by Jo Raven
His teeth scrape lightly on my lower lip, and lightning bolts of arousal go straight through me, until I think I’ll go crazy. I need to feel him inside me, and holy shit, since when am I so desperate for a boy? Never happened before. None of this has ever happened before.
I’m falling hard. Tumbling head over heels. And I should stop myself before I crash.
He releases my tingling mouth and presses our foreheads together, his cock sliding back and forth on my stomach, warm and wet. “Shit, I need… need you.” He pulls back, his gaze colliding with mine, dark with desire, raw and earnest.
Don’t read anything into what he says, my mind warns. He just wants to fuck—and that’s what I want, too, so why not? We are both adults.
Another notch on his bedpost. Last night it all seemed like a dream, but now? Do you really want to do this to yourself, Amber? Offer your body, offer your heart, only to have it throw away come tomorrow?
He rolls his hips, his very naked, muscular and aroused body gliding against mine, and rational thought flees. A shiver goes through him. He lowers himself on one elbow and uses his freed hand to trace my breasts and toy with my stiff nipples, then to touch me between my legs.
An incoherent moan escapes me when he finds my clit and presses down, his mouth curling up in a faint smile—that faint smile I love so much, the one that reaches his eyes.
“Need you, too,” I pant and fumble between us, finding his hard cock and gripping it. “Inside me.”
In case there was any misunderstanding.
“Dammit, kitten.” He dips his head back down, mouth hovering over mine as he rocks into my hand. “Condoms.”
“I’m on the pill.” I try to catch my breath as he fingerfucks me slowly, a counter rhythm to the increasingly frantic movement of his hips. “Please.”
He growls deep in his chest, draws his fingers out and replaces them with the head of his cock. His eyes turn to dusky emerald as he pushes into me, inch by delicious inch.
I cry out, clutching at his shoulders. So big, stretching me, filling me so completely I shift to ease the burn. I push and pull on his shoulders, unable to say what I need.
Then he plants his hands on either side of me and starts to move. The play of muscles on his chest and arms is impressive, but what draws my eyes even more is the look on his face, his mouth slack with pleasure, his eyes hazed, and in them a flicker of fire.
He draws out an inch or two, slams back in, and it’s all I can not to close my eyes as pleasure floods me. It runs in rivulets down my nerve endings, achingly sharp, incredibly strong, a rising wave that begins deep inside my core and spills over, rushing over my body.
I’m drowning. He thrusts faster now, small grunting sounds leaving his throat, and the drag and pull on my sensitive folds, on the nub of my clit, against my inner walls, is maddening. Toe-curling good. Amazing.
The pressure is building up fast, and I can’t help the moans and cries spilling from my mouth. Never thought I’d be so vocal during sex. Guess I was wrong. About so many things.
About being able to resist him, for starters.
And now oh God, he’s changing his movements, circling his hips, torturing me. He shifts his weight on one hand so he can grab my leg and pull it up, around his hip, so he can push deeper into me, slam harder.
Pleasure unfurls where he’s thrusting into me, the dam breaks, and I cry out his name as I come in exquisite spasms. My vision goes black at the edges as I tighten around him. My nails leaves gouges in his shoulders, my body out of control, grinding against him, his hard cock drawing the orgasm out until I think I’ll pass out from the sensations racing through me.
“Goddamn.” His teeth grit, and his movements grow jerky and uneven, his hold on the back of my thigh bruising. “You feel so good. So tight. Christ. I’m gonna blow, can’t stop…”
I clench around him, turned on beyond words as I watch him come apart. “I want to see you come.”
“Oh fuck…” His mouth falls open, eyes fluttering close, his hips rolling so fast the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. “God, I fucking love you.”
His cock swells impossibly big inside me, forcing another cry of pleasure out of me, before his orgasm hits. His hot cum splashes inside me, triggering another mini orgasm, and he buries his face in my neck as he shudders, his whole body jerking as he comes hard.
