The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  “It’s interesting.” Actually, the word that comes to mind, but I won’t use out loud, is sexy. I’ve heard songs about sex, vulgar ones, but I’ve never thought of a song not about sex as being almost erotic.

  “I think it’s sexy, but maybe that’s just me,” he says casually. His smile is wicked, and as he hands me one of the glasses, I smile too, feeling my ears heat up.

  “That’s the word.” I take a sip of water; it seems as if the temperature has gone up at least ten degrees. I look around the apartment to distract myself. “Are you here a lot?”

  Most of the guys I know don’t do a lot of cleaning. Even when they have a girl over, if they can sweep all the trash off the table, they consider it a job well done. But this house is spotless. Not one thing seems out of place, and every surface shines, dust-free.

  “What do you consider a lot?” he asks seriously.

  I raise my eyebrow curiously. “Um, I don’t know. I guess I’m always home when I’m not at work or school.” I giggle. Did I just giggle? I also start to realize how unbelievably boring my life is.

  “Have you ever been out of the country before?” he asks.

  “The farthest I’ve been is Florida for my cousin’s wedding.” I laugh, watching him come from behind the island. I quickly slip my shoes back on.

  “That should change,” he says, taking a seat on the barstool next to me.

  My skin tingles at our close proximity now that we’re alone. I take another sip of water.

  “I’ve never met a woman like you before, Lauren,” he says, his intense gaze on me once again. His eyebrow arches as if he’s trying to figure me out.

  “What do you mean by that?” I gulp down my water.

  “It’s just that you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and you don’t exploit it. I haven’t seen that around here,” he says, taking my hand and leading me into the middle of the floor.

  I don’t really know what to say to that.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he says as he wraps his arm behind my waist and takes my hand.

  Please don’t be married or a serial killer.

  “The day I met you wasn’t the first time I’d seen you,” he says, placing my arms on his shoulders with a sly grin.

  I chuckle nervously.

  “I’d noticed you the first time I was at The Vault. You were the only waitress who seemed like you didn’t belong there.”

  “Is that a compliment?” I ask him, laughing.

  “It’s a compliment,” he says with a small grin.

  I take my arms off his shoulders and wrap them hesitantly around his neck. “You’re pretty good at this.”

  I’m a little amazed. He’s the first guy I’ve danced with who hasn’t stepped on my feet in the first ten seconds. He spins me around expertly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says innocently.

  “Sure, you don’t.”

  He pulls me back into his chest and resumes the dance. His hand caresses the small of my back, sending chills up my spine; his touch, along with this music, is almost intoxicating. I close my eyes and lay my head on his chest. As we sway back and forth to the music, he’s leading me in every way.

  “I’ve never felt like this before,” I say softly, not recognizing the tone of my voice.

  “Is that a good thing?” he asks.

  I can’t even get my words out. I just nod.

  “I can make you feel like this every night.”

  “You think so?” I laugh lightly, feeling as if I’m floating on air.

  He suddenly stops dancing, and I look up to find him gazing at me intently. “I’m positive.”

  “But would you?” I’m not sure why I said that. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded, even though I only had one glass of champagne, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable at the benefit since he doesn’t drink. Yep, I’m feeling a little out of it, but not at all in a bad way.

  “If you asked,” he says. The sarcastic tone is back, breaking the moment for now.

  I laugh quietly. “So is this what you say to all the girls?”

  He spins me around again and pulls my back against his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist and swaying with the guitar rhythm. “Who says I have to say anything?” His lips are dangerously close to my ear.

  “I’m sure you don’t,” I say, trying to appear indifferent. “So that makes me different?”

  “You are. From the first time I saw you, I knew you were different.”

  “How?” I’m curious.

  “Well, you didn’t throw yourself at me once you saw the Aston Martin.” He laughs.

  “Well, I have an incredible amount of self-control,” I reply sarcastically, “and high personal standards.”

