Saving Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  The mattress shifted as Brendan eased down beside her. She closed her eyes, focusing on his proximity, the woodsy scent that drifted with it.

  For a moment he simply sat, still and quiet. She wondered where he would touch her first, each part of her body livening as she visualized his hands there. Her shoulders, maybe. Her waist. The curve of her ass. The tender skin on the insides of her thighs, or the expectant, swollen flesh just beyond.

  She heard the zipper on the back of her dress before she felt it, so light and careful were his fingers. The pressure of the tight garment eased and a slight draft moved over her exposed skin before his palm warmed it, flattening beneath the splayed halves of fabric.

  She fidgeted pleasantly as he spread his fingers across her back. She was a tall, curvy woman with a robust figure, but Brendan’s big hand made her feel dainty and petite, like the five-foot-nothing, perky-breasted women she’d always envied. Soon he had both hands on her shoulders, and she wriggled to help him pull the dress over her arms, then her hips, resettling on her stomach as it hit the floor.

  He inched closer, his thigh pressing against hers. With her face on her hands she could just see his bare legs out of her peripheral vision as he undid the clasp on her bra. His fingers smoothed the red marks the straps had left on her skin.

  “This bra doesn’t fit you right,” he murmured playfully. “You should buy a new one.”

  She laughed bitterly. “That’s a slightly more complicated purchase than your boxers.”

  He hummed thoughtfully, kneading his knuckles over her back. The motion was relaxing—too relaxing. Need thrummed harder and harder at her core, and impatience prompted her to push up to a sitting position.

  His expression registered surprise in her sudden movement but she ignored it, tossing her bra to the floor and scooting into his lap.

  His brow furrowed as he steadied her with hands on her hips. “Sorry, was that not—”

  “It was fine,” she told him briskly, guiding his palms to cup her breasts. “But this is what I want.”

  He paused, his hands hovering over her breasts, awkward and uncertain. She pressed them into place and reached between them to grip him through his boxers, pleased with the wet spot that appeared on the cotton when she rubbed it over his crown.

  “What are you in the mood for?” she asked, dropping her voice to a husky purr.

  “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, thumbs moving unevenly over her nipples. “What do you want?”

  She didn’t have to think about her stock answer. She leaned in close and whispered beside his ear, “Make me come. Use your mouth.”

  His erection throbbed in her hand, and an answering jolt pounded in her sternum, quickening her heart rate.

  “Whatever you say,” he replied smoothly, then put his finger under her chin and brought their lips together.

  Exasperation flashed automatically. She tried to avoid kissing after the first few minutes—it slowed everything down and, depending on the guy’s skill, had the potential to completely kill her buzz. She supposed she had to go with it for a minute or two, though, if Brendan seemed into it.

  She pushed her focus to the present, the physical, shelving the impulse to escalate their foreplay as quickly as possible. As he parted his lips she concentrated on his mouth, that lingering trace of red wine, the sultry, decisive sweep of his tongue over hers. She let herself sink into the kiss in the same way she had earlier, exhaling the anticipatory tension from her muscles, inhaling the scent of his aftershave as the tip of her nose brushed his cheek.

  She abandoned her ruthless pursuit of his groin and draped her arms over his shoulders, widening her focus to include the lazy, almost distracted movement of his hand over her breast. His thumb toyed with her nipple, circling it, brushing its taut peak. Then he closed his hand over the fullness of her breast, hefting it, the slightest sound in his throat indicating how much he enjoyed its weight. Something about that idle attention sent a sharp, insistent pang of arousal arrowing through her body and settling so hotly between her legs that she moaned, the sound so unbidden and startling her eyes popped open, suddenly self-conscious.

  Another hiccup, only this time he seemed to register her tension. He eased back to look at her, sweeping his thumb over her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said automatically, then sighed at the chiding skepticism in his eyes. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”

  Incredulity drew his brows together. “Why? No strings, remember?”

  “I know. And I know we’ve done this before, too. I’m not sure what’s bothering me.”

  “This is supposed to be fun, and if it’s not, we should wait. We don’t have to rush into anything tonight.”

  His gentle, understanding tone made her heart clench, and then something clicked. Brendan wasn’t just another guy who needed to be told what to do to get her off and then shoved out the door. He wasn’t a selfish, self-centered one-night stand. He wouldn’t leave her unsatisfied.

  She had to trust him.

  “Don’t move,” she instructed, then stood up from the bed. She blew out the candles, then opened the drawer in her bedside table and hauled out the cosmetics she’d stuffed inside, returning them to their typically haphazard arrangement. She crossed to the closet and opened the door, standing back as a wave of clothes and bags poured onto the floor. She made a vague attempt to kick the mess into a pile before turning to scan the bedroom, trying to pinpoint what still didn’t feel right.

  The sheets, she realized and motioned Brendan to the end of the bed while she untucked the flat sheet, threw back the duvet and tossed two ornamental pillows to the floor.

  “Much better,” she declared, meeting Brendan’s bewildered expression with a broad smile.

