The Theory of Deviance: Portland Rebels, Book 3

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  She traced a fingertip along his palm, one soft caress over his lifeline. It was chaste yet sensual at the same time, and each soft brush was a conversation they hadn’t been able to have over the phone. It was like magic, the way they were talking without speaking, the way her touch seemed to wash away every impure thought he’d had. Her shirt had pulled to the side, revealing a tempting glimpse of her shoulder and neck, and he imagined lifting the fabric off her completely, feeling the warmth of her skin and the shape of her breasts.

  She stroked each of his fingers from base to tip, and Mikey’s pulse thrummed wildly. He wanted her stroking him elsewhere. Wanted that small, delicate hand wrapped around his cock, pumping and squeezing until he was groaning her name.

  His sexual cravings were giving him whiplash, but he forced any other thought but her out of his head. This was what he’d prayed for, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of it. It was risky, letting things happen while Rafe was in the other room, but he’d been in there a while. It was possible the guy had fallen asleep.

  Mikey touched her hand in return. He mapped out her hands like a blind man reading Braille, wanting to learn every line, every whorl. Krissy threaded her fingers through his and inched closer to him until their mouths finally met, lips coming together in the barest press of a kiss.

  He inhaled deeply, wanting to take this slow, to make it last. Krissy, however, had other ideas. She kissed him again. Hard.

  The aggressive move sent his heartbeat to full throttle. He barely had time to think before she put her hands on his chest, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him. Heat flooded through him as her legs caged his, her yoga pants so thin he could feel her warmth through his jeans. Eyes closed, he grasped her hips and held on. Krissy sucked on his lower lip and bit down, her lower body rolling with the movement. Mikey panted and arched up sharply. He was drowning in sensation, craving Krissy’s bare body and the feeling of her touch, her mouth, of sliding inside her…until reality crept into his brain and cracked it open.

  He hadn’t told her about his virginal status yet.

  It was presumptuous to assume they’d be having sex, but if she wanted to, then he’d have to tell her right before they went at it, which could ruin things. Or he could not tell her and risk coming in two seconds, which could really ruin things.

  He chose the lesser of two evils and broke off the kiss. “Krissy, wait.”

  She sat up. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No…there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.” She was as short of breath as he was. Mikey released his grip on her hips and adjusted his glasses, smudged now from being mashed against his face during their kiss. He almost preferred the smear to the embarrassment of having to tell her this.

  Damn him and his stupid need to be honest.

  “I’m…” He cringed. Glanced up at her. “I’m a virgin.”

  Chapter Four

  Oh God. Please, please don’t let this have anything to do with the church job.

  “Are you saving yourself for marriage or something?” Krissy asked.

  Mikey huffed out a sound that could’ve resembled a laugh, if it didn’t sound so sad. “I’d like to say that, ’cause it sounds better than the truth. Really I’ve just never had the opportunity.”

  “How is that possible? You’re so cute.”

  The grim look on his face wavered slightly. “Thank you.”

  Krissy shook her head. The idea that no one had wanted him was preposterous. Chicks totally dug skinny guys. And he could sing too. That had to have made him at least a double threat in the dating world.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.

  “I was worried you wouldn’t understand.”

  “That’s silly. Everyone’s a virgin at some point,” she said reassuringly. She nearly felt like one herself, considering how long it had been. But this complicated things. “You’ve done some…stuff though, right?”

  “You want, like, a base or something?”

  She giggled and tried not to be aware of his hard-on, still nestled between her thighs. “That would work.”

  “Third. Not in a while though.”

  “You haven’t dated anyone?”

  He shrugged. “I tried online dating, but it didn’t work. I’ve had trouble…connecting with people.” He glanced up at her, and his expression was an adorable mix of bashfulness and hope. “That changed when I met you.”

  Krissy grinned widely. She was hoping their connection was real and not a fleeting emotion she couldn’t trust. Mikey’s easygoing nature made her think he could be the calm in her storm. And his hands. God, his hands. Watching him play guitar had been like watching porn.

  She’d always had a thing for hands, the intimacy of human touch. It was one of the reasons she’d been so amped up after that fake threesome scene. Rafe and the other guy’s hands on her, even in ways suitable for a live audience, had been enough to get her blood pumping.

  The other reason was her.

  If anxiety and frequent mood shifts weren’t fun enough, an out-of-control sex drive was one more feature of bipolar disorder. It was a symptom her meds had never managed to tamp down much and one she remembered having long before her hospital stint, to be honest, but the constant horniness was like wearing a heavy, freak-of-nature scarlet A around her neck, Flava Flav style.

  Rafe had been the first person to tell her she didn’t have to be defined by her illness. The first to build her a blanket fort, curl up in it with her, and stay there while she hid from the world.

  She hadn’t told Mikey it was Rafe she’d done the scene with. The way he’d reacted when she mentioned it at all made her gut plummet. Telling him how Rafe had picked up on her anxiety during her audition, taken her aside, and promised she was safe there would be easy. Saying she’d been immediately attracted to him and had talked with him afterward in his apartment for hours, confessing similar histories before falling asleep and waking up reaching for each other hours later? Not so much.

