Always Been You

by Beverley Kendall

  It’s the itch that I’ve been aching to scratch for five years. The need that’s gone unfulfilled. The one thing I’ve always wanted but couldn’t have. It’s mine now.

  The only way to describe our first tongue-tangling kiss is greedy and demanding, and it edges the border of desperation. I didn’t know I was capable of making the needy sounds coming from my throat.

  All this and we still have all our clothes on. I hoped and feared this is the way it would be with him and I was right on both counts.

  My hips undulate as I grind against him, my moan filling his mouth. The slide into pleasure isn’t a conscious one, it sucks me in like quicksand. But I’m more than happy to let myself go, let myself feel, let him kiss me into mindlessness.

  I’m so caught up in exploring his mouth and sucking his bottom lip into mine that it isn’t until I feel the draft of air on my upper body that I realize he’s worked my top up to my armpits. He breaks the kiss to divest me of it completely. Next he tackles my lace-trimmed bra. With more urgency than finesse, he removes it.

  Then he goes still, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are near black in color as he stares at my breasts. He reaches up to cup both in his hands.

  His nostrils flare and my breath hitches. I feel the increasing slickness between my thighs, where he’s a hard demanding presence. Forget damp, my panties have now reached the wet stage. Rolling my nipples between his fingers, he bombards my beleaguered senses. Then in a move that has my head spinning, I’m on my back and he’s above me.

  He groans into the curve of my neck, his hands going to the closure of my jeans. “I need to get you out of these.” His final words come with a sharp tug at my waist and the release of my zipper.

  Ditto.

  No sooner than he gets that out does he peel my jeans off my legs. I bask in the desperateness of his motions because it’s exactly how I feel as I tackle his jeans, pausing in my efforts to rub his very hard cock. He bucks under my hands, grunting something unintelligible.

  What follows is a blur of denim and cotton being discarded on the carpeted floor. When he finally has me naked, spread out on top of his comforter, he sits back on his haunches and inhales a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, Rosie.” His tone is reverent, like a prayer, his heavy-lidded gaze fiery hot as he slowly takes in my bare flesh. “You’re a fuckin’ work of art.”

  My nipples couldn’t get any harder and my breath couldn’t come any faster if I’d been deprived of air long enough to fall into unconsciousness. The throbbing in my center intensifies to uncomfortable squirming degrees.

  I can’t take my eyes off the erection straining against his black cotton briefs. My hand goes out, intending to wrestle them off him if I have to. But Troy is one step ahead of me, hastily stripping out of them before my hand can reach the elastic waistband.

  It’s at this point that my vision blurs and saliva pools in my mouth. I can count the number of times on one hand that a guy has made me salivate; three times and one guy, Troy. The summer before our sophomore year in high school when he came back from football camp taller, tanned and gorgeous. The night of our senior prom, the first time I’d seen him in a tuxedo. God, he’d been clench-my-thighs-together sexy. And now tonight, when words escape me.

  The throbbing has grown to an incessant drumbeat and I’m wetter than I’ve ever been. Size isn’t supposed to matter in the larger scheme of things, but boy is Troy ever hung. And not in the get that ridiculous instrument away from me hung, but the kind that makes my body respond like an animal in heat.

  From his thick cock, my gaze lifts to his eyes. We share one heated look and then he’s on me and it’s…heaven. The flesh-on-flesh contact, his tongue circling my nipple before taking it deep into his mouth. The moan I emit echoes throughout the room and I bite my lip to keep the rest at bay.

  Good gawd. I arch my neck, my eyes rolling back and then closing when the pleasure becomes too intense to bear.

  Troy must feel the same as I do, because he releases my nipple with a pop, and says hoarsely, “I can’t wait.”

  I don’t want him to wait. I want it now. He makes quick work of the condom, deftly rolling it on. Then he cups my ass with both hands, tips my hips so the angle is just right, and with one thrust he’s in. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he goes perfectly still as if savoring the moment of first entry.