I cling to him, riding along the waves of his release, wondering if one can die of pleasure, and all the while what he said rings inside my head in a loop, deafening any other thought.
“Fucking love you.”
He doesn’t mean it. He barely knows me, and besides, it’s just sex talk. Bet he says that to all the girls. Bet he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Bet he won’t remember it in five minutes.
But I will.
“What are you making?”
His voice behind me startles me enough that I drop the towel I’m using to dry my hands. I turn around quickly and lean back against the kitchen counter.
“Breakfast.” I swallow against my nervousness, my palms slipping on the counter edge. “You know, what people eat in the morning.”
His mouth tilts up in a sexy grin, and I have to consciously close my gaping mouth and drag my gaze away—but man, a half-naked Jesse live in my kitchen sure is a breathtaking sight. In the slanting morning light pouring through the window, his bare chest seems cast in gold and copper, the sculpted muscles of his arms look unreal. He’s wearing his baseball cap backward, and with his eyes gleaming as he takes in the signs of my cooking efforts spread over the table, he looks achingly young and happy.
Also damn hot, and I resist the urge to fidget and giggle. Giggle! Me. No way. After all, we did spend the night together, and I’ve kissed my way down his awesome body, tasted him, had him inside of me.
No giggling is allowed, and I should look as relaxed and laid back as he is. Only problem is, he’s probably done this a million times—slept with a girl and then proceeded to act as if nothing has happened. Okay, so he said he’s never done this before, this sleeping-in-a-bed, taking-the-time-to-lick-and-taste thing, but can I trust him?
Not sure, no matter how cute he is. How devastatingly handsome he is.
Crap.
“Can you show me?” He lets his arms fall loosely to his sides, and my gaze dips to his low-slung, faded jeans. This isn’t one of the pairs we bought together. Nope, these are old and soft, worn almost transparent in places. One big rip shows me his tanned knee.
How can I be ready to jump back into bed with him when I was in his arms—and pinned underneath him, writhing in pleasure—less than an hour ago? He’s turning me into a nympho.
Totally his fault.
“It’s a recipe my dad likes to make when I’m home.” And speaking of which, I should call them, see how they’re doing. They were thinking about coming to visit. “It’s breakfast muffin cups.”
“Sweet, huh?” He leans over the bowl where I’ve mixed the ingredients. “Like cake?”
“No, these are salty. You make the basic mixture with flour and eggs and milk, but you can add cheese and ham and bits of dried tomato. Never had them?”
“Show me how to make them.” He’s looking at me eagerly, his eyes shining. “I wanna learn.”
I open my mouth to ask if he’s kidding me—boys, in my experience, aren’t really into cooking—but I recall what he told me, about having a kitchen for the first time and wanting to learn how to prepare food.
“Sure. I’ll show you.” I grab the silicon baking molds and the spoon, then gesture for him to take a seat. “I can give you the ingredients and quantities. You mix them up well, and then you preheat the oven. Pour the mixture into these molds,” I demonstrate, filling one after another, “shove them into the oven and wait until they turn golden and crispy on top.”
“Let me try.” He reaches for the bowl and spoon, and I pass them to him. He fills the molds, his eyes lighting up in delight.
I turn my face away. Weird how t
his moves me. I get a feeling I’m seeing a side of him nobody has ever seen. That he has let down his defenses and is trusting me not to mock him.
If anyone can understand that fear, it’s me.
We put the cups into the preheated oven, and as soon as I turn around, he backs me up against the counter, his warm breath ghosting over my mouth.
“I have to go to Damage Control,” he says, and it takes me a moment to understand the words, fixated as I am on the green-blue of his eyes and the shape of his body pressed to mine. “Training. Zane wants to talk to me, too.”
That’s it, I think dazedly. This is when he says I’ll be seeing you around, that we can be friends and it was nice, thanks. Maybe that’s why he’s been showing me this disarmingly boyish side of him. He wants to be friends with me.
