by Teresa Hill
"Because he was there, okay? Because he poured champagne down my throat, and because it's my birthday."
"So this is some kind of ritual? You have sex with strangers on your birthday? Jesus, Emma, what the hell are you doing?"
"I don't have sex with anybody, you stupid man," she said. "I don't ever go to bed with anybody. I swear I'm the only virgin left on the entire campus of the University of Cincinnati. Maybe the only one over twenty-one in the whole state, if not the entire Midwest, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of missing you and wanting you and wishing that everything could have been different between us."
"Emma—"
"It's you. How can you not know it's you? I've been so stupid. I've been waiting for you. Waiting for you to get over this hang-up you have about my age or to stop caring what Sam thinks or for me to grow up enough that it didn't matter anymore. And I guess some really stupid part of me held out some hope that today, when I turned twenty-one, that might be enough. That you might come to me and say, 'Okay, twenty-one I can handle. It's not eighteen. It's not nineteen. It's not twenty. And I just can't stay away any longer.' But that didn't happen. You didn't even come to my party."
He didn't say anything for the longest time, and Emma couldn't believe she'd said all that she had. God, could this night possibly get any worse? But she'd said it all, finally, and no matter what the consequences, she felt better getting it out. She was furious with him and herself and everything about his awful night.
He'd been just as angry himself, but as she watched, all the anger seemed to drain out of him, weariness and maybe resignation seeping in. He gave her a cautious glance and just as quickly looked away, no doubt trying to build those walls once again to keep her out.
"Emma, I'm sorry."
She believed he was, and it was the last thing she wanted from him.
"Why? For not caring about me? For thinking I'm a sweet kid?" The words dripped with sarcasm. They'd been burnt into her brain, from that first day he'd called her that, when she'd sworn he'd been doing it just to push her away. She'd been so sure he hadn't meant it.
The years had taught her that he had.
"I'm sorry for hurting you," he said.
"It's not your fault. You can't help it if I don't even register on your radar. I know there isn't any lack of female companionship in your life."
"It's not like that, Emma."
"Oh, please. I've heard all about it."
"They're just women," he claimed. "No one special."
"Fine." She started seething again. He'd go out with anybody but her, and she'd gotten to the point where she'd do the same thing, if it helped her get over him. She closed her eyes and sank back against the wall. "I can't keep doing this, Rye. I can't keep living my life like someone in a deep freeze, waiting for something I'll never have. And I know it's not the smartest plan in the world—to fall into bed with someone. But I'm desperate. I have to forget about you. I have to break that hold somehow and move on."
"You were ready to sleep with the first guy who came along to do that?"
"No. I tried it with... I've been seeing this guy for months. He's been so patient, so understanding, and I kept hoping I would love him. Why can't I just love him?" she said, her voice breaking.
"I don't think we get to choose, Emma. I don't think we can will ourselves to love anyone, any more than we can will ourselves to stop loving someone we're not supposed to care about."
"Then I'm doomed? I'm going to be this miserable for the rest of my life? Because I won't let myself feel this way forever. I can't. It hurts too much."
She started to cry again, dammit. Miserably. Uncontrollably.
Rye picked her up and carried her to the bed. She didn't want to be there. Didn't want any part of the room where he'd brought all those other women, damn him.
"Let me go," she said.
"No." He pulled back the covers and put her between them.
"Rye—"
He sat down on the bed beside her, bunched the pillows against the headboard, and then climbed in, clothes and all. He settled himself against the pillows and then pulled her to him, her head to his chest and her arms going around his waist.
"I can't let you go on like this." His arm came around her, his hand stroking her hair. "It's no telling what you might do. Grab the next man you see?"
"I didn't mean to do that," she said miserably. "I had a perfectly reasonable plan."
"Sex with someone you don't even like is not a reasonable plan, Emma."
"I didn't plan that. That just happened," she said, closing her eyes and letting her tears fall. She had a feeling she'd hate herself in the morning for telling him these things. She had just been so mad at him, so mad at the whole situation. "I had a good plan. With... the guy I told you about. The one I've been seeing. I do know him, and I like him. Really, I do."
He thought she had some odd sexual hang-up when she wouldn't sleep with him, even more so after she'd finally told him she'd never slept with anyone. And she let him go on thinking that, unable to tell him the truth. That she was stupidly in love with a man who didn't care about her at all and had never been able to give herself to anyone else.
"I was going to just make myself do it with him," she said. "I even went to a doctor and got one of those shots—like the pill, except you get one and you're covered for months. I was all ready last week, and I tried. I really tried. But I couldn't do it. And then, my birthday came, and I just felt so stupid. Twenty-one, and still waiting."
"You should wait," he said. "You should wait for someone you love."
"I don't think I'll ever love anyone but you," she admitted. "Rye, have you ever loved anyone?"
"Yes," he said, slowly as if he didn't want to admit to it.
She was afraid to ask, but made herself. "What happened?"
"It didn't work out."
