by Linda Grimes
I yelped, though not from pain. But good as it felt, it occurred to me I should give something in return. I stilled his hand and tried to push him onto his back.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to make your boyhood dream come true. Shall I see if there’s a pickle in the fridge, or can you come up with a handy substitute?”
He made a sound deep in his chest but didn’t lie back for me. “Wonderful as that sounds—and you can’t come close to imagining how wonderful that is—no. Not now.”
“Why not? Afraid I’ll bite you?” I pulled the sheet slowly across his midsection, enjoying the look of desperation that came over him, even while I was a teensy bit relieved I wouldn’t have to demonstrate my inexperience with the act he was refusing. What if there was some trick to it I didn’t know about? A shrunken part of my ego didn’t want to compare unfavorably to all those actresses and supermodels he’d dated. I bet they knew all the tricks.
“Nope,” he said, and had me out of my panties before I could protest. “Afraid I’ll disgrace myself in two seconds flat and ruin my chances of ever getting you back into bed with me again.” I got a brief glimpse of him—yowza!—before he pulled my legs apart and settled himself between them again. “Besides, it goes against my gentlemanly inclinations. Ladies first.”
Embarrassment spread through me, heating my cheeks, but I couldn’t find the wherewithal to make an adjustment. I was too busy panicking, comparing myself to the supermodels with their perfect supermodel, um, southern regions. I’m pretty sure my southern region is just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill southern region, more Myrtle Beach than, say, the French Riviera. So I was going to have to tell Billy I wasn’t ready for this level of intimacy, to please stop—
Or maybe I should wait a minute. Seemed rude to interrupt.
Okay, two minutes. Tops.
Oh, hell. This was Billy; he probably wouldn’t listen anyway. He never listened to me, I thought, inwardly thanking whatever pagan god is in charge of sex. I was going to have to build an altar to it. (I squirmed.) Light some incense. (I wiggled.) Maybe make a small sacrifice. (I gasped.) Gawd!
Holy. Freaking. Cow. My whole body trembled. I was still shaking when his head popped up into view. There was a gleam in his eye, and a flash of white teeth between those indented, midnight-shadowed cheeks.
The moment seemed to call for comment, so I said, in between gulps of air, “That was, uh, very gentlemanly of you.”
“Gentlemanly? That’s all you have to say after the best orgasm of your life?”
He was right about that, but I wasn’t going to admit it. His ego was big enough. Instead I went with a dignified, “Thank you. It was nice.” His face fell, just a little. I coughed and added, “Very.”
He cracked up. When he was done laughing, he dropped his lips to my belly and blew, doubling me over. I grabbed his head. He pulled away and crawled forward until his face was level with mine, kissing me until I was breathless once he got there.
“You are the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. Better than ice cream. In fact”—he flicked his tongue between my lips—“I believe I’ll have seconds.”
“Wait—isn’t it your turn? I mean, I’ve already, you know…”
“Yeah, I know. I was there. But that was a puny little girly-gasm,” he said dismissively. “It takes at least three of those to equal a great big guy-gasm.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault women can’t manage the same kind of robust response men can.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Simple biology.”
“I’ll have you know my orgasm was huge! It was at least a nine on the Richter scale. You could only hope to have one like it in your dreams.”
His smile kept getting bigger and bigger, until I realized what I’d handed him and petered out, blushing madly.
“I know,” he said with an infuriating wink. And then he ducked back under the sheet.
“What are you doing? I admitted it was great. You don’t have to prove—”
“Quiet, you. I’m going for a ten.”
“But aren’t we going to … you know?”
“All in good time,” he said, his voice muffled.
A short while later I lay in his arms, staring into his beautiful deep blue eyes, dazed, while his hands moved gently up and down my back. I thought he’d look smug, but he didn’t. He looked happy. And I felt guilty.
“I’m sorry. You used me up. I’ve got nothing left for you,” I said with a heartfelt sigh. I hated to leave him high and dry, but I was limp.
