by Helen Hoang
Quan was going to put his hands in the small of Esme’s back, that place Khai had claimed earlier today, touch her hips, her arms, her hands. And she was going to let him. She was going to touch him back.
As she should. Quan was the better man.
Khai realized he could leave. Quan would take care of her and drive her home. Maybe after spending time with Quan, she’d want to pack up her things and switch brothers and houses. That worked out nicely for Khai. He couldn’t form a full-scale addiction to her if she was gone.
Setting his jaw, he marched to the front doors of the restaurant and pressed his hands to the metal handle. But his arms refused to push.
What if she didn’t want to dance? What if she wanted to go home right now? It didn’t make sense for Quan to take her when Khai was going there. That would be inefficient.
He turned around, planning to head up there and brave the music long enough to assure himself she was happy and tell her he was going home.
But there she was, at the bottom of the stairs, her hand resting on the railing.
So beautiful. And here. She’d come to find him again. No one ever looked for him. They all knew he wanted to be alone. Except it wasn’t always that way. Sometimes he was alone out of habit. Sometimes it took effort to distract himself from the growing emptiness inside.
“Are you leaving?” she asked in a small voice.
“I was going to tell you.” He heard the words as if from a distance, like someone else had spoken them. “If you want to dance, you should stay.”
“Do you want me to dance?” She didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air between them: without you.
He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “If it makes you happy.”
She took a step toward him. “What if I want to dance with you?”
“I don’t dance.”
“Can you try?” She took another step toward him. “For me?”
His chest constricted. “I can’t.” He’d never danced in his life. He’d be terrible at it and injure her and humiliate himself. Not to mention the loud music. He couldn’t function with those earsplitting decibels. Another reason why Quan was the better man. “If you want to stay, I know Quan will be glad to take you home.”
“You want me . . . and him . . . to dance?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Is that right?”
“If you want to.” And it was true. If that was what she wanted, he wanted her to have it, even if it made his chest feel like it was getting trampled on.
Several moments passed before she said, “I understand.” Then she smiled, but tears trickled down her face. She swiped them away, took a deep breath, and smiled wider before turning around.
He’d made her cry.
“Esme . . .”
She ignored him and walked back to the stairs. She was going to find Quan. She was going to be perfectly happy.
Without him.
Something inside of him snapped, and the rational part of his mind blinked off. A foreign part of him took control. His skin went fever hot. Blood roared in his ears. He was aware of his feet taking him across the room, saw his hand wrapping around her arm, pulling so she faced him.
Those tears.
They shattered him. He brushed the saline away with his thumbs.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I—”
He took her mouth, pressing his lips to hers as the feel of her shocked through his system. Soft. Silk. Sweet. Esme. When he realized she’d gone stiff, he started to pull back in horror. What had he been think—
She softened against him, kissing him back, and that was it. His thoughts burned away. Something else rose from the ashes, something he’d kept chained up so long it was all fierceness and animal hunger. He stroked his tongue over her lips, and when she sighed and parted her lips, savage victory swept through him. He claimed her lips, claimed her mouth, claimed the liquid heat inside that tasted of vanilla and strawberries and woman.
* * *
• • •
Esme melted beneath the intensity of Khải’s kiss. She’d never been kissed like this, like he’d die if he stopped. His motions were tentative at first, as if he was learning her, but he gained confidence quickly. Each aching press of his lips, each dominating sweep of his tongue, weakened her more.
Her knees threatened to buckle, but she was afraid to anchor herself against him. If he stopped, she’d cry. She needed more, much more. She couldn’t breathe for needing.
She kissed him back harder, and he groaned against her mouth and swept his hands down her back, across her shoulder blades, along her spine. Lower. He squeezed her behind, and her inner muscles tightened.
He pulled her close and rolled his hips so his hardness pressed against her. She gasped as an electric thrill shot straight to her core, and she arched against him, clinging to the lapels of his coat. It was either that or fall.
Closer, she needed closer. She tried to melt into him, rubbed her body against his, but it wasn’t enough. Her palms ached to touch and explore, to know him. She resisted the urge and gripped his lapels tighter as he kissed her jaw, nipped her earlobe, and sucked on her neck. Goose bumps rippled over her skin.
The room spun in a dizzying swirl, leaving the two of them in a world of their own. All she knew was the safety of his embrace, the heat of his mouth, and his scent—soap, aftershave, man. They needed a bed, a wall, a table, anything. She wanted him now, and he was so ready—
“They put too much oil in the soup,” a familiar loud voice said. “But the fish was—oh father of mine.”
His mom and several of his aunts stared at them from midway down the stairs.
Esme and Khải tore apart at once. Blushing furiously, she smoothed shaky hands over her dress as the ladies finished descending the stairs.
“Chào, Cô Nga,” she said before inclining her head toward the aunts. She pressed her thighs together, not used to being this aroused in a room full of people.
Khải ran a hand through his hair. “Hi, Mom, Dì Anh, Dì Mai, Dì Tuyết.” Averting his eyes, he sucked his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. Oh sky, her lipstick was all over him.
