by Liz Crowe
“What happened?” She put down the utensil and leaned forward. He moved away from her, chuckling and wiping his lips. “Brock. Look at me.”
He did. She frowned and gripped his chin. “Are you using?”
He wrenched out of her grasp and stood. “Fuck no. Jesus. I’m just…I don’t know…nervous.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“Excuse me, but I call bullshit on that.” She kept her seat, fighting the urge to go to him, to hold him close like she’d done in the mudroom of the lake house. But this was way worse. This was borderline hysteria. She stayed seated and waited for him to explain himself.
He paced the small confines of the room, rubbing his stubbled jaw or running his hands over his hair. He stopped and leaned against the small stove. “Aren’t you hungry?” He gestured to the untouched plates of food.
“No. Not really.”
“I’m sorry. I’m ruining our date.”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted, sipping her water, and waiting for more from him. The nurturer in her was clamoring to get at him, to hold him and soothe and promise all would be well. But the nature of their personalities meant that he had to come to that conclusion on his own. Anything she did to assure him would only allow him to shove whatever was eating him aside and under, undealt with, unexposed to the sunlight.
He sighed. His jaw unclenched enough for him to speak. “You’re not making this easy on me.”
“That’s not my place, Brock, and you know it.”
“I hate it that you know all the buzz phrases better than I do.”
She chuckled into her fizzy water, snorting when some of it went up her nose.
“Sexy,” he declared, handing her a tissue to blow into.
“Well, that’s one thing I assure you that I don’t worry about. Being sexy.” She kept her movements slow and non-threatening. The guy was twanging and sparking like a downed electrical wire. She knew she had to tread carefully. “You know you can trust me, right? That you can talk to me?”
He glared at her then seemed to collapse in on himself. Shoulders slumped, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, he was the epitome of misery.
“What happened, Brock?” She touched his arm and stood there, close enough for them to be considered a hair more than just friends.
“Caroline,” he began, but then spat out a curse and tried to shove past her. She blocked his way.
“Your old girlfriend. The one you talk about at meetings sometimes.”
“She’s… Dear Jesus, this is so lame. I can’t even stand to hear myself say it.”
“Nothing that has you this worked up is lame.”
He stood, staring down at the hand she had on his chest, stopping him from escaping the small kitchen area. Without another word, he pushed her hand off him and moved back to the stove. “I realize that you know everything about me. I can’t help but think…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “That you think I’m…”
“No, Kayla, honey. No.” He reached for her, dragged her close and held her tight. So tight she had trouble breathing. But she didn’t mind. Closing her eyes, she sucked in deep breaths of him. The soapy, clean manliness of him, devoid of sour beer or old cigarettes or week-old sweat. “It’s just me. And her. She’s… She’s getting married and she called to tell me, and it fucked me all up and if that isn’t the stupidest shit any man could say when he’s standing holding another woman in his arms, well I don’t know what is.” His voice was muffled as he had his lips pressed to her hair, but she heard every word. “God, this feels so good.” She shifted, molding herself into him, feeling the firm press of his muscles against her chest, stomach and legs.
“Yes.” She shifted her arms so they were up and around his neck. “It does feel good.”
“I’m no good, Kayla. I was no good for Caroline, and I won’t be any better for you.”
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” she whispered, unable to resist the impulse to touch her lips to his neck. She tasted saltiness there. “And I think you should let me decide who’s good for me and who isn’t. I’m hardly a teenager, you know.”
He chuckled into her hair but didn’t let go of her. “Okay,” she said as her need to taste his lips became too much to bear. “Brock?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m gonna make the move, now. You ready?”
He stiffened, but she held on tight, pressing soft kisses to his neck. “I don’t know why but I can’t not do it. So, here I go.”
She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. His face was a mask of anxiety and pain. But she decided to ignore that and go with her gut. Which was in slow meltdown mode again, leaving her languid and a little woozy. “I don’t think we should…”
But she shut him up, slanting her lips over his, making room for their noses. This time, she pressed her tongue to his lips and he opened himself to her, gripping her face and meeting her halfway in a tangle of tongues and teeth. A strange sort of shock hit her brain and traveled down her spine, settling low in her back and belly.
She gasped when he turned them, then picked her up and set her on the tiny kitchen counter, all the while keeping their lips locked. The urgency to feel him, to hold him close to her, skin to skin almost blinded her. Fear tried to trickle in around her edges but she shoved it away, ready for this, for him, for the whole nine yards, right fucking now.
He slid his hands up her arms, threaded his fingers in her hair and went deeper with the kiss, exploring every corner of her mouth before easing off, nibbling her lips, making her want to explode. When he held her closer, which forced her legs apart, she moaned into his mouth, not understanding any of this but wanting to so badly it was like a bright pain nestled in the center of her chest.
“I…I can’t…” he said, pulling away, panting for breath, his hands on her upper thighs. “Kayla, I’m sorry. But this… This isn’t right.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Anger pierced the fog of desire that had enveloped her. Her face felt white hot. Her belly felt heavy. Her legs and arms pebbling as if the room was charged, like it had been at the lake house for their first kiss. But he was moving in the wrong direction. The one away from her, leaving her sitting on the damn counter, legs spread, mouth hanging open. “Brock!”
