Tease

by Sophie Jordan

  “Tell me, baby.” His lips moved against me and this only made me wilder. I tugged on his hair, trying to bring him back up on top of me. He continued to work my oversensitized flesh with his lips, tongue, and teeth, toying with me. I released a long, keening moan as he eased one finger deep inside me, adding to my torment.

  “Tell me,” he demanded, adding a second finger inside me, pushing deeper, hitting a spot that sent me spiraling. His mouth sucked me harder then, only adding to the intensity of my orgasm, making it go on forever.

  I was still shaking, pleasure rushing through me when he disappeared from my body.

  “Shaw,” I moaned his name, squirming where he left me on the bed, watching him in a daze as he shed his briefs and fumbled with his discarded jeans. I heard a slight crinkle of paper and he was back, settling between my thighs. There was a rip of paper and I knew he had a condom—that he was putting it on.

  Still no panic. No urge to jump off the bed and run away. I wanted this. I wanted him. Unbelievable as it all seemed.

  Then his mouth was on mine again and I arched up, my tongue parrying with his. The hard length of him slid along my wetness, not penetrating, just teasing against my opening. The friction tantalized me, and I lifted my hips, my breath in shallow pants. “Please. Please,” I begged.

  “What, Emerson? What?” His dark eyes glinted down at me. “I won’t. I’m not moving a muscle until you say it. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you.” My nails dug into the skin of his back.

  “What do you want me to do? Say it.”

  “Take me . . . fuck me.” I moistened my lips, something else running through my mind.

  And like he knew that, like he could read my mind, his hand cupped my face. His mouth brushed my ear. “I’m going to do that, baby. But what else?” Goose bumps broke out across my skin at the hot fan of his breath against the whorls of my ear. “Say what else I’m going to do to you. You know.”

  I knew what he wanted to hear. I remembered what he had promised to do to me.

  “Make love to me.” Was that my voice? I didn’t even recognize the low purr. “I want you to make love to me . . .

  He pulled back to smile, slow and wicked, at me, and a shiver rushed through me. “All right then.”

  I felt him then. The head of him right there, his hardness easing inside me. It was surreal. My fingers clenched his biceps like I was clinging to a lifeline. My wide eyes flitted everywhere, seeing nothing, feeling everything, excited and alarmed at what was happening.

  At what was finally happening.

  “God, Emerson,” he groaned, dropping his head in the crook of my shoulder, his mouth moving against my sensitive flesh as he added, “You feel so good.”

  His hands slid under my back, his fingers curling over my shoulders, anchoring me between his body and the bed, pulling me even closer, if possible.

  And then he plunged, pushing deep inside me, tearing through the thin barrier of my virginity, seating himself to the hilt, his fingers tight on my shoulders.

  “Oh!” I gasped at the sudden invasion, at the sharp pain. I felt stretched, full in a way I had never imagined possible. My muscles stretched to accommodate him, burning and throbbing around his hard length.

  He stiffened over me, his head lifting off my shoulder. “Look at me.” I fixed my gaze on him. He smoothed a lock of hair from my forehead. His dark eyes gleamed with emotion . . . something that looked suspiciously like regret. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shook my head, unable to form words, too busy adjusting to him, processing everything. Like how he actually seemed to grow inside me. How my muscles clenched around him and that shot sensation to every nerve