by M. J. Fields
When I’m done, I step out, dry off, and realize I didn’t leave my bathrobe in the bathroom.
I wrap the towel around me, brush my teeth, and look in the mirror. “Still drunk, but surprisingly calm.”
Lavender evenings, it is.
I tighten the towel as I walk out of the bathroom.
“We saved you some.” Christy points at the box.
“Thanks, but I’m good. Just going to drink some water.”
As I walk over to the mini fridge, Elle steps into the bathroom.
Christy and Lisa both stand up, and Lisa asks me, “Want to watch a movie, or are you tired?”
“I’m drunk and down to chill.”
Christy claps. “Good. We’re going to get some PJs on.”
I sit down and look around, trying to focus on how much we have to do over the next few days when my thoughts drift to one ridiculously hot football player who said the dirtiest thing any man has ever said to me tonight.
Mitch Moore, aka Giddy-up.
“Any man ever tell you that he’s made you scream Moore in his head a dozen times before he’s even kissed those sexy red lips?”
Reality? Nope, no one would have dared. Not with me. I was never even invited to birthday parties after age twelve because my friends didn’t want to be scrutinized by Bible Girl.
In my defense, I never scrutinized anybody. I mean, the basis of Christianity is, in fact, love and kindness. My dad preached that weekly. He also lived it. It was the watchers, those who couldn’t wait for me to screw up so they could run back to the church groups and ask them to “add me to their prayer list” anytime I attended a party that was outside of my usual social circle.
Footloose much? I say, yes.
Drama … I’ve never wanted to be part of it … off stage Moore than I do now.
Maxine, my cool aunt—that’s what she calls herself—made a valid point: I haven’t been allowed to live, to make mistakes, to experience “the other side,” and I should live life to the fullest. She smiled and said the same thing she had written in her letter, “If not for you, for me.”
I promised I would, and I promised I would do so safely.
I’ve been to a bar, gotten drunk, shook my ass, let my reservations go, and all in less than twenty-four hours from the time I arrived here. I should chalk that up to time well-spent, but God help me, I want … Moore.
Elle sighs,“I’m going to bed.”
I don’t know how long I’ve been daydreaming, but it’s been long enough for Elle to have taken a shower, just as Lisa and Christy walk out in the cutest, almost matching sleep sets.
“You feeling better?” Lisa asks.
“I feel like an idiot,” she whispers.
Christy is first to chime in, “No way. You’re not allowed. It was a great night. I mean, how many freshmen hang out with two SU football players, go to a bar, get drunk—”
“And throw up in an alley?” Elle snickers.
Christy nods. “It was one hell of a first night as college girls.”
Lisa grins. “I second that.”
Holding up my water bottle, I say, “I third it.”
She looks at each of us. “Thank you so much for being—”
“Friends?” I shake my head. “No thanks needed.”
“Jamie?” Elle looks at me and repeats, “Seriously, thank you for tonight. I won’t make it a habit. It’s not who I am.”
“You are more than welcome. And seriously, don’t worry about it. Trust me when I say I’m shitfaced and nonjudgmental.”
She walks over and gives me a quick hug. “Thanks.” Then she disappears into her room.
As soon as her door is shut, Christy laughs. “Let’s watch John Tucker Must Die. The OG fuck boy.”
“Sounds good,” I say, still feeling like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, not knowing if I’m going to get sick, die, or learn my damn lesson, as I flop back on the couch and think … Moore.
Jamie
“Oh no, you don’t,” I hear Lisa say and open my eyes, blinking as the light from the TV stings them.
“A gentleman never lets one, let alone four, women leave a bar in a strange city without making sure they got back safely.”
Mitch? Mitch is here!
“Holy shit.” I jump up, holding the towel that I fell asleep on the couch wrapped up in.
“Don’t you dare move,” Mitch says as he hurries past Lisa, taking off his hoodie and pulling it over my head.