He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth while his hands kept moving, branching out, finding places I’d never dreamed were erogenous zones. I moaned. Maybe I could find a little energy.
In fact, maybe I’d just take a little trip to his southern region—he certainly wasn’t limp—and see what happened. My hand surrounded him. This time he yelped. He rolled away from me, reached for the jeans draped across a chair by the bed, dug into a pocket and came out with a foil packet, which he held out to me. “Want to help?” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Eek. “Sure.” I fumbled with the packet, trying to think of what the teacher had done with the banana on birth control day in health class back in high school. Honestly? I had tried not to watch. At least I knew not to unroll it right away.
I reached for him, hesitating as I tried to figure out which side of the rolled-up disk should be faceup. My fingers trembled. (Only a little. And it was the damn condom’s fault! Why did it have to look the same on both sides?)
“Problem?” he asked.
“Um … no. I just … if you could maybe…” Shit! Why hadn’t I ever Googled this?
Billy took my hand, caressing the back of it gently with his thumb. “Ciel? That guy in college … it never happened, did it?”
My shoulders sagged. As far as Billy knew, I’d lost my virtue my junior year to a cad who’d wooed me and dumped me. That’s the story I planted in my diary, and I had good reason to know he’d read it, which was embarrassing enough, but not as mortifying as still being a virgin postcollege.
“It mostly happened,” I said, my voice small.
“Mostly?”
“Well, he got it on—he had his back turned, so I couldn’t see how he did it—and then he started to … but then, before he could … well, he kind of let loose a little early. I think he was embarrassed. He left, and I never even saw him in class after that.”
Billy took the condom from me, leaned over and gave me a light kiss, then turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“I think maybe we should give this a little more time,” he said.
“No! I don’t want more time!” I said, feeling panicky all of a sudden. “If you stop, I’ll…” What, feel like a fool? Be doomed to half-virginity for the rest of my life, because I would never have the nerve to risk half-sex again? “Just don’t stop. Please?”
“Look, Ciel, I rushed you into this. I may have been a little … overly persuasive. But I’m not an asshole, okay?”
I grabbed him and pulled him back to me. “Billy, listen to me. I want you.” Then I kissed him for all I was worth, tore away from his mouth, and whispered, fiercely, “Put the damn condom on. Now.”
He didn’t argue with me. Once he was poised and ready to follow through, he paused. “Do you want to borrow a little something from one of your nonvirgin auras? So it doesn’t sting?”
“No! Then it wouldn’t count. It wouldn’t be me. Besides, I’ve been riding horses and bicycles practically my whole life. There shouldn’t be anything left to make it sting.”
He smoothed the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead. “All right, sweetheart. Okay.” He started moving slowly. Kissing me deeply, he put one hand between us and settled his fingers right back on the magic spot. Amazingly resilient, that little piece of flesh. It sprang back to life in seconds, and the gentle rocking of Billy’s hips pu
shing against his hand as he pressed farther into me sent me spinning again.
“You too,” I gasped, grabbing his butt and pulling him all the way in. He tensed, and I felt his release right down to my core.
Minutes later, he rolled off me, groaning. “My God,” he said. “Am I still alive?”
I snuggled against him, grinning into his chest, ridiculously happy he was as affected by it as I was. And, of course, thrilled I was no longer a half-virgin.
Chapter 14
After a few minutes of gentle caresses and quiet endearments, Billy excused himself and went to the restroom. He came back sans condom and carrying a damp washcloth.
“Okay, let’s have a look,” he said matter-of-factly.
Fighting a blush, I clamped my legs together under the sheet and stammered, “N-no, I’m all right.”
“Let me make sure I didn’t hurt you.” He tugged on the cover.
“You didn’t. I’m fine,” I said, clinging to the yellow cotton jersey.
“Come on. It was your first time. A warm cloth is soothing.”
“Fine. I can do it.”
He pretended to hand me the washcloth, and snatched the sheet away when I let go to take it. Then he casually pinned down my torso, his back to me, while he pried my knees apart. “For Pete’s sake, Ciel, I just had my face buried here. What do you think you’re hiding from me?”
