And when he spoke his voice was hoarse.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
So, she answered as firmly as she could.
“Putting your hand on my breast.”
“That seems a little fast, honey.”
“Why? This is date number two.”
“I thought date two was just kissing.”
“Second base is also pretty standard.” She paused, waiting and waiting for his objection. It had to be coming, after all. It had to be, it had to be. And when she realized it wasn’t, she went for it. “In fact, usually you would get more than just this.”
“More? What kind of more?”
“Your hand on my bare skin.”
“Bare skin is much too far,” he said.
But she saw his eyes stutter closed, briefly.
As if he was actually thinking of it.
“It’s barely further than this.”
“Yeah, and this is already pushing the limit.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem reluctant to stop.”
He hesitated, for just a second. Then when he spoke, his voice was barely more than a sigh. “Anyone would be, when you feel the way you do.”
“So just keep going. I want you to keep going.”
“God, don’t say want like that.”
“How did I say it?”
“Like you’re desperate for me to do it.”
“That’s because I am. I am. Aren’t you?” she asked, and honestly expected nothing but a no in reply. She even planned her argument in response, while she waited for it to come.
But that only made it more shocking when it didn’t.
When he hissed a fuck yes, as if he could no longer stand to do anything else. The words just needed to rip right out of him, and when they did, oh, holy fuck, when they did…it was like lightning hitting her body. Her toes actually curled inside her shoes. Every muscle in her seemed to dissolve into a puddle of excitement.
And that was before she realized what he was doing.
He was pushing a hand under her top. He was really doing it—and not just in some slow, deliberate sort of manner. There was no measuredness about the move. No sense that he knew what he was doing. For a second, he was actually clumsy about something, instead of smooth and graceful. He was greedy in a way she’d never thought he could be.
And, oh god, it was good. It was so, so good.
Just knowing that he was this eager sent a pulse of arousal through her. It made her pussy ache and swell and her nipples stiffen—and of course that only made it sweeter when he finally touched her there. His palm brushed over one stiff little point, so softly it should have given her next to nothing. Instead, it made her arch against him, just to get a little more of that contact. It made her almost cry out.
Then he cupped her there, just as she’d imagined.
He squeezed, as if he couldn’t do anything else.
And she did cry out. She couldn’t help it.
Though, once it was out, she wished to god she’d kept it in. The second he heard it, he went rigid. Like she’d just socked him in the gut. Then even worse: he reversed. He yanked himself away, until he was as far from her as the car would allow.
And then just in case it wasn’t clear, he made it so.
“Okay that’s enough. We need to stop there,” he said, in so calm a tone she could have almost believed they’d never done anything at all.
If her body hadn’t been on fucking fire.
God, did he not realize she was on fire?
“Even though I have zero objections.”
“Objections are not the point.”
“They seem like the point.”
“We agreed to go slow, honey. We agreed.”
“I know we did. But don’t you think—”
“I think we should stick to the agreement. Just for now. I mean, what’s the rush?” he asked, and she went to argue. She really did. But the truth was:
There was just no reasonable answer to that.
The world wasn’t ending tomorrow. She didn’t have disease that meant sex was off the table from five past midnight that night. And she definitely couldn’t tell him that horniness had taken over her soul. It sounded crazy even to her, and she was the one feeling it.
So, she laughed and agreed to be patient.
While inside, desire shredded her patience to bits.
Chapter Twelve
She took a minute before going into her apartment.
Mostly because she knew what she looked like.
Her face was still somehow blazing hot, even though it had been a good hour between him doing that and right now. They’d watched a whole hour more of the movie, then he’d driven her home. But she remained as red as a tomato. She had to press her cheeks against the cool door, just to get them to calm down.
Though, she knew it didn’t really work.
And even if it had, there were other signs of how he’d affected her.
She was shaking, just little. Her breath was coming too fast.
But most damning of all: her nipples were still straining against her shirt.
If Letty was waiting up, Lydia was going to poke her goddamn eyes out.
So, it was a relief when she got in and saw the empty living room. Now she could just slink off to her room and take care of business, before anyone was any the wiser. No awkward conversations about guys she should have told Letty about months ago. No weirdness over why she’d even kept it a secret in the first place.
Just a deeply relaxing bout of frustration relief.
Followed by a commitment to telling Letty in the morning.
Yeah. That seemed best. That seemed like it would work.
Until she got through her door, and saw her friend sitting at her desk. Fuck, how had she forgotten offering Letty her desk? She didn’t know. All she knew was Letty had already turned, and her frown was starting to deepen, and in a second, the questions would come. Oh, they were on their way. Lydia even considered heading them off at the pass.
You don’t have to worry. He’s fucking amazing.
It’s like my life saved up the epic boyfriend for right now.
But god bless her friend—her first question was a beauty.