Not that this makes a lick of sense—I mean, why the heck would a guy as sexy and popular as Jesse want to be friends with me?—but my brain is off to la-la land with him so close and personal and in my space.
Probably also why I miss most of what he’s saying, until the word “wedding” catches my attention.
“Holy crap, I forgot about the wedding.” For about twelve blissful hours—the length of time Jesse has been here. “Shit.”
“Christ, the idea really scares you, doesn’t it?”
So close, I can’t hide from him.
“I have a bad feeling about it.” Then again I always do, when it comes to social gatherings. “I don’t have good memories from parties.”
“Time to make new ones then.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” The words spill out of me, my mouth going too fast for my brain to catch up. “Meeting up with girls at parties, have them suck you off is your way of making new memories?”
His grin fades. “And if it is?”
“Are you serious now?”
“What do you want me to say?” He pulls away, his jaw clenching. “It fucking worked until I met you. I thought it worked, anyway. I thought that what it was all about, and it was a damn deal better than having sex with older women for a few bucks.”
“And that’s supposed to make this any better?”
Holy crap. Don’t know why I can’t stop the words from falling from my mouth. Is it hormones—is it that time of the month already? I can’t whip up any conscious thinking to put a brake on my insecurities pouring out, disguised as accusations.
He rubs the back of his head and resettles his cap. The light in his eyes has dimmed. “Embers…”
Why am I trying to hurt him? I think I want him to get it over with—tell me it’s over, tell me the truth.
So I do it instead. “Are you going back to that? To making new memories with girls at parties? Are we just friends now?”
“Dammit, we aren’t friends.” His hands fist at his sides. “I can’t be friends with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you too fucking much.”
I nod, my throat tight, both relieved and disappointed. It’s just about sex, and I knew it, so why am I feeling so shitty right now? “Right.”
He sighs. “Hell, Embers, what do you want me to say?”
“The truth. That’s all. ”
I hear the door of Kayla’s bedroom creak open, and he hears it, too. He freezes for a second, then takes a step toward me.
“I want you. And I like you. I’ve never felt this way before, okay? I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’ve never had a girlfriend, for God’s sakes.”
A shiver wracks me. “What are you saying, JJ?”
“I’m saying…” He lifts a hand to my face, strokes his knuckles over my cheek, and his lashes lower, shadowing his gaze. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. Can’t we take it one step at a time? Let me take you to the wedding.”
“Okay,” I whisper and wonder if I’ve lost my mind completely for agreeing to this. “The wedding.”
And then we’ll see in how many pieces I can shatter.
Chapter Sixteen
Jesse
My nerves are shot. What the fuck was I thinking, making it sound like we have something? Talking of girlfriends and shit. Why, just because we slept together? That means nothing. I don’t have to promise anything. Hell, I can’t promise anything. I have nothing to give. I have no roots and no scruples. I’m a bastard orphan slut. Can it get any worse than this?
I stride into her bedroom and grab my T-shirt, dragging over my head angrily. Who am I bullshitting? Just sex. It wasn’t. Not for me. I know it in every fiber of my being. It was amazing. Mind-blowing. Unforgettable.
Like she is, and the way I need her is scaring the holy fucking shit out of me. For so long I convinced myself I don’t need anybody. After I lost Helen, I had to, or I’d have gone round the bend.
Never needed anyone until now. Lying with her in my arms, holding her, kissing her, planning to go to a fucking wedding reception with her…
Dammit, even now my heart booms at the thought and a grin spreads over my face. She makes me feel… warm inside. Good. Whole.
Happy.
And damn, I like the fact she doesn’t want me to be with other girls. Like she wants me for herself.
I want to make her mine. But I’ve never been anyone’s and never had anyone. How does that work?
Zane. I’ll ask him.
