by Leisa Rayven
This should feel strange. I’ve known this man for practically my whole life. I know he has a birth mark on his left ankle and that he got the short scar above his eyebrow running into a tree in third grade. I’ve touched and held his body a thousand times in a thousand different ways without feeling a fraction of what I’m feeling at this moment. And now, the boy I loved so dearly is a powerhouse of sexual energy who touches me like he’s always known how. Who kisses me like he’s mapping the exact shape of my mouth.
I’ve had amazing kisses during my lifetime, and others I’d rather forget. But kissing Jake … he makes me feel like everything else was pretend and this is the first time it’s been real.
“Asha …” He kisses me like it’s painful for him to stop, and then he wraps his arms around me and carries me over to his bed with long, determined strides. I unlock my legs, and he lowers me onto my knees. In a second, my hoodie is unzipped, and he pushes it down my arms. My tank is next, and I barely register he’s removed it until the cool air hits my skin.
With a grunt, he pulls off his own shirt before moving me back into the middle of bed. When I lie down, he positions himself above me, hips between my legs, rocking and pressing as I touch as much of him as I can.
Everything is perfect, until I feel him slide his hand beneath me to grip the clasp of my bra. Suddenly, a claxon starts up inside me, and cold fingers of panic squeeze my stomach and close my throat.
No, no, no, no. Please … not now. Not with him.
Please …
I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and wish it away, but I can already feel the numbness setting in.
“Asha. Stop.” Within seconds, Jake pulls my hands away and presses them into the mattress beside my head. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes and see him above me, his expression intense and concerned.
“Whatever you’re doing right now ...” he pants. “Whatever voice is trying to talk you out of enjoying this … don’t listen. The only voice you’re allowed to listen to is mine. And I’m telling you I need you. Every part of you.”
I swallow and glance down, embarrassed that he can see through me.
He tightens his grip on my hands. “No, don’t look away. You stay with me. Look into my eyes.”
I go back to him, and his remarkable face is full of so much affection, it’s mesmerizing.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then let go. Stop thinking. Stop being afraid. I’m not some asshole who barely knows you and just wants to screw a hot girl. I’m the guy who’s been crawling through your bedroom window since he was five-years-old. No matter what happens next, you can’t disappoint me. Do you understand?”
I nod, and I don’t know if it’s the way he has me pinned to the bed, or the edge in his voice that implies he’s not going to tolerate me closing myself off, but I take a few deep breaths, and then … I surrender. I give up my power. My expectations. I make myself a blank slate and wait for Jake to write upon me.
He releases my hands, and I lift up to allow him to reach my bra clasp again. When he releases it, I wait for the sharp hum of anxiety to pull me out of the moment, but it never comes. As he sits back on his heels and gently slides the bra down my arms, I search for the building tide of panic, but it’s nowhere to be found. And when he gazes down at my naked breasts as if he’s seeing the face of God, for the first time in my life, my body lights up instead of shutting down.
Ohhhh, yes. Finally.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “You always have been.”
I close my eyes as he trails soft kisses along the top of my breasts, and when he closes his mouth over a tight nipple, I tangle my fingers in his hair and moan his name.
“Part of me can’t believe we’re doing this,” he says, kissing from my sternum down to my stomach. “And another part can’t believe we didn’t do it years ago.”
When he reaches my sweat pants, he looks up at me as he grips the waistband and slowly pulls them down. My panties are next, and he keeps eye contact as he slides them off my legs.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been dreaming about this.”
He grasps my hips and drags me down to the end of the bed. Then he sinks to his knees, drapes my legs over his shoulders, and kisses a path up to where I’m aching so fiercely, I’m willing to beg for relief. I barely have time to grab onto the thick comforter before his mouth closes over me, and the moment he starts flicking his tongue, I buck away from the intensity of the pleasure.
“Keep breathing,” Jake says, pulling me back into place. “I’m just getting started.”
He goes back to work, alternating between licking and flicking, and dear Lord in heaven, I’ve never felt pleasure like it. Just when I think he can’t make it any more intense, he adds more suction, and when he moans against me, the vibration winds me even tighter.
At some point, my brain checks out, and when the first tendrils of my orgasm start to coil, I want to stay quiet, but I can’t. I think I say ‘Please’. I’m sure I say ‘Yes’. And when Jake grabs hold of my thighs and pulls me more firmly onto his hot mouth, I’m certain I say ‘Fuck.’
“Oh, God … I’m going to come. Ohhh, God. Oh, God.” I hold my breath as everything speeds up, and then I just whisper Jake’s name, over and over again.
This is how it’s supposed to feel. This is what I’ve been waiting for. After all these years of numbness, Jake has brought me back to life. He’s the first. I’m so grateful, emotion catches in my throat.
I’m not broken after all.
When the rush starts, I look down to where Jake’s head is moving between my legs, his hands squeezing and caressing my thighs. I’m gasping for air as I teeter there, waiting for the final, thrilling fall, and when he looks up at me with his soulful, passionate eyes as he gives a final roll and flick of his tongue, I come, violently. Every muscle spasms in unison, and when the pleasure dissipates and everything becomes heavy and soft, Jake’s there, kissing my head, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into the warmth of his embrace. It’s only when I notice the wetness glistening on his chest that I realize I’m crying.
