by Roni Loren
His grip instantly released, and he broke away from the kiss, breathless. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I slid my hands into his hair. Every part of him that pressed against me was tense, as if he was the only thing standing between me and some avalanche. “Please, don’t stop.”
He turned his head into my palm and kissed it. “Not a chance.”
He grasped my wrist and trailed kisses down my inner arm until he reached my shoulder and gave it a gentle bite. I closed my eyes and worried I might simply sink into the sheets and never get out of bed. As long as he kept doing what he was doing, I couldn’t imagine anything worth getting dressed for again. I wanted to stay here, beneath him, feeling his mouth on mine, his body molded against me.
Foster’s mouth worked down over my sternum, touching and tasting and teasing. Then his lips were closing over a nipple, sucking firmly enough to make sharp bolts of pleasure shoot downward and make my clit throb—as if the erogenous zones were connected by some invisible wire. I shifted restlessly beneath him, and he clamped a hand over my thigh. His tongue flicked my nipple again. “Stay still, angel. Let me enjoy you.”
“I’m trying,” I said, desperation lacing my voice. “Maybe you should’ve tied me down or something.”
His head lifted, his gaze dark when it met mine. “Don’t tempt me.”
My vocal cords seemed to twist and knot, that dangerous look of his not unlike the scary one he’d given Gerald. Only instead of this one chilling me, it made me burn. “Yes, sir.”
His eyebrow lifted. “I didn’t ask you to call me that tonight.”
“What?” My mind scrambled for a moment. Then I realized what had rolled off my tongue—some weird automatic response. Sir. “Oh, right, sorry.”
His jaw twitched and so did his cock, right against my thigh. “Lie back and relax. One rule I’m breaking about first times tonight is that you get to come. Often.”
Before the oh even slipped past my lips, he dragged my boxers down my legs, leaving me in my white cotton bikini underwear. I remembered too late that I probably should’ve switched those for something sexier—not that I had anything really impressive. But before I had time to stress about it, I saw the heat flare in Foster’s eyes. He dragged a knuckle along the front of my underwear, the material clinging to my wet skin. “You’re so fucking sexy, Cela. Even more so because you have no idea.”
He probably said that to all the girls—an experienced guy who knew how to say the right thing. But somehow I couldn’t find it in myself to care. With the way he was looking at me, I felt fucking sexy. Powerful. “You’re not so bad yourself. Though I have a feeling you know exactly how crazy you drive women.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Women? Or you?”
I licked my lips. “Me.”
He hooked two fingers in the waistband of my panties and slid them down, leaving me completely bare while he still wore a low-slung pair of black track pants. “Believe me. The feeling’s mutual. All those nights you made those sexy sounds on this side of the wall . . . I can’t even tell you what that did to me.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “I probably have some idea. Remember, I’ve listened to you, too. Though, your noises weren’t always solo like mine.”
His eyes lifted to mine and darkened, as he ran gentle hands along my thighs. “Did that bother you?”
I wanted to look away but couldn’t. I also wanted to say no and brush off the question, but I couldn’t do that either. That stare of his was like feeding me truth serum, making it impossible to lie. “Part of me was jealous, though I had no right to be.”
“Hmm,” he said, his touch tracking lower, closer to where I most needed to be touched. “And the other part of you?”
Heat spread up my neck. “The other part of me was turned on, picturing it all. Picturing you.”
“Want to know a secret?” Two long fingers slid inside me, making me gasp with pleasure. “I knew you could hear us.”
My eyelids fluttered shut, his stroking fingers making it impossible to concentrate. “You didn’t care.”
The bed dipped as he situated himself between my thighs, all while continuing to touch deep inside me. “Oh, angel, I cared. I liked knowing you were listening—probably a little too much.”
His tongue slid along my folds, making me arch against his mouth. God, how was I supposed to form sentences when he was doing that? “You liked to torture me?”
He chuckled against my skin, his soft puffs of breath making my damp skin tingle and tighten. “Torture’s a favorite pastime of mine.”
He was torturing me right now, that talented mouth of his hovering right above my needy flesh. I tried to lift my hips upward, and he held me firm against the bed with his free hand. But before I could let loose a whimper of protest, he lowered his head, and his tongue was back on me, his fingers pumping inside me in time with the hot assault of his mouth.
“Oh, God,” I whispered, the tide rising inside me like a flash flood. I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and canted my hips against him, riding the growing waves of sensation. How could he bring me to the brink so fast? Everything inside me felt ready to crack open already. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, but when he curled his fingers inward and sucked my clit between his lips, light flashed behind my eyelids and a sharp cry burst from me. He held onto me with his free hand, keeping my orgasm going until I thought I’d die from the intensity of sensation. Then he was easing away and letting me sink back into the bed.
I lifted my heavy lids. He was there between my knees, smiling like a wicked god—beautiful and dangerous. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. The move made my still throbbing sex, clench. “You’re good at the torture and the rewards.”
He slid his wet finger along my bottom lip. “Both can be fun. And maybe I would’ve felt a little guilty about you having to listen to me had I not heard you getting off whenever I was done with someone else. You’re a dirty little voyeur, Cela Medina.”
