Hold Me

by Susan Mallery

  If she were someone else, looking for something else, she would already be sleeping with him. She might even be falling for him, which would be worse. But she’d learned to protect herself, so she was careful. Careful about the man, at least. If not careful with the rest of it.

  Because tonight she was going to sing.

  He looked up and saw her. “Hey, Destiny, what are you—” His expression turned worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. There’s something. What is it?”

  She couldn’t explain. Not the swirling unease. The sense of not fitting in her skin, of needing something more. Impatience gripped her. Tension made her tremble. There were too many emotions and not enough places to put them.

  “I have to sing.”

  She’d thought he might laugh or grill her, because how could her statement make sense? Instead he put out a hand to help her up on the stage.

  “Want to do a set?” he asked.

  She nodded. “If that’s okay.”

  He smiled at her. “Let me think. Free entertainment for my guests and listening to you sing more than one song. Yeah, it’s kind of okay.”

  They scrolled through songs together. She selected one by Tumpy Shanks. It was old, but one of her favorites. “Under the Willow Tree” would be followed by her father’s hit “Barstool Blues.” She added a few more of her mother’s songs, then “What Hurts the Most,” a Rascal Flatts hit, closing with Kenny Chesney’s “Come Over.”

  She put her drink on the small table by the karaoke machine. “I’m going to need another one of these in about fifteen minutes,” she said.

  Kipling touched her arm. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “I have to.”

  “We can go somewhere, if you want. Talk. Drive. Yell at trees.”

  Because he saw she was in pain. He knew there was a problem, and he wanted to fix it.

  “This is the only way,” she whispered. “It doesn’t happen often. Maybe once every couple of years. But when it does, this is all I can do. At least I didn’t have to look very far for a karaoke place. You have one so conveniently located.”

  “I do what I can.” The tone was light, but she saw the worry in his eyes.

  She picked up the microphone. It was a good weight. Solid in her hand but not too heavy. The lighting could have been better, but this wasn’t a professional performance. She scuffed her boots against the wooden floor, anchoring herself.

  Kipling left the stage, and she was alone. Gradually, the room got quiet as people noticed her. She pushed the button to start the first song, drew in a breath and lost herself.

  “I left you there, under the willow tree,” she sang. “Tears falling, you always missing me.”

  The words came without her having to look at the screen. She’d probably learned the song when she was four or five. She’d sung it on tour with her parents.

  Song after song, she worked her way through the playlist. She lost track of time, of how much she drank, of where she was. She gave herself over to the music, letting go in the only way she knew how. The only way that was safe. The knot in her gut relaxed, and the restlessness eased. She spent her whole life denying who and what she was. Every now and then she had no choice but to let that part of her out, and tonight was the night. By the time she was done, she was exhausted but at peace.

  She put down the microphone, and the bar exploded with applause. She nodded once and walked to the edge of the stage. Kipling was there to help her down.

  “You’re shaking,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  “It’s okay,” she told him.

  Instead of leading her to the bar, he took her through the back and into a small office. She sank onto the chair by his desk and watched her hands tremble.

  “Have you eaten anything today?” he asked.

  “Not since lunch.”

  “Liquor on an empty stomach. Never a good idea. Wait here. I’ll go grab you a sandwich.”

  She nodded because speaking was suddenly too difficult. When he left, she looked at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was after eleven. Had she really been singing for three hours? No wonder she was exhausted.

  He returned with a bottle of water and a bowl of popcorn. “I’m closing up soon. The sandwich will only take a couple more minutes. By the time it’s done, the bar will be closed, and you can come out.”

  She drank water, then swallowed. “How do you know I want everyone gone?”

  “Because you don’t want to talk about what just happened. You don’t want to answer questions.”

  She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He’d guessed the truth, or maybe it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. Either way, he was right. She needed to sing, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to explain.

  He left again. She finished the bottle of water, then stood. The room spun a little. She was still feeling a little unsteady on her feet. Not a huge surprise. She’d lost track of how much she’d had to drink.

  She made her way to the door and let herself out into the bar.

  The open space was bigger when it was empty. There were still glasses on tables. She would guess the place was usually cleaned before closing but that Kipling had hurried everyone along. For her. So she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Because he fixed things that were broken. Like her.

  He walked in from the kitchen, a plate in his hand.

  “Eat this, then I’ll take you home.”

  Which all sounded very sensible. And at any other time she would have followed his suggestion. Just not right now. Not with the bar spinning and her heart racing and need building.

  She walked up to him and took the sandwich from him and put it on a nearby table. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders, leaned in and kissed him.

  She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. She knew she needed to feel his mouth against hers. She needed to get lost in a different way. One without words. She wanted the heat, the tension, all that she had felt the last time he’d kissed her. Only now, she wanted more than that.