TWENTY-TWO
____________________
Exposed
AS I PUSH THROUGH THE haze of my post-orgasmic high, I realize Jake’s draped the comforter over us. There’s warmth, all around me. Strong arms and soft skin. I’m tucked beneath his chin, and he smells so good that all I want to do is press my nose into his neck and breath him in forever. We’re facing each other on our sides, and he has both arms wrapped around me. Never in my life have I ever felt more satisfied. Or safe. Or right.
He’s still wearing his jeans, but I’m completely naked, and even though I’d usually be desperate to climb back into the safety of my clothes, the way Jake makes me feel … I may never wear clothes again.
I crack my eyes open, and find myself looking at his Adam’s apple. When he senses I’m conscious, he leans back so he can see my face.
“Hey.”
I give him a blissful smile. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“More than okay. I feel incredible.”
“Yes, you do.” He just looks at me for a few seconds, as if he’s trying to figure out a great mystery.
“What is it?”
“This,” he says stroking my arm. “You. What we just did. I’ve never felt like that with anyone before.”
“Like what?”
He grazes his hand up my neck and traces a fingertip around my jaw. “Like I knew how you’d react the second before I touched you. Like I’d done that to your body a million times before. Tasted you. Watched you come.” He brushes his thumb over my lips. “Do you have any idea how spectacular you are when you come?”
A rush of tingles pebbles my skin. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me. Not the words themselves, but that it’s him. “You’re talking about how I look when I come, and I’m not even blushing. What’s happening between us?”
I run my fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes and hums his approval.
“I don’t know, but I never want it to stop.”
“A few weeks ago, being naked with a guy would have sent me into a meltdown, and now, here I am with my best friend … a man who just gave me the best orgasm of my life … and I have zero shame.”
He pushes my hair away from my face. “Why would you feel shame about this? And what do you mean by meltdown?”
I take a breath and tell him all about my problem. The panic, the numbness, the inevitable shutdown. He’s supportive but also sympathetic.
When I finish, he pushes up onto his elbow and gazes down at me. “So, what happened when you dated guys? You just didn’t have sex?”
I shrug. “I still had it. Rarely. I just didn’t enjoy it.”
“Jesus, Ash. So you’ve never ––” He mimes an explosion. “––before?”
I laugh. “I orgasm all the time. Just not with other people. I was beginning to think it would never happen.”
“And you thought that was your fault. That’s why you told Derek you were broken.” When I nod, he sighs. “I’m no sex expert, and I certainly don’t have enough experience to give you hard numbers, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, you’re not alone. There are millions of women out there who don’t come with their partners, and sometimes … yeah, sure it’s because they find it hard to relax. But sometimes …” He shakes his head. “No, screw that. A lot of the time, guys are just shitty lovers. If men had to make women orgasm to get them pregnant, the world’s population would still be in double-digits.”
I laugh. Trust him to say the perfect thing to make me feel better. “Women need to talk about this more, so we don’t all feel defective.”
“I agree. Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
“Because I didn’t want you to think I was a freak.”
He grabs my waist and pulls me closer. “Woman, I once watched you fit twelve packets of Hubba Bubba in your mouth at once. I was the only mourner at a two-hour funeral you threw for a dead caterpillar. One summer, you spent an entire week randomly moving stuff around my bedroom in an attempt to convince me I was being haunted.”
I put my hand on his chest and run my fingers across the light smattering of hair. “And it worked. Remember when I hid behind your door covered in a sheet, and when you walked in, I jumped out and made you pee?”
“For the last time,” he says, feigning annoyance. “It wasn’t pee. I was carrying a glass of water. For you. And you made me spill it.”
“Uh huh. Sure I did.” I graze my fingers lower, over his abs.
His eyelids flutter for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is strained. “What are you doing?”
I move down lower and finger the waistband of his jeans. “Nothing. Just wondering why you’re still wearing these.”
He watches with wary eyes. “Because if they come off, I’m going to spend the rest of the day making love to you and not writing. And then, my gorgeous, sexy-as-hell editor would kick my ass. No matter how much I want it, satisfying my need to be inside you does nothing for my deadlines.”
I lift the comforter and look down. Even under the covers, I can see his erection straining the denim. “Wow, that looks uncomfortable.”
He gives me a wry smile. “If you think I’m not used to being constantly, painfully hard around you, then you haven’t been paying attention. This is my new normal.”
I graze over the long ridge in the denim, and his eyes burn into me. This is thrilling. The power I have to make him look like that.
“When was the first time I gave you a hard on?” I ask, continuing to feel the shape of him. “At the HEA party?”
He keeps his eyes on my face, but his breathing is getting more and more ragged. “No comment.”
“Was it before that? In the bathroom when you were tending my head wound?” He just stares, trying to hide the pleasure that’s playing out on his face, but failing. “Further back than that?”
“Much further back.” His voice is tight.
