More Than Love

by Ruth Cardello

  “Humble is not exactly how I’d describe you,” she joked.

  “What’s your favorite sports team?” he asked.

  “I don’t really understand the whole sports fan mentality. I played football in middle school. It was fun, but I wouldn’t idolize someone for being good at it.”

  Grant had never seen himself as someone who was easy to surprise, but he hoped his shock didn’t show on his face. “You played football? On a team?”

  “Eighth grade. It was a co-ed team—no big deal.”

  “I’ve never heard of a co-ed football team.”

  “Technically my town hadn’t either, but I wanted to play. Both of my brothers had and had done well. I needed to prove that having a vagina didn’t mean I couldn’t catch a ball or outrun a defensive cornerback.”

  You can tackle me anytime you want.

  But football?

  He almost said he was surprised her father let her play such a dangerous sport, but he kept that thought to himself. The story intrigued him. “Who were you trying to prove it to?”

  “My father.” Her expression turned sad briefly, then she said, “I’d rather talk about you. Did you play?”

  “No, like you I had brothers who were naturals. I preferred sports that had less chance of residual brain damage. Track and swimming were more my style. I enjoyed setting then beating my own record times.”

  “That was me in high school. I still have a chart at home where I record my run times.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I compare my current times to my best from back then.”

  He laughed. Dare I admit it? “Last year I couldn’t match my college sprint time, not even on my best day, so I upped my workouts.”

  “I have totally done the same. I don’t care if someone can outrun me, but I’m damn well going to at least maintain my best. It’s about how I feel more than competing with anyone.”

  “Yes.” The more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know. “Because you’re still trying to prove something.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Maybe.” He thought about how he’d turned down the assistance his siblings had offered, telling himself it was better for them if they weren’t involved. Is it really for the best or am I trying to prove something as well?

  “So, you’re one of three?” she asked.

  “Of five. I also have a younger brother and sister.”

  “That’s a big family. Your poor sister. Four brothers. I can barely handle two.”

  “You don’t get along with your family?”

  Her expression sobered again. He regretted asking, but he also wanted to know. Realistically her personal life was none of his business, but a part of him wanted it to be. “I love them.” She sighed. “It’s just hard. My mother’s death changed our family. It changed me. I’m not sure I even know how exactly. It’s just a feeling I get sometimes. I think about who I am and who I might have been and I wonder if I’ve lost part of myself along the way. I came to Boston to try to find out. Does that sound silly?”

  “No.” He reached out and took her hand in his. No, it didn’t sound silly at all. It mirrored how he felt about his own life. “I admire your honesty.”

  “Life is hard enough without adding a layer of lies to it.”

  Grant inwardly cringed as he remembered he’d lied about his last name. None of this was supposed to matter. If the conversation led to sex he’d thought names wouldn’t matter in the face of a hot memory. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for her—certainly not the protectiveness that was battling with the part of him that kept imagining how good it would feel to kiss his way up those beautiful thighs of hers. “Viviana, my real—”

  Her phone beeped with a message pulling her attention away from him. “It’s Audrey. She’s checking if I’m okay.” She shook her head, typed something back, then stood and said, “I should get going.”

  He rose to his feet. “Of course.” He didn’t want the evening to end, but they were both in workout clothing and unless he asked her to go home with him there weren’t too many places he could think of taking her. Still, the lure to find a way to stay together was undeniable. If the yearning he saw in her eyes was anything to go by, she felt the same way. “I’ll walk you out.”

  She motioned toward a hallway toward the back of the juice bar. “I need to use the restroom first.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  “You don’t have to.” After a brief pause she said, “That would be nice.”

  Viviana threw a paper towel into the trash bin beside the sink and studied her expression in the mirror. There was a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled and wilder than normal, perfectly matching how she felt.

  He makes me feel beautiful.

  And sexy.

  But I’m neither. At least, I’ve never seen myself that way.

  Viviana had lied to Grant. Audrey hadn’t texted to see if she was safe; she’d dared her to take it all the way. “Just do it,” Audrey had said. “You’ll see yourself differently tomorrow.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t even know who I am anymore. How could doing something impulsive help now?

  She’d followed her first instinct and ended her time with Grant. Because hiding instead of overcoming my insecurities is what I do. As she faced herself in the mirror, she admitted that many of her choices had been in response to something she was afraid of rather than a journey toward her own dreams.

  A memory, one that had shaped so much of who she was, fought to surface, but she pushed it back. It doesn’t matter who said what anymore. I’ll be twenty-eight on my next birthday. It’s time to stop blaming others for who I am and start taking responsibility.

  She glared at her own reflection. I don’t like you.

  She sighed. I want to.

  How do I get to a place where I do?

  Audrey says I need a win in the form of a good ole fashioned mind-blowing fuck. I would argue that she’s wrong, but since that doesn’t describe any of the sex I’ve ever had—I really don’t know.

  Even Grant said you can’t say you don’t like something until you taste it. Taste. Lick. Nibble on. It all sounds good.