His head snapped up. Eyes dazed and cloudy, he held up a hand and stumbled into the small living area adjacent to the bedroom. She jumped down and followed him, trying like hell to square what he’d done to her with what he’d said about it not ‘being right’.
“Oh, I see,” she said, arms over her chest. Her skin was getting that tight sensation again. The one she could only alleviate with razors and blood. “I get it. I’m the dirty girl. The one everybody’s fucked. The disgusting hole they’ve all shoved their dicks into. I don’t blame you for running away from me.” Her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall.
“No…Kayla…it’s not that.”
She looked down at his crotch, made a point to do it so he’d know she was staring at his erection. “You know what? Fuck you and your flirting and bullshit. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, and since you can’t seem to share it with me I think you need to leave.”
He was shaking as he hit the wall and sank down to his heels, hands over his eyes. “No, you don’t understand. I’m not right for you. I’m no good for…this.”
“For God’s sake, Fitzgerald. Just go. And don’t come back to the bar or anywhere else near me pretending you want another date.”
He kept backing away, as if her words had triggered something in him. In a few steps, he was up in her face, hands on her cheeks, his intent, beautiful eyes gleaming with the sort of want she had swirling around inside her. “I love you, Kayla. But I ruin the things I love.”
She was speechless at his proximity, or perhaps it was his words, but without a doubt the way their bodies seemed drawn to each other. A rogue tear slipped from one eye. “See? I’ve made you cry already.”
“Oh, dear
Jesus, shut up and kiss me, then.”
His smile was sad, but when their lips touched, she grabbed on to him and opened her mouth, her heart and her soul, willing him to feel and understand it. To comprehend the magnitude of her feelings for him—of her trust in him.
He dropped onto the stiff hotel couch, pulling her down with him. But before she could slide underneath him, he held her in place. “No. You sit here. You set the pace.” He nipped her lower lip then dove in again as she allowed herself to feel a man’s erect dick under his pants against her panties and not be horrified, or terrified, or disgusted by it.
The kiss had a life of its own and she fell into it, full immersion, enjoying all the new and thoroughly pleasant sensations coursing through her. She realized at one point that she was pressing down and forward with her hips, seeking some sort of contact that she didn’t understand.
“May I?” he asked before lifting up her shirt and unhooking her bra. For a few seconds, she wanted to cover herself, to cower in the corner and escape his stare. “I want to kiss you here. Is that all right” He cupped one of her small breasts, dragging the pad of his thumb across her nipple. That made her groan so loud she slapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “May I, please?”
When he kissed her on her exposed nipple, a bolt of electricity shot down her spine. He glanced up at her. She nodded, breathless and scared and elated all at once when he sucked her nipple into his mouth. “Oh…oh…oh my God!” Her hips were moving again. She got warmer and wetter in a way that should have made her blush but instead made her spread her legs wider, hold him closer to her, and moan with unfamiliar pleasure.
He gave her other nipple the same attention, driving her mad, making her feel plumped up and full. “Brock,” she gasped as he sucked and teased the tender tips of her breasts. “I’m… I don’t know… I want…”
He released her nipple and pulled her off his lap, wincing when he adjusted the crotch of his trousers, but not unzipping, which she appreciated. “I know, baby. I know. I’m going to give you an orgasm and one you’ll never forget. But first, let’s move over there.” He pointed to the bed then yanked her up and tossed her there, making her giggle. “Can we lose these too?” He unzipped her jeans, kissing her exposed belly skin. “Hmmm?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Take them off. Hurry.”
He grinned and slid them down her hips, then hooked his finger in her panties and gave them a quick tug. She lay, naked and exposed and yet, unafraid. He stood and stared down at her, his eyes full of wonderment, as if she were the first nude woman he’d ever seen.
“Perfect,” he whispered. He dropped to his knees and tugged her hips toward him. “So very perfect.”
He began kissing the inside of one thigh, stopping when he got to her sex—that mysterious part of her she’d hated for so long—and starting over with her other thigh. But God help her, she was lifting her hips, angling them toward his face in a way that shocked and horrified her but that she was unable to stop.
“I want to kiss you here, now, Kayla. Is that all right?”
She propped on her elbows. His face was flushed. His lips swollen from their marathon kissing session. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
“How about this?” He dropped down beside her and began teasing her nipples again. “I think you need more kissing here.” He teased her lips, shoved his tongue into her mouth then retreated, all the while pulling on her nipples and making her moan and writhe, while her hips kept thrusting up of their own accord. “I want to touch you, Kayla. May I?”
She nodded, keeping her hands tangled in his hair, drowning in him and happy to do it. She felt fingertips move down her stomach, stopping where her pubic hair began. “You sure?” His voice was hoarse. His breathing as ragged as hers. “I can stop. Any time. You say the word.”
“Don’t you dare stop,” she said, staring into his eyes. “Just…keep kissing me. Don’t stop kissing me while you touch me…down there.”
“Of course.” He traced the edges of her sex with his fingertip, making her shiver with a combination of lust and a shred of fear. “It’s all right,” he whispered.