  I wince, the pinch of pain unexpected. I didn’t think it was possible but he actually feels even bigger than he looks. Or I’m too small, too tight for Johnny Hung Lately. It’s like being a virgin all over again. Wasn’t expecting that. Then again, it has been almost a year since the last time, and Rob and I never did it like rabbits. Twice a month was considered doing it regular.

  “Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he gets out from between gritted teeth.

  Not missing my wince of discomfort, he remains still in order to give my body time to adjust to his size. His arms tremble as if his restraint is costing him a lot. And the involuntary contraction of my inner walls around him has him hissing my name.

  Many deep labored breaths later he asks softly, “You okay?” His expression is pleasure/pain and I can hear the strain in his voice.

  I manage a nod. The pinching feeling is gone and now all I feel is him, hard and thick inside me. “It’s been a while,” I whisper. Can’t actually have him thinking this is new to me.

  He emits a low, sexy chuckle. “I’d say.”

  My sex involuntarily tightens on him and abruptly his chuckle changes to a purposeful growl. His hips jerk and his eyes snap open wide. They narrow just as quickly and then he’s moving. I hold on to his shoulders for support as he thrusts into me, at first slowly, his pace quickening as the pleasure builds and brews like a storm inside me. I pick up his rhythm and he slams into me, grunting his pleasure with every thrust.

  Having an orgasm during intercourse is usually a hit or miss for me. I jokingly call it a work-in-progress that requires a lot of personal, albeit subtle, instruction. But the speed I’m hurling toward the summit tells me Troy’s one of those gifted students who requires little to no instruction. Or I’m delusional and just hornier than hell.

  And Lord, what he says to me—his whispered dirty words—intoxicates me. He tells me how beautiful I am. He tells me how much he loves sucking my tits and how good I feel around his dick. He tells me the next time he wants to fuck me from behind.

  Advance, retreat. Advance, retreat. Pound. Pound.

  Using just the right pressure, he pinches my nipple. I keen loudly and grab his butt with both hands.

  He slams into me harder.

  I gasp, my mouth latching on to the hot skin of his neck. I nip, I bite, I kiss and I lick.

  His breath is rough on my skin as he reaches between us and finds my clit with his fingers. He barely has to touch me and I’m coming like I’ve never come before—I practically come on the promise of his touch. I don’t have an orgasm, it has me, gripping me, then ripping clean through me with blistering speed and intensity. My back bows as my legs tighten around his narrow hips, and I give myself up to whatever’s waiting at the top. Pure and utter bliss.

  Troy gives one last thrust and then stiffens above me, his arms taut and muscled at my sides. His orgasm sends several more electrical-shock-like tremors through me, my sex continuing to convulse around him until I’ve milked him dry. He collapses on top of me and lets out a long, satisfied groan into the crook of my neck.

  Thoroughly spent and sated, I’m boneless under him as I lazily run my hands up and down his muscled back.

  Wow.

  I blow strands of tangled hair from my face as I try to catch my breath.

  Wow. That was— That was—

  Okay, what the hell was that?

  I’ve heard about this kind of sex, and theoretically, I knew it must exist. I know girls who go into some form of cranky withdrawal if they don’t get their daily fix.

  Sex was never like that for me. With my high-school boyfriend, Rob, it was fu
n, but I could take it or leave it. Frankly, I could get myself off better than he could. He’d been a great kisser though.

  With Troy, I’ve bypassed the minor leagues and have gone straight to the majors. The bar has just been set, and it’s been set impossibly high in every conceivable way. Which means I could be in serious trouble.

  I gently run my hand through his hair, unmindful of the dampness, content to just be close to him.

  When he mumbles and pulls out of me, I make a sound of protest deep in my throat, the loss of that intimate contact profound in a way I can’t put into words. He swiftly discards the condom by wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it into the small metal trashcan at the side of the bed. With that task completed, he flops onto his back and closes his eyes, his breathing slowing in rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest.

