She swung back toward me and I caught her around the waist. Put my lips to her ear. “Your ability to read my mind.”
Beneath my arms I could feel her chest expand and contract faster. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I know I shouldn’t say those—”
“Come home with me,” I said, my voice raw with something like thirst. I pressed my lips to her throat and breathed in her scent. I let one hand move toward her breast. I waited for an elbow to the ribcage, a cry for help, a slap across the face. Because if she could read my mind right now, she’d know exactly what I wanted to do to her—and it was a long, detailed list.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
Thirteen
Grams
I’d heard the back door open and shut, but only once. As if someone had gone out, but not returned.
I sleep lightly anyway, but the thought that something might be afoot between Stella and Ryan had me all aflutter. I didn’t even stop to put my robe on before shuffling into the darkened kitchen in my slippers.
But without turning the light on, it was impossible to see anything in the yard.
Had I imagined it?
I moved quietly through the dining room and living room and up the stairs. Stella’s bedroom door was ajar. It wouldn’t be invading her privacy if I pushed it open all the way, would it?
I did it anyway.
The bed was empty.
With a self-satisfied smile, I made my way back to bed, pausing only to make sure both the front and back doors were unlocked.
That pie worked every time.
Fourteen
Stella
We raced across the lawn toward his house hand in hand. My heart was pounding so loud, it was all I could hear inside my head. I was bursting with something that felt like pure adrenaline in my veins, and I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted the man pulling me up his back porch steps, holding open the kitchen door, and crushing his mouth to mine the second he came in behind me.
The kitchen was dark and silent and still smelled like apple pie. For a second I wondered if he’d heated it up for dinner. But I didn’t have a chance to think about it for long because his hands were at the bottom of my shirt, yanking it up. I lifted my arms and let him pull it off and before I could even feel self-conscious about being bare-chested in front of him, he whipped off his shirt too. Backing me up against the counter, he brought his lips to mine once more as his hands moved freely over my skin. I shivered at his touch, although I was plenty warm.
I slid my hands over all the sculpted curves and lines I’d been admiring for two days—abs and chest and back and shoulders and biceps and forearms. I tilted my head back as his mouth moved down my throat. I arched my back and pushed my breasts into his hands. He groaned and lifted them both toward his face, taking one hard nipple into his mouth and then the other, as if he couldn’t decide between the two. I put my hands in his hair and reveled in being desired so fully, the roughness of his stubble against my sensitive skin, the sounds he made as he licked and kissed and sucked.
A moment later, he dropped down in front of me and pulled my pajama bottoms and underwear to my ankles, lifting one foot and then the other.
Then I was naked. In front of him. In the kitchen.
I felt the change in me immediately, as if my blood started to cool. My heart didn’t slow down, but now every other beat seemed punctuated by nerves.
He stood up and immediately kissed me again, this time slipping one hand between my thighs. I wanted to reach between his, but something held me back. Instead, I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my bare chest to his, willing my mind to shut off, my body to relax. I wanted this with him. I wanted everything.
He sensed something was off. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep and soft. “You okay?”
I nodded.
He put both hands on my hips and pulled back a little. “I don’t believe you. What’s wrong?”
“I’m—I’m nervous,” I confessed. “It’s been a really long time.”
“For me too.”
“Really?”
“Really. So long I’m afraid of embarrassing myself.”
“That’s how I feel too, but …” I laughed nervously. “Probably for a different reason.”
“What’s your reason?”
I took a deep breath and focused on my hands against his chest. “I’m worried it won’t be good for you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s what you’re worried about? Me?”
“Well, yes. All these things are going through my head, like what if my body isn’t perfect? What if I don’t move the right way? What if he thinks I’m not fun?”
“Okay. First, your body is beyond perfect.”
“It’s not.”
“Fuck off, yes it is.” He took my wrists and held my arms out. “Absolutely perfect. I’ve been thinking about it for two full days. I can’t believe I managed to get anything done at all. And if this is as far as we go tonight, and you want to get dressed and go home, I will go to bed feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet because I got to see you naked.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Good. Because there are so many things I want to do to you,” he said, moving close to me again. He ran his hands up the sides of my ribs and down over my hips. “And as long as you’re enjoying this, there’s no wrong way to move.” Suddenly he lifted me up and set me on the counter. Gently pushed my legs apart. Dropped down on his knees.
“What are you doing?” I whispered as he moved his mouth along the inside of one thigh.
“I’m testing a theory.” He switched to the other side.
“What theory is that?” I could barely speak as his lips edged closer to my center.
“That you taste even sweeter than that apple pie.”
“Oh—oh!” I cried as his tongue stroked me from bottom to top and moved in slow, sensuous circles over my clit. “Oh, God, that feels good.”