He had a point. I relaxed and allowed him to get on with it. He was very gentle.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder with an impish grin. “You will live to be naughty again.”
“Oh, hush. We’re two consenting adults. That’s hardly naughty.”
He tossed the washcloth onto the floor, scooted back up to the head of the bed, and took me into his arms. “Come on, cuz. It’s a little bit naughty. I mean, we are related—after all, what does blood really matter? Family is family—”
I tried to push away from him, but he held on tight.
“—and in your brother’s bed to boot. Now, that’s kind of pervy, don’t you think?”
I slugged him. Hard. He kept grinning, and tightened his hold.
“Yeah,” he continued. “I’d say that makes it downright unwholesome.”
“You … you … I can’t think of anything bad enough to call you! You said it wasn’t pervy, you said it was okay—”
He laughed, keeping me clamped to his chest while repeating, “Kidding. I was only kidding. It’s not perverted, I promise.” Eventually, I heard him.
“Jesus, Ciel,” he said when I stopped trying to kill him. “You are so easy to rile. I was afraid you might turn into a mushy little wuss after we made love. Glad I was wrong.”
“Huh,” I said, tucked against his shoulder but still grumpy. “It’s plain to see you haven’t changed.”
He lifted my chin and looked at me, his face gone soft and serious. “Do you want me to? Because I can, if you do. And I will, for you.”
I sighed and kissed him lightly, defeated once more by the Doyle eyes. “No. Don’t change. Don’t ever change.”
The sound of clapping startled us both. I think I jumped a foot off the bed.
Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, was James’s gorgeous friend, he of the Sharpie marker incident. A smile played a dirty little game on his lips.
“Bravo. How touching. But I didn’t expect James to have houseguests—what fun! Got room in there for one more?”
I yanked the sheet up past my shoulders, shocked into speechlessness. Billy recovered faster. Leaning casually back against the headboard, he hugged me closer with one arm while he draped the other over his head. “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage. You would be…?”
“Devon.”
“Devon Spencer?” Billy asked, drawing the name from some inner file. Pretty Boy nodded. “Well, Devon Spencer, isn’t that just the sort of thing that got you into trouble with James in the first place?”
Pretty Boy—Devon—shrugged, all lazy grace and androgynous charm. “But in this case I could tell him honestly his bed was the only place I played.”
Anger brought back my voice. This pathetic twerp thought he could cheat on my brother? “How long have you been standing there? And how did you get in?” I said, volume low, venom high. Devon didn’t notice my tone, or else he didn’t care.
“James must not have changed his magic palm lock—it still works for me. And you must be James’s sister—you look just like him. Well, with a few”—he paused for a millisecond, his eyes flitting to my chest—“minor differences.” I pulled the sheet higher, pretty sure I was being mocked. “The resemblance must be why I’m finding you so tempting right now. James can hardly blame me for that. In fact, he should be flattered.”
I didn’t say anything, but I might have growled.
“Oh, she’s a scary one, isn’t she?” he said, addressing his remark to Billy. “Are you wearing a cup, friend? Might be a good idea.”
Billy gave me a sideways glance, but wisely didn’t mention the time I’d kicked him in the nuts when we were in fifth grade. He had been wearing a cup for soccer practice then, lucky for him. “Not at the moment,” he said, fighting a smile he knew would get him killed if released. “Dev, you might want to wait for us in the living room.”
“If you insist.” He turned slowly, trying, I was sure, to show his ass off to its best advantage. (Not difficult—it was a fine ass, much as it pained me to admit it.) Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t worry, little one. I didn’t see everything. Only the”—another micro pause—“tail end.”
How very reassuring.
*
Once I was dressed I felt a little less vulnerable, but I still didn’t particularly want to face my brother’s bisexual wannabe lover. I couldn’t stay hidden in the bedroom and risk Billy flapping his elbows at me again, though, so I toughed it out. But I stuck close to Billy’s side, holding his hand so Devon wouldn’t get any ideas about either one of us being available.
