just a sliver, and I had to slide inside. It would be stupid not to.
She tasted the same. Smelled the same. This close, she was all vanilla and warm skin. She was that gel, peppermint and coconut, that she rubbed onto her shoulders after dance class.
I cupped her face, felt the way her jaw worked under the palm of my hand as she chased my tongue, dueled with it, skimmed it.
There was no hesitation in her response. I was afraid once I took the leap that there would be. Or worse, she’d pull away.
But she didn’t. She held the neck of my T-shirt in her fist, kept me right close to her, right up where I could feel the heat pouring off her, and kissed me back.
I groaned, the sound loud in her apartment.
I was kissing Betsy. Kissing my Betsy. God, my dick was threatening to bust the zipper on my jeans. Knees wobbling, I knelt on the ground to the side of her chair.
“Bed, Josh.”
I was hearing things.
Or I was dead and in heaven, and I definitely didn’t deserve that, so I had to have been hearing things. The confusion made me pull back, just a little, enough so when I opened my eyes I could study her face.
“Take me to bed, Josh.” There they were again. The same words. Take her to bed?
I opened my mouth to ask, “Are you sure?” but she placed her finger on my lips. “You said you wanted me. Prove it.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “My pleasure.”
Fifty-Four
Betty
The door had opened and shut before the words, “Bed, Josh,” left my lips. I registered the boys leaving, and threw out a challenge. And Josh—he rose to it.
I said his name over and over in my head. This was my Josh. The one I dreamed of. The one I’d cried out for, begged for.
The fi
rst boy who made love to me.
His brown eyes were so warm as he stood, bent, and lifted me in his arms. It was cheesy, corny, and whatever else you wanted to call it, but it was a perfect Josh move. I couldn’t walk, so he’d carry me. No fuss.
He stared at me as he brought me to my room, his gaze only leaving mine to open the door. He didn’t once glance to the window and the amazing view of the city, or the big screen TV. He took me to my bed, laid me down, and straightened.
“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he said. “A real bed. Not the back of my truck.”
I laughed, head thrown back, hands against my stomach. “No. No open fields in New York City.”
His face went sad for a second before it cleared. He wore a zippered jacket, something stylish I’d never have expected him to pick, over a t-shirt. I’d stretched out the neck when I’d fisted it, but he hadn’t cared.
Gaze on mine, he shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and lifted his t-shirt off.
Holy shit.
Josh.
His chest was broad and smooth with a slight smattering of dark, soft looking hair over his pecs and down past his belly button. I reached out my hand to feel it. I couldn’t remember if I’d done this when we’d first made love. I didn’t think so. I think I’d pulled him over me that night, desperate for his skin.
Funny. Desperation was exactly what I struggled with now. I sat up, moving closer so I could pop the button on his jeans.
He kicked out of his shoes, undid the zipper of his pants, and slid them off. Then he stood still, in his boxer briefs, all man. The younger me probably would have been shy or a little embarrassed about studying him the way I did now. But he was beautiful.
His body was hard, sculpted. I reached for his hand, took it between both of mine and studied it.
There were scars here he hadn’t had. One across the back of his hand, on his ring finger, and on his palm. An entire history was written here, and I couldn’t read it. I didn’t know what it said.
Josh put a knee on the bed, edging onto it slowly, carefully. If he thought I’d change my mind or move away, he was wrong. I released his hand and grabbed him, pulling him onto me.
“Too many clothes.” He pulled at my top, dragging the neck to one side. That wasn’t going to get it off, but he seemed not to care. He kissed my shoulder, dragging his tongue and lips over my skin then across my collarbone to the base of my neck.
I closed my eyes and dug my hands into his hair. It was just as soft as I’d imagined, and the long strands tickled the sides of my arms. It was an overwhelming sensory experience. His warm mouth. His soft hair.
He held himself just off of me, worried, I was sure, that he’d hurt me.
I was made of stronger stuff than that. As soon as he gave me the chance, I stripped off my tank top and bra. The pants would be a little harder, but I was committed.
“Slow.” Josh lifted his gaze to mine and smiled. It was a half-smile, one he used to use when he was out of his element. He shouldn’t have been. He should have been as familiar with my body as I was. If only—
He stared at me, studying my face until I took a breath and my breasts distracted him. He flicked his gaze up and then back down.
I wanted him to kiss me there. I wanted him to explore me and find all the spots that would make me scream. But he was so hesitant.
Arching up, I kissed his neck. He was thinking too hard. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.
His skin was rough, like he hadn’t shaved today, but his jaw was smooth. I wondered if he’d missed a spot, and I imagined the day when I could watch him shave. I moved down his neck to the hollow he’d spent so much time tasting on me. He let out a sigh that turned into a moan as I latched onto his nipple. Biting gently, I flicked it with my tongue.
He suddenly burst into action.
Drawing away from me, he slid down my body and pulled my yoga pants and underwear down my legs. He slowed only enough to carefully draw the material over my cast and then settled between my legs.