I quickly push one arm through the sleeve while using the other to clutch the towel, still unable to form a sentence as I look up into his hazel eyes.
“God damn,” he whispers before he pushes the hood off my head. “Perfect.”
I swallow hard as he rests his hand on my shoulders then slowly moves them down. Like fire following a trail of gasoline, each inch of skin he touches leaves behind an unfamiliar yet long-desired heat. When he interlocks his fingers with mine, hazel eyes hold them captive, too.
“What are you guys doing here?” Christy asks in an almost annoyed tone.
I glance at her to see if she’s hurt. She doesn’t seem to be. I mean, we discussed it briefly. He’s but one.
Her lips turn up, and she gives me a nod, her silent permission. Then she turns back to him.
Still holding my hand, Mitch whispers in a deep, husky timbre, “Should I tell her I came for a taste of you?”
O.M.F. Goodness.
“They’re here to watch a movie,” I say before he has a chance to speak, or I even have the opportunity to think.
When his eyes smile, the darkness turns to light, and they release the hold they have on me.
“I’m going to get dressed.” I step back, pulling my hand back lightly, yet he holds on.
“I like you in my hoodie.”
“I’ll keep it on.”
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, walks around me, and sits on the couch, in the exact spot that I sat dreaming of him moments ago.
I glance at Lisa and Christy, who both sit on the floor, and then nod as I walk into the bathroom. After closing the door behind me, I look in the mirror. My face is makeup-free, and my hair is piled on top of my head, in all its natural state. I don’t look the same as I did when I first saw him. I don’t go out unpolished. Ever. But the way he looked at me, eyes locked on mine, he made me feel just as beautiful.
I brush my teeth rigorously, then my tongue, because I’m going to let him kiss me. I give myself a final once over before I hurry from the bathroom to my bedroom and grab a pair of sleep shorts.
As I walk out, he lifts his chin to me, and I think, Maybe this is a bad idea. Then, when he licks his full lips, I realize, No bad idea, in the history of bad ideas, ever looked so damn good.
Glancing around the small room, I see Logan sitting in the chair, arms folded over his chest, hat pulled down. He appears to be asleep. Lisa and Christy are snuggled up on yoga mats, heads on the same pillow, covered in a blanket, watching the movie.
I look sideways at Mitch, who pats his lap. I quirk an eyebrow, and he smirks, patting the spot beside him.
I smile at the floor as I walk over and sit.
He pulls the blanket off the side of the couch and throws it over us. “So, we’re doing this here, huh?”
“Doing what?” I ask.
He grins and puts his arm around me. Then he drags his lower lip between his perfect teeth. “Putting my lips on yours.” He leans in like he’s going to kiss me right here, right now, and I lean back.
Chuckling silently, he places his hand on the side of my head and pulls me with him as he leans back.
Like a moth to a flame, I let him guide me.
Consumed by the warmth, I barely register that he moves back, puts his leg behind me, and pulls me between his legs, my back to his chest. My head is in a frenzy from the dwindling effects of the alcohol and the reignited intoxication caused by our proximity, and I fight to catch my breath.
Once I allow myself to breathe, I take c
omfort in his recognizable scent, yet I’m unable to describe it. It’s … comforting, calming. And the warmth spreading from his large, hard body against mine … also reassuring. His touch elicits a complete contradictory effect. It’s awareness, it’s … shivers.
“Jesus,” he whispers, and I gasp as he pushes his hand under his oversized hoodie and rests it on my skin. “You’re so fucking soft.”
Turning my head, I look up at him.
He leans down and kisses my forehead, whispering, “As soon as they fall asleep, we take this to your room. The things I want to do to you aren’t for anyone else’s eyes but ours, and not even close to PG.”
I feel my eyes widen, and he tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing.
I swallow back all the years and years of thoughts, feelings, things I have read, heard, and learned about young love —so many contradictions— and do what I promised myself I would do when I ever found myself in a position like this—be honest and true to my own feelings.
