by Anna Sugden
If she left, he might still be a virgin, but he wouldn’t have to deal with her knowing... Oh, wait, she already knew everything.
Crap.
Without saying anything, she shoved the pan into the oven, letting the door slam shut in a way that shook her pan on the stove top. Then, she marched to the table and sat down where he’d slammed down the paper.
“Okay, Mr. Superior, what do I say to the guy who has every reason to believe I’m a piecrust-burning idiot who doesn’t care when she fails?” Her eyes met his, green with temper, or maybe it was the purple top she was wearing.
If he understood why he wanted to smile, he might have been able to stop himself from doing it, which would have stopped her from smiling in return, which definitely would have stopped her from popping back out of the seat and pressing her mouth to his.
Wait. How. What?
Her hands brushed over his beard, and he knew he should either stop it or enjoy it, but mainly he could only stand there frozen trying to catch up. While her mouth slid against his, her hands trailed down his neck.
Her mouth separated from his, but only a hair. Her eyes met his, her lips a pretty curve of smudged red. “All you have to do is kiss me.”
Right. Sure. That was all he had to do. Easy. If he was just about anyone else. But he was him with all the bagg—
She trapped his face between her hands, all but forcing his gaze to hers. “Wes. All you have to do is kiss me back. And you can touch me if you want. There’s no reason to panic. I’m not running. I’m not laughing.”
She brushed a thumb over his bottom lip, then followed it with her tongue. Her hands sliding down over his shirt, then dancing along the hem.
“I—I’m not going to be d-distracted.” He cleared his throat and focused on not stuttering. “We had a deal.” Because, yes, instead of the kind of physical attention he’d been dying for for years, they should sit down and write out her phone call.
She laughed against his neck, her hands smoothing over his chest, still under his shirt. “I know. But you look so hot when you’re telling me what to do. I can’t help myself.”
Hot. Him. Hot. Hot? His first instinct was to argue with that. Surely this was all pity. The compliments, the eager kissing.
But, hell, a woman like Cara could probably wrap just about any man around her finger; why would she harbor enough pity to have sex with him? Maybe the fact was, they were attracted to each other. And she knew.
I know. It’ll be different.
So, he focused on what he could. The fact her lips were soft and patient, that even though her fingers tangled through his hair, she didn’t seem frustrated with it. That she thought he was hot enough to jump up and kiss.
If he thought about it in those terms, and only kissing terms, it wasn’t too hard to put his hands on her hips. To close his eyes and sink into her mouth, her warmth, the way she felt like a safe place.
“Mmm. Perfect,” she said against his mouth, on something like a sigh.
It couldn’t possibly be, but she almost made him believe it and it allowed him to enjoy. A few seconds of normal, perfect kissing.
* * *
“LET’S GO TO the bedroom,” Cara said, against his mouth because she couldn’t quite work up the strength to pull her lips that far from his.
“B-but...d-dinner.”
He looked so perplexed and confused, and it twisted her stomach into a million knots. She had to finish this. Just to prove to him he could, because it wasn’t about her. If she thought about it like that, she could...not run away herself.
Forcing a sassy smile, she flicked off the oven. “It’ll keep.”
“Right.” He curled his fingers into his palm and then released them. “Right. Keep. Right.”
“Wes.” His eyes blinked to hers, and she had to breathe through the fact he looked a little panicked and it made her feel panicked.
Oh, God, she was going to be sick. But, she couldn’t be, because she had to be the with-it one in this scenario. Terrifying.
Still, when she forced herself to lift an almost-not-shaking hand to his cheek, some of the rigidity in his shoulders eased. Which eased some of the fear jangling around in her chest. He needed this, and she could give it. She could.
“Everything is going to be fine,” she said resolutely, letting her fingertips trace where beard met cheek.
“Uh-huh.”