  What’s the worst-case scenario? I go home with him, have disappointing sex, and discover one-night stands are not my style.

  At least it’d give my vibrator a night off.

  Or I could continue to hide in here until I admit I’m acting juvenile and essentially demolish what little remains of my self-esteem.

  I may be overthinking this mindless, exciting sex stuff.

  Fuck.

  Viviana turned away from her reflection. If I run away from this, what am I running back to? I left Cairo because I wanted more, but I’m slowly recreating my safe, boring existence here.

  It doesn’t have to be perfect. Isn’t that what Audrey was saying? Who he turns out to be doesn’t matter as much as what I prove about myself.

  Boston is about me—discovering who I am.

  And tonight maybe that means a dare and a stranger.

  Whether he says yes or turns me down.

  No matter what the sex is like—I refuse to sit back and hope my life gets better.

  I’m doing this.

  Viviana threw open the door. It crashed against the wall with such force that Grant appeared, looking concerned.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Barely breathing, she looked him in the eye and said, “Please fuck me.” She closed her eyes briefly as her request echoed in her own ears. Really smooth.

  When the world didn’t end, she tentatively opened one eye to check his reaction. His expression gave little away so she opened both and looked lower. His response was hard, huge and straining against the material of his jogging shorts. With her heart beating wildly in her chest, she searched his face again.

  “Come here,” he said in a husky voice that was a caress of its own.

  She almost did as he asked, wantin
g nothing more than to give herself over to the desire pulsing through her, but instead held her ground. This was her fantasy and it would happen on her terms. “You come here.”

  He didn’t immediately move, and she began to mentally flog herself. I could have played it cool. I could have flirted and gotten at least a dinner before he broke it to me that I’m not really his type. What kind of woman blurts out—

  He stepped closer and a slow, lusty smile spread across his face. “Only because you said please.”

  “I didn’t—oh.”

  I did.

  She licked her bottom lip and ran a hand boldly up his muscular chest. His heart was beating as wildly as hers. She was tempted to tell him again that this wasn’t how she normally behaved. She didn’t want to talk, though. She wanted to feel. With a move she’d never before dared, she cupped the back of his neck and met his kiss halfway.

  He pulled her against him, against his excitement, and plundered her mouth like a long separated lover returning with an insatiable hunger. It was everything and more than she’d imagined.

  A stranger shouldn’t taste as good as he did. His touch shouldn’t feel as right. Location ceased to matter. She soared to a place where each caress made her want more. More teasing tongue play, more of his bare skin against hers.

  She was vaguely aware of him lifting her so she straddled his waist. The ease with which he carried her made her feel wantonly feminine. She desperately wanted him and how he made her feel to go on.

  Letting the sensuality of it all lead her, she moved her sex back and forth over his pulsing cock and dug her hands into his hair. If she could bring him even half the pleasure he was bringing her . . .

  The wall behind her fell away—or was it a door? Without breaking their kiss, Grant stepped through it, closing it behind him. Her shoulders hit the wall with a thud, and she groaned with pleasure.

  In moves as bold and confident as the man she was writhing against, Grant whipped her shirt up over her head and dropped it to the floor. He removed her sports bra with an impatience that Viviana wholeheartedly approved. Once freed, her breasts were his to ravish, and he did.

  She threw her head back and held on to his shoulders while he roughly kissed one then the other. There was no tenderness in his touch, but Viviana didn’t want there to be. When his teeth grazed over her nipple she called out his name and almost came right then. She dug her nails through the fabric of his shirt and into his back. When she thought it could get no better, he shifted her weight more against the wall and slid his fingers up the leg of her shorts and beneath her panties.

  She was wet and ready. His fingers were talented and unrestrained. His thumb settled over her clit, rubbing back and forth against it while his middle finger dipped inside her. All while he suckled and teased her nipples. In and out, back and forth. He set a rhythm that rocked through her.

  She came with a sob that brought his lips back to hers. Still shaking and coming down from an orgasm that put all past ones to shame, she found herself being lowered back to her feet. Had she been capable of speech she would have begged for him not to end it there. No, something that wonderful couldn’t be so short-lived.

  He pulled her shorts and panties to her ankles. She stepped out of them and almost fainted when he dropped to his knees and threw one of her legs over his shoulder. She fell back against the wall and braced herself with her arms as his tongue loved her. She’d always thought oral was a nice way to gear up for sex, but this was an experience all its own. He parted her, teased her, then fucked her with his tongue. She closed her eyes and prayed no one could hear the cries of pleasure she couldn’t hold back.

  When she was once again writhing and begging him not to stop, he did, and she thought she would die—or kill him. As he stood, she frantically reached for him. He pulled the waistband of his shorts down and freed his cock. She was so hungry for him, she dropped to her knees without hesitation and took him deeply in her mouth. All she wanted, all she craved, was to bring him the pleasure he’d brought her. Normally she worried about technique or if the man would tell her when he was about to come, but this time all Viviana cared about was how good he felt. She bobbed up and down on him then cupped his balls and licked each one of them before taking his cock into her mouth again.