“James doesn’t know you’re here,” I said to Devon once we’d joined him, keeping my voice cool, like it didn’t bother me a bit that, depending on how long he’d been peeking through the bedroom door, he might have seen parts of me nobody except my gynecologist, and now Billy, had seen since I was out of diapers. (Even the kid in college hadn’t actually seen anything—it was dark during our little misadventure.)
“What makes you think that?” Devon replied, equally blasé. Only I suspected he didn’t have to fake it.
“Because he sent me over here to get some rest, and he wouldn’t have done that if he thought you’d be here. He’s pretty protective of his private life.” And me.
“Well, since I didn’t interrupt your rest, where’s the harm? We can all just wait together for James to come home. It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another. I’ve been dying to meet more of his family.”
Billy stepped forward then, arm extended for a handshake. “Well, any friend of James…” he said, gripping Devon’s hand tightly enough to make him wince, and winking at me. Blast Billy. He’d just pinched some energy.
“James will be working all night,” I said, hoping Devon would take the hint and leave. “No point in waiting for him. But I’ll be sure to let him know you dropped by.” I didn’t offer my hand.
“Pity,” Devon said. “It would have been—”
“Well, gotta run,” Billy cut in. “Places to go, people to see. Dev, nice to meet you—”
“Wait just a darn minute!” I said. “You can’t go. We haven’t”—I darted a glance at Devon, then continued circumspectly—“you know, discussed that matter we were going to.”
Billy took me by the elbow and led me to the front door. “About that—listen, we’re going to have to put that on hold for now.”
“Uh-uh. No way. If you think you can just leave me here with Baby Face, you have another think coming,” I whispered furiously.
“Sorry, cuz,” he said, talking fast, keepi
ng it low. “No time to waste. He might try to seduce you, though, so be on your guard. And remember, if you’re tempted, just hold that thought and come to me later. Safety first.” He tugged my hair and added, more loudly, so Devon would hear, “Good-bye, sweetheart. See you soon.” He kissed the hell out of me before I could voice any more protests, and left me reeling in the doorway.
I recovered, and ran after him. Caught him before he reached the street. Grabbed his arm and tugged until he looked at me again. Then I felt stupid, and kind of pathetic for chasing him, so I said, “I saw you grab his energy. If you ever use that aura when you’re with me, I’ll kill you. Just so you know.”
*
James’s erstwhile boyfriend was sprawled on the sofa, his beautiful lips lingering around the rim of an imported beer. To his credit, Devon had toned down his lazy fuck-me charm by the time I returned. He hadn’t turned it off completely—I suspected that wasn’t possible for him—but he no longer looked at me like it was a given we’d be in bed before the visit was over. But then maybe it hadn’t really been me he’d been anxious to romp with. Perhaps I’d just been a handy conduit to Billy. That rankled a teensy bit, but mostly I was just relieved.
Figuring I maybe ought to be civil, just in case he and James did get back together someday, I sat across from him in an overstuffed wing chair and gave up a few childhood memories. Devon seemed honestly interested in my brother, and since I wasn’t divulging anything confidential, I couldn’t see the harm in it. I was wrapped up in another of Auntie Mo’s ugly afghans (the apartment was always well chilled, no matter the season), and actually starting to feel rather comfortable in Pretty Boy’s company.
“So James wasn’t always the mad scientist he is now?” Devon said after I recounted a story about the Civil War reenactment James had set up in Central Park when we were kids. The whole extended family had been enlisted to either the Blue or the Gray, and my eight-year-old self had spent the afternoon fuming on the sidelines as a Union nurse. My brothers hadn’t thought I was big enough, or strong enough, to participate in the battle. Billy gloated at first, but then started casting pitying looks my way, which angered me to no end. James, noticing my resentment, had finally taken me up on his horse (yes, he had even rented horses for the occasion) and trotted toward the enemy line. I brandished his amazingly realistic—for cardboard—sword, and thwacked Billy over the head with it in passing. Ah, good times.
