Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  “I think the question is what are you doing to me?”

  “I’m showing you the poetry section.” He took her hand and led her to the area closer to the front.

  The clerk left them alone, most likely since they were visible and behaving themselves. Shyla pointed to a book on the top shelf. He was tall enough to reach it. Also, there was a step stool, but he didn’t suggest either of those things. Instead, he grasped her waist and lifted her. She giggled in surprise.

  “Do you like poetry?” she asked, showing him the small leather-bound book with gold lettering—a compilation of love poems.

  “No.”

  “Why not? Does it go against your male tendencies?” she joked, patting him on the chest. He kissed the underside of her wrist.

  “I want a beginning, middle, and end to everything. I crave completion. I recognize and respect the medium, but it’s never satisfied me.”

  “Hmm…you read like you eat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything has to be sandwiched.” She tapped the book. “I’m going to buy this for you. It has some of my favorite poets.”

  “I’ll read it based on your recommendation, but I’ll buy it myself.”

  “You haven’t let me pay for anything.”

  “Now that is something you can blame on my masculine tendencies.”

  “I insist on buying it. I think if you gave poetry a chance, you’ll really enjoy it.”

  “Why?”

  A solemn look overtook her features. “Sometimes, it’s the fragments of feeling that are the most potent. Not the before or after of it all…but the here and now.”

  Nick could agree. The here and now of Shyla was more powerful than anything he’d ever felt.

  Chapter 13

  They arrived back at Nick’s place as the sun set. The day had been a full one, but the night was just beginning. So many hours in the night. But the small voice nagged at Nick, as it usually did, taking all his wicked thoughts and analyzing them with the finite visualization of a microscope. His version of a conscious had grown exponentially, constantly competing with his cock. Neither could be sufficiently suppressed. She had this innocence about her, and the last thing he wanted was to have any part in its destruction.

  When he sat on the couch, though, she plopped on his lap. The silent scream of his erection, much louder than his inner voice, took over.

  “Careful,” he said. “You’re not making this easy for me.”

  They’d limited themselves to make-out sessions most nights. Nick saw her off in a cab, ending his night with an arctic shower. His right hand had never seen so much action.

  “No, it’s very hard, isn’t it?” she said, arching a brow and shifting herself.

  “A double entendre? And such a sexy one, too.”

  She looked away from him. “Nick, you don’t have to treat me as if I’m made of glass. I won’t shatter.”

  “I want you like I’ve never wanted anything else. But, I’m afraid to make love to you.” “Make love” wasn’t his usual expression. He typically said fuck, but it didn’t feel right to him.

  “Why?”

  “Because it will change us. Complicate things.”

  “I’m not experienced, but I have done this before.”

  That surprised him, but it also put him at ease. It would be easier knowing he wouldn’t be physically hurting her.

  He cupped her chin. “Let me kiss you for a while first. I want to taste you…everywhere.”

  “As long as you want.”

  “Then it will be a very long time.”

  He slid his hands up her body until he reached her hair. Once he released her clip, her locks tumbled down in waves of coconut vanilla scented silk. He grasped her hair and tugged it back. She tilted her head, giving him full access to her neck. Nick sucked her earlobe.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  He tugged at the hem of her sweater until she raised her arms. He flung it off her, disappointed with the number of buttons on the oxford shirt underneath. He slid her off his lap and laid her down on the couch. He carefully undid each button with shaky fingers, touching his lips to her smooth, warm skin.

  Her bra was simple black, no lace or intricate design adorning it. Somehow, the simplicity turned him on even more. Her breasts were beautiful on their own. He unhooked the garment before pushing it up. Nick longed to tell her how exquisite her breasts were in their plump perfection, but he couldn’t find the words. He didn’t read, write…or recite poetry. So instead of using words, he used actions. He traced his tongue over her nipple, then flicked it, before ending with a kiss. He did this repeatedly to each one until she moaned his name and her fingers tugged his hair.

  “Nick, please,” she pleaded.

  Yes, Nick, please, he said to himself. His kissed her cheek and dropped his head into the crook of her neck. “This is embarrassing.”

  Her body tightened. “You can’t perform?”

  His head jerked up, a mixture of anger and surprise colliding inside him. “Of course not.” As if to cement the point, he pushed her legs apart, grinding the hard length of his erection against her. “I will fuck you all damn night with plenty of encores.”

  A soft blush crept up her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  “Why did you?”

  She cringed, biting her lower lip. “I thought of the worst possible thing you could tell me, and that came to mind.”

  Despite the intensity of the moment, Nick chuckled. “That’s the worst possible thing, sweetheart?”

  “Right now, I think it is.”

  “I don’t have a condom. I believe that’s the worst possible thing.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly surprised. “Are you joking?”

  “Well, I do somewhere, but they’re probably expired. It’s been a long time for me.”

  “So we can’t use them.”

  “I would chance it if you are on birth control? Tell me you are.”

  She shook her head. “What are we going to do?” She asked with such disappointment it caused Nick to chuckle again. She slapped his chest playfully and continued pouting. “It’s not funny.”

