by Ann Garner
“Now that you've got me here, whatever are you going to do with me Delaney Roberts?”
I let my eyes travel over him, feeling that low simmer turn into an aching burn. Slipping my hand from his I let my fingers trail up his arm, over his shoulder, his neck, twisting slightly in his hair.
“The possibilities are endless,” I murmur just before I urge his head to lower down to mine. His lips are as soft and warm as always as they gloss over mine. My other hand slips up, anchoring on the other side of his neck so I can hold him in place.
I love the feel of his body against mine the solid feel of his muscles contouring against the soft lines of my curves. As I run my tongue over the seam of his lips, dipping inside only slightly, I wiggle closer to him.
His hands settle on my hips, and with the closeness of our bodies I can feel the evidence of his arousal hot against my stomach. I push against him slightly, urging him to step backwards. I keep him moving until the back of his legs hit his bed.
He drops down on the edge of the mattress, his hands never straying from my hips. His eyes are hooded, so dark they are nearly black as he studies my face.
“I love how you make me feel,” I whisper.
“Oh, yeah? How do I make you feel?”
“Warm,” I trace a finger along the edge of his jaw, across his chin and up over his lips.
“Comfortable.” I follow the same path on the other side of his face. “Hot.” He smiles and as my fingers hit his lips this time his tongue snakes out and slips across the tips.
A shiver races up my spine as the desire settles even deeper in my stomach. He pulls on my hips, bringing me down to settle on his lap, and I whimper at the feel of our bodies pressing against each other. My neck tilts back, back arched, pressing myself deeper against him.
I nearly fall apart when I feel the whisper soft touch of his lips along the column of my throat, trailing down across my collarbone.
I never feel him move his hands, but I hear the zipper of my hoodie slide open. The sound echoing loudly in my ears.
My skin pimples at the combination of the cool air hitting the overheated flush of my skin and the feel of his hands skimming down my now bare arms. The thin white tank top I wear is a small barrier between his hands and my skin.
I bring my head forward again, dropping down until my lips find his, and suddenly the slow sensual pace we had set wasn't enough. I want more. I want the heat and flash and overwhelming desire I had seen between Grace and Grant only weeks ago. I want to be so lost in him, that he is helpless to do anything but follow me.
My hands slip down his body, bolder than they've ever been, bolder than I really feel at the moment. They slip under the edge of his sweatshirt, and the t-shirt below it, at the same moment that I twist my hips, just a little. His chest rumbles against mine, the sound coming from deep inside of him, and I know instantly that he approves of my actions.
I let my fingers bush against the hot skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles ripple and roll at my touch.
“Jesus, Delaney,” he gasps, pulling his lips from mine. He leans away, pulling up the hem of his sweatshirt until it’s over his head, the t-shirt following closely behind. They land on the floor, but I have no time to see where because he's back in an instant, and now it's not just me who has urgency. His lips slant over mine; pulling me in as his hands slip up the back of my tank top.
I want more.
I'm startled by the revelation. I want the feel of his skin against mine. I pull back, meeting his gaze, and I roll my hips again, loving the feel of him settling even deeper against the very core of me.
He makes that sound again, that rumble deep in his chest that sends shock waves of desire straight through me.
His hands slip down my back, across my sides and over my stomach. He pushes up my tank top, fingers trailing along my skin.
I know the instant he feels my scar. His hands stop, drifting back down again as if wanting to confirm what he had felt. I stiffen in response as his fingers run over the thick jagged line of skin that will always serve as an unwelcome reminder.
His eyes find mine again. He doesn't question, but lets his hands trail up my body again, pushing the material out of the way. When it's off and I sit there in nothing but a lace nude colored bra and jeans I feel his gaze skim down, over the puckered skin before coming back up again.
Without a word he leans forward and places his lips on the valley between my breasts. My body coils tight in response, and I whimper again before sucking my lower lip into my mouth to try and still the noise.
“Holy fuck,” his words are whisper soft, barely discernible as I cannot help but shift and rotate on his lap. My legs are locked around his waist, and his head is tilted down, his lips brushing the swell of my breasts with each move of my body against his.