  The second his lips touched hers, she parted. He obligingly brushed his tongue against hers. Desire raced through her, igniting sparks all over. She strained to get closer as she realized that the singing hadn’t been quite enough. She needed more. She needed him.

  She moved her hands down his arms, then to his back. He was lean yet strong. She explored the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his spine. He kissed her more deeply, teasing her tongue with his. She leaned into him, letting her body melt. Thighs brushed. Her breasts nestled into his chest.

  She felt everything. The way he kissed along her jaw and licked the sensitive skin below her ear. The warmth of his breath. The whisper of his fingers against the fabric of her shirt. She didn’t know why her senses seemed enhanced, but they were. Maybe it was the Long Island Iced Tea. Maybe it was the man. Either way, she wanted everything he had to offer.

  She reached for his wrists and drew his hands to her breasts. His thumbs touched her nipples, and she groaned.

  * * *

  KIPLING TOLD HIMSELF to slow down. There was no way he was going to do this with Destiny in a bar. While he had every intention of making love with her, their first time was going to be slow. Planned. Romantic. He wanted to make it good for her maybe two or three times before giving in himself. He had a plan.

  Only the message didn’t seem to be getting from his brain to his dick. Maybe it was a lack of blood flow. Maybe it was how she was touching him all over and offering herself to him. Every kiss seemed to draw him in deeper, and he was a big fan of being drawn in.

  The sound of her moans nearly did him in. He felt the weight of her curves, the tightness of her nipples. Self-control snapped. He tugged up her T-shirt and tossed it onto the table behind her. Her bra followed, and he could see the swell of her breasts and the tight, taunting nipples begging to be loved.

  He lowered his head and kissed her gentl
y, so gently. She whimpered. He drew the tiny bud into his mouth, and her knees gave out.

  He caught her as she fell.

  “Again,” she breathed, hanging on to him. “Oh, please, do that again.”

  He sucked in deeply, pulling and flicking his tongue. She groaned. Her fingers clutched his head as if she wanted to be sure he never let go. He shifted to her other breast and did the same. Her breathing increased, and she squirmed against him, then her head dropped back as she moaned.

  She was desire incarnate, he thought hazily. All need and hunger. How had anyone made love with her without pleasing her first? If she was this excited when he was touching her breasts, how difficult would it be to bring her to orgasm?

  Men were idiots, he thought cheerfully, toeing off his shoes and removing his own shirt. And that was just plain lucky for him.

  He pushed the table aside and settled her on the bench of the booth. She pulled off her boots, then helped him remove her jeans and panties. The second she was naked, she brought his hands back to her breasts, which made it tough for him to take off the rest of his clothes. But he substituted his mouth for his fingers and managed to undress.

  She stroked his chest and smiled up at him. Her eyes seemed a little glazed, and for a second, he wondered how drunk she really was. Then she whispered, “Kiss me,” and he was lost.

  Their tongues tangled. The bench was long enough for him to stretch out on top of her. Not doing it, he told himself. Not yet. He just wanted to see how they fit together.

  She welcomed the weight of him, shifting and then wrapping her arms around him.

  “I knew it would be like this,” she murmured against his lips. “DNA always wins out.”

  “DNA?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled. “That breast thing really works.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Very much. Who knew?”

  “What about the rest of it? What else do you like? How would you like me to please you, Destiny? My mouth, my hands, like this?”

  As he spoke, he pushed in gently. Just a little. The tip.

  She was hot and wet and tight. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted. He read the signs as pleasure and pushed in more. A little deeper, a little farther.

  Which turned out to be a mistake because he hadn’t been with a woman in months and months. That fact became very clear when he felt the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Panic flared as his brain searched for a solution to a very imminent problem.

  It had been all of two seconds. Seriously? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Pull out and come all over her leg like some teenager? Or simply push in all the way and come like some teenager? Either way he was going to be humiliated.

  He swore. “I swear, it’s not usually like this,” he told her. “I’ll take care of you in a second, okay? It’s just—”

  His hips gave an involuntary flex. He pushed in.

  Three things happened at once. Destiny put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Kipling, I’m—”

  He felt something between him and the deep, wet place he most wanted to go. Instinctively, he pushed harder, and the barrier gave way. And he climaxed.

  He pulled out as fast as he could, but it was too late. Foreboding grew as he looked down and saw blood on his penis. Pieces of a very surrealistic puzzle fell into place. He shook off the obvious solution and searched for another explanation.

  There was no way. It wasn’t possible. She was in her late twenties. She was beautiful. She was—

  “You’re a virgin?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “WAS,” DESTINY SAID automatically, telling herself that in some strange, twisted way, the circumstances were completely fitting. Why wouldn’t she lose her virginity in a bar? She was her parents’ daughter, after all. Destiny couldn’t escape her destiny.

  She giggled at the ridiculousness of it and thought maybe she was a little drunker than she’d realized.