  “And it’s not a big deal either. I’ll go get some.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  “Oh you’ll come, but not right now.”

  She giggled against his neck. “You’re very naughty sometimes…but I like it.”

  He kissed her again, softly at first, then with more intensity. “Go,” she finally said, pushing on his chest.

  Nick stood up and sighed at the sight of her lying on his couch. “Damn condoms.”

  She closed the fabric of her shirt, obstructing his view. “Don’t think of me right now.”

  “How can I not?”

  “Because it’s obvious.”

  Following her gaze, he looked down. The zipper of his jeans jutted out. “Shit, it sure is.”

  He grabbed his wool coat. The weather didn’t call for it, but it covered him more appropriately than the leather jacket.

  Nick sprinted to the corner grocery store. He found the condoms first, throwing them into the basket and decided to get lube for her comfort. Then he figured Shyla might like some wine, so he grabbed a bottle of the red she enjoyed. He added a bottle of white, too, in case she wanted something different. He thought maybe she’d like something sweeter. So he added a six-pack of hard lemonade to his red basket as well as a six-pack of beer. As he passed the chrome metal of a freezer case, he caught a glimpse of the scar on his cheek. All his worries manifested at once. He’d done a damn good job convincing himself his hesitation was all about her…and most of it certainly was. The fact was, he hadn’t been with a woman in almost two years. Before then, he was rarely with the same woman twice. Now, he relied on the services of his right hand and his imagination to satisfy his libido. They were doing a poor job of it.

  What would she think when she saw the rest of the scars littering his body? And what wou
ld happen to them after sex? To Nick, a relationship was defined as two parts. BS and AS. Before sex and after sex.

  He enjoyed their flirtatious friendship. The quiet hours they spent together every night. He didn’t want it to change. Was he really willing to risk it all for an hour…okay, several hours of sex?

  He swallowed, glancing down at his right hand once more. Unsolicited, his mind conjured the image of her body squirming beneath him, her soft hair brushing against his skin, and her mesmerizing voice moaning his name.

  Fuck yeah, he’d risk it.

  Chapter 14

  Shyla’s bare feet slid along the wooden floor. She picked up an album they’d listened to the other night. She set it on the turntable, placing the needle how he’d taught her. “American Girl,” by Tom Petty filtered through the room, the scratchy bits of the record adding to its charm. She could identify with this song. It seemed no matter how big the world, all girls shared similarities.

  She walked into his bathroom, her favorite place in Nick’s apartment, specifically the large claw-foot bathtub. He’d never used it, opting for the large enclosed shower instead. How could he ignore the gleaming, inviting tub? She ran a finger over the rim. Before she deliberated too much, she inserted the drain and started the hot water.

  She’d asked Elaine what might appeal to a western man. Elaine responded in a giddy scream, asking for details, but Shyla had none to offer, and nor was she inclined to talk about Nick. Whatever was happening between them was fragile, and she did not intend to jeopardize it.

  In the end, Elaine had given her practical advice. “Shave everything,” she had said, and then did an up and down glance at Shyla. “And I do mean everything.”

  Shyla took her roommate’s advice in anticipation of this event. Now that it was here, she wondered if perhaps they’d put so much emphasis on it, they’d both end up disappointed. Her body wasn’t model perfect. She was wide in the hips and her waist wasn’t flat. She could borrow a cup or two in the bosom department. She wished she’d brought some supplies with her. Lotion or perfume or something to make her more appealing. Elaine always took an overnight bag when she stayed at her boyfriend’s place, filling it with all sorts of beauty concoctions, but Shyla didn’t bring anything.

  Then again, who knew if Nick would want her spending the night? She found his toothpaste and squeezed a small amount on her finger, rubbing it on her teeth. She gargled some mouthwash and grabbed the bar of soap from his shower. It smelled like him—clean, fresh, and masculine.

  She lit the candles they’d used during dinner the other night. Easing herself into the tub, she let her mind go blank for a minute. She closed her eyes and pulled her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. Fear and anticipation battled inside her. Please, let me be what he wants. Let him be what I need.

  Distracted by her mind, she didn’t notice when his shadow fell on her.

  “I bought you some wine,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind I decided to take a bath.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  “Yes…please.”

  She tilted back the wine, hoping for some bravery. She handed him the empty glass. She wondered if this was right, but she wanted to reveal herself to him—all of her, uncloaked and shameless. She wanted to witness his reaction. She released her legs and lay back in the tub, giving him the full view of her body in the dim light. His intense gaze traveled from her curled toes and slowly inched up her frame until he reached her face. His expression lingered with such hunger it was tangible. His fingers curled tighter around the stem of the glass before he finally set it in a safe corner.

