Because he’s sexy as all fuck, considerate and thoughtful and observant enough to notice my agitation, and he’s sexy as fuck, and he’s in my apartment, and he’s sexy as fuck. Had I mentioned that last part already? He was sitting beside me, and in my current posture—leaning over my knees, elbows on my thighs, hands on my forehead shielding my face from his scrutiny—all I could see of him were his legs, thick, taut muscle sheathed in faded dark blue denim, and a hint of his black The Kooks shirt. But he smelled so good. The same citrusy tang of cologne I’d first noticed, now layered beneath the smell of beer and the pub. And his hand was resting on my thigh. His hand was big and strong, with a light dusting of hair, just enough to reinforce his masculinity.
“Nina?”
I’d fallen into my own thoughts, clearly, and hadn’t answered his question. That happens sometimes. Especially when I’m in a situation I didn’t know how to deal with. Like right now.
“You never told me what you were thinking,” I blurted.
Oh shit. I hadn’t meant for that to come out. It was a knee-jerk reaction to my nerves, verbal diarrhea stemming from my need to push past my fear and do something I wanted that was outside my usual sphere of comfort. I was afraid of this situation, of having a sexy man in my apartment, one whom I’d just met, one who seemed to want to have sex with me, one whom I, in turn, wanted to have sex with. But I was afraid, because I just knew I’d end up getting emotionally involved. And I wasn’t at all sure Ian wanted that, and I wasn’t sure I even wanted that, but sex tended to lead my heart into situations whether I wanted it to or not.
I hadn’t loved any of my past sexual partners. I knew that now, and I’d known that then. But I’d really liked them, really cared for them, had been emotionally invested in them; when we’d broken up it had been harder for me to deal with than I was willing to admit, even to myself.
Hey, I never said I made any sense.
Ian pulled his hand off my leg and leaned back against the couch, breathing out through pursed lips. “I have to admit, I really don’t fucking understand you, Nina Herrera.”
I groaned and lurched off the couch, twisting my ring around my finger. It was an heirloom ring passed down from my three-times great-grandmother. It was made of heavy silver with scrollwork around the sides and delicate filigree around the setting which contained a huge, square-cut blue topaz. It was a beautiful ring, the only thing of real value that I owned. When I was upset, I had a tendency to spin it around my finger compulsively.
“I don’t suppose you would,” I said. “But, for the sake of curiosity, what is it you don’t understand?”
“You’re so back and forth,” Ian said. “Hot and cold. On the trip over here you were flirting with me, and then once we got here you were a bit more reserved, which is understandable, but then at the pub you were all over me again, flirting and talking about X-rated thoughts. And I told you pretty much exactly what I was thinking, what I wanted with you. But now you’re…I don’t even know what you are right now. And I can’t figure out what you want. And that’s okay, really it is. If you want me to go, I’ll go. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I’ve got nowhere to be for days yet. And I do like you. I really do. I’d like to be here with you, and please understand that I don’t have any expectations—”
“Yes, you do,” I cut in, turning around. “You totally do have expectations.”
Ian scrubbed his hand through his sandy blond hair, messing it up, then smoothing it back down again. I kind of liked it messy, but I didn’t say that. “Okay, yeah, I do. I thought we’d sort of—I dunno—established an understanding. But if that’s changed, for you, it’s okay. No pressure, is all I’m saying.”
“You’re being very tactful about this,” I said, keeping my place a few feet away from him.
“You say that like it might be a bad thing,” Ian pointed out, slumping further down the couch and stretching his legs out, crossing his arms behind his head.
I shrugged. “Not bad, no. But I suppose maybe I’d like to know precisely what understanding you thought we’d come to.”