I feel the pressure start to build, rising like a tidal wave inside of me, and it's like nothing I've ever felt before as it breaks free. Shattering me into a thousand tiny pieces. My entire body quakes from the force of the orgasm. His fingers run down my back and the pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.
“Cole,” I whimper again as I say his name. He is still hard beneath me, his eyes dilated to the point that all I see are the black pupils staring back at me, but when I go to shift off of him, to make some clumsy attempt to give him even a tenth of what he just gave me, he holds me in place.
“Cole.”
“Just give me a second.” His voice is strained, eyes closed.
“But,”
He shakes his head. “If you touch me I’m going to explode.”
“Isn't that the point?”
His smile is tight, but his eyes open, meeting mine. I lean forward, pressing a kiss against his temple, his cheek, brushing my lips across his mouth.
I shift us, sliding us up the bed so that we lay facing each other. Then, forcing every bit of fear and self-doubt away, I unsnap his jeans, slowly pulling the zipper down before letting my fingers slide down and into his boxers.
The heat of him sears into my palm as I slip my fingers around him. I hesitate for just a moment.
“I've never done this before,” I whisper.
“I know,” he whispers back, a strained smile on his face. “Trust me, there aren't very many ways you can screw it up.”
I rub my thumb across the tip of him hesitantly, before moving my hand back down the length. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing closed again as I find a rhythm against him. My movements are small and irregular, but he's right, it doesn't take him long before I feel his body tighten, tense, and then the shudder of his release.
My hand slips away from him and he grabs it in his, pulling it against his chest. He tilts himself towards me, brushing another kiss across my lips.
“You're so beautiful, Delaney.”
And in that moment, for the first time in a very long time, I feel beautiful and whole.
“And you're still wearing the glasses,” he says with a smile. “Which is so unbelievably fucking sexy.”
Chapter Seventeen
The first day of Thanksgiving break I spend in my dorm room thinking about the previous night with Cole. When everyone else had left immediately after their final class on Friday afternoon, Cole had stayed behind. He had gotten up early Saturday morning to make the trip home.
He'd spent a good portion of our time together trying once again to convince me to go home with him. He'd even gotten his mother on the phone, making her tell me that I was more than welcome, and how disappointed she was that I wouldn't be coming.
“That was a dirty move,” I grumble, reaching up and tucking a chunk of hair behind my ear.
“You still managed to say no,” he says. “And it was Graces idea so be pissed at her.”
We've just come back from dinner and I follow him into the quiet house, happy in the knowledge that we will be alone again. I've been thinking about it ever since he had told me that morning in history that he was going to hang back for an extra night.
I'm pretty sure it's all he's thought about too.
The moment the door closes behind me he has me pinned up against it, his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in. I force myself to breathe through the initial panic, reminding myself that this is Cole, and the flash in his eyes has nothing to do with wanting to hurt me.
He doesn't hesitate at all, but drops his head and captures my mouth. All the lingering panic slides away and I bring my hands up to hold him against me. He skims one hand down my side, sliding fingers, still cold from being outside, up and under my sweater to brush against the skin of my stomach. Those cold fingers skim over my scar and he pulls back.
“How'd you get this?” he asks, fingers running over it one more time. I swallow, feeling my eyes widen as I scramble to come up with something to say. “You really want to discuss this now?” I finally say. “Like right this minute?”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “No, I guess not.”
“Good.”
His hands drop from my stomach, moving down to grasp my hips, lifting me up so my legs can wrap around his waist. I fuse my lips against his, letting myself drown in the feelings his touch invokes.
He carries me over to the couch and drops down, settling me down in his lap. He brushes my hair back away from my face, studying me.
“You're going to tell me your secrets one day.”
My brow wrinkles. This was not how I had imagined the evening going. I tilt forward, leaning in for a kiss, but he tilts away from me. “Cole.”
“I can see them.” He brushes his fingers over my face, across the bridge on my nose. “Your nose wrinkles when I ask a question that gets too close.”
“Too close to what?”
He smiles softly, almost sadly. “To whatever it is you won't tell me.”
I don't know what to say to him, because he's right, but I won't be sharing any secrets with him tonight. I pull myself up and off his lap.
He lets me go.
“Why would you say that now, tonight, right before you're going to be gone for days?”