My decision taken, I relax and sit on the bed to pull on my socks and boots, taking in her room from this angle. She has more of her jewelry lining her walls, bracelets and pendants made of beads and wire. A photo of herself with two older people catches my eye. Takes me a moment to realize they have to be her parents.
Duh, J. This is what’s normal, not you. You’re the odd one out, with no family.
Rubbing a hand over my face, wondering why Amber would even think of hooking up with me, let alone be my girlfriend, I take one last look around and head out to say goodbye.
Voices drift over from the open kitchen door and I stall. One is Amber, and the other must be Kayla.
“I can see why you like him,” Kayla is saying. “I get it. I mean, that face, that chest, and ass-cheeks you can crack nuts between—what’s there not to like?”
The fuck?
“That’s not why I like him,” Amber says so quietly I can barely make out the words.
Hell. I’m not sure whether to be glad or worried. Nervously I tug on my leather band, then reach up to rub the demon on my chest. She doesn’t like the way I look?
“Girl, you’re your own woman. You do what you like with Mr. ManCandy. But don’t come crying to me afterward, okay? Ev told you about him. He chases after everything with a vagina. Don’t let him hurt you.”
I wince, although I deserve that. Weird how I hate that Amber is hearing it. As if she didn’t know… Yeah, right, J.
Still, I step out of the bedroom, determined to stop this conversation. Not sure I want to hear what else Kayla has to say about me.
“It’s not what you think,” I hear Amber say before I take a second step. “We’re not together or anything. It was a one-night stand. It means nothing.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Bitterness rises in my throat. This is stupid, this crushing disappointment at her words. But I asked her for a chance, didn’t I? I thought I did. I thought she’d give me some time.
Guess I thought wrong.
“Sit down, fucker,” Zane says, pulling off his rubber gloves and nodding at Tyler, who’s waiting at the cubicle door. “Be back in a sec.”
I do as told, sitting on the stool. My head is pounding and I rub at my temples, trying to ease the discomfort. My pulse thunders in my ears, way too fast. Hasn’t slowed down since I left her apartment.
I thought if I slept with her I’d lose interest. Instead, she’s the one pushing me away. This hasn’t happened to me before. Everything’s different with this girl. I thought she wanted to be with me.
The thought of losing my chance with her burns a hole in my chest.
Maybe… maybe that’s wh
y she asked me about being friends. Maybe that’s what she wants, unless it was a pretext to kick me out.
I hop off the stool, full of restless energy and pace back and forth.
You’re a good lay, J. Worth every penny. Now get out. You’re not good enough for anything more.
Shut up, shut up. I clap my hands over my ears. Funny how I thought those wounds had scabbed over, healed.
It shouldn’t hurt this bad. You’d think after spending my whole life being kicked around, thrown out on my ass and called names, carted from group home to group home, that I’d have a thicker skin.
But it does hurt. Because she’s not just any girl. Because… Because she means something to me.
Just stop feeling, I tell myself. Just stop. When will you learn that nobody wants you to stay?
“J. You okay, man?”
I whirl around, transported for a moment back to a back alley, looking for any weapon to protect myself with.
Tyler gives me a narrow-eyed look, leaning against the cubicle entrance, arms folded over his chest. His dark hair is cut short and looks wet.
“Zane wanted to talk to me. Where is he?” Need my smokes. I pat my pockets. Dammit, I don’t have them with me, probably dropped them at Amber’s apartment. Or during the fight with my roommates. Fuck.
“Calm down, buddy.” Tyler doesn’t move, which is a good thing, because if he as much as crowds me in right now I’ll punch his lights out. “Z-man’s on the phone, he’ll be back in a minute. Now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten your boxers in a twist?”
The scars on my arm itch and ache, and I back away a step.
Tyler’s older than the rest of us by a couple of years. He’s also the tallest of the group, and trying to calm down, like he suggested, is harder with him than with the others. He reminds me too much of the man in the alley—just like Gage, my roommate, does. Not their fault.