"But you got over it, right?" She asked. He certainly seemed to be making the most of his life with the opposite sex.
"No, I don't think I'll ever get over her."
"Oh." Something inside her died right then and there, and maybe this was just what she needed to hear to finally be done with him. He was in love with someone else.
What a fool she'd been.
"I have to go," she said, pulling herself away from him.
He kept his arm around her, pulling her back down to him. "What are you going to do, Emma? Find someone else and crawl into bed with him?"
"What if I do?"
"I can't let you do that," he said.
"And just how do you think you're going to stop me?"
Chapter 17
"Like this."
His mouth came down on hers. His warm breath, and then his lips, his tongue, his touch exquisitely gentle and slow. Her tears started falling once again, because it was so sweet, bitter, bittersweet. This was what she'd wanted so badly for more than two endless years, what she thought she'd never have.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
He drew back a fraction of an inch. "Kissing you."
"Why?"
"Because it's usually a really good place to start."
"Start what?"
"Making love to a woman."
She froze. "You're not going to do that."
"Not if you don't want me to. But there's no way I'm going to let you have another night like tonight. No way I'm turning you loose on the world determined to find some man—any damned man—to have sex with you."
Before she could say anything to that, she got his mouth again, warm and sure, moving over hers. No one kissed quite like he did. She should know. She'd kissed a lot of guys trying to find someone who did, someone who could bring her body alive the way he did.
It was like an infusion of heat, of need. It blossomed deep inside of her, maybe in her heart, eventually settling lower, deep in her belly, and spreading all the way to her fingertips and her toes. Her whole body started tingling. It was like every inch of her skin was on edge, begging for his hands, his mouth.
Her
breasts were full and heavy, her nipples hardening. He drank from her mouth, taking and taking and taking until he made her head spin. He turned her in his arms until she was facing him, lying on top of him, and then he shifted his legs, spreading them to either side of hers, and he was...
Oh, he wanted her.
She could feel him, hard and swollen and throbbing against her.
She gasped. Couldn't help it. He honestly wanted her?
"You're going to have to say it," he said. "We're not having any mistakes about this, and you've got to swear to me you're not still drunk."
"I'm not," she said. She thought she must be dreaming, but she wasn't drunk anymore.
"And this is what you want?"
"Yes."
"Emma, I don't want you to regret this in the morning."
"I could never regret this."
"Because there's no going back from this."
"I know that, Rye."
"And you're safe? Right now? That shot you were talking about—I'm not going to make you pregnant?"
"I'm safe," she said, still not quite believing he was going to do this, that the two of them were. "What made you change your mind?"
He sighed, his hand at the side of her face, his forehead coming down to rest against hers. "I think you'd honestly go through with it, that sooner or later you'd find someone and make yourself do this for all the wrong reasons. You might get hurt, Emma. There's no telling what someone would do to you."
So this was a favor?
He kissed the tip of her nose, and she noticed that his breathing was labored and not quite steady. "I'll be gentle."
"I know you will."
He kissed her cheek then, a butterfly kiss. "I'll be thorough."
Emma shivered, about a thousand highly erotic pictures rushing through her head.
"I'll make it very, very good for you."
Oh, he would.
He kissed her mouth again finally, hungrily, completely, just as he'd promised. It was like her body had turned liquid and molded itself to his. He buried his face in the tender skin at the side of her neck, and she shivered and clung to him, trying to get closer, desperate to hang on so tight he couldn't get away. Little moaning sounds were coming from her throat. She couldn't help it. It was like her whole body was crying out.
With trembling hands, she undid the buttons on his shirt, wanting skin beneath her fingertips, against her palms, wanting to see him and taste him, wanting to love him.
It did seem much like a dream. She'd had so many of him over the years. The sureness of his touch, the feel of him, and the way his body just seemed to fit against hers. None of this closing her eyes and trying to pretend to feel something, when she really felt nothing. No more wondering what was wrong with her that she couldn't respond to anyone but him.
He was beautiful. Honestly, he got more attractive every year. His body, though still familiar, seemed even leaner and harder than ever, and it was wonderful to touch him, to have the freedom to indulge herself with him.
She got the last button of his shirt free and stroked a hand across his chest, all those intriguing dips and swells, those little golden hairs feeling slightly rough against her fingertips, and his nipples bunched in knots.
She tilted her head and covered one with her mouth, licking, sucking.
He groaned and his body bucked against hers.
Emma lifted her head, dazed and very, very happy.
She'd made him want her?
Or was she going to be like all those other women he brought here to this very bed? What had he said? Just women. No one special.
Emma lifted her head, and he did, too. They stared at each other.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Change your mind?"
"No." No way she was giving up this night, this chance with him.
"Too fast?"
"No." It was perfect. Everything except when she couldn't shut her mind to traitorous thoughts like that. No one special.
He took her face between both his hands, leaning down until they were eye to eye. "You can call this off anytime you want. Just say the word. That's all you have to do."