Ian laughed, one short bark of amusement. “Put it all out there, is that it? All right, then. I thought, what with all the talk of X-rated thoughts and all, and due to the fact that I came right out and said, in so many words, that I’d like to bring you back here and do dirty things to you, that my expectation, or maybe my desire might be the better word, was to have sex with you.” He sat up, on the edge of the couch now, long legs coiled beneath him, as if about to pounce. His sandy hair and suddenly heated blue eyes made him seem predatory, somehow. “Does that make it clear enough for you, Nina? I’d like very, very much to get you naked and have lots and lots of hot, and possibly rather kinky sex with you. This is a spacious flat. I can think of at least a half-dozen places I’d like to fuck you up against, and that’s just what I can see from where I’m sitting. I’ve got a rather nice buzz going, and I’ve spent just about every moment of the last—what, almost twelve hours with you?—and I’ve had a rather painful hard-on for most of that time. When we left the pub, and even when we left GBK, I’d sort of thought you wanted the same thing. You were giving off all the right signals, or so I thought. Maybe I was misinterpreting things. I dunno. But that’s what I thought. And then, suddenly, you’re closed off and shaking and I’m just wondering…what the hell, basically.”
“You didn’t misinterpret anything,” I said, turning away again and twisting my ring. “I did want all that.”
“Did? What changed?”
“Nothing. Well, not changed, really. Just…I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?” Ian’s voice went sharp and wary. “You’re not a virgin, are you? Not that that’d be a bad thing, but—”
“No! No, I’m not a virgin. That’s not what I meant.” Twist, twist, twist. Don’t make eye contact, it’s too embarrassing. “I just meant…I don’t know you. I mean, I do, sort of, but not as well as—ugh, I don’t even know how to say it. I’ve never shacked up with someone I just met, is all. So I’m sort of nervous.”
Ian didn’t respond for a long time. “Oh….Oh.” I heard amusement in his voice. “Shacked up? Who says that? It’s not shacking up, Nina. That’s a stupid phrase and hopelessly out-dated phrase.”
“A one-night stand, then. What’s a good British phrase? A quick bang? A shag? Whatever you want to call it. I’ve never had sex with someone I just met. How about that?” I was too chicken to turn and look at him right then.
“What if it doesn’t have to be a one-night stand? And why is that so scary for you?”
“Because…it’s different? I don’t know, I guess. And if it’s not a one-night stand, what is it? What if I’m no good? What if we’re not…compatible? What if you get my clothes off and you don’t like how I look after all? And what does it mean when you have sex with someone you just met? What does that say about me?”
“You think too much, Nina. It doesn’t say anything about you.” Ian was suddenly behind me, although I never heard him move. His hands rested on my waist, holding me in place. “And how will you know what I think of the way you look, and whether we’re compatible, if you don’t give it a chance? It’s just sex, Nina.”
“But that’s the thing.” I really did like the way his hands felt on my waist. They were large enough that he could hold a good portion of my waistline. “Just sex. I always…I don’t know, thought sex should mean something. Not necessarily love, maybe, but…the idea of casual sex never appealed to me, I guess. I’ve always wanted to have some kind of connection with the guy first, you know?”
“And we don’t have a connection? I thought we did. I do get what you’re saying, Nina, I really do, but I think you’re adding unnecessary complications to the whole thing.” He shifted, and his body was now that much closer to mine, not pressed up against me yet, but enough that I could feel his chest as he took a deep breath. “Listen, a connection, as you put it, is a really subjective thing. You said yourself you don’t n
eed it to be love, per se, right? But then what is the connection you’re looking for? Is it a specific time period in which you get to know someone? Or is it more of a…feeling about that person?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never tried to define it before.”
“Exactly.” Ian’s hands slid downward incrementally, and now he was almost but not quite gripping my hips. “Tell me something. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced it, but I suppose I would say it’s possible. Unlikely, perhaps, but possible.”
“Yeah, me too. So if love at first sight is possible, then why not connection at first sight?”
“Your logic is seductive,” I said. “But I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Is it working?” His voice was right at my ear, his hands sliding down yet again to clutch my hips.
“A little. Maybe.”
“I can work with maybe,” Ian whispered.
“You can?”