  I take that moment to look my fill of his naked body. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times, but I’d never been able to openly admire the sculpted planes of his pecs and abs this up and close and personal. A glance at his package renews the throbbing between my thighs. Impressive to say the least. I don’t realize I’ve licked my lips until the deed is done. It doesn’t matter anyway because throughout my thorough appraisal, Troy’s eyes remain closed.

  I’m not sure how long I stare waiting for him to do something, say anything. Open his eyes.

  As if sensing my unwavering gaze, he eventually drags one eye open and looks over at me.

  “You good?” he asks in a deep, sleep-drugged voice.

  Am I good? I swear he’d been with me when the whole world exploded a few minutes ago. I’m better than good. I’m over-the-moon ecstatic. I’m floating on cloud nine waiting for them to create cloud ten so I can trade up. But I temper my euphoria and smile faintly. “I’m good.”

  Troy closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “Good. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Wait. Does he not understand that we just had sex for the first time? Mind-blowing sex I might add. I’m glad you’re here feels…wrong. Off. The same way he’s been off all day.

  “Troy, is something wrong?” There has to be. I hate being this unsure of myself, especially in a situation like this.

  His eyes flicker open again. He stares at me for several long seconds before he replies, “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

  My stomach coils into a tight knot. I swallow hard. “Okay.”

  “C’mon,” he mutters, “let’s get some sleep.”

  I give an inward sigh. He’s right. It’s pointless to have any kind of conversation now. He’d more than likely fall asleep in the middle of it.

  We’d been seven the last time we’d slept in the same bed. What exactly is the post-coital protocol in a situation like this? Do I scoot to the other side of the bed or does this entitle me to snuggle privileges? Is this a one-time thing, or the beginning of something more? I’m confused as hell.

  Several of my questions are answered when he pulls the covers over us, moves me so we’re lying closer to the middle of his king-sized bed, and tucks me against him, spooning me. Pressing a kiss on the crown of my head, he whispers, “Night, Rosie.”

  “Night.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  While it takes Troy only minutes to fall asleep, it’s another hour before sleep finally finds me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The second my eyes flicker open the following morning, last night’s events come flooding back. A glance at the other side of the bed and around the sunlit room confirms what I sensed. I’m alone. And under the sheets, I’m as naked as a jaybird.

  I roll onto my back and run my hand over the empty spot Troy once occupied to find it cool to the touch, a clear indication he’s been gone long enough for the bed to give up his body’s warmth.

  Wider awake, I push myself up to a sitting position.

  Where is he?

  “Troy?” His name cracks on my still-sleepy morning voice.

  When I hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, I’m not sure whether to be relieved or hurt. What I am is uneasy. It would have been nice to wake up with him beside me, with me still in his arms. Then I’d have been surer of how to handle the situation. As it is, I’m a bundle of exposed nerves.

  No sooner do I complete the thought than I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps approaching. My heart gives a wild thud. I instantly look down to make sure I’m adequately covered. Not that he hasn’t seen every inch of me and kissed all the good parts.

  The door opens and Troy steps in. Trepidation takes a backseat to the stark awareness that floods me, filling me with a prickly heat. His hair is damp from the shower he must have taken, and he’s wearing blue jeans and a light-blue t-shirt that molds his drool-worthy chest. Love and lust combine in a powerful double punch that lands low in my stomach. I squeeze my thighs together.

  But one look at Troy’s face kills my libido faster than a wet and hungry screaming baby. The expression on his face isn’t that of a guy who spent last night having mind-blowing sex. Now all I feel is the coolness of the air.

  “You’re up,” he says in a deep voice. He sounds way too formal. It’s certainly not the same voice that told me how much he loved sucking my breasts or how nice and tight I felt around him. This is the voice of a man with regrets. Or maybe he’s feeling as uncertain as I am?

  God I hope so.

  My nod sends a tangled clump of tousled hair in my right eye. I dash it away with the back of my hand. Clothes would be nice right about now, especially because he remains so far away. Feels so far away from what we shared last night.