“I was right,” he murmured, hooking his hands beneath my thighs and pulling me toward him. He moaned as he buried his face between my legs. “Sweetest thing I ever tasted.”
If it had been anyone else—someone less sexy, less patient, less talented, less able to put me at ease with his deep, soft voice and his hot, firm tongue—I’d probably have been too panicked to enjoy what he was doing to me. Other guys had done this before, but none of them had ever been so good at it, and either I’d stopped their pointless puttering around down there before it grew tiresome or they gave up.
But after a minute of his sweet, slow attention, I started to relax. It was almost like getting drunk—words began to slur in my head, my skin grew warm and slick all over, my entire body started to tingle. All my inhibitions began to disappear.
I leaned back on my hands, mouth open, and watched in aroused disbelief as he used his mouth on me but somehow seemed to enjoy it so much it felt like it was for him. Then he started to go a little faster, a little harder, sucking my clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.
I closed my eyes and let the orgasm build, willing myself to stay out of my head and follow the urges of my body. “Yes,” I whispered, my breath coming in quick, hot pants. The muscles in my lower body began to tighten. My toes pointed. My stomach flexed. I wished he were fucking me because I wanted to know what it would feel like to be this turned on during sex, but I never wanted him to stop what he was doing with his mouth.
Suddenly the words in my head were being said out loud. “Don’t stop,” I begged between gasps. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t …” And then my entire body was plunged into ecstasy, the tension releasing as he moaned right along with me.
Yes, I had an orgasm without battery-operated assistance. In his kitchen. On the counter.
Before I could even process the thought, he was standing up and undoing his jeans.
“Let me,” I demanded, replacing his hands with mine. I unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed ever
ything down, and an erection sprang free, so massive I had second thoughts. “Jesus.” I stared down at it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean maybe. I mean …” I swallowed hard and looked up at him. “You’re really big.”
“We don’t have to do anything more.”
I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around hot, hard flesh. “I want to. Don’t stop.”
I worked my hand up and down his length, shocked by the way it continued to thicken in my fist. He kissed me again, slipping one finger inside me, and I found myself aroused by the taste of my own body, mingled with the taste of his tongue. “I can’t believe how much I want you,” I whispered, amazed at the way he’d been able to lower all my defenses, move past my walls. I felt loose and liquid in my skin, and I wanted to wrap my body around his, feel him moving inside me.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, backing off and pulling up his pants.
I panicked. “No! Don’t go.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him back to me, worried that if I was left alone, I’d start to think.
“I promise to come back. I just have to run to my room and get protection.”
“But if you go, I’ll be alone with my brain.”
He laughed. “Is your brain going to fuck you before I get back with a condom?”
“It might.”
“Okay then. You’re coming with me.” Without any warning, he swept me off the counter and into his arms.
I held on tight and squealed when he backed through the swinging door to the dining room. From there he burst into the downstairs bedroom. There were no curtains on the windows, and pale gray moonlight spilled through the glass onto a lone mattress covered with white sheets and a simple quilt.
The bed was made.
Why that broke my heart a little I don’t know—it was probably just a holdover from his military days. But it told me even more about him.
He knelt on the mattress and set me down on my back. “I’m sorry I don’t have a real bed.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
He ditched his jeans and grabbed something from a duffel bag on the floor. Facing away from me, he tore open the condom and put it on. Then he stretched out above me, and I opened my knees, spreading my feet wide.
He rubbed me with the tip of his cock—cooler now—and placing himself between my thighs. “Tell me if it hurts.”
He pushed inside me about an inch.
“Oh God,” I said.
“Want me to stop?”
I took his head in my hands and pulled his lips to mine. “Don’t you dare.”
He went slow, easing into me inch by inch, pausing to kiss my lips, my breasts, my throat. He whispered things to me—how beautiful I was, how warm, how wet, how tempting. It was hard to hold back, he said. It was near torture.
When he was buried deep inside me, I was stretched so tight and filled so fully I could barely breathe, let alone speak or think. Tears were a possibility. Screaming was imminent.
But oh, how I wanted him.
He began to move, a gentle rolling of his hips at first, a rippling of his body over mine. He captured my hands and pinned my wrists in an X over my head, rendering me helpless in a way I never even realized I craved. He made me want to touch him, then took away the power to do it, which only made me want him more. I focused on the contact points of our bodies—his cock inside me, his pelvic bone sliding against my clit, his stomach flush with mine, and his eyes.
More than anything, it was the eye contact that felt so intense. I knew, as a therapist, how powerful eye contact could be, but I don’t know if I ever realized how intimate it was—as intimate as him inside me. I felt him opening up, allowing me in, baring all.
Yes, it was my dream—my subconscious fucking his.
(Just let me have it, okay? Even if it wasn’t true, even if it was just a run-of the-mill lay between two lonely people on a mattress on the floor, lit by the moon because the windows were as bare as the rest of the house, I needed this moment.)