“Anh Khải, let me—I . . .” She lifted a hand toward his face. When she hesitated to touch him, he brought her hand to his jaw.
“What is it?” he asked.
“My lipstick.” She brushed her thumb over a smear at the corner of his reddened mouth, but it wouldn’t come off. “Oh no, Khải.”
Instead of getting upset like she thought he would, he smiled, flashing those dimples at her, and warmth flooded her heart.
He didn’t mind getting caught kissing her.
“Young ones, ha?” one of his aunts commented, and the others tittered into their hands like schoolgirls.
“These two kids.” Cô Nga tried to sound stern, but she couldn’t keep a smile off her face. “Go home already. People will see you.” She dug through her granddaddy-sized purse until she came up with a tissue and handed it to Esme. Then she dragged the aunts off.
As soon as the front doors swayed shut, Esme lifted the tissue toward Khải’s mouth, but he dodged it and kissed her again, a slow, thorough press of lips to lips. The tissue bunched up in her hand, forgotten, as he threaded his fingers into her hair and tipped her head back so he could kiss her deeper.
A throat cleared.
But this time, when Esme tried to wrench herself away, Khải’s arms wrapped around her and held her close. She looked over her shoulder and found Quân watching them with his arms crossed and a big grin on his face.
“The older folks are starting to leave,” Quân said. “You guys might wanna . . . take this somewhere else. You know, so you don’t give them heart attacks.”
Khải looked from his brother to Esme and loosened his hold on her somewhat. “Do you want to go with me . . . or stay?”
> “I want to be with you,” she whispered.
That beautiful smile spread over his face again. “Let’s go, then.”
They separated, and Esme tucked the hair behind her ear, not sure how to act around Quân now. But he didn’t seem angry or insulted. If anything, he seemed pleased. Had he orchestrated this somehow?
Quân gave Khải one of those American handshake/one-armed-hug/back-slap things. “Call me if you need anything. Have a good night, you two.”
He winked at Esme and climbed back up the stairs, and she waved at him awkwardly. Khải opened the hand his brother had gripped earlier, and a shiny foil lay in his palm.
Heat exploded in Esme’s cheeks, but she couldn’t help grinning. Quân was the best brother ever.
Khải shifted the foil so he held it between his index and middle fingers and considered her with a steady gaze. “Will I have the chance to use this tonight?”
She bit her lip as breathless anticipation bubbled through her veins. After picking up the book he’d dropped on the ground earlier, she glanced at him over her shoulder and said, “I hope so.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Khai drove home in a state of madness. His heartbeat was so out of control it was a wonder he didn’t get into ten car accidents. The condom in his pocket burned against his thigh.
He was going to have sex with Esme.
Sex.
With Esme.
Even in the midst of this fever, he recognized the fact that he shouldn’t do it. He should stay away from her. Girl loves boy loves girl. What if she fell in love with him? He couldn’t—
No, he told himself firmly. He could. She’d clearly stated she didn’t expect anything, and he trusted her to know her own mind. As for himself and his fear of addiction, he’d manage. He’d gone too far to stop now. He wanted this too much. Besides, grown people did this all the time. His brother did this all the time, as evidenced by his reliable supply of prophylactics.
After Khai parked outside his place, they walked to the front door together. They’d done this countless times, but everything felt different tonight, surreal somehow. The air smelled sweeter even though the night-blooming jasmine had always grown here. How come he’d never heard the chirping of the crickets like this or noticed the stars as they blinked through the tree canopy?
As he unlocked the door, Esme hugged his paperback book to her chest, watching him from under her lashes. She wet her lips, and the desire to kiss her hit so hard his stomach muscles flexed. He tried to regulate his breathing, tried to calm the rush of his blood, tried to restore his usual functional state, but then he remembered he was allowed to kiss her.
Anytime. He. Wanted.
He pinned her to the door and claimed her lips, groaning as she softened and returned his kiss. He always expected her to turn him away, but she never did. It was a heady thing, her acceptance. What else would she let him do?
With one last parting kiss on her mouth, he trailed his lips down her neck. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d left a mark there. Deep caveman satisfaction unfurled inside of him, and he didn’t question it. He kissed the spot in greeting. When she tipped her head to the side, offering herself to him silently, he gave in to instincts he didn’t understand and scraped his teeth across her sensitive skin. Her breath broke, and he saw the goose bumps stand up on her arm. He’d done that.
So soft, so responsive to him, just for him. For now.
Holding his breath, he did what he’d been yearning to do forever. He cupped her full breasts in his palms. And she let him. His thumbs registered the hard points of her nipples through her dress, and he stroked her, exhaling shakily when her eyes went hazy and she bit her bottom lip. He was ninety percent sure she liked that.
What else did she like? Could he make her feel as good as he felt right now? He was determined to try. He needed to please her. He needed that more than anything.