  Troy looks at me and then averts his gaze, swallowing visibly. It’s as if he’s embarrassed to look at me—embarrassed about what we did. His obvious discomfort fuels mine, causing a blast of heat to suffuse my face.

  “About last night…”

  I do my best to suppress a grimace as my worst fears are about to be realized.

  “Um, why don’t I get dressed and then we can talk,” I manage to get out before he can say anything else.

  My idiocy had attained ridiculous heights and the descent—his rejection—is something I can’t handle. Not here and definitely not with him standing there doing his damndest not to look at me. I can fall apart when I get back to my dorm.

  “Yeah, sure.” He’s already turning toward the door. “I’ll be…out there.” Troy quickly ducks out of the room without another glance in my direction.

  My mind shuts down. It’s the only way I can deal with what’s about to happen. I waste no time gathering my clothes. Because fresh underwear isn’t an option, let’s hope I don’t have to be rushed to the hospital. My mother would be mortified.

  After I finish dressing, I make a quick dash to the bathroom, where I finger brush my teeth with a dab of toothpaste. A high ponytail is the best I can with my hair. All the while I’m making myself presentable, my stomach is one gigantic knot as I vacillate between dread and regret.

  I already know what he’s going to say. He couldn’t have made it clearer that last night was a mistake.

  God, why did I have sex with him? Why?

  Because he’s insanely hot. And he’s really really good at it.

  And because you’re in love with him.

  “Oh, shut up,” I mutter to myself. Like I need any reminders.

  After giving his bedroom one final cursory look to make sure I have all my stuff, I make my way to the kitchen where I find him, a mug of coffee in hand. Our eyes meet. He regards me warily.

  “I made you a cup,” he says and points to the mug of coffee on the counter.

  I couldn’t stomach anything right now if he paid me, but I acknowledge the gesture with a slight nod, and place my purse beside it. The only way I’m going to be able to get through this with my pride intact is to take control of the conversation.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” The somber quietness of my question fits the overall mood.

  “Why do you think anything’s wrong?”

&
nbsp; “Because I know you, and I know last night had to be about something.” You don’t have sex with your best friend after all these years for nothing. Something had to have provoked it. Of course it took our encounter ten minutes ago to bring that home.

  He places his mug on the counter and stares me dead in the eyes. His Adam’s apple undulates on a hard swallow. “My mom has cancer.” There’s an ocean of despair in those four words.

  I gasp. “What?” Mouth slack and eyes wide, I stare at him praying I didn’t hear him right.

  “Breast cancer.”

  “Oh my God, no.”

  At the same time that shock and fear grip my insides, my mind is scrambling trying to come up with something to say. Something that’s going to make him—and me—feel better. Or make it not so.

  I instinctively go to him and slide my arms around his neck. He stiffens for an instant, then leans heavily into me. I accept his weight gladly.

  “It’s going to be all right. It will,” I say softly in his ear. “They caught it in time, right?” My assurances mean nothing if it’s already too late.

  “Nate says it’s stage two.”

  I don’t know much about cancer, but I do know that stage four is the worst. Which means her chances of survival should be pretty good.

  “Where’s Nate now?” His brother works for an international law firm but his job takes him out of state most of the time.

  “He’s home.” Home is Naperville, Illinois, where we grew up. Troy’s parents live down the street from mine.

  I run my fingers gently through his hair. The innocuous gesture seems to snap him out of his melancholy. He pulls up straight and takes a jarring step back.

  “Nate told me yesterday. That’s why I drank so much last night and…” He motions between us, his voice trailing off.

  My throat closes up with emotion. Sadness for what he and his family—especially his mom—are going through and what they’ll have to go through—and heartbreak for what I’d thought last night was all about.

  Troy hadn’t wanted me. At least not like that. He’d needed a body. He’d needed to forget. He’d needed comfort, and I’d been there. Easy accessible and familiar.