It burned and I winced. Oh my God, he wasn’t going to fit. How was that possible? “Jamie?”
As if he’d read my mind, he gave a huff of breathless laughter. “It’ll happen. You’re just so tight.” He groaned and leaned his forehead against mine, his body trembling as he held himself suspended. “Give me a minute.”
Feeling the damp sweat coat his body, I lifted my hips upward into him. “Just do it fast,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I think it’ll be better.” The burning pressure was uncomfortable.
Lifting his head, he stared into my eyes. “You sure?”
I nodded, my hands sliding down to rest on his waist. “Please.”
Jamie took in a breath, expression fierce. He moved his hips back, retreating slightly, and then he thrust into me hard. His guttural growl filled the room as he seated himself deep inside me. “Jane, fuck me, fuck me,” he murmured, eyes squeezed closed, face suffused with utter pleasure.
For me, it hurt. I hadn’t expected it would hurt like that. Tears burned in my eyes and when Jamie opened his and saw, his expression instantly changed from bliss to horror. “Jane,” he panted, cupping my face with one hand while he held himself up with the other. “Do you want me to stop?”
In that moment, my body did. It wanted to eject him and retreat, but my mind reminded me I loved him and that I’d read that a girl’s first time could be painful. But that it got better.
Knowing the joy I’d felt from the orgasm Jamie had just given me, I had to believe it got better. We just had to work through the awkward virginity part.
He began to pull out and I gripped him tight. “Don’t.”
Jamie hovered over me, unsure.
I gave him a reassuring smile, blinking back the tears. “Don’t stop.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Adoration suffused me and I relaxed, and as I relaxed, the pain receded. The sensation of him was overwhelming and it burned still, but there was a pleasure pain in it. “I love you so much, Jamie. Keep going.” I flexed my hips a little. “I want this.”
Jamie kissed me. Deep. Full of feeling. And as we kissed, he moved. It stung with the first few glides, but then it changed.
That beautiful tension built.
I gasped into his mouth and we broke apart, holding each other’s eyes as he moved in and out of me. “Jamie.” I gripped his shoulders, shifting my hips to meet his thrusts. He was hitting a place inside of me that felt amazing.
“Jane.” He pushed back up on his hands, his thrusts growing more confident again. “Fuck, Doe, you feel amazing.” His voice was guttural. “You’re fucking heaven around my dick.”
I pulsed around him and groaned.
His eyes flashed. “So tight and hot. I love your pussy.”
My breath hitched as his words caused a ripple of hot pleasure.
Jamie’s eyes widened a little and he bent over me, his lips whispering against mine as he grunted with each push into my body. “You like dirty talk, my sweet Jane?”
I think I might.
“You know what I like?” he growled, flexing his hips faster, deeper. “I like that I’m the only one who’s been inside your beautiful body. And I’m the only man you’ll ever feel inside you for the rest of your life.”
“Yes!” I gasped, my orgasm hovering on the horizon. “Jamie!”
“You gotta come, baby.” His thumb pressed down on my clit. “You’re squeezing my dick so good, I’m gonna blow. I need you to come.”
He circled my clit as he slammed into me and the tension shattered.
The sensation of coming while he was inside me was so different to anything we’d done before. I pulsed and throbbed around his hardness, milking him. It felt so good, it already wasn’t enough. I wanted more. God, it felt amazing.
Jamie clearly thought so too as he suddenly froze above me and then called out my name in a hoarse shout. His hips juddered hard against mine.
Jamie collapsed, our panting chests crashing together, as he continued to pulse inside me. He weighed heavily on me and I let out a breathless gasp. “Jamie.”
He mumbled something and then pushed off, sliding out of me with a slight burn. He landed on his back but grabbed my hand to pull me over him. My head rested on his damp chest as his fingers played in my hair and his other hand cupped my breast. His thumb stroked my nipple as we laid there trying to catch our breaths. I could hear both our hearts pounding.
“Fuck,” Jamie muttered. “I need to deal with the condom, but I don’t want to move.”
I chuckled lazily. “Don’t move. I don’t want you to move.”
He took a breath. “Are you okay?”
Lifting my head, I grinned at him. “Do I not seem okay?”
Jamie searched my face and relaxed at what he found there. “You surprise me all the time.”
“In what way?”
He squeezed my breast and I gasped as I felt renewed heat flush between my legs. “You like it when I talk to you.”
I blushed.
His voice was thick. “Sweet, shy little Jane likes it when I hold her down, likes it when I talk dirty … What else will you like?”
Getting turned on all over again, I shifted over him, my lips hovering above his. “I’m willing to try anything with you.”
His grip on me tightened. “Anything?”
“As long as it’s you.”
“Fuck, I’m getting hard again.” He pushed up, kissing me.
When we finally came up for air, he brushed his thumb over my lips, eyes holding mine. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
Thankfully, we were still alone in the house. Holding Jamie’s hand, I followed him into the bathroom and watched as he took care of the condom. My attention got him hot.
He ignored his hard-on as he placed me on the edge of the bathtub and pushed open my legs. He lowered before me with a washcloth and I saw why. There was a little smear of blood on the inside of my thighs.