“Let me guess: you just finished the secret night time marathon.”
“Oh my god. Is that seriously how I look?”
“Pretty much. But only if the secret night time marathon was in that pit of hands from Labyrinth, and all of them ran through your hair repeatedly.”
Lydia touched said hair the second Letty mentioned it.
And, sure enough, it felt enormous and crazy.
“Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”
“You don’t have to think about it. Not if you’d still rather not. Instead, we could talk about whether or not the secret night time marathon was an enjoyable experience,” Letty said, and all Lydia could think in reply was: God, has there ever been a better friend than you?
Not only did Letty not care that she hadn’t shared anything, she was willing to invent a fantasy, so Lydia could talk without really talking about it. In fact, it was almost easy to just reply, “It really was. In like a million ways.”
“Nothing made you feel uncomfortable.”
“I was completely comfortable all the whole time.”
“No freezing up. No panic attacks. No disturbing thoughts.”
“To be honest, those things have kind of stopped happening.” She paused there, unsure of how to go on. And then it came to her, in fits and starts. “My…my marathon trainer is a really, really good guy. A really patient and kind guy.”
“So he’s never rushed you into…running moves you weren’t ready for.”
“Oh, god no. The opposite. More than the opposite. Like literally, think of the most amount of opposite that could ever exist, and you probably wouldn’t even be close.”
“I think I might love this secret night time marathon trainer.”
She stopped dead the
n. In part, because it was cool hearing Letty say love.
But mostly because her first instinct was to say:
I think I might love him, too.
Though Letty caught it a second later, anyway.
She almost fell right out of her chair, over it.
“Holy shit,” she said. “Do you love this secret night time marathon trainer?”
“Well, the idea is kind of blowing my mind right now.”
“It should be blowing your mind. I mean, you haven’t known him that long.” Letty laughed, after she’d said the words. But when Lydia winced, she got it. “Unless of course you’ve known him for months and months and I am just an idiot.”
“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t use the word idiot.”
“But only because we’re besties, right?”
“That is the primary reason.”
“The months part is true.”
She tried not to wince again and failed.
In fact, the wincing spread to her voice, too. “It kind of sort of maybe definitely is.”
“Holy shit. Holy shit that is a lot of secret marathoning.”
“Well, the marathoning didn’t really happen at first. It was mostly just lessons on how to cope with things. You know, like violent competitors throwing you through the air.”
Letty held up a hand. A whoa hold on kind of hand. “He gave you lessons? What kind of lessons are we talking about here?”
“How to defend myself kind of lessons.”
“So like, punching and kicking.”
“Yep, pretty much.”
“And blocking shit.”
She nodded then braced herself for some kind of disapproval.
It felt like a disapproval kind of moment—but then Letty just sagged. She put a hand to her chest, in a way that said relief pretty clearly. And her words backed that up.
“Oh, thank god. For a second, I thought we were using metaphors to describe your relationship with a shrink. I was about to call social services and have them lock him up.”
“He’s not a shrink, Letty. Though he worries about that stuff anyway.”
“He worries about what stuff? Crossing an ethical line?”
“Yeah, you could put it like that.”
“But you don’t think he has.”
“God, no. There is no line.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated, then. Though not because she didn’t know the answer. It was because the answer had been building up inside her ever since she first decided to keep him to herself. It had swelled and grown unwieldy, and now it was here.
It was here, and it was threatening to overwhelm her.
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to gush like a motherfucker.
Though, even when she measured her words, they came out in one long swoon.
“He hasn’t done anything but be an awesome guy. The kind of guy you always hope to find but rarely do outside fantasy. Honestly, after everything that happened, I was deathly sure that guys like that did not exist at all. That my feelings towards men were just a ruin, forever. And then he came along and built those ruins back up, without even trying. He didn’t even try, Letty,” she said, then had to take a breath. Her heart was trying to race into her mouth. Bottled up feelings were starting to leak out everywhere.
But it was fine—Letty waited. She waited. And when she finally did speak, it was to say the best thing possible. “I think I might have to revise my earlier statement to: I not only love this guy but want to do him so hard,” she said, and Lydia couldn’t help laughing in response.
“You should. Not only is he fundamentally decent, he’s hot as fuck. Oh my god, he’s so hot it’s like looking at the sun if the sun was comprised of a million Oscar Isaacs.”
“That is the greatest description of any human man I have ever heard. I thank the lord our god that we stopped talking in veiled code so I could hear it. Seriously, I think it gave me massive hearts for eyes.”
“You’ve had hearts for eyes since I walked in.”
“Yeah, but those were all for you. You know that, right?”
She nodded. But only because speaking was suddenly hard.
And when words finally came out, they were wavery as fuck.