“Because I know it's those secrets that are keeping you from coming with me.”
“Cole,” I start, but I don't know what else to say to him, so I just shake my head.
“I didn't say it to upset you.”
I turn to look at him. “Really? Then why?”
“I want you to trust me enough to tell me.”
“I do trust you.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I wouldn't be here with you now if I didn't trust you.”
“But you only trust me to a certain point, Delaney, and then you shut me out. Just tell me why you won't come home with me.”
I hear the exasperation in his voice, and running just under that is a little layer of anger. There isn't much heat in it, but the potential is there for this to build into something more.
“Please don't do this, Cole,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I know I need to tell him, I know we can't be more than what we are right now, right this moment, unless I tell him everything.
But tonight isn't the night for me to share, not so close to the anniversary, not when I want nothing more than to shove every bit of it from my mind for as long as I can before I am overwhelmed with the unwanted memories.
“I just want to understand, Del.”
I can't make myself look at him when I shake my head. I can't make the words come out, not the ones he wants to hear, even though I want to tell him. Instead I say, “Can you take me back please?”
There's a breadth of moment, a heavy pause that hangs between us. I feel everything shift between us. “Del, please.”
I shake my head again, forcing myself to turn and meet his eyes. I know I flinch at the pain I see in his, I can't help myself. “Please, Cole, take me back.”
************************
I spend the second day of Thanksgiving break out of my dorm room as much as possible. Mostly at the library, but some in the courtyard behind Howard Hall, enjoying the relatively warm day. I desperately try to lose myself in The History of Women in America, a book I'd read no less than five times before.
All I can think about is that he didn't call me yesterday. He didn't text me either. After the silent ride back to the dorms Friday night, I shouldn't be surprised, but it stings nonetheless.
I keep my phone next to me all day on Sunday, but he doesn't call or text me then either. I hear from Grace, just a quick text making sure I'm surviving all alone. She hopes I'm bored, she tells me, it serves me right for being so stubborn.
By ten Sunday night I'm huddled in the corner of my bed, arms wrapped around my up drawn knees, leaning back against the concrete wall as I stare at nothing.
I have the heat turned up in the room, and I'm drowning in an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, and still my entire body shakes with cold.
I know I'll be cold for the next three days.
********************
I don't know what time it is, but I know its Wednesday. Early Wednesday morning, when the pounding starts to break through my sleep. At first I think it's in my head, and I throw a hand out, searching on the small crate I'm using as a side table to try and find my sleeping pills.
Before I can open them to shake one into my hand I hear the rattle of the doorknob and the muffled sound of Cole’s voice calling my name on the other side of the door.
“Damn it, Delaney, open this fucking door.” He doesn't sound angry. He sounds like he's worried. The unexpected sound of his voice causes me to drop the bottle of pills, and I listen to them spill onto the floor as I move to open the door.
Before I can say anything, before I can even really get a good look at him, I'm wrapped up in his arms, my head buried against his chest. The smell of peppermint overwhelms me, and I nearly start to cry.
“Jesus. Jesus, Delaney.”
His hands are running up and down my back and then he's pulling me away from his body, letting those hands run down my hair as his eyes meet mine.
“Why are you here?” My voice cracks with the words, weakened from hours of crying over the last few days.
“You haven't answered your fucking phone in two days. Not even for Grace. Shit, I had Robby and Ally both try as well. Are you sick? You look sick.”
And suddenly I am. The nausea rolls into my stomach like a tidal wave, unstoppable. I pull away from him, running into the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet.
Oh, God, Oh, God, he's here. He's here and he can't be. Not yet, not today. I can't see anybody today. I throw up again when I hear him move into the tiny bathroom behind me.
“Oh, baby, you are sick.” His voice has softened, but all I can think about is how small the bathroom is. But that changes when he reaches over to pull my hair out of my face. My muscles stiffen and then kick into gear as I scramble away from him.
“Don't touch me.” I gasp the words out, standing in the shower, staring at him with wide eyes. “You can't touch me.”
His eyes are clouded with confusion. “I'm not worried about getting sick, Del, let me take care of you.” He reaches out for me, but I squeeze back against the wall to avoid his hands.
“Don't touch me!”