  I’ve found myself using sarcasm as a defense mechanism with him. Truth is, I can’t blame any girl who throws herself at him. He definitely has that effect, even without the car. I feel a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “So tell me, what happens next?” I close my eyes and concentrate on his hands as they lift to rest on my shoulders then slowly slide down my arms, sending tingles through my body. I twist my head to look back at him.

  He’s smiling slyly. “That’s up to you.”

  “Is it?” I say, closing my eyes again. I feel his breath on my neck, making me bite my lip to keep from letting him know the effect it’s having on me. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me,” I purr as his hand slowly creeps across my stomach.

  “Tell me. How am I doing?” His voice is husky and barely above a whisper.

  My little inner voice is going crazy, screaming at me. This is where I should tell him good night and that I had a nice time and it’s time to go, but I’m having trouble doing that.

  A crash of thunder snaps me out of the trance I’m falling into. I disentangle myself from his embrace and walk toward the window, watching the raindrops paint the city. He comes to stand beside me. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s watching me.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says quietly.

  “You’re not. It’s… it’s just—this is all… I’m not used to this,” I admit.

  “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do tonight. As hard as it is.” He lets out a long sigh and laughs. “I’ll keep my hands to myself the rest of the night.”

  He smiles innocently, crossing his arms and deliberately tucking his hands under his muscular arms. The thing is, I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself. I want them all over me, and it’s terrifying. I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my life, and it’s overwhelming.

  “Do you do this? I mean seriously, is this just a routine for you?” I ask, my heart in my throat. I’m afraid to hear the answer.

  He looks surprised. “Well, I’m not going to lie and tell you I’m a saint. I’m far from it. I love women, and I’ve never had to work too hard to get one,” he says bluntly.

  I cross my arms as well. I think somewhere inside me, I’m jealous, imagining all of the women who have stood in this same spot, who have walked through his door and been in his bed.

  “But you’re the first woman I’ve been with that I can honestly say if you left here tonight without letting me see what’s under your dress, I would still call you,” he says with a slight chuckle.

  I’m appalled. What a douchebag thing to say! “It’s time for me to go home.” Definitely time for me to go. I turn to walk away, but he grabs my hand.

  “Wait! That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I’m not used to having to explain myself to anyone,” he says. He runs his fingers through his dark locks and chuckles nervously. “I like you! I love being with women. But I usually don’t like being with them, if that makes sense.” He seems a little confused. It’s the first un-cool moment he’s had, and for the first time tonight, I notice flecks of green glimmering in his gray eyes; they twinkle at me.

  “You seem like the
type of guy who doesn’t think beyond the night. I’m not like that,” I tell him.

  He steps toward me, and the familiar heat rushes between us.

  “Well, I see you past tonight,” he says, cupping the side of my face.

  I lean into his hand and close my eyes. I don’t know what to do. My mind is telling me to leave at this point, to leave right now. My body is begging me to stay and let him do whatever he wants to it. My heart is lonely; I’ve been alone for so long. Even with Michael, something was missing, and I know this pull Cal has over me has to be lust, but there’s something else. If it was just lust, I wouldn’t be so afraid, right?

  I turn away from him, back toward the window, trying to collect my thoughts—my wants versus my fears.

  “What do you want from me?” Who am I kidding? I know exactly what he wants.

  “I want you to tell me what you want,” he whispers.

  A second later, his lips have found the secret spot on my neck that sends a thrill over me.

  “What if I don’t know what I want?” My voice goes up an entire octave.

  He turns me around so we’re facing each other. He leans down, pulling me into a breathless kiss. I have to wrap my arms around him tighter to keep from losing my balance. I whimper as his tongue explores my mouth, and he begins to slowly unzip my dress, almost as if he’s waiting for me to stop him. When I don’t, he slides his hand beneath the thin material; the heat of his hand seems foreign but amazing.