  Kipling scrambled to his feet and stared at her. “You’re a virgin?” he repeated. “No. You can’t be. ”

  She sat up and tried to figure out how she felt. A little sore and, to be honest, disappointed. After all this time, all her plans and hopes to not be like her parents, she’d done it. She’d had sex with a guy in a bar. And while the kissing had been fun, and she’d really liked how she’d felt when he touched her breasts, in the end it hadn’t been all that interesting.

  Sex, like many forbidden things in life, was all hype. Her parents had broken up marriages, abandoned their children and tried very hard to destroy themselves over that? Three seconds of pressure with a bit of pain thrown in? She’d rather go eat a brownie.

  What about the earth moving and all that crap people sang about? The intense, life-changing moment? Talk about anticlimactic.

  “Destiny.”

  Kipling’s voice was sharp. Maybe a little panicked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You were a virgin?”

  She nodded and stood. The room only swam a little, which was probably a good thing. She was going to have to—

  She glanced down at herself and realized she was naked. Totally and completely naked. In a bar. What had she been thinking?

  “My clothes,” she said.

  Kipling handed her her underwear still rolled up in her jeans. She pulled them apart and slipped on her panties. While she stepped into her jeans, he collected her T-shirt and bra then started getting dressed himself.

  “We have to talk about this,” he told her.

  “No, we don’t. I’m fine. I’m an adult. I did it. We did it.” All that waiting, she thought. “I’d wondered, and now I know.”

  He slipped on his shirt. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You’re not. You can’t be.”

  She slipped on her boots and made sure she still had her keys, cell phone and credit card. Her credit card.

  “I never paid for my drinks.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You don’t have to pay for them.”

  He grabbed her by her upper arms. “We have to talk about what happened.”

  She felt the first throbbing promise of a headache. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”

  Kipling hesitated, as if he were going to push back, then he nodded once. “Tomorrow. For sure.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was promising or threatening, and right now she didn’t care.

  He led the way to the front door, then locked it behind them. The walk to her house was accomplished in silence.

  When they stood on her porch, she did her best to smile and sound perky. “I’m completely okay. I’m as much responsible for what happened as you are. I have no recriminations. You need to let it go.”

  His expression was unreadable. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I’ll count the hours.”

  She let herself in the house and went directly to her room. Seconds later, she was in her pj’s and about a minute after that, she was sound asleep. Her last conscious thought was virgin, smirgin. It was no big deal at all.

  * * *

  DESTINY WOKE TO the mother of all hangovers. Her head had grown two sizes in the night, her body ached and there was a nagging sense of something having gone very wrong. Not that she could think clearly.

  At least Starr was still at her friend’s and had a ride to camp. Destiny’s only responsibility was to survive the next couple of hours. Hydration and aspirin, she thought as she crossed to the bathroom. Then she would feel better.

  The previous night was more than a little fuzzy. She remembered feeling out of sorts and how the singing had made it better. There had also been way too many Long Island Iced Teas.

  She turned on the shower, then brushed her teeth while the water got hot. She dropped her pj’s to the floor and was about to step into the shower when it all came crashing back.

  The kissing. The touching. The
sex.

  “Oh, my God! I had sex with Kipling.”

  She stood there, one leg raised to step over the edge of the tub. Memories returned in vivid color and 3D detail. His body against hers. The way he’d stroked her. How nice it had all been and how at the end, she couldn’t, for the life of her, get what all the fuss was about.

  She was both embarrassed and resigned. She’d wondered, and now she knew. She supposed she’d experienced a rite of passage. To be honest, now that she’d done it, her sensible plan made even more sense. Why would anyone want to do that more than one or two times in a life?

  She stepped into the steamy water and let the heat of it soak into her muscles. It was for the best, she told herself as she washed her hair. There weren’t any more mysteries. She was just like most other women her age. At least when she did meet the right man, she wouldn’t have to have the awkward “I’m a virgin” conversation. Because she’d sure shocked Kipling.

  She smiled as she thought of his wide-eyed stare. She could almost feel sorry for him. She was old enough that there was no way he would have been expecting that particular surprise. Briefly she wondered if it had made the experience different for him, but knew there was nothing she could do about it.

  She still couldn’t figure out why people did the things they did for sex, she thought later as she dressed. It simply wasn’t all that special. But then many things in life were surprising or puzzling. This was just one of those.

  She got her backpack and texted Starr a quick “good morning,” before heading out to Brew-haha. She wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but today called for the biggest coffee in the history of the universe, followed by about a gallon of water. That should get her on the road to feeling better. Oh, and she would make sure not to drink for weeks and weeks.

  She walked the few blocks to the coffee shop. As she waited at the light, she saw a man in the park. There was nothing unusual about that. What made this sighting memorable were the odd feathers he was holding and the striped paint on his face. Plus, he kind of looked like he was doing some odd version of Tai Chi.