  “This is how it really looks,” she explained, sinking down beside him. “I promised to be honest and trust you. To give you the real me. Here I am.”

  One side of his mouth quirked. “I think there’s more to you than piles of clothes and an unmade bed.”

  “I’m serious. No man has ever seen my bedroom like this. Whenever I sleep with someone, I try to keep it tidy. So it never gets too intimate, and stays—”

  “Transactional?”

  Her attention sharpened at the word. “Exactly.”

  “I know.”

  “Vegas?”

  He nodded.

  “But you’re here now.”

  “You kept me at arm’s length, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. Or want to be with you again. Or hope you might let me get a little closer next time.”

  She held up her palms. “You can’t get any closer than this.”

  He tilted his head, his coy smile saying, Try me. He leaned around her to pluck something off the bedside table. When he resettled she saw that he’d picked up a pack of makeup removing wipes.

  “Oh, come on,” she protested, but he’d already tugged out a wipe.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She sighed exaggeratedly in response but did as he asked, folding her hands in her lap.

  She was at his mercy, she realized with a mix of fear and excitement. Sightless, half-naked, the messy trappings of her messy life strewn around the room for his perusal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so exposed. Even the night she’d lost her virginity had been planned in advance, arming herself with condoms and practically throwing herself at her friend’s notoriously slutty brother at a party, gritting her teeth through his grunting and later driving herself home, relieved to have what she considered a stupid milestone out of the way. She thought she’d taken a big step when she agreed to spend a single night at five-dates-Cal’s apartment, but she spent the preceding days reading articles on how to style your hair before bed so it looked good first thing in the morning and arrived with more luggage than she’d bring on a week-long bus
iness trip.

  No, she decided as she heard Brendan shift closer. She’d never, ever been this vulnerable.

  She fought to be calm and relaxed, but she flinched at the first touch of the damp cloth. Brendan put a hand on her forearm, and its weight and heat were a welcome, anchoring contrast to the cool material sweeping over her cheeks, along her forehead, over her eyes.

  “There you are,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to find his approving smile.

  “You haven’t run screaming. That’s a good start.” She attempted a humorous grin, but he was having none of it.

  “Lie down,” he instructed.

  She flopped back against the pillow, marveling at her newfound ability to surrender. If any other man had said that she would’ve bristled, wrestled for control of the situation, maybe kicked him out altogether. But as Brendan eased her panties over her hips and onto the floor, she felt totally safe. No need to resist, no impulse to take what she wanted. He’d give it to her eventually—she knew he would.

  He splayed one of his big palms on her stomach and she luxuriated in her nudity, stretching her arms and arching her back, wanton and confident despite the harsh lighting and lack of makeup. Her nipples stiffened anew under his gaze, her thighs instinctively pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building at their apex.

  There’s nothing left to hide from him, she realized with a jolt, her eyes lifting to meet his. He’d seen it all. The gambling. The debt. The selfish woman in Vegas who lapped up his body and then tossed him like a broken champagne flute.

  Yet here he is. A different kind of heat suffused her body as he parted her knees and spread her wide, one that burned behind her eyes and into her throat, aching through her lungs and balling in her heart.

  He was such a good, good man. Whoever he found in Nebraska better deserve him, because she sure as hell didn’t.

  The thought of some anonymous future woman putting her hands on him sent an irrational pang of jealousy slicing through her stomach. She pushed it aside, concentrating on his fingers running up the insides of her thighs, registering the way he was repositioning himself between her legs.

  “Don’t let me be selfish,” she told him huskily, clamping a stilling hand on his wrist. “Make sure I give you what you want, too.”

  “This is what I want,” he replied, then ran his tongue along her swollen, aching slit.

  The noise that wrenched from her throat at that first touch must’ve been the sound of her brain vacating her skull because at that point any semblance of coherent thought gave way to pure, primal, all-consuming sensation. She writhed as he pinned her thighs against the bed, dragging the flat of his tongue up and down her core, then teased her clit with its tip. Her eyes squeezed shut and her breasts heaved as he tormented and tantalized, slowing exactly when she needed him to speed up, repeatedly bringing her to the edge of climax and then yanking her back. Her stomach muscles became sore from trying to evade his touch when it was too much and encourage it when it wasn’t enough, and she shoved a restless, frantic hand through her hair as sweat broke out on her forehead.

  When he slid his forearms further beneath her thighs and traced focused, unrelenting circles around her clit, she knew she had to pull herself together. It took every ounce of her will to drag herself out from under the heavy, inviting tide of her impending orgasm and push up to her elbows. She threaded her fingers through Brendan’s hair and pulled—hard—to bring his gaze to hers.

  His eyes were bright but dazed, like green glass weathered by the ocean, and it took him a second to blink to awareness. “What?”

  “Not like this.” She planted her foot on his shoulder and pushed him away. “Condoms under the bed.”

  He stared at her. She poked through her sluggish thoughts, trying to figure out what she could’ve said wrong. Finally she came up with, “Are you not ready?”