  As I open my eyes, the room is spinning, but my focus is on him. Each movement in rhythm, every kiss, every touch—he shouldn’t be able to make me feel like this; it’s almost as if he can read my mind.

  “I want to be the one to show you things you’ve never seen,” he whispers in my ear as he unhooks my bra. “Make you feel things you’ve never felt.” His hand slides up my thigh before he picks me up. “Just let me.”

  The strap of my dress slides down my shoulder. “And what do I have to do?” I whimper, completely under his spell.

  He lifts me higher so I’m looking into his eyes, and he brings his mouth to my ear. “Say yes.”

  There are so many reasons I should say no. I barely know him. We’ve only been out twice.

  “Yes,” I say, breathless.

  The time it takes for Cal and me to reach his bedroom on the second floor of his apartment passes within seconds; he carries me as if I were a feather. Once we enter the room, he pulls me into a slow, deep kiss that leaves me hungry for more. After his lips leave mine, we catch our breath. With the few seconds apart, my mind begins to race.

  “Wait, um. Do you have any… any protection?” I ask, feeling the awkwardness of the question as soon as it leaves my lips. Still, this is the first time I’ve about to share my body with a man I’m not in a committed relationship with. I hadn’t quite planned for things to go this far tonight, and Hillary’s earlier premonition mocks me.

  I open my eyes as I feel his arms loosen their grip around my waist. Damn, those gray eyes are spellbinding. He sets me down, and my toes are revel in the softest carpet I’ve ever walked on. I shift my focus to the rest of his face, searching his expression for any hint of anger. I’ve heard horror stories of men who refuse to use condoms. Thankfully, he flashes me a wide grin, takes my hand, and leads me toward the bed. He sits and rummages through a drawer built into the headboard. I try to calm my nerves and hormones by distracting myself and surveying my surroundings.

  His room is large with stone-gray walls. A fireplace sits high on the wall adjacent to his California king bed that seems to stretch for miles, decked in blue and gray linen. I quickly scan the room for personal effects, but there are none. No photographs, trinkets, or clothing scattered about. I do notice an unopened king-sized Snickers bar on the mantel above the fireplace, which paints shadows across the walls. A woman’s voice pours from the surround sound system.

  I feel his hand slide across my stomach, and it reels me back into the moment, waking every nerve in my body. The gold foil wrapper is sitting beside him on the bed, waiting for me. I take a deep breath and move to sit beside him, but his hand on my wrist stops me.

  “Here,” he says, gesturing to the space in front of him, in a deep, authoritative voice.

  My body tingles all over, and I move to where he’s indicated. He shifts forward to the edge of the bed and gently pulls me closer to him. His face is now only inches from my stomach, and his lips caress the space above my navel gently as the muscles in my stomach, and lower, flex in response. His fingers slowly trail up the back of my thighs as I look into his eyes—dark gray now, lust replacing the light green specks that dawned in them earlier.

  “I want you to know that you’re in control.” He sensuously licks the lips that I badly want to cover mine.

  He moves his hands up my thighs, sweeping across my backside to my waist. He bites his lip but suddenly leans back on the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. His eyes are locked with mine, and I feel as though he’s teasing me. I’m confused, but then I remember his earlier words. He’s waiting on me. I feel myself flush all over and let out a small breath. I turn around so that my back is toward him.

  “Take off your clothes.” My voice is low and unrecognizable, but I can’t help feeling some satisfaction at the confidence that courses through me. I feel him behind me and hear him removing his clothes. A few seconds later, I hear the wrapper opening. My heart is beating a mile a minute. “Now take off mine.”

  The nervous pit in my stomach transforms into an excitement I’ve never felt—a rush that’s foreign, a craving I don’t recognize. I feel him behind me. His hands move the hair falling down my back to one side of my shoulder; he licks each shoulder blade, sending tingles up my spine. He slowly unzips my dress and pulls it down my shoulders. I feel his arousal pressing against me. His tongue caresses the back of my neck. One of his hands explores my body while the other removes my bra. I’m free.