The words fell over me, chilling some of the bloom of warmth from the orgasm. Dirty. That inevitable stab of humiliation washed over me. He was right. What was wrong with me? The guy I liked had been screwing other women on the other side of the wall, and even through the jealousy, I hadn’t been able to stop my body’s reaction. Listening would make my skin flush, my panties wet, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I touched myself. “God, you must’ve thought I was pathetic.”
His grip on my hip tightened, displeasure marking his features. “Cela . . .”
I put my hands over my face, unable to handle that judgmental stare right now. The glow of orgasm was fading fast, and the reckless abandon of being too turned on to care shut down. Suddenly, the truth of the situation was there, swooping in. And as if it’d been lying in wait to claim me after all of the crazy crap I’d done since graduation night, shame enveloped me. Once again, I was fourteen and in the rec room at my parents’ house, my mother having a conniption because she’d caught me looking at a naughty site on the Internet. The words depraved, perverted, and sinful being thrown my way. I’d been dragged to the confession booth at church before the sun had set that day, my mother’s words ringing in my ears. What were you thinking, Marcela? Imagine if your father had seen.
And I’d felt wrong, so very wrong, for not just looking but also liking what I saw, feeling my body stir and heat at the scenes portrayed. It’d been the first time I’d felt separate from that nice, obedient girl I’d been raised to be—different and other. Bad.
I tried to roll from beneath Foster, but he slapped my thigh with a sharp pop. I gasped, the pain snapping me out of my memory and freezing me in place. But still, I couldn’t face him.
“Look at me, Cela,” Foster commanded.
I shook my head, my hands staying over my face.
He grabbed my wrists and pried my hands away, pinnin
g them alongside my head. His face was inches from mine when I forced my eyes open. “Don’t you dare be embarrassed.”
“Foster, please, I can’t.” I focused over his right shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes.
He released one of my wrists and cupped my jaw—none too gently—guiding my gaze back to his. The firm grip both shocked and focused me all at once. “Listen to me. You will not lie here and feel ashamed. That’s unacceptable, angel.”
I blinked, stunned—both at the ferocity of his tone and the instant oh yes melting reaction of my body under his. God, what the hell was wrong with me? He was pissed and pinning me down, and I was getting hotter?
“Of course I never thought you were pathetic. I thought—think—you’re the sexiest damn woman I’ve ever seen. I’m a voyeur, an exhibitionist, and a laundry list of other things that would probably make most people want to lock me up in a padded room. I should be the one worrying that I’m going to freak you out with the things that get me going. So don’t you dare apologize for what turns you on. Ever.” His thumb grazed my parted lips, a glimmer of gentleness despite his firm hold. “You understand?”
I closed my eyes, trying to find my breath and my voice. “Yes.”
He let out a breath and released my jaw. “Open your eyes, Cela.”
I complied, finding his dark blue stare warm and determined in the lamplight.
He took the wrist he’d pinned down and brought my arm down in between us. He pressed my palm along the heat of his erection through the soft material of his pants. Instinctively, I closed my fingers around its hard length, need firing in me anew. “This is what you do to me. Feel how much I want you. You’re not pathetic, you’re maddening.”
The words wrapped around me, soothing the vulnerable places that had cracked open and stoking the embers of my desire for him. Somehow Foster knew exactly what to say to and do to bring me back from the brink of panicking and reminding me that the only one judging me was me. I stroked along his erection, the heat of his skin searing me even through the fabric of his pants, and felt the shudder go through him—the quiet rumble of his own desire radiating outward and making the muscles of his arms and chest flex and ripple above me.
“What gets you going, Foster?” I asked softly, desperate to know what he was holding back, what he thought would freak me out. “What’s on your list?”
His smile was rueful as he lifted up, shucked his pants, and pulled a condom out of the pocket before tossing them to the side. “Right now, number one is to fuck you until you make those noises I love to hear so much.”
“Good plan,” I said, a little breathless as I watched him tear open the condom packet and roll the latex over his length with deft fingers. I didn’t know if I’d ever get over seeing him naked. No man should be allowed to be that gorgeous. It was unfair, really, an embarrassment of riches that he was smart and successful on top of that. But despite the mouthwatering view, I didn’t miss his deflection of my question. “But you’re not going to tell me the rest of your list, are you?”
He braced on his elbows over me, his gaze gentle. “I’m just your one-night stand, angel. There’s no reason to go there.”
“Is it that bad?”
But instead of answering, he was kissing me again—a deep and passionate takeover of my sensory system, blotting out my thoughts and questions and replacing them with only awareness of skin on skin and my need for him. In every stroke of his tongue, every caress, I could feel that this was it, the last time we’d touch this way. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding on with everything I had, and opened my body to him.
With sure movements, he grasped the underside of my knee, lifting it and positioning himself at my entrance. Before I could take in a breath or prepare for the pain, he was pushing inside me. But instead of the sharp agonizing seconds of our first time, the stretch of my body around him, that sense of fullness, sent intense pleasure snaking up my spine. I groaned, my nails digging into his back.