“It is. We’re going to do this. And...it doesn’t matter. Nothing you do really matters. You can’t scare me off. No one’s going to laugh. No one’s going to tell anyone outside this cabin anything.”
“Cara.”
“If something doesn’t work—you tell me. And if something doesn’t work for me—I’ll tell you. No drama. No worries. You are in very good hands.” She hoped. “Now, smile.”
He did something with his mouth. A kind of teeth-baring grimace. “That’s the absolute worst smile I’ve ever seen.” Which at least got his mouth curving a little more naturally.
“It’s going to be fine,” she insisted, irritated her voice came out whispery. She needed him to believe she could do this.
And if you fail? She shook the thought away, pressing her mouth to his, because kissing him got rid of that voice in her head. Kissing him got rid of almost everything in her head when he gingerly combed his fingers through her hair, when his tongue tentatively touched hers.
They were going to do this. Everything was going to be fine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT’S GOING TO be fine. Wes let Cara’s words echo in his head. The way she said them so solemnly, and suddenly he felt a certain kind of pressure to make it so. It wasn’t a bad pressure. No, it felt more like determination.
The determination didn’t flag through that kiss, or the next one, but when she pulled away, smiling and leading him into his bedroom, some of it deflated a little bit. The reality of the situation.
What if history repeated itself? Any of the histories? Getting too excited. Panicking. What if it was all too much no matter how determined they were?
Cara pulled off her shirt and let it drop to the ground, which was enough to silence the circus in his mind for a second. Her bra was something lacy and pink, like the one he’d caught a glimpse of that day she’d crossed her arms and unknowingly pulled her top down too far.
Even in the dim light of his room with sun-blocking curtains, her pale skin seemed to glow, each freckle a punctuation point to some dip or curve. She looked impossibly soft, and it was only fear that kept him from reaching out and touching her.
You will not be afraid. You are going to do this. She wants to do this, and so do you. He just had to get out of his own head. Somehow. The kissing helped. Maybe he should initiate it this time.
She pointed to his chest. “Your turn.”
He gave an idiotic nod and then pulled the shirt off himself, letting it fall next to hers. Jeez. This was getting...real.
She kept smiling, her eyes staying on his as she unbuttoned her jeans, and then he had no idea where she was looking because he was watching her unzip and push her jeans down over her hips. And then she was standing in front of him, in nothing but her underwear.
She nodded toward his waistband. Right. Follow her lead. He could do that. He’d been a soldier for years. He could definitely follow a lead. With less-than-steady fingers, he unfastened his pants and awkwardly stepped out of them.
Standing across from each other in their underwear. He couldn’t decide what would quell the raucous anxiety spiraling in his gut.
“You’re beautiful,” he forced himself to say, because at the very least he should offer her a compliment. A truth. Before all the insanity inevitably started pouring out of his mouth.
Her lips curved, and she crossed the room to him. “And you—” she placed her palms low on his abdomen and pushed them all the way up and over his shoulders “—are a work of art.”
“Way to put my compliment to shame.”
“Hush,” she murmured, before touc
hing her mouth to his, her body to his. It was a jolt, her soft skin against his, the warmth of her, the ease of her.
She had a way that made everything not easy but easier, and for a man like him, easier was everything. It was...possibility. This might actually be possible.
Maybe. If she kept kissing him like this, her hands in his hair, his palms against the smooth warmth of her back, it wouldn’t have to end up in disaster.
The tips of her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers, and he flinched, enough for her to stop kissing him.
“Tell me if you want me to pause, but I’m not going to stop unless you say you want me to stop.” She kissed the part of his cheek not covered in beard, fingers brushing against him.
He tried to swallow again, but it was hard to complete the action with his mouth completely dry.
Her hand closed around him, and he sucked in a breath. The last time he’d done this, he’d finished on the spot. All Liz had done was touch him, and somehow it had made everything after impossible. And—
“Wes.” Cara’s voice. Cara’s hand. Cara’s arm pulling on his neck so she could press a kiss to his mouth, her hand never leaving him. “Okay, so how about you follow my lead?”