Wait.
I hadn’t been expecting this. I thought we’d come together in arms and limbs, and he’d fuck me into oblivion. This was something else. It was exploration and hesitation and uncertainty.
And something that felt an awful lot like love.
His breath gusted across my thighs, and I gasped. I reached for him, trying to bring him back to me, but he licked me, and I was suddenly pulling him against me.
I couldn’t move my foot, but I could spread my legs. I did that, making room for him to slide his shoulders into place, and I lifted one leg so it rested on his back. His hands, his mouth, his fingers were everywhere.
He licked me, stroked me. Sucked my clit into his mouth and tapped it with his tongue. One finger glided between my legs, circling my entrance, before he put it into his mouth. I glanced down, watched his dark head bobbing and back flexing.
Oh God.
It was too much.
How could I be feeling this much?
One rough finger breached my entrance, curling up inside me before withdrawing again. He lifted his head, just for a second, and I whimpered, needy, and pushed at his shoulders.
He chuckled, and I glanced down to see him put his finger in his mouth again. His eyes closed, cheeks hollowing as he sucked my arousal.
“Josh.” My voice was breathy.
He went back between my legs, a man on a mission. And in seconds, I was flying, tumbling, crashing.
Exploding.
Boneless, my leg slid off his back. He kissed my inner thigh to my hips and across to my belly button. I kept my hands in his hair, loving the way his head moved and soft lips tickled.
He pulled himself up my body until we were nose to nose. He stared at me, leaned down and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips but forgot that when he dragged his tongue against mine.
“We don’t have to do anything else,” he said.
But you couldn’t stop a free-fall and that’s what I was doing. There was nothing between me and the ground, and I didn’t give a single solitary fuck.
I leaned up again to kiss him while spreading my legs. I slid my knee up the side of his leg, and then wrapped it around his hips. Grinding against him, I let him know exactly what I wanted.
Our kiss changed. The hesitation and exploration disappeared, replaced with the white-hot yearning of eight long years. I had a sudden flash of wondering: had he kissed other girls like this? But shoved it out of my head.
There was no place in this bed for anyone but us. Reality was waiting for me when I smashed into the earth, so why worry about that now?
Except—shit.
I tore my mouth away. “Josh. We need protection.”
He drew back, nodding. Something seemed to occur to him, and he reared away from me like I’d struck him. Resting back on his heels, erection bobbing between us, he sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. “Right. I—”
There were condoms in the bathroom, but the words died on my lips when his eyes grew glassy and he glanced at the door. Maybe he was suddenly thinking about why we needed to protect ourselves—like that we’d both had sex with other people.
Or maybe he was thinking about Mari.
I cleared my throat. “Bathroom.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly. Was this it? Would it be too hard for him to go on? I waited for him to stand, grab his clothes and make his apologies, but he didn’t. He went into the bathroom where I heard him rummaging through drawers. He returned soon, an unopened box in his hand. Standing at the side of the bed, he opened it without looking at me.
The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it, “What’s the matter?”
He shook his head. “Should have protected you the first time. I was so damn selfish.” Letting out another breath, he lifted his gaze to mine. “You have so much to forgive me for.”
I didn’t want to go there right now. I took the package from his fingers, opened it, and reached fo
r him. His eyes closed, head dropping back as I wrapped my hand around his erection.
He moved closer and I gave him another firm stroke. “There’s only you and me in this room.” His breathing was harsh, speeding up with every up and down of my hand. “Let’s leave the sorries and the forgiveness and the past out of here.” I slid the condom down his length and took his hand in mine to pull him onto the bed. “Can we do that?”
Josh opened his eyes, and I hated the guilt I saw there. “For now.”
I’d take it. He came over me, lips taking mine in a kiss that made everything fly from my head. He slid between my legs, and I opened for him, inviting him to take what had always been—and probably always would be—his. Whether he wanted it or not.
Whether I wanted it or not.
He kissed me unhurriedly, dipping into my mouth, turning his head to change our angles. He cupped my face and stroked his fingers through my hair so it lay in a fan over my pillow.
It wasn’t until I was breathless, arching and thrusting against him, that he pushed into me.
There.
This was what I’d wanted. I grabbed his ass, pulling him tighter against me so I could grind my pelvis against his. He snuck a hand between us, finger circling my clit. I didn’t need it; I would have gotten there with just his rock-hard flesh dragging against mine.
He sped up, put a hand at the small of my back and held me closer to him. Pulling away, he stared down at me. I wanted to shut my eyes. This amount of eye contact was too much, and I was afraid of what he’d see on my face.
“So fucking beautiful, Betsy.”
He drew his eyebrows together and bit his lip as he dropped his forehead to mine.
I was lost. Whatever else had changed, his eyes hadn’t. They were the same eyes that had looked at me at eight years old, and sixteen, and now at twenty-six.
Boys and Burlesque Page 23