“I’m not having sex with a boy I just met, no matter how cute he is.”
A grin breaks out across his face.
“I’m not.” I try to sound serious, but his smile … my God, that smile makes me smile, as well.
“You gonna make me work for it, Jamie?” He seems amused. “Because I’m not afraid to do the work. As a matter of fact, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of working you.”
“Just so you know, I’m not—”
“Flower, I get it.”
“Flower?” I ask.
He nods as his grin expands.
“Care to explain?”
He chuckles. “Nah.”
“I think I’m going to have to insist.”
“Maybe someday I’ll let you in on it, but not today.” He leans back farther, pulling me with him.
With my head against his shoulder, I put my hand over his, where his fingertips skate over my belly.
He wraps his other arm around me, takes my hand, and places it on his leg.
Again, I glance back at him.
“I’m not some high school boy who needs a hand, Flower. I got this. You lay back and enjoy.”
I nod slowly as I watch his eyes darken in the faint glow of the TV.
His hands are big, spread out, and spanning the entire surface of my waist, rough, yet he has a gentle touch.
When his thumb runs under the swell of my breast, I tense and feel his lips against the top of my head.
I sit forward, and his hand lowers.
I look at the floor, where Lisa and Christy are blinking slowly as if fighting sleep. I glance at Logan, who hasn’t moved an inch, asleep. Then I look back at Mitch.
He gently pulls me back and whispers, “Understood.” His hands are quickly gone from my skin.
He silently chuckles at a movie that was clearly chosen based on Mitch’s perceived ways.
Be honest, be true to my own feelings.
I look back at him, and he takes his time looking away from the screen to me, fighting a smirk that tells me he’s doing it with purpose.
If that purpose is to fuel the frenzy, it’s working.
His eyes meet mine, and a lazy grin spreads across his chiseled face.
I nod slightly toward the TV. “You like the movie?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Actor’s cool.”
“You think the idea of juggling women is …?” I shrug and leave it open.
He leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Jealous?”
I narrow mine back. “No need to be, right?”
“You gave Links a little more attention than you did me, yet you looked at me like you wanted to sink your nails into my shoulders. I was proving a point.”
“Point, huh?”
He nods.
“Enlighten me?”
He smirks and shakes his head, eyes dancing in amusement.
I sit forward, uncurl my legs, and stand up.
He reaches out and tugs at the hem of my white shorts with oranges covering them. “I like your shorts.”
I shake my head. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“Again?” He smirks, and I nod. “Maybe I’ll be here when you get back.”
I nod. “Maybe, huh?”
After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth again, I wash my hands as I stare in the mirror. I can’t help trying to hinder my smile as I warn myself, “Girl, don’t get in over your head.”
When I walk out of the bathroom, I look around. The couch is unoccupied, but Logan is still asleep in the chair. The girls have gone to bed. Clearly, I read her right. If Christy were truly interested she would be out here still.
I look around for Mitch and briefly wonder if he went with her, with them. Surely he wouldn’t have, right?
I see movement out of my peripheral and look over to see Mitch standing, arms up, holding the top of my doorframe, staring at me. His body is framed in a soft yellow light, I assume, from my small nightstand lamp.
When I slowly exhale as I walk toward him, he releases the doorframe and steps back farther into my room.
I push my shoulders back and hold my chin up as I walk toward the man who unknowingly dares to defy what I consider a curse placed on me from birth. He’s already soothed a hidden insecurity with callused hands and wanton words—that I would forever be … untouchable.
As if my thoughts are leading his every move, he steps toward me, reaches around me, and closes the door. Then he steps in closer, and I fight the natural reaction to step back, giving him space, because I don’t want space. I want the opposite.
I want him near me.
Another step and his knee is between my legs, and his hands are cupping my face, his thumbs pressing against my cheeks. He slides one down and runs his thumb over my lips.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Flower.”