“I second that,” he said, releasing my earlobe from between his teeth. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I said, arching up to take more of him inside me. “I’m so very, very okay.”
He laughed softly against the curve of my neck and rocked his hips back to thrust with a little more strength this time. I gasped in pleasure. “Things only get better after that whole virginity thing is out of the way.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said on panted breaths.
But as he moved inside me, murmuring both sweet and dirty things against my skin and touching me in ways that made every part of me light on fire, I knew one thing for sure. I’d better enjoy the moment because the words were a lie.
Nothing was going to be better than this.
Or him.
And hours later, when I stirred from the exhausted sleep I’d fallen into after Foster had dragged out every last ounce of pleasure I was capable of, I could barely make myself roll over to see the inevitable. The other side of my bed—empty.
In the center of the wrinkled sheets where he’d lain was a small square of torn-edged paper. I reached out to flip it over. Familiar handwriting stared back at me.
Never Have I Ever.
It was my list with all the items scratched off.
Foster had given me my fantasies. Now we were done.
Chapter 15
I balanced on my tiptoes on the ladder, trying to cut in the paint near the ceiling. Why I had ever thought I needed to have this room maroon in the first place was a wonder. When I’d moved into the apartment, the white walls had seemed as stark as the labs I spent my days in at school. I couldn’t handle all that bright white and had tackled my first DIY project to make my bedroom cozier. But the apartment manager had told me that whatever painting I did, I’d have to undo when I moved out or be charged an extra two months’ rent to fix it. And of course, the guy at the paint store hadn’t told me that when it came time to cover up red, it would take an act of God and a truckload of primer and paint.
So the tail end of the week had been spent busting my ass at the clinic during the day and then coming home to work in a fume-filled room, watching my walls go from maroon to red to Pepto-Bismol pink. Now it was Saturday, and I hoped after one more coat, it’d start to resemble white again. My shoulders and arms ached, but I almost welcomed the physical distraction. Since the last night with Foster, I’d been able to think of little else than the way he’d looked at me when he’d kissed me good night—the good-bye eyes.
He’d called me once since then to apologize for leaving before I’d woken up that morning. He’d explained that he had to be at the office early that day and didn’t want to wake me since we’d stayed up so late. The phone call had been light and casual on the surface. But awkward as shit in the undercurrent. There’d been no mention of the note he’d left and no offer to get together for any reason in the future. The message had been clear. We weren’t anything more than two people who’d had a good time together.
And I refused to let myself turn it into anything more. The reason why he’d probably freaked over the virginity thing in the first place was because he feared I’d get all clingy and needy afterward. No way was I even showing a hint of that. No sirree. I was a strong, sexually liberated woman who could have a good time and walk away unscathed.
Right.
A door slammed on the other side of my bedroom wall, startling me. My hand flinched and a blotch of paint hit the ceiling. “Dammit.”
I grabbed a rag that I’d hung on the ladder and stretched to blot the paint. The ceiling had been white at one time, but the aged gray it’d become was definitely not a match with the new paint. Sonofabitch. Now I was going to have to paint that, too.
Music cranked up on the other side of the wall as Foster moved around the room. I tossed the rag down to the drop cloth below in frustration. Great, just what I needed—the torture of picturing Foster coming home fro
m work and stripping off one of those tailored suits of his. Tie unknotting, buttons flicking open, zipper lowering . . . that beautiful naked body striding across the room.
My insides clenched, and I had to grab on to the top of the ladder to keep myself steady. Another door sounded and heavy footsteps. Usually I couldn’t hear all of this so well, but I sensed Foster stomping around a bit, maybe mad. Did he have a bad day at work?
I shook my head. Not my concern. Focus. I dipped my brush in the paint can and rose up on my toes again, doing my best to reach the last corner and block out thoughts of the guy on the other side of the wall. But as I stretched one last inch, the ladder teetered beneath me.
“Shit!” I grasped for the wall, something, but it was a lost cause. My weight had pitched too far to the left, and I was going down. My shoulder crashed against the sticky wall, followed by the clanging ladder and the half-full can of paint. I landed half on my bed, then slid to the floor, pulling the drop cloth with me. All of my air left me with an oof, and paint spread along the floor like a creeping white oil spill.
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath and not cry. I’d gotten lucky on the fall, but the mess all around me was like ripping the last shred of fabric in my I’m-totally-together sham. The move. Graduation. New job. New guy. Losing my virginity. All of it piled on me, threatening to smother me with the weight of it all.
But I wasn’t allowed to wallow long. A loud rapping sound came from the other side of the apartment, yanking me from my spiral of doom.
“Cela!”
The booming voice was all-too familiar, and I almost couldn’t bring myself to go face it. But girl-who’s-okay-with-it-all wouldn’t be afraid to answer the door. That girl would be all cool and “Hey, what’s up?”
So with only a thread of dignity in tact, I wiped off my hands and pushed up from the floor. I stepped around the mess and made my way to the front door, where Foster was banging again, calling for me.