“Does it make me a sick bastard that this turns me on?”
“What?”
“Knowing no one else will ever get this from you. I’ll always be your first. It’s caveman bullshit, right?” He grinned, that wicked smile of his causing a flutter of butterflies in my belly. “Guys aren’t supposed to say that shit anymore.”
“If it’s how you feel,” I said, cupping his face in my hands, “it’s how you feel.”
“How do you feel about it?”
I considered this, loving that he’d asked. That he cared. I thought about how I liked him being in control. His physical strength over me invoked some kind of cavewoman bullshit in me too. I chuckled at the thought.
He smiled at the sound. “What?”
“I’m independent because I’ve had to be,” I told him, serious. “I like making my own decisions.”
Jamie frowned. “Okay?”
“Now that I have you, you will factor in my life decisions … but they will be my decisions.”
He nodded.
“However …” I bent my head toward him, my lips brushing his. “I don’t mind handing the reins over to you in the bedroom. If you like it. I mean … I think I might really like that.”
His breathing deepened. “We’ll try. If you like it, great. If you don’t, it won’t matter to me. I’ll give you anything you need, Jane.” He coasted his hands up my thighs. “Doe, I …”
“What?” I curled my hands in his hair, playing with it.
Jamie surprised me by pressing his forehead between my breasts, his breath hot on my skin.
“Jamie?”
His arms bound tight around and worry filled me.
“Jamie?”
He exhaled and then finally lifted his head. The fierceness of his expression made my breath catch. “I’ve never loved anyone like this. It feels too much.”
My heart leapt in my chest. “I feel it too.”
It was scary. Terrifying, even. Yet it was the
most exhilarating ride of my life.
“Don’t break my heart,” he growled, his fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t break my fucking heart. You break my heart … and … fuck, I’m afraid what I’ll become without you. Fuck, I shouldn’t say that.” He tried to pull away. “I’m sorry, that’s too much pressure—”
“No.” My eyes widened as I cut him off. Jamie was concerned I’d break his heart? “I feel the same way. Don’t break my heart, and I won’t break yours.” I nodded, pulling him back to me. “Promise?”
“I promise.” He kissed me hard. So hard it almost hurt. “I want you again.”
“Okay.”
“No, we can’t.” Jamie shook his head. “You’ll be sore, swollen.”
I pulsed between my legs. “I need you. I want you.”
His nostrils flared. I found the words Jamie couldn’t resist. Hauling me into his arms, he carried me back to his bed. His hands circled my wrists, holding me down, and I flushed with renewed desire. “And you’ll always have me,” he promised.
Chapter 8
JANE
Eighteen years old
* * *
Art was subjective.
Everyone knew that.
However, if you wanted to make a living as an artist, you had to appeal to a great number of people. If you didn’t, it didn’t make you any less of an artist. It just made you a less commercially successful one.
Every art major at Pomona wanted to be successful in their art. I believed that. No matter if it was digital art, photography, fine art, sculpture, graphic design, or performance. We wanted to shine.
Already, only a few months into my first semester as a freshman at Pomona College, I was discovering new skills and ways of expressing myself that I never thought I’d enjoy. As yet, however, nothing quite eclipsed my love of fine art. Though my small class seemed to think life drawing was basic, I loved it.
As a small group, however, it was too easy to become distracted when you could overhear the professor talking to your neighbor about their work.
Cassie Newman had the easel next to mine.
I glanced from my work to hers.
Our model was a dance student. Lola disrobed with no visible insecurities about her near nakedness and positioned herself like a ballet dancer in repose. Although she wore a nude leotard, she might as well have been naked for all it didn’t disguise.
Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun, her head bent forward as if she was looking at her foot. One leg and foot straight, the other knee bent, her foot en pointe.
Her hands sat on her slender hips, and she wore a thoughtful expression.
Neither Cassie nor I had created a mirror image of the dancer on the paper.
We’d interpreted what we saw in different ways.
My brush strokes were loose, creating movement, as if the young women were about to lift off the page into dance—movement that was incongruous to her expression. As though she felt trapped by the rigidity of tradition and wanted to let loose. I chose soft grays, peaches, and pale pinks with some harder grays. I’d imagined a mirror and barre behind her, and her reflection portrayed her back arched dramatically, arms flourishing, the leg that was bent pushing out, foot straight in the style of a contemporary dancer, not a ballerina.
Cassie’s brushstrokes were even less defined than mine. Much less. Her painting was abstract—that was her style. I knew this wasn’t what bothered Professor Pullman.
“I just …” He tilted his head to the side and sighed. “I question your color choice. The reason behind it.”
It was dark, gothic even, heavy and foreboding.
I liked it.
It had mood.
It was clear our professor did not agree.
Cassie scowled at her work, refusing to look at Professor Pullman. To be fair, he questioned her choices all the time. While he was encouraging to students who didn’t share his particular style, Cassie was a different story. He didn’t seem to appreciate her “darkness.”
He didn’t have to. He just needed to support her and guide her. Right?