But he didn’t want to just be a man along for the ride. He wanted to be a part of this. A willing participant. Who didn’t stop. Who didn’t freeze.
Anxiety and pleasure mixed up into one feeling, but slowly, as she kissed and stroked and occasionally said his name against his mouth, her perfume infiltrating everything, it morphed into mostly pleasure. Mostly good.
He worked up the courage to touch her hair, a gentle brush of fingertips over the silky strands at her temple. The slope of her shoulder, the curve of her back. She sighed, and he knew he should touch something more intimate, but...he couldn’t get to that step quite yet. “Um...”
“Are you close, Wes?”
It was strange how something about her saying his name in that easygoing, take-everything-in-stride voice she had anchored the moment. Away from the thoughts and the panic, he could just enjoy. His hands could smooth farther down her back, to the lacy edge of her panties. He could kiss her temple and say “yes” in her ear.
“Do you want to get on top?”
On top of her. Did he want that? Hell, he didn’t know. So he was honest. “I don’t know.”
“Or you could lie here beside me. Or I could try what I was going to do yesterday?”
“How about like...last night. A do-over.”
Cara’s mouth curved. “A do-over. I like that.”
“Okay.” He’d said it without stuttering. He was going to do this. And he wasn’t going to panic. Because Cara knew, and she wouldn’t judge him. It wasn’t high school; there was no one to tell. And they’d gotten this far, and everything was going to be okay.
She tugged down his boxers. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know...
She grasped him again, and he tensed. But he didn’t push her away. Not this time. Not with Cara. Still here. Still wanting this.
She stroked, then the heat of her mouth was on him. He watched through the shadowy dark, and he didn’t even know what he didn’t know but his brain had stopped functioning, so that was okay. All he could feel was her.
It was better than good. Fantastic. Amazing. “Cara, I’m...”
She pulled away. “Hold that thought.” There was a rustling sound. “Do you have, like, a lamp or something you could turn on?”
“Oh, um...” He was aching, dying possibly, but he moved to the bed and flipped on the little reading lamp clamped to his nightstand. Not much in the way of light, but enough to see she’d taken off her bra and climbed on to his bed.
There was an almost completely naked woman on his bed.
She burrowed down into the covers. “Come here.”
He stared at her breasts, shadowed in the weak light. She was gorgeous and doing this of her own accord. Here because she wanted to be, even after he’d been a total whack job.
He swallowed. Nerves, yeah, but not panic. He kicked his boxers off. Awkwardly he straddled her legs, her skin so smooth and perfect. He didn’t know what to do with his hands again, but she smiled up at him all beautiful and sweet, and then her hand wrapped around him, and she began to stroke, her eyes never leaving his face.
“But I—”
“Shh.” She smiled, all encouragement and ease.
It felt so good. Someone else doing it. Her legs brushing his, some strands of her hair brushing against his hands anchored on either side of her face.
So much better than being alone. All the time alone. “Cara.”
“It’s okay, honey. Go ahead.”
One more pump, and he couldn’t hold back his release. The wave of pleasure diluted the panic that she might not have wanted him to do that, because she’d told him to. And, damn, that felt good.
She was all easygoing normalcy.
How was this even remotely normal? He collapsed on to the bed next to her, and when she snuggled in, some of the panic took hold again.
“D-don’t you want me to d-do something f-for you?” What could he do? He didn’t know how to do anything.
But surely she expected...
She kissed him on the shoulder. “Nope. That was all for you. Baby steps. Relax. Recover. We’ll go eat and then move to the next step.”
She had wanted to do that for him. Had done that for him. He didn’t want to take baby steps. He wanted more. “Wh-what if I w-wanted to move on...n-now?”
* * *
CARA STILLED, NOT wanting her feelings on the matter to be too obvious. She was so turned on, she could barely move without whimpering.