She nodded, sliding her hand up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her palm. His fingertips were light, non-threatening. Some kind of a strange sound escaped her as he focused on one spot, somewhere near the top. It almost hurt. But yet, it didn’t. He stroked her there, in that tiny spot, until she was gripping his biceps and arching her back. She kept expecting him to shove his fingers into her and was tensed all over, waiting for that painful penetration.
“Relax, my love,” he whispered, breaking their kiss and smiling down at her. She kept her grip on his arm and stared into his eyes, still anticipating the inevitable pain even as his small movements focused on a part of her she’d never known about, never understood and now felt as if it held her entire universe. “Let go, Kayla. I’ll catch you. I swear it.”
He lowered his lips to her nipple. The speed and firmness of his touch on her changed. Kayla’s vision dimmed but she kept hold of him, fear now shadowing the exquisite pleasure he was providing. “I’m…I’m…I don’t know…oh…”
“Relax, sweetheart,” he repeated before pulling her nipple into his mouth hard, then he released it and stared at her again. “God help me, but I only want you to be safe and happy. Please, let me do this for you. Just once. Please.” He pressed his lips to her neck, at some mystery spot where it connected with her shoulder. She felt his teeth there, nibbling, while his finger did something amazing at the same time.
She heard herself moaning and crying out his name but it was coming from far away. Light exploded behind her tightly clenched eyelids as a tidal wave of pleasure rolled up her body, leaving her gasping, shivering, and clinging to Brock like a drowning person. She pressed her legs together, relishing the odd sensations centered there, wanting to capture them.
Her face was wet but she couldn’t recall crying. Brock held her close, making soothing noises in her ear. Her body calmed and her brain cleared. “Oh, shit,” she said, letting go of her death grip on his arm. “Sorry.”
He chuckled and nuzzled his nose into her neck, bringing on a fresh round of full-body shivers. “That was beautiful,” he said before pressing his lips to hers.
Letting her mind wrap around what had just happened, she took a deep breath. “But you didn’t…I mean you only touched me, um, on the outside.”
“Yes, that’s where you needed to be touched. What? You didn’t like it?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tasting the sweat on his neck. “You didn’t even take off your clothes. I mean… Don’t you want to, uh…?” She hid her hot face, confusion and happiness swirling around in a crazy stew in her brain.
“Oh, honey, I’m just fine.” He pressed her back on the bed. “I wanted to give that to you. So you could feel an orgasm and understand how…how…”
“How damn incredible they are? Sheesh.” She flopped back on the bed, still embarrassed by her nudity and the strange, mildly spicy odor that was wafting up from between her legs. “A girl could get hooked on that.” She glanced over at him. “Hey, I found something to be addicted to that isn’t going to kill me! Score.” She held up a hand as if to high-five him.
Brock’s face seemed to shut down on her before he rolled away and sat on the far side of the bed, head hanging low. Fear hit her hard. She scrambled off the bed and positioned herself in front of him on her knees, hands on his thighs. “It wasn’t fair to you, though. I can… I mean, I know how to…” She reached for his belt, but as he put his hand on hers to stop her, she saw the damp splotch darkening the crotch of his khaki trousers. “Oh.” She leaned away from him.
“Yeah. I’m no better than a teenager around you.” His voice was flat. “Let’s sleep, okay? I just…I want to hold you.”
She nodded and rose, but the whole thing was off now, the energy in the room shifted away from pleasure and
into unhappiness. But she was tired all of a sudden and nothing in the world sounded better than falling asleep in his arms after the life-shattering experience they’d shared. He pulled down the cover and sheet and helped her under, then climbed in behind her, curving his body against hers, one arm under her head, the other draped across her hip. It was like something out of her wildest dreams. She smiled and burrowed in deep, filling her nose with his scent and her brain with all the other longed-for but never imagined sensations. Even as something tickled at the back of her brain, like a half-forgotten conversation, something they’d said and she’d filed away to pick up later, after…
“Brock,” she whispered as she touched the knuckles of the hand he had stretched out in front of her.
“Hmm?”
“I feel like there’s something more.”
He shifted, and she sensed his anxiety as if she were experiencing it herself. She tensed then heard the word he’d kept muttering in her ear as he’d stroked her to her first ever orgasm. “Relax,” he’d said. She relaxed and kept her voice light. “I mean, more that we should talk about.”
He sighed and tightened his hold on her. “Tomorrow, okay? I need to sleep.”
“Okay.” She waited a few beats. “Brock?”
“Huh?”
“Thank you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” He kissed her bare shoulder. She smiled. Right before she drifted off he spoke again, his voice low and muffled as if he were talking to himself. “I love you, Kayla.”
She stiffened, but her body’s demand for sleep overrode her anxiety. She threaded her fingers in his, half of her wondering how he could rest if his arm went numb under her head, the other half not caring, relishing this unimaginable, yet ‘actually happening to her’ moment.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kayla lunged up from sleep to sitting as if she’d been shot from a canon. Breathing heavily, holding the now-cool sheet to her breasts, she gave herself a few seconds to let the nightmare release its grip on her psyche.
Brock. She needed Brock.