I tried not to sigh heavily as he suggested she start over.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe this.” He tapped her paper. “I can’t see your point of view on the paper. I can’t understand it. And you can’t explain it to me.”
I stopped what I was doing, not wanting to look but finding it hard not to. Everyone else listened in too.
Cassie glowered. “Fine. You know what I see? I see years of goddamn ballet lessons I hated, years of instruction, and years of being told I couldn’t goddamn eat what I wanted to eat. That’s what I goddamn see.”
I grimaced.
Wow. We had different memories of ballet, huh? I wondered if that’s how I’d felt about ballet. I had tits and an ass, which seemed like it might have become a problem for me at some point.
“There’s no need to curse.” Professor Pullman sniffed in pompous outrage. “Continue, then.”
I tried to hide my scowl and probably failed.
What was his problem with Cassie?
“Time’s up!” He raised his voice and stepped toward the model. “Thank you, Lola.”
She grabbed her robe, pulled it on, flashed him a quick smile, and disappeared into the supply closet to get changed.
Our classmates moved their easels to the back of the room. I followed Cassie, who had a slouch to her shoulders I didn’t like. I hovered as a few people said goodbye to me and walked out. Lola left with the professor and that left only me, Cassie, and a guy called Devin we were both friendly with. Devin was in the far corner taking his sweet time leaving the classroom.
I wanted to get home and couldn’t wait around much longer to say what I wanted to say.
Screw it. I stepped up next to Cassie, who was staring forlornly at her painting.
She jerked her head around, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder and her brow puckered. “I love your painting.”
She bit her lip. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.” I sighed. “He shouldn’t give you such a hard time. As an artist, he should know that art is subjective. Just because he’s doesn’t get it doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for it.”
Cassie shrugged. “I’m supposed to paint what I feel when I see something. That’s what I’m doing. I see Lola and I hear Madame Renee berating me for putting on a pound. I remember my mother snatching a candy bar out of my hand and stuffing a carrot in its place. I see swollen and wounded feet, my toenails pushing painfully into my skin, forced by the pressure of being en pointe.” She flicked me a sour look. “I danced for ten years, and I was good at it. But I hated every minute. Misery. Never feeling good enough. Always hungry. You have to love ballet to want to go through that. For me it was restraining, and I was dying to break free. Which I did. And it was an angry, resentful, huge, explosive argument between me and my mom. We’ve never been the same since. That’s what I feel when I look at Lola. That’s what’s on the paper.”
“Then you’re doing what Professor Pullman asked. That’s all anyone can do. He needs to back off.”
“You’re right.”
I tensed at the sound of the professor’s voice.
Cassie’s eyes widened.
Wincing, I hesitantly turned to look at him.
Professor Pullman stood behind us and wore an unreadable expression. “As much as I don’t appreciate the discussion behind my back,” he said, raising one eyebrow at me, “your friend is right, Cassandra.” He sighed. “I … I misinterpreted your choices.” He gestured to the painting. “Jane is right. As an artist, I should know better. I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you. I just … I wanted to make sure you were truly painting from your gut and not some leftover teenage emo … whatever.”
“Uh … thanks. I think.” Cassie grimaced.
“Jane, Devin, do you mind giving us a minute?” he asked.
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I’d totally forgotten Devin was in the room. I shot Cassie a look, and she gave me a reassuring smirk. Gathering my stuff, I gave the professor a tight, embarrassed smile and hurried out of the room after Devin.
As soon as we were in the hall, Devin waited for me to catch up.
I’d spoken to Devin Albright our first week in art history. He’d asked to borrow a pen, and we’d shared some get-to-know-you stuff while we waited for class to start. Tall, lanky, and cute in that guy-in-an-indie-rock-band sort of way, Devin’s passion was in digital media.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. A little embarrassed for getting caught talking shit about my professor.” I chuckled. “But I’m okay.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Jamie.
He’d laugh his ass off.
Devin smiled down at me from his great height. The guy had to be at least six four. “It was kind what you did. Talking to Cassie. Sticking up for her. No one else seemed to give a shit that he’s been on her for weeks, and she looked seconds from bursting into tears.”
“Well, at least he apologized.”
“Yeah, because of you and what you said. I still think he’s a dick.”
I shrugged. “I think he’s just a tough critic. A dick wouldn’t admit he was wrong.”
“Do you always see the best in people?”
Had Devin been around me enough to surmise that? I shot him a look.
He laughed. “I notice you, Jane. You’re sweet to everyone. And someone … someone who looks like you doesn’t need to be nice to anyone.”
Irritated, I huffed, “That’s a little cynical and shallow, isn’t it?”
It bothered me that people automatically assumed something about a person based on their looks. Cassie didn’t even want to be friends with me at first because she assumed I was one of those “gorgeous cheerleader types” she had nothing in common with. I gave her another shot, despite her judginess. We lived in a shallow world, and it affected us whether we wanted it to. Even Skye had once asked me to audition for The Sorcerer, and God knows I’d shown no talent for acting, so that offer was based on how good her agent thought I might look on camera, and nothing else.
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