  Confessing that to Mikey could ruin the shaky foundation of a relationship they’d built, but Rafe was right. She couldn’t keep hiding the truth, not when he’d been honest with her.

  She climbed off him and knelt by his side. Mikey sat up, frowning.

  “Are you totally turned off to me now?” he asked.

  “No,” Krissy replied with a quick shake of her head. “But I have something to tell you too.”

  “Okay.”

  “You might’ve noticed some…unusual things about my routine.”

  “I did, but I didn’t want to pry.”

  Her stomach did a somersault. God, he was sweet. With her heart pounding against her rib cage, she took a breath and began her practiced soliloquy.

  “At the beginning of my sophomore year at NYU, I started having these periods of intense energy. I’d be awake till three in the morning, getting ahead in my assignments, walking the floors of my dorm practicing a monologue or a dance routine. I’d sleep two hours, go to class, and do it all again.”

  “Sounds like college.”

  “True, but it got worse, and these things kept happening. I’d be going to class and wind up at an art exhibit thirty blocks uptown. I had trouble remembering lines and song lyrics, but I thought I just needed to focus, you know? Buckle down. Work harder.”

  He nodded, and Krissy felt like she was breathing through a straw.

  “Right before finals, I went to this stress-release party, and I kinda didn’t stop when the party was over.”

  She couldn’t make herself churn out the details. Forgetting to eat or drink before hanging out with people she barely knew. Getting high first on pot, then on little tablets someone handed her. Sex with a string of random guys whose names she couldn’t remember. She woke up in dirty clothes with a stranger in her bed, humi
liated and dehydrated and certain every student on campus was after her.

  “I crashed at the end of it,” she said. “Really bad. Like, couldn’t-get-out-of-bed bad. By the time my roommate called health services and told them I hadn’t left the room in days, I’d missed all my exams. I needed to be hospitalized.”

  “For exhaustion?” he asked. His eyes were such a lovely color. A soft, doe-eyed brown. She should memorize them now, so she could remember later how he used to look at her.

  “No.” Krissy swallowed, her mouth going dry. “For bipolar disorder.”

  She allowed the requisite beat for him to absorb that news, then moved on, talking as fast as she could.

  “My parents checked me in at Yale-New Haven Psychiatric, which was great because, hey, if you’re going to go crazy somewhere, you might as well do it where the Ivy League doctors are!”

  Crap, she’d used the word-that-shall-not-be-named again. The humor didn’t produce its desired effect either—nervous laughter that would cut through the discomfort, giving Mikey space to express his condolences while searching for a hasty exit. But he wasn’t shrinking away in disgust. There was no judgment in his eyes, no revulsion evident in the little notches between his eyebrows. Just sadness.

  “How long were you there?” he asked.

  “Two weeks. The doctors stabilized me once they found the right drugs. One gave me insomnia, another made my anxiety even worse, and the anti-depressant they had me on practically turned me into a zombie. Now I’m just on an anti-psychotic.” She laughed. “Just.”

  As if that was no big deal at all. She kept talking.

  “I started seeing a therapist when I got out, and my parents worked it so I got a medical leave of absence and was able to make up my exams. I took summer and January term classes to catch up, so I’ll still be able to graduate on time.” She shrugged and stepped into character, going fully into Healthy-Krissy-Mode. “It sucks, but it’s something I have to deal with. I thought you should know, before we…”

  She waved a hand between the two of them, implying whatever that implied.

  Mikey’s brows drew even more tightly together. Then his mouth dropped open in an expression that resembled…relief?

  “That’s why Rafe gave you a pill last night. He makes sure you get your medication.”

  So he had seen that. “I’m usually good with taking it, but I was totally wiped.”

  “And that’s why your parents check in on you. To make sure you’re okay.”

  “Pretty much, but I’ve been stable for a while now. I take my meds, track my moods, get the right amount of sleep, and do my daily yoga practice. As long as I avoid any—” she made air quotes with her fingers, “—triggering behaviors, I live like any other normal college student.”

  Sure she did. That was why she’d asked her parents to let her move in with Rafe, too embarrassed to go back to her dorm and face the former roommate who ducked corners every time Krissy saw her around campus. Too worried about the drugs and partying that were readily available. Too scared to be in an actual relationship, so she messed around with her hetero-flexible best friend instead.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked.

  Krissy ducked her head, peeking up at him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

  He smiled softly at the repetition of his words. She was about to drop the next bombshell when Mikey lifted a hand and caressed her cheek.

  “You’re so brave,” he said.

  “I am?”

  “Yes. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to tell me that.” He brushed a thumb over her skin, so lightly she shivered. “Thank you for confiding in me.”

  Shock stole her voice. She’d expected revulsion or fear from him, or worse, the same looks of sympathetic pity she got from her family. She hadn’t expected him to thank her.

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  He went serious, the movement of his thumb ceasing as his gaze dropped to her lips. He cupped her cheek and urged her toward him, the slow, romantic moves like something out of a movie. Her pulse was flying so fast she could hardly breathe when he kissed her.