“Oh yes.” His fingers dug into the denim at my hips, gripping me tightly, and then, without warning, he jerked me backward into him. I felt him behind me, the hard muscle of his chest, a faint heartbeat hammering reassuringly at my shoulder blade, and yes, oh, god yes, I felt the thick, hard presence of his erection against my backside. He ground the aforementioned erection into me. “How about this? Is this working?”
I bobbled my head side to side. “A bit. I might need a bit more convincing, though. I’m still not entirely sure.” I was only partly joking.
“Hmmmm. What else can I do to sway you?”
His hands rose and slid around to my front, just over the waistline of my jeans. Then his thumbs lifted the hem of my T-shirt out of the way and his palms found the warm skin of my belly. I let out a hissing breath at the delicious heat and scratch of his palms on my flesh. My skin tightened, becoming hypersensitive, and my breath caught. I blinked hard, staring at the wall opposite me, focused on feeling the presence of Ian behind me, against me, focused on feeling instead of thinking. I knew I wanted this; I just had to give myself permission. Traveling to a new country was all about new experiences, right? I’d been born and raised in Michigan, always under the watchful eye of my parents and older sisters, even while at school at U of M. Now, I was totally on my own. This was my opportunity to really live, right? To do crazy and unexpected things, to make mistakes and have experiences I’d never had before.
Well, Ian ticked all those boxes. He was totally new, totally unexpected. He might be a mistake. But, god, what an experience he was already.
I tilted my head back, felt his shoulder under my head. I let out a long breath as his hands traveled up my stomach to my ribcage, halting just beneath the underwire of my bra.
Which bra was I wearing? I suddenly couldn’t remember. I hadn’t changed my bra or underwear, and now I couldn’t remember what I’d put on that morning. Something at least remotely sexy, hopefully. Please god, not the plain white comfy bra. Please god, not the stretchy white cotton granny panties. Shit. I’d totally put those on. I knew I had. It would be just my luck, of course. I mean, why wouldn’t I have put on my most comfortable undergarments for an eight-hour transatlantic flight?
“You’re thinking again, aren’t you?” Ian asked.
“How do you know?”
“You go tense. You were getting all nice and melty there for a moment, and then you just suddenly went tense. What were you thinking about?”
“You really want to know?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I sighed. “I was wondering which bra and underwear I’d put on this morning. I couldn’t remember.”
“Why does it matter?” Ian’s thumbs brushed against the underwire, and if I wasn’t tense before, I was right now.
“Um, hello? Because you’re about to see them?”
“I am?”
I stifled a groan as he traced the outline of my bra, then moved around to my underarms and then back to my sternum. Back and forth, back and forth, teasing me and leaving me to wonder whether or not he’d dare move upward. “Yeah, probably.”
“Probably, huh?” He touched the cup of my bra now, tracing the same line across my torso but doing so over the fabric of my bra. “Just probably? Sounded more definite a second ago. But again, why does it matter which set you’re wearing?”
“Because what if it’s not a set? I was traveling, and I wasn’t expecting…this. So I probably put on something comfortable, which wouldn’t match, and is probably the least sexy and most unflattering set of underwear I own.”
Ian rumbled in laughter. “Allow me to reassure you, somewhat: I don’t care. You know why? Because this time around, at least, your bra and underwear will only be on you long enough for me to get them off. You can play sexy lingerie dress-up for me next time, how about that?”
“Next time?”
“Next time.” He slid his hands up my sides. “But that’s then. This is now. And right now, I couldn’t care less what you’re wearing beneath your clothes, because all I care about is what you look like in your bare skin. That’s what I want to see.”
“It is?”
“Mmm. Oh yes.” Ian’s lips nuzzled my ear, his voice buzzing. “Every inch of your bare skin.” His lips skated down and I felt his teeth nip my earlobe, eliciting a breathy moan from me.
“That’s a lot of inches, Ian.”
“Good. Just the way I like it.”
“For real?”
“Mmmmhmmmm.” His teeth nibbled at the thin skin of my neck, and his hands cupped my tits over my bra. “I like a woman with curves.”