  Usually, this would be the point where I’d feel awkward, nervous, and self-conscious about revealing my body, but this is different. I reach my arm up to hold onto his neck, my knees literally weak, but a slow excitement has been building since I told him to take off his clothes. His touches and dragging kisses on my body are becoming torturous.

  His fingers find their way between my thighs, push aside the thin, now moist, lacy material, and slip inside me. I gasp, involuntarily throwing my head back. I push his hand away and swiftly turn around to face him.

  “I didn’t say you could do that,” I whisper, a teasing grin on my face that disappears as soon as I see his perfectly sculpted bare body.

  I don’t have long to admire it before he picks me up, capturing my mouth. His tongue dominates mine into submission, and it’s not until I’m on the bed, with my body captured beneath his, that he releases it. I catch my breath, and he smiles down at me wickedly. He brings his mouth to my ear, and I slide my hand up his back.

  “Do you know what you want now?” he asks before his lips trail down my breast, enrapturing one of my nipples.

  I try to focus on what he’s saying. He stops, and I look at him pleadingly.

  “Tell me what you want,” he demands, facing me, his eyes hypnotizing.

  My body’s yearning for him, craving him, almost on the brink of begging him to enter. “Everything,” I admit almost desperately, having never spoken a more honest thing in my life.

  He smiles, seemingly satisfied. “That’s what you’re going to get.”

  May 9th 2011

  May 9th, 2011

  “Lauren, sweetie?”

  Raven’s voice wakes me up. I open my eyes and see the sky is dark but lit with stars. I’ve fallen asleep on the patio couch, waiting for Cal to come back.

  “What time is it?” My body is stiff. I sit up to work out the kinks in my back. “Is Cal back?” I grimace, trying my best to keep the urgency out of my voice. I feel anxious; butterflies are lining my stomach again.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon and that everything
is fine.” Raven unsuccessfully tries to sound confident.

  I can’t even hide my disappointment. I’m too tired to try to play the role of a happy and content wife. It isn’t even worth it after the show Cal and I put on for her neighbors.

  “Can you think of why he wouldn’t tell you what happened?” she asks.

  I roll my eyes. If only I could think of a reason other than he doesn’t want to.

  “Lauren, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” she asks, taking a seat beside me.

  Okay, here it comes. “You’re going to ask it anyway, aren’t you?” I reply sardonically and make room for her to sit beside me.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but, honey, something doesn’t seem right with you both,” she says softly. Her tone is eerie and sensitive, the tone people use when approaching an unpleasant subject.

  “What makes you think that?” I say sarcastically. I immediately regret my snide remark as she looks down at her feet, defeated. “I’m sorry, Raven.”

  I sigh and look into the distance. I’m angry and frustrated, but it has nothing to do with her. She’s done nothing but show concern for me, and I have no right to patronize her like that.

  “Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she says, squeezing my hand supportively.

  I feel tears in my eyes. God, I hate this. I hate that she can still read my face and that she can bring whatever emotions I’m suppressing to the surface.

  “Honey, don’t cry,” she says before wrapping her arms around me into a long, warm embrace.

  I can feel myself breaking down. I hug her back, tears flowing down my cheeks.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she says, stroking my back.

  “I-I don’t think it will.”

  “I knew something was wrong when I first saw you. I was hoping it wasn’t this.” She pulls a Kleenex out of her jacket pocket and hands it to me, taking a seat beside me as I wipe the tears from my face. “Is it another woman?”

  “I don’t know what he does. He’s gone so much. Honestly, though I may be in denial, I don’t think it’s another woman or women. Then again, Cal would never let me find out; he’s too smart for that,” I say undecidedly. I think back to the night when we had a huge fight about my theories on why he’s gone so much, when I first became tired of his frequent disappearances, and how that fight ended and led to the pattern we have now.