  “I’m ready,” he said roughly, standing and stripping off his boxers to show her the evidence. “I was just thinking about why you’d keep condoms under the bed instead of the drawer.”

  “You’re lucky I find that bizarro brain of yours so attractive because that is a weird thing to say given the circumstances.”

  “You never told me you found my brain attractive,” he responded teasingly, dropping to the floor to fish under the bed.

  “Of course I do. The crazy stats, the obsessive analysis, the annoyingly spot-on non-sequiturs… What’s not to—”

  She literally bit her tongue to stop the word from leaving her mouth. She didn’t love him. She wouldn’t love him. She wasn’t sure she had the capacity to love anyone, ever.

  Sex without commitment. No strings. Friends with—

  “Found them.” He returned to the bed.

  “Let me do the honors.” She pinched the top and slowly rolled the latex over his shaft, marveling at how small her hands looked as she circled it with thumb and forefinger.

  “Do you want to be on top?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind. In Vegas you said—”

  “I know what I said.” Well, she didn’t remember the exact words, but she could assume it was a variation on her standard line. I only come when I’m on top. Translation: I come a lot faster when I’m on top, and I want to make sure you don’t leave me hanging.

  She eased onto her back and opened her legs to him. He could take as long as he liked.

  Brendan stretched out above her, supporting his weight on his elbows. She swept the fingers of one hand through his hair and planted her other hand on his taut ass, pressing him lower. She felt the heat and hardness of him jutting against her abdomen, the latex slick against her skin.

  He traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. She felt his fingertips tracing the edge of her fresh bikini wax, then one finger slipping lower, testing her slickness, venturing inside.

  She moaned her objection, pushing his hand away. “Not nearly enough.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “You know.” She shifted impatiently beneath him.

  “Tell me.”

  She crossed her wrists above her head, giving him the sultry, pleasure-drunk smile he was angling for. “You. I want you, in me. Now.”

  He obliged with a groan, positioning himself at her opening, then pushing inside in a single, unhesitating stroke.

  She swore hotly at the delicious pressure, the simultaneous fulfillment of his body and her heightened need for more. She hooked her ankles together behind his back as he began a smooth rhythm. He stubbornly ignored her hands kneading his hips to move faster, and after a few seconds of frustration she breathed out and closed her eyes, reminding herself yet again to trust him, to relax and let her arousal move at its own pace.

  Despite Brendan’s calm, unhurried ministrations, that pace turned out to be pretty damn fast. She fidgeted beneath him, feverish with swelling desire, each thrust briefly satisfying and then increasing her body’s demands.

  She was on the verge of telling him to hurry the hell up when it happened. Her orgasm blindsided her, descending unannounced, as fierce and sudden and drenching as a summer-afternoon thunderstorm. She gasped from the shock of it, dug her fingers into Brendan’s arms, arched her back as her jaw fell open and every muscle in her body clenched.

  Scorching pulses of pleasure throbbed from her core through her abdomen, thundering through her heart, lodging in her chest. More than once she thought her climax was subsiding only to have it rear up with renewed insistence, thumping harder, suffusing every nerve.

  “Fuck,” she exhaled, rediscovering her voice as the pulsing finally dissipated.

  “We are.” Brendan smiled wryly. As she got to grips with the situation she realized he’d paused to study her, the tension in his face showing the effort of his self-restraint.

  “You good?” h
e asked.

  “Good? Try amazing. I’ve never come for that long.”

  His smile spread into a grin. “At your service.”

  They shared a happy gaze for another second, then she shifted her hips to encourage him to move.

  “No one told you to stop.”

  She caught a gleam in his green eyes before he ducked his head, glancing between them at the place where they came together as he resumed the rhythm.

  She relaxed against the pillow, her muscles loose and melty, her core still so sensitive with the aftershocks of her orgasm that Brendan’s thrusts were welcome, each one sending a reminding shiver of pleasure down her legs.

  Typically this was the point at which she lost all patience and found herself mentally composing emails, rearranging her to-do list, and getting more and more eager to wrap things up. At a certain point she would do or say whatever was necessary to get her partner off and send him out the door, but not tonight.

  Instead of feeling trapped or uncomfortable, she actually enjoyed the weight of Brendan’s body above her. Instead of closing her eyes and letting her mind wander she drank in the view of his face, what she could see of his chest, the muscles standing out in his arms. Instead of willing him to finish she savored him, lifting her hips to meet his strokes, arching her back to sip at his lower lip.

  “You are so sexy, Brendan Young,” she purred, running her hands along his ribs, smoothing them over his narrow haunches.

  He grunted in response, increasing the pace. She murmured encouragement, tightening her crossed ankles to urge him deeper. Soon his thrusts became sloppy, quick and harried, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh competed with their heavy exhalations. She relished the slick sensation of his erection sliding in and out, harder and harder. When he pushed inside and stayed, stiffening, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He pressed his cheek against her temple as he came, the shuddering jerks of his climax accompanied by a breathy, sighing moan that pulled hard at her heart.

  She’d never been so pleased to see a man come, or so sorry he’d finished.