  Krissy let him take the lead, keeping still in a desperate effort to hold back the torrent of desire inside her. Mikey took his time, as if kissing wasn’t something he did often and didn’t want to rush. She swore he trembled when he kissed her again, wet passes of his lower lip followed by a quick swipe of tongue.

  The taste of him was gasoline to her fire.

  “Touch me. Please, Mikey.”

  He swallowed. “Where?”

  She answered by dragging his hand toward her waistline. Mikey groaned, then looked over her shoulder and grabbed the blanket, tugging it over them.

  They stretched out side by side, and Krissy snuggled closer, wanting his warmth, his acceptance. She knew she had more to tell him—she wasn’t done coming clean yet—but not now. Not when he was kissing her again and his fingers were inching under the waistband of her leggings. Sliding into her panties and making a rough circle over her clit.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Mikey’s touch halted. “Sorry, my fingers are calloused.”

  “No,” she gasped. “They’re perfect.”

  His slightly heavy-handed touch was nothing like Rafe’s confident caress, but something about the combination of his coarse skin and uncertainty, how gently he was handling her and the sweet, innocent look in his eyes, revved her up like a packed house on opening night. And she’d forgotten what it was like, to be kissed and touched by someone who might have actual feelings for her.

  “More,” she begged him. “Please.”

  He rubbed her again, touch halting and quickening as he offered her clumsy kisses. It felt so good, but she wanted to be pleasing him at the same time. Wanted to feel him in her hand and watch him shudder from her touch.

  She reached for his belt. “Can I?”

  “Yeah. God, yeah.” Mikey’s circles grew uneven he struggled to undo his pants with his other hand. Krissy reached in to do the job for him, fumbling with his clothes until she’d wrapped her fingers around the thick length of him.

  His mouth dropped open, touch slowing to a near stop. “Krissy.” Her name came out more as a moan than a word.

  She arched her hips and whimpered, a plea for him to keep going while she slowly pumped. He complied, albeit unsteadily, and their bodies grew sweaty under the blanket, hot breath mixing and fogging up Mikey’s glasses. He got her so close she was hovering near the edge, but her orgasm was just out of reach, and for a second she missed Rafe—the way he knew her responses, how easily he picked up her cues to go faster, harder, now. Closing her eyes, she imagined him behind her, his long, thin fingers with perfectly buffed nails working in tandem with Mikey’s. Sliding inside her, the two of them making her come together.

  It was the fantasy he’d coaxed from her the last time he’d had his hand worked into her panties.

  It sent her over the edge.

  She clutched Mikey’s shirt with her free hand and pressed her face against his chest to muffle her cries. As soon as the pleasure abated, guilt sliced, sharp and deep. She shouldn’t have been thinking about Rafe. Not while Mikey was looking at her like this, as if her orgasm was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Good?” he asked, but the slight turn of his lips showed a glimmer of confidence.

  “Very. Now it’s your turn.”

  His cock kicked in her grip. Krissy pulled her hand away long enough to lick her palm, then rode her slickened fist down over him. Mikey’s breath rushed out, eyes drifting closed.

  “Please,” he begged, the strain in his voice showing his desperation. “Please do it. Please make me come.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  He choked out a laugh, then pinched his eyes shut. Krissy watched his face as
she worked him, enjoying his responses and the decadent mix of satin and steel under her caress. His breath caught when she sped up, and his expression of anguished pleasure had her greedily waiting for his release when the bedroom door swung open.

  “Okay kids,” Rafe’s voice boomed out. “I’m going to bed.”

  Krissy stopped moving, her hand frozen around Mikey’s cock. He didn’t move either, eyes mashed shut, his entire body as rigid as the still-pulsing flesh in her hand.

  “Oooh, did I interrupt something?” Rafe asked. “My bad.”

  “Not interrupting anything, except us falling asleep,” Krissy insisted around a fake yawn. Her theatrical skills might need polishing, but they were decent enough to make her sound legit. Besides, the blanket hid what they were doing.

  Rafe crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “You two need to get it on already. The sexual tension in here is practically giving me a hard-on.”

  Mikey strangled a grunt. The sound was coupled with another twitch of his cock and the slightest kick of his hips.

  Wait a minute. Was the idea of Rafe getting hard turning him on? Was that why he’d never…

  No. No way. That particular fantasy was too off the wall to think about.

  “Well I’m gonna crash,” Rafe said. “We’ve got tickets for the matinee tomorrow, so I’ll see you lovebirds in the morning.”

  “Night,” Krissy called out casually. When Rafe had closed the bedroom door behind him, she glanced at Mikey. “Do you want to keep going?”

  He shook his head. “Mood’s a bit broken, you know?”

  Nudging her hand away, Mikey tucked himself back in his jeans. He was still hard though, the denim bulging after he’d zippered. Disappointment lodged like a stone in her gut.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I owe you one.”

  He made a noise, a tense sound that came from the back of his throat. He wouldn’t make eye contact, and Krissy’s nerves crept back in—voices in her head whispering that he didn’t actually want to be with her, that he’d only said what he did in the hopes that she’d get him off. After all, no one in their right mind would want to take on somebody who was mentally ill.