Our bodies fit together perfectly. Both tall, both strong, both long-limbed and agile. It was as if they spoke a language beyond words. When his hips moved faster, mine answered in kind. When his breathing grew ragged, mine echoed its sharp inhalations and shuddering sighs. When his body reached the breaking point, and he was unable to hold back for wanting me, I strained against him and put my lips to his ear, whispering words I’d only read in books.
“Come for me. I want to feel it. I want to—”
That was as far as I got before he groaned long and hard, his body going stiff above me. He buried his face in my neck, and I felt his cock pulse over and over again inside me. At first I was surprised it happened so quickly, too quickly for me to come again, but the next second, I was smiling. I was glad he couldn’t hold back. For the first time since I could remember, I liked feeling someone else’s orgasm. It hadn’t felt like a foreign thing happening in my body. It hadn’t felt like something I merely witnessed or tolerated. And it hadn’t come at the expense of my own. I’d been close this time. If we did it again tomorrow night—and I hoped we would—I felt like it might be possible.
“Jesus Christ.” Ryan’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Stella.”
“What? Why?”
He picked his head up, although it seemed like it took some effort. “I was too fast.”
“Fuck off,” I told him. “That was perfect.”
He smiled, and I felt it everywhere in my body.
It was almost as good as an orgasm.
He walked me home.
Like right to the front door, as if we’d just been to the prom.
“This is very gentlemanly of you.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He caught me in his arms, and my heart rate picked up again. “I like that you think I’m a gentleman.”
“I know you are.” I put my arms around his neck. “Don’t try to hide it. I know you make your bed.”
He grimaced. “A hard habit to break.”
“Don’t break it. It’s nice.”
He looked down at me. “Are you gonna get in trouble for coming home so late?”
“I don’t think so. Something tells me Grams had this whole thing in mind when she manipulated me into coming up here.”
“Manipulated you?”
“Let’s just say she faked a few old-lady problems to spark my concern, and talked a lot about the boy next door.”
“Boy?”
I giggled. “Yes. You weren’t what I pictured at all.”
“I guess that explains why she suddenly decided to let me paint her front porch this weekend.”
“Probably.” I felt a pang of regret, and confessed. “I’m leaving on Friday.”
Was it my imagination or did he pull back a little? His arms stayed around my waist, but I felt his body tense up.
“It’s just as well,” he said, letting go of me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it doesn’t really matter when you leave.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Well, what are you doing tomorrow?” I asked. “Can you maybe come over for dinner?”
“Nah, I don’t think so.” He looked toward the street, frowning.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got a work thing.”
I hesitated, but ultimately decided to speak up. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Ryan, come on. Can’t I see you again before I go?”
“Look, I don’t date, okay? This was fun tonight, and I hope you had a good time, but let’s not make too much out of it.”
I was stunned into silence. Crickets chirped.
“You should go in,” he said. Every trace of the lighthearted man I’d been with for the last couple hours was gone. It was like the curtain had gone up and he’d become someone else.
“Okay …” Still reeling, I opened the front door, hoping he’d stop me.
But he didn’t.
>
He took off down the steps, jogging across the lawn toward his house, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from me.
Despite all that had happened between us, I felt I didn’t know him after all.
Fifteen
Ryan
You fucking idiot.
Now look what you did.
I went back home, let myself in the back door, couldn’t even bring myself to glance at the counter where I’d had my face buried between her legs as I passed through. God, she’d tasted like heaven on earth. And her skin was like satin against mine. Losing myself inside her had been the most intense physical pleasure I’d felt in a lifetime. For those few minutes, I was able to forget everything else.
In my room, I tossed my clothes on the floor and threw myself down on my stupid mattress, hands behind my head as I frowned at the cracked plaster in the ceiling.
I’d hurt and confused her again, and I hated myself for it. For those couple hours it had been so nice to pretend it was just us that existed, tucked away in a dark room, finding a safe place in the world and in one another. I’d forgotten how good it could feel to be honest with someone that way. To be real.
And I’d forgotten it couldn’t last.
When she mentioned leaving on Friday, it was like realizing the plane was about to crash and I’d better jump the fuck out. So I had.
I should have just stayed away from her like I planned.
I was furious with myself for being so weak, furious with Mack for telling me I needed to get laid, and I even managed to place some blame on Stella for coming outside in her pajamas with her hair all pillow-messed and her skin smelling so sweet. She was an irresistible siren and she knew it, luring me in with her seductive voice and wide eyes and that uncanny ability to see inside my soul.
Above all, you value your honor. Your word.
Christ, how did she know that kind of shit?
I bet she was really fucking good at her job. I bet she was really fucking good at everything.
Only Love Page 9