  There was a sweet perfection to it.

  She ran a hand up his rock-hard thigh and behind to grip his ass. He fisted his hands in her hair and groaned, but didn’t come.

  Instead he called her name and hauled her back to her feet. There was a brutality to the move that matched how primal their mating was, and she loved it. His mouth closed on hers again and the taste of that kiss was a mingling of them on the most intimate of levels.

  His hands closed on her hips and this time when he lifted her it was to hover her above the tip of his cock. She wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out her need to feel him. Her words were lost in their heated kiss, but he knew what she wanted.

  He backed her against the wall and thrust up into her powerfully, burying himself fully in her, then withdrew and drove himself into her again. She hung on, opening herself to him the best she could, and loving the feeling of being claimed. Because that was what he was doing. This was not a man making love to a woman. This was one animal claiming another—as basal as it got—fucking at its purest form. No apologies. No hesitations.

  As they moved together, they found a rhythm. She met his thrusts with her own. It was no longer a plundering as much as it was a wild mating. In that moment, regardless of who they were to each other—he was hers and she was his.

  She was so blinded by the intensity of her own orgasm, she couldn’t say if he came. She assumed he did because he gave a final deep thrust and groaned as she melted against him.

  Coming back to earth was not as fun as soaring off to heaven. Slowly, she became aware that, still in her running shoes, she was naked and wrapped around a stranger in what looked like a small storage closet. With his cock still buried within her, he kissed her neck and she shivered.

  Wrong had never felt so right.

  “Oh, my God,” he said.

  Ditto.

  He slowly, tenderly withdrew and lowered her to her feet. For a moment he looked as bewildered by what they’d done as she felt. When he glanced down to adjust his shorts, he swore. “I didn’t use a condom. I always use one. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “It’s okay,” she said even though it was far from okay. She’d always had an erratic cycle and had been told that conceiving might be impossible for her. But in the age of transmittable everything, that probably wasn’t his first concern.

  I’m such an idiot. Teenagers have unplanned, unprotected sex. Adults don’t. Not responsible ones, anyway.

  I know what he was thinking, because I was right there with him the whole way.

  Wild, mind-blowing sex.

  I should have asked Audrey what people say to each other afterward.

  He bent to retrieve her clothing and handed it to her in true gentlemanly form. She accepted it without meeting his eyes and dressed quickly.

  “That was amazing,” he said softly.

  “Yeah, I—uh—we—yeah.”

  “Are you ready?”

  She raised her eyes to his. “For?”

  “For me to open the door? It’s probably better if no one finds us in here.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She smoothed her hair because it was as out of control as she felt.

  He guided her out of the closet and into the hallway with the same calm confidence he’d shown earlier. Was he the same on the inside or, like her, were his thoughts ricocheting? There was something surreal about walking beside him back into the main area of the juice bar as if nothing had just happened. As if everything I thought I knew about myself hadn’t just been turned upside down.

  He stopped at the counter and asked the attendant for a pen and a piece of paper. A moment later he turned to her and smiled. “You can’t leave without giving me your
number.”

  My number. Oh, yes, because men call after encounters like this—never. She considered giving him the phone number of her favorite Chinese restaurant, but didn’t. I just fucked a complete stranger in a storage closet and loved every minute of it. I can either second-guess everything he says or I can ride this out. He wants my number. She took the paper and wrote her real number on it. Fine. He may be the kind of man who asks but never calls, but I am no longer a woman who is ashamed of her sexuality.

  Call me. Don’t call me. It doesn’t change what I’ve proven to myself.

  I wanted you.

  I had you.

  I’m not a passenger in life anymore. I’m fucking driving.

  I’m fucking driving.

  As she handed the paper back to him, she said, “Thank you.” And meant it. Not only had it been wild and spontaneous, but it had lived up to the fantasy. How often does anyone get to say that?

  He cocked his head to one side as if she were a difficult to solve puzzle. “I don’t know you well enough to take you home, but I hate to end the night like this.”

  “Can I have my pen back?” the cashier asked, saving Viviana from having to respond.

  Grant returned it to her then guided Viviana out of the juice bar and onto the sidewalk. “I want you to know that—”

  “Don’t.” She leaned forward, went up onto her toes, and kissed him briefly. There was a decentness about him that she empathized with. Was it his first closet romp, too? What difference would it make if it were? The chance that she would ever see him again was slim to none. Rather than ending the night awkwardly, she’d prefer they both walked away smiling. “I had a great time.”

  He nodded and blinked several times. “I did, too.”

  She used her phone to summon a car to pick her up. Luckily one was right around the corner. “It was nice to meet you, Grant Enynaim.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but the car pulled up beside them. In place of words, he kissed her deeply, hungrily, then dropped his arms. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Her body warmed and revved for him, but she shook her head and opened the car door. No etiquette course was required to know their time together had come to an end. “Goodnight, Grant.” She told the driver her address and closed the door.