“I want to try more,” he said without even stuttering. Not that his nerves seemed totally gone, but he was managing them. He wasn’t pushing her away, and he wanted more.
Yes.
“So.” She swallowed. It wasn’t the words so much as the actual implications that made them hard to say. “Actual sex?”
“J-just tell me what you want to do, and we’ll try it.” He watched her, his eyebrows drawn together and a scowl on his face. She liked that. Liked that he was talking to her. It might not magically make this work, but it was the only key he hadn’t tried. Talking, explaining himself.
It had to unlock this mental block. Didn’t it?
“I don’t know if I can,” he continued. “Maybe I’ll push you away again, but I want to try. Whatever it is you’d want to do, what you’d normally do if I wasn’t...you know.”
“Do you want to have sex with me, Wes?”
“That’s not even a real question, Cara. Of course I do. I just don’t know if I can.”
“But you want to try?”
“If you do.”
“This is getting circular.”
“Tell me what to do. I’m good with orders. I can follow orders.” He nodded like that had to be it. The secret to solving all his problems. And, who knew, maybe it was.
“Ooh, I get to be in the driver’s seat? Well, hey, there’s my first.”
He smiled. A Wes smile, kind of a quirk rather than wide and toothy. But a smile nonetheless. “Well, maybe some other time I can tell you what to do.” His smile died. “I—I mean, um, if—”
She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. Talking about other times freaked her out, and there was only one freaker-outer allowed in the bedroom, and Wes had already won that title.
So she kissed him, letting her fingers trail over the muscles defined in his arms, his shoulders. “Touch me, Wes,” she said against his mouth.
He hesitated, both kissing and touching, but after a moment a hand rested on her hip. Just rested there. Like when they’d kissed in the bathroom yesterday. That wasn’t going to work for her.
“Sit up,” she ordered. He did so without asking questions.
She crawled on to his lap, still wearing her panties. She rubbed against him until he groaned. Mmm, she liked that groan.
“Now
, touch me. Really.” She took his wrists and placed his hands on her rib cage, palm first. And then with gentle pressure, she tugged them upward until they were cupping her breasts.
She could hear his swallow in the quiet of the room, and then she rubbed against him again. His eyes fluttered closed.
“Keep your eyes open, honey.” She smiled when he did. “Watch.” Because she wanted him to see—not just to experience, but so he would know and understand what he could do.
She took the index finger of his hand and moved it across her nipple, sighing at the current of pleasure that waved through her. With very little guidance, he did the same with the other hand. Back and forth until she dropped her hands to his shoulders, arching so he’d do more. Touch more.
“Mmm. Fast learner.”
“I do get the gist of the whole sex thing,” he said hoarsely.
She did her best to arch an eyebrow, to make a challenge with her expression before she bent her head and trailed her tongue around his nipple. When she pulled her head back up, he was staring at her openmouthed. She wanted to hug him. For a minute or two. And then proceed. But sometimes he so needed a hug.
So, she indulged, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a little squeeze. When she loosened her hold, he kissed her shoulder, then the top of her breast, then right above her nipple. She whimpered, desperate for more and then—Oh—he did what she’d demonstrated, and her head fell back as she moved against him. His hands roamed down her sides, then back up again, fingers brushing over her nipples, watching his own hands quite intently.
He explored and she let him, because he needed it, because she needed it. Sex had always been easy, a light thing, but this wasn’t light. Every touch of his fingers, or his mouth, was like a heavy weight. Somehow exhilarating and terrifying and meaningful.
Wes was in no hurry, and she wished she could be patient for him. She wished she could be exactly what he needed, and maybe if she didn’t feel that weight, that fear that this was so much more than easy, she could be that.
But, nope, she needed action. She needed to get out of this place where each gentle caress, each increasingly confident kiss stroked more than just her skin. She felt it all deeper, and she wanted nothing to do with that.