  He sat on the edge of the tub. “I regret I’m not a poet because your body is worthy of a sonnet. You’re beautiful, baby,” he whispered, dipping his fingers in the water, circling them back and forth, creating tiny ripples. He turned his back to her, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. She knelt, bringing her hands around to work the lower buttons loose. He sought her mouth with his. She began fumbling with his belt. She’d never taken off a man’s clothing, but she worked it loose with a dexterity that surprised her. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

  He shrugged off his shirt, revealing a detailed ink carving. The large barren tree covered the expanse of his muscular back, its branches twisting and curving over his right bicep until they faded away. She’d never understood why people used their bodies as permanent canvases, but viewing the artistry of his tattoo changed her mind. She flattened her palm against his spine and moved up the intricate tree. The skillful artist incorporated Nick’s scars into the artwork, using them to create depth. But she could feel the raised skin, the cuts that never healed.

  He took a deep breath, wincing at the contact. “Shyla,” he said, reaching for her wrist.

  “Please, let me touch you,” she pled. She kneaded his muscles. She kissed his shoulders and neck. She repeated the process until his stiff posture relaxed under her care. “You’re beautiful, too, Nick,” she whispered against his ear.

  He grabbed her wrist and kissed the underside before standing up.

  Her breath hitched as the last few garments fell. Another tattoo occupied the left side of his chest, right over his heart.

  “Why a Celtic cross?” she asked.

  He licked the bottom of his lip, causing her belly to flutter. “So I can remember to be a good Irish Catholic boy.”

  “Do you need reminding?”

  His smile bordered on boyish charm and devilish wickedness. “All the time.”

  She took a deep breath, drinking in the sight of his body. Having leaned against it, she knew his chest was hard, but she’d never seen a man so finely shaped. His broad shoulders and chest with a smattering of golden hair gave way to a chiseled waist with six solid bumps. She’d read about six-packs in romance novels and, at the time, thought it was an ideal born of fiction. How deliciously wrong she’d been.

  She paused her visual observations, taking in the appendage between his muscular legs. She’d felt his erection beneath her when she sat on his lap, but to see the solid column at a perfect ninety degree angle created a whole set of worries.

  She slid forward. “Come in. The water’s perfect.”

  He got in behind her. She leaned back against his warm, solid chest. The steamy water combined with the heat of their skin shouldn’t have elicited a shiver…but it did. He played with her hair and kissed her temple.

  “Why are you nervous?” he asked her.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “It’s not possible.”

  “I don’t want you to disappoint me either.”

  “Okay…no pressure there. You suck at foreplay, sexy girl.”

  “Foreplay is not my forte.”

  “Lucky for you, it’s mine.”

  His hands slid down her front, grazing her breasts, causing them to harden. He worked his way down her waist and her hips. They were large hands with a precise, firm touch. Clearly, he was much more skilled than she. Her body flushed, rising to temperatures warmer than the water. Her breath hitched, and her heart began beating to a rapid, unfamiliar tune. She craned her neck to face him.

  Nick mastered her body with the same grace as a musician strumming a delicate instrument or a sculptor carving his clay. With each stroke, she unraveled. He leaned forward, running his massive hands down her legs until he pushed them apart. He caressed her inner thighs. All the while, his mouth nibbled on her ear. He wasn’t simply touching her body. He was coaxing it awake.

  She gasped as his finger penetrated her. It wasn’t unpleasant, but definitely unexpected. He eased in and out slowly until the shock gave way to the pleasure…small waves of pleasure building towards a precipice. She squirmed against him. His arm encircled her waist, holding her steady. He added another finger and increased his speed. She called out his name.

  “Kiss me,” he commanded.

  She did. His tongue swiped across her mouth, requesting en
trance. She obliged. He added a third finger. She cried out. His thumb rubbed her nub in a slow circle. The buildup gradually grew higher, emerging from the area he touched until she experienced this overwhelming sensation of tingles coursing through every vein and cell she owned.

  “Disappointed?”

  “Uh…no. I’m appointed.”

  His laugh turned into a growl. “Out of the tub now.”

  They didn’t speak as they stood. He covered her in a thick soft towel, drying her quickly, before placing another around his hips. Shyla felt safe but wonton. Satisfied but not sated. Timid and bold at the same time. Nick took her hand and helped her from the bath. He put out each candle between his thumb and index fingers. The tone of the singed flames added to the lusty lyrics of their soundtrack.

  She’d seen the king-size platform bed with its large, white fluffy down comforter many times. It looked like a cloud in the middle of the room. A small red, square packet lay already open on the nightstand along with a small bottle. Their towels dropped at the same time, landing with a soft thud around their feet. His hands skimmed up her arms. She tilted her head back, staring at his dark blue eyes.

  “You tell me if there’s anything you don’t want or you want to stop.”

  “I’ve done this before, Nick.”

  “Not with me.”

  He kissed her then, backing her until she fell onto the bed. He leaned his elbows into the mattress, keeping his weight off her, his mouth against the hollow of her throat. His tongue and lips on her neck turned her soft moans into fierce demands.

  “Nick.” Shyla dug her fingers into his flesh. His kiss became more demanding. She could get lost in his kiss forever, because through this touch she could convey all the things she wanted to say without the barriers of language. She heard the rip of the condom. He spread her, his hard length sheathed. He ran his tip over her entrance several times before pushing into her slowly, watching her with intensity as he deepened their connection. She arched her back, pushing her hips up.