His mouth found hers again, and his mind went fuzzy. She overwhelmed his senses, made it impossible to think. There was only her strawberry taste, the silk of her skin, the curves filling his palms, and the softness that pressed against him every time his hips rocked into her.
Between kisses, she whispered, “Bed. Khải. Now.”
Bed.
Sex.
Esme.
His body hardened to the point of pain, and he released her lips and pressed his forehead to hers, taking a moment to cool down and relearn how to use his brain. People told him he was smart. He should be able to figure out how to get them to a bed. It was a regular mundane task. It shouldn’t seem so impossible. Break it into steps.
He opened the door, giving himself an extra point when he remembered to put his keys in his pocket, and then picked her up.
She laughed as he carried her into the house. “I can walk. I’m better.”
“I like holding you.”
Her eyes met his. Her lips didn’t curve, but he felt like she was smiling. She was silent the rest of the way to his room. After he placed her in the center of his bed, she sat up, put his book on his nightstand, and slipped the high-heeled shoes off her feet, letting them drop to the shag carpet. Her necklace and other jewelry came off next. Then she curled her legs beneath her and watched him with heated eyes.
After a moment, he realized she was waiting. For him.
He took his shoes off—something he’d never done in his bedroom because he did it at the front door. He’d probably left a trail of street grime through his house. Before that could disturb him too much, he shook his head, shrugged out of his suit coat, and sat on the bed. Without meaning to, he’d put an arm’s length between them, a safe distance.
She considered that empty space for a second before she looked him in the eyes, grabbed hold of her dress, and pulled it over her head, completely obliterating him.
In a split second, she redefined perfection for him. His standards aligned to her exact proportions and measurements. No one else would ever live up to her.
Beautiful woman, beautiful sculpted breasts and dusky nipples, beautiful thighs. She wore the same white cotton panties from the night of the first wedding. He could tell by the little bow at the waistband. Either that, or she had several just like it. Did women buy underwear in packs of six like men did? The image of six white panties with six little white bows flashed in his mind.
That little bow fascinated him. He wanted to touch it. And her legs, her skin, all of her. Her breasts, definitely her breasts.
“Your turn.” The husky edge to her voice had an almost tactile quality, and the hairs on his body stood on end.
His mouth was too dry to form words, so he nodded. He felt like he was shaking, but his hands were steady as he undid his tie and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. It was the look on her face, the way she watched every movement. To him, his body was just . . . his body, this thing he lived inside of. Seeing himself from her eyes was a new experience.
When he took his shirt off, her lips parted on a quick draw of breath. When he removed his pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, her gaze roamed over him. His skin heated everywhere she looked, his chest, his arms, his belly, his legs.
She swept a hand through her long hair and bit a fingertip, and the air gusted from his lungs. Unable to resist any longer, he got to his knees and edged closer, closer. Half an arm’s length. A quarter. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin for the first time.
He’d grappled with men. That was a deliberate, non-light kind of touching, and acceptable. He knew what it was like to have someone against him—two matched planes bruising and punishing, one slip and he ended up in a choke hold.
This was nothing like that. Esme didn’t smell like gym socks and man sweat, and her curves fit into his hollows, soft to hard, smooth to rough, the perfect debit to his credit. It hardly made sense when she was so much smaller than he was. He could overpower her in two se
conds. But he never wanted to do that.
Her hot breath heated his neck, and he tipped her head back so he could see her face. Slumberous green eyes gazed at him, and her parted red lips seared away whatever remnants of resistance he might have had. He took her mouth, stroked his tongue deep, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.
He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He touched her everywhere as he mapped out her body in his mind. The ripe curves of her ass, the smooth glide of her back, her breasts. He groaned as her stiff nipples grazed against the centers of his palms. They seemed to be crying for his mouth, and before he knew it, he was sucking a hardened tip, rolling it against his tongue, crushing her to the bed, lost in her. Her legs parted to make room for his hips, and he shuddered as he rocked against her. Friction, her smell, the murmuring sounds she made, pure heaven.
“Now, Khải.”
He didn’t understand the words. He couldn’t stop rubbing himself against her.
“Khải,” she said on a gasp. “Now.”
He pulled away, and her nipple popped from his mouth, wet, glistening. The sight was so erotic he had to look away before he could collect his thoughts. “What now?” he asked in an unrecognizable sandpaper voice.
Her lips opened, but words didn’t come. Her chest heaved on quick breaths, making her breasts move in the most alluring way, and down by her sides, her hands opened and closed, opened and closed, like she was grasping for something that wasn’t there.
Finally, she said, “Condom.”
Everything clicked into place.
He climbed off the bed and retrieved the lone condom from his pants pocket. Watching her, he eased his boxers down so his cock sprang out. When her eyes darkened and the tip of her tongue licked over her upper lip, a surge of raw lust almost knocked him to his knees. He yanked his boxers all the way down and stepped out of them before easing onto the bed beside her.
The foil crinkled as he opened it, and he rolled the lubricated latex over his hypersensitive length. Finished, he let his hands drop to his sides.