“Of course I do. Every day, you show me how much you care about my happiness, so I imagine it was pretty cool to see me not only look happy, but like someone possibly experiencing major love feelings.”
“It was. It is. Though, honestly, I’ve tried not to be greedy for it.”
“You haven’t been. You were just there if I needed you.”
“I’m always here if you need me. Always.”
She went to her friend then—though she didn’t have to.
Letty was already headed for her, arms wide. She swaddled her in hugs, and all of them felt like acceptance and love. They said more than all the things they’d just said and finished everything she couldn’t yet say—and when Letty finally pulled away, they were both better for it. Things were lighter between them.
Lydia even found herself joking about the current situation, after Letty said she was going to hit the hay. “Yeah, me too. Though in my case hit the hay means please god just let me relieve some of this sexual tension. Literally, I think it might be killing me.”
“So, he’s really resisting, huh?”
“He wanted to date, first.”
“Dating sounds pretty cool.”
“Not when you spent the first two in agony,” she said, but Letty just laughed. She laughed, then said the best possible thing, just before going out the door.
“Well, not to worry. The third date is always the charm.”
Chapter Thirteen
She didn’t purposefully set out to create something that screamed the third date is when sex is supposed to happen. But she did try to make it easier for things to go that way. She suggested he come for dinner at her apartment, on a weekend when Letty and Tate were going to be away. She chose mildly sexy music and somewhat suggestive food. And the dress she wore was kind of a departure from the usual.
It had buttons all down the front, for a start.
And it was a cut a little lower and a little higher than anything he’d seen her in previously. She’d once worn a skirt in front of him, but it had pretty much reached her feet. This exposed most of her legs—and she left those legs bare. No stockings, no pantyhose, no nothing. Just a lot of smooth skin.
Though, somehow, she didn’t think it would bother him.
He never looked anyway, so what did it matter?
It was just a little subtle sign. A way to suggest that things could easily be removed. That she wanted them to be removed, if he was so inclined.
But she knew she’d made a mistake the second she opened the door to him.
The easy smile he’d been attempting froze on his face, then dropped off altogether. He went to say a word, yet no sound came out. And worst of all—the light in his eyes faded down to almost nothing. As if the dress had punched him in the gut, instead of giving him the friendly hug he’d been expecting.
He didn’t even seem like he wanted to come in. She had to almost coax him—and the problems didn’t stop once he was in her living room. His eyes trailed over all her belongings, as if he was just waiting for something else to hit him. Then he noticed the candles she’d stupidly lit and the bottle of wine she’d set out, and there it was.
That drop in his expression, again.
Though he got hold of it a little faster, this time.
He reined it in, in a way that would have probably fooled anyone else.
But it didn’t fool her. All the signs of tension were still there—the careful blankness of his expression, the looking at everything but her, the way he stood with his back facing the wall. Plus, his hands were still in his pockets.
They were in there so firmly she wondered how she was ever going to get them back out. She’d prepared for him to be a little reticent, even nervous. She hadn’t imagined that he’d be th
is adverse to a more overtly romantic kind of date. That he would be startled by a mildly revealing dress, and unprepared for the intimacy of her home.
And it left her just as unsure as him.
She wanted to ask him to sit, but what if he didn’t like the idea?
Better to start small, she told herself. Though, she couldn’t for the life of her think what was smaller than taking a seat. That was basically the bare minimum, when it came to third dates. No fucker on the face of the earth spent them standing up.
Yet, here she was, wracking her brains for the steps before that.
Then it came to her. Take his coat, she could take his coat. Of course, it would make her look a forty-year old housewife hosting a Tupperware party. But it would definitely ease him into everything. There was nothing sexy or intimate about coat taking.
Or so she thought.
Then it came time to actually do it.
He said sure, and she stepped forward, and then pretty much everything went wrong from there. For some reason, she decided it was best to unzip him. But, of course, unzipping him was possibly the worst decision in the history of mankind. It was like he’d become a stripper whose act was getting someone else to undress him.
Even though she tried to be business like about it. She tried, but the whole thing just wasn’t happening that way. She was standing way too close, for a start. Then somehow, she just couldn’t seem to do it quickly. Instead, she found herself dragging that zipper down as slow as something sinking through treacle.
It seemed to take a thousand years, and all the while, her heart just beat harder and harder. Pretty soon, he was going to be able to hear it battering against her breast bone—though even if he didn’t, she knew that he knew what this was doing to her.
He could see her flushed face, after all.
And, likely as not, her rapid breathing was obvious, too.
It kind of made her curse her choice of outfit.
The dress was pretty low-cut, and now her breasts were practically heaving. She could have starred in one of his romance novels pretty easily—a fact that he confirmed about a second later. He just didn’t seem to know where to look. He kept glancing to his right, as if there was something of interest there.
Never Better: A Dark Obsession Novel Page 12