"I will not change my mind," she said, and she wasn't about to let him change his, either.
She took his mouth, took his tongue, and when she had it deep inside of her, she imagined him lying heavily on top of her, pushing his way inside, thrusting in and out, and her grabbing on to him and not letting go.
That's what she wanted.
Everything.
He groaned again, and he was hot to the touch. They'd slid down in the bed until they were lying face-to-face on their sides, and she let her hand slip between them, reaching for the hard ridge of his that pressed against her belly.
She found him, her fingers stretching over the length of him, and then pressing her palm against him.
He was so big. She'd never understood how this could work. She knew her own body. There was no space inside of her that was big enough to accommodate him, although the thought of trying was enough to set her blood throbbing.
She rubbed up and down with her hand. He went still, sucking in a ragged breath. "Like this?" she asked.
"Just like that."
His voice was low and strained. He went to work with his hands. Roaming over her body through the clothes he'd given her to wear and then slipping beneath the shirt, his hand covering her bare breast, cupping it, taking the weight of it in his palm. He flicked a thumb back and forth across her nipple, and she came up off the bed, forgetting everything else but that for a moment.
He rolled her over onto her back, took the other nipple into his mouth through her shirt. She slid her hand into his hair, holding him to her, not about to let him go. She ached. Just ached. If he didn't take her clothes off right this minute and come inside her...
"I can't wait any longer," she said. "I can't."
"You will, and you'll be glad you did."
"Rye—"
"Emma, believe me, if I can wait, you can, too."
"You don't want to, either?"
"No," he said raggedly.
"I've been waiting forever," she complained, her body practically humming with tension. It was like those funny purring sounds a contented cat made, like a little revving engine. Zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom. "I can't," she said. "I can't."
"You can." But he slipped his hands inside her sweatpants as he said it and pulled them down and off, throwing them into the corner. Her shirt came next, and then his, and then his jeans.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of him naked, that tight, well-muscled body, the curling, rippling muscles of his shoulders and his chest, the hard stomach, trim hips, and...
Oh, my. She wasn't sure how he'd kept that confined for so long is those snug jeans. It sprang free now, big and thick, from between his thighs. She followed the line down his chest and stomach, that fine dusting of hair that narrowed into a straight line, lower and lower, leading to this.
He'd stood up to yank off his jeans, and before he could climb back into bed, she reached for him, her hand touching him there. It felt oddly delicate and soft, while what was beneath was amazingly hard.
"Emma," he groaned, all the breath seeming to leave his body.
"What?" She rubbed her palm along his length, loving the texture of this skin, imagining him pushing inside of her with this. She throbbed just thinking about it, and it seemed he did, too.
She took him more firmly in her hand, wrapping her fingers around him, thinking she wanted a taste of his skin, that the texture was so amazing. She imagined having him in her mouth.
There were girls she'd known who thought nothing of doing this for a guy, guys who thought it was somehow their due for simply existing and being a male of the species. But she'd never felt like that.
She'd never wanted to, until now.
She caught him by the side of the bed, while he was still standing, and kissed his right thigh. Her hand closed around his hip, and she nudged him with her nose, finding that even th
e scent of this part of him was sexy.
He groaned, and she rubbed her nose along the entire length of him and placed a kiss on that soft skin just below his belly button and then moved lower, excited and uneasy at the same time.
She knew people had sex all the time. People everywhere. But really, there was no way that could fit inside of her. She went back down the length of him with her tongue stroking, finding the skin just as delicate as she thought.
"Emma, I don't think this is a good idea right now."
"Why not?" She wanted to taste him, wanted him inside of her like this, and then later... Later she'd have him lying on top of her and taking this and...
"Emma!"
She opened her mouth wide and took him inside. His entire body went tight, his hand in her hair latching on to a handful of it, and she wasn't sure at first if he was going to hold her there or tear her mouth off of him.
He held her there, little ripples pulsing through him.
She would never have believed this could turn her on so completely, but it did. Like when he'd put his tongue in her mouth, thrusting smoothly in and out. She'd latched on to it and taken up the rhythm herself. That's what it must be like to have this inside of her. Like that kiss and her taking him this way. She didn't see how it could possibly be better, because this...
She could feel the power in his body, the strength, all those lovely muscles bunched together and him holding himself rigidly under control and just melting for her. The sounds he was making, the hold he had on her, like he might come apart at any minute.
It excited her, had her thinking he just couldn't get enough of her as she picked up the subtle thrusting rhythm he made now with his hips, taking him in and out and thinking about having him there in that other place inside of her.
"Enough." He groaned, took her by the shoulders, and pushed her firmly away.
He pushed her back onto the bed and followed her down. He nudged her legs apart, settled himself between them, and with a few little adjustments of his body against hers, he was there, right at the heart of her. He pushed inside just a bit, pausing there at the entrance to her body.
He was wet from her mouth, and she was wet, too, from everything he'd done and the things she'd done to him. Embarrassingly so, she thought, not that she really cared at the moment.