I sit up so I’m facing him and continue with light, teasing touches. “When?”
His gaze drops to my breasts, and a look of pain crosses his face. “When I was fifteen. I was out on the porch roof one night, and … your bedroom curtains weren’t as opaque as you thought.”
“So, you spied on me getting undressed?”
He looks mildly ashamed. “Not intentionally. But when it was happening, I was physically incapable of looking away. You had the most beautiful body I’d ever seen. You still do.”
I get a flash of Ingrid in that tiny black bikini, but I push it away and try to concentrate on the way he’s looking at me. The way he makes me feel.
“That was when we were fighting, Jake.” I apply some pressure, and he makes a low noise. “You ogled a girl you hated?”
“I was angry with you. I wasn’t dead.”
I don’t know if it’s normal to feel this turned on by giving him pleasure, but my need for him is growing by the second.
“I’d be outraged about this, but …” I look down and grip him through his jeans. He watches with hooded eyes. “I spent a lot of time on that porch roof, too, and you didn’t even have curtains.” When I stroke him gently, he digs his fingers into the mattress. “One night when I was out there, it was late, and I couldn’t sleep. I was staring up at the stars when I heard … noises … coming from your room. So, I creeped over to your side of the roof and … I could see you, lying in bed. And you didn’t look like a boy anymore. You looked like a man.” I press my whole palm against him, and he groans. “And you were … touching yourself.” I look up at him. The expression on his face is bestial. “It was the most arousing thing I’d ever seen. When I got back to my bedroom, I thought about you. That was the first time I made myself come.”
“So, you objectified me?” he says softly, his voice rough. “You masturbated while thinking about me but wouldn’t talk to me?”
I push up onto my knees and lean over him. “I was angry with you. I wasn’t dead.”
With an animalistic sound, he flips me onto my back, and within a few seconds, his jeans are off. He kisses me so hard, I can’t catch my breath, and then his hands and mouth are everywhere at once. With his jeans gone, I’m finally free to touch him, and Lord, it feels good. Knowing he’s this hard because of me, makes me feel like a goddess. The power that I feel makes all the doubt and self-consciousness disappear, and I begin to see myself as he sees me.
I push him onto his back and kiss my way down his body, and then all thoughts fade away as I take him in my mouth. He responds by groaning so loudly, it echoes through the whole apartment. In the same way he knew exactly how to please me, I know what’s going to blow his mind. I don’t think, I just go on instinct. I read his noises, note what makes him grip the bed or tangle his fingers in my hair. I feel the ebb and flow of his pleasure and know the perfect time to straddle his hips and slide down, inch by breath-stealing inch.
When he’s fully inside me, we both freeze, and I have no doubt the awe I’m seeing on his face is mirrored on mine. How can it feel like this? How can I accommodate all of these intense emotions and him at the same time? It feels impossible.
I have so much I want to say to him, so many questions to ask, but right now I just kiss him and try to make the passion I’m feeling speak for me.
When he pulls back, all I can do is watch his face, because there’s nothing more mesmerizing than Jacob Stone in the throes of pleasure. The way he squeezes his eyelids shut and throws his head back is the same image that was burned into my brain as a teenager. I suspect it’s lurked in my subconscious for years, helping to sabotage interactions with men who weren’t him.
Taking my cues from his responses, I increase my speed and lean over to kiss his chest and neck. The noises he’s making rise in pitch, sounding more desperate every time I sink back down. Then he looks at me with a tight jaw and determined mouth, and even as
I’m dragging him toward completion, he’s taking me with him. He touches me as I ride him, and when he picks up the pace, I can’t control my rhythm any more. Everything becomes uneven and out of control. We’re both clinging to each other, grasping and panting, coiling each other tighter. I close my eyes and stop breathing, trying to hold on as the pressure becomes too much. And as I press my chest to his, and he starts groaning my name, I grip the back of his neck while circling my hips in jagged, desperate arcs.
I don’t know if he comes first, or if I do. But after the shock waves fade, I collapse onto him and don’t move for a long time.
I hug him as we both pant our way back to reality, and after a while, he mutters, “Just so you know, as soon as I can feel my legs, we’re doing that again.”
I rub my cheek against his. “Yeah, we are.”
_______________
Discovering our insane sexual chemistry is both the best and worst thing Jake and I have ever done. All the tension we felt before we experienced each other’s bodies fades into obscurity beside the overwhelming need that devours us whenever we’re together. And our deepening feelings only feed the flame.
I’d often dreamed of what a soul mate connection would feel like, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined the all-consuming passion it would unleash. And it seems Jake feels the same. Every now and then I wonder if he had even more potent chemistry with Ingrid, because I can’t imagine that any couple in the world is having better sex than we are. That’s why it’s so hard to control.
We start out each day vowing to work for the whole morning before rewarding ourselves, but we never last, and neither of us knows the definition of a quickie. Our lovemaking is always prolonged and multi-orgasmic, and we don’t care where we do it: Kitchen, bathroom, living room, in his bed, against the wall, bent over the couch. As long as he’s inside me, nothing else matters.