“Well, curves I’ve got,” I said, reaching back to thread my fingers in the hair at the back of his head, arching my back.
“Goddamn do you ever,” Ian muttered, kneading my breasts and grazing his teeth on the tendon of my neck before kissing the hollow of my throat. “Such hot, sexy, beautiful curves. And I’m going to thoroughly enjoy them all.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“You know what I like the sound of?” Ian asked, tugging the cup of my bra down to expose my nipple.
“What’s that?”
“The way you moaned just then.” His fingers found my nipple and pinched, twisted. I moaned for him again, and he growled in his throat. “Yes, just that way.”
I’d already made the decision, hadn’t I? He had his mouth on me, had my boobs in his hands and his erection pressed up against my back. I wanted this. It might be a mistake, and I might end up getting hurt, but fuck it, right? You’re only young once, and how many times in my life would I have a sexy-as-fuck British hunk in my apartment seducing the clothes right off me? Maybe never again. And if the shivers down my spine and the heat building between my thighs were any indication, Ian was going to rock my world into crumbly, melty pieces.
He tugged the cup of my bra down further, sliding his palm under my boob, lifting it to rest on the cup, rubbing my nipple with his thumb, strumming as if it was a guitar string. And my, oh my, I was vibrating and humming like a taut string, each touch drawing sounds from me.
“I feel like maybe this would be easier if you just took my shirt off,” I suggested, lifting my arms up over my head.
“I think you’re right,” Ian said.
A single tug and my T-shirt was flying across the room, landing on the arm of the couch. My nipples, now bare to the air, tightened further, stiffening to hard peaks. Ian stood beside me, his mouth laving its way across my breastbone, his hands skating up my back to undo the hooks of my bra.
He fumbled for a few seconds, then straightened to look over my shoulder. “Sorry, I’m normally better at this,” Ian said. “It shouldn’t be that hard, but they just…”
I laughed. “It’s fine. There are a lot of hooks to undo. A pain in the ass to put on and take off, but it’s comfortable.” I was about to reach back and help him when he finally freed the first hook, then made quick work of the rest. “I think it might actually be a litt
le reassuring that you’re not more adept at it, actually.”
With a final pull-and-release, my bra was loose and Ian was brushing the straps off my shoulders. I let the garment fall off, and stood topless in front of him. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest, finding Ian’s hungry scrutiny hard to bear without flinching. In the end I lost the battle, my hands coming up and my arms crossing over my breasts, my cheeks hot, my heart pounding like a drum.
“Why’d you cover up, Nina?” Ian’s hands latched onto my wrists and gently but firmly drew my hands away. “You don’t need to cover up. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect.”
I shook my head in denial, but said, “Thanks, Ian.”
He just smiled at me, releasing my wrists so he could slide his palms up my ribcage to cup my heavy breasts, the fair white skin of his hands a contrast against my dark Latina flesh. His palms scraped over my nipples, and I bit my lip and hissed at the sizzling heat that scorched through me.
“Now, let’s see the rest of you.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the gap at the top of my cleavage, bending at the knees and sliding his tongue across the thrill-bumps on the slope of my boobs, cupping them and lifting them to his mouth, his tongue tip flicking first one nipple and then the other. I couldn’t help but gasp, sucking in air to replace the oxygen he was stealing from my lungs with each touch of his mouth to my flesh, each slide of his strong hands on my body. My nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping and tongue flicking, Ian reached between us to unbutton my jeans, drawing the zipper down in one smooth motion.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing his hands to stop him.
He reared back and met my eyes. “Something wrong? Am I moving too fast?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s just that you’re wearing too many clothes too. I’ve been dying for a look at your abs since you boarded that plane.” I didn’t wait for him to move or reply, instead I went to work myself.
I grasped a fistful of his shirt and tore it upward, over his head and off, throwing it to join mine on the couch.
Big Love Abroad (Big Girls Do It Book 11) Page 5