I always thought this moment, the first time I’m touched intimately by a man, would make me feel nervous, yet those aren’t the feelings I’m experiencing.
“Are you gonna kiss me or—”
He turns his ballcap backward as he steps forward, crashing his lips against mine. With one hand on the small of my back, he slides it down to my ass, lifting me, and within seconds, my back hits the door. I grip his shoulders as he grinds into me, and I gasp, lips parting, allowing his tongue to sweep inside my mouth.
Instinct over inexperience drives me to wrap my lips around his tongue and suck.
A growl escapes his chest, as he pulls my leg up, wrapping it around his hip. I pull the other up and tighten my body against his. He groans, I moan, he licks, I suck … He pulls back and nips my lips before his mouth crashes against mine again.
Warm, wet, apples, and cinnamon. He tastes like fall and smells like clean country air and man. All the things I always loved my mother telling me about the northern fall, mixed with … man.
I twist my hands in his hair, pulling him closer and lick inside his mouth. He tastes … so good.
He grips my ass with his big hands, squeezing each cheek as he grinds against me, hitting my core. Electrical currents of want pulse between my legs, and I grind back against him.
When he pulls back, I momentarily think I’ve done something wrong. But, as he licks the shell of my ear and down my neck, I realize I’ve done quite the opposite. His lips are my reward.
My head falls back and hits the door.
He stops and straightens his neck, hazel eyes black like the night sky. He lifts my ass with one hand, skating the other up my spine, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch until he cups the back of my head. “You okay?”
I nod. “Kiss me … Moore.”
He bites his lower lip, now puffy and a deeper pink, as he pulls me closer to him, hands still in place.
“If we put a helmet on you, I’d miss those lips.” He lifts me and turns, carrying me. “You need a pillow,”—he smirks—“princess.”
Still in his strong hands and protective hold, he dips down, putting a knee on the bed, and then leans in and lays me
back.
Trepidation, where are you? I beckon my instincts, and they figuratively give me a fist.
When he reaches behind him and pulls his T-shirt over his head, I see his big, bulky, yet defined abs, shoulders, chest, and the V, and I fist-bump my instincts.
“You’re beautiful.” He smiles, pops his pecs, tosses his hat onto the ground, and runs his fingers through his mess of waves.
“And you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
He circles his hands around my waist then, with his thumbs, pushes his sweatshirt that is on me up as he leans in. His hair tickles my skin before his lips scald it.
My nipples knot, and I feel a burst of heat between my legs as he kisses and licks up until he’s almost to my breasts. He slows and descends, kissing his way to my belly button, dips his tongue deep inside, causing my hips to thrust.
Peering up at me, he does it again then nips my skin. “I need to taste you, Flower.”
“By all means.”
I stop when he pulls the string on my sleep shorts and glides his lips across to my hip.
“Fuck, yes.” He licks across my skin to the other side, then nips at my hip.
I am wet, so wet—a new, euphoric feeling experienced.
His kisses provoke reactions from my hips, making them move, roll, thrust, and …
“Oh, God.”
I look down as he licks under the low waistband again and looks up mischievously. “No, Flower, it’s oh Moore.” He then tugs my sleep boxers down and buries his face between my legs. Against my skin, he mumbles in his thick, deep voice, “Thank you for not putting on panties.”
“Oh, hell …” I groan as he uses his tongue to split me at the core.
Gripping the duvet cover, as if it’s the only thing that will keep me from soaring into the great unknown, I feel his hot, wet tongue slide up and down the most private parts of me. I’m overwhelmed with a thrumming pulse between my legs.
Closing my mouth tight, I strangle the need to cry out in pleasure and praise.
Casting my eyes down, I see his threatening to once again capture mine as he groans, causing a vibration that stimulates my sensations further as he watches me begin to unravel.
When he closes his eyes and buries his face between my legs again, I watch the muscles work in his shoulders as he shifts his body, and I realize he’s completely taking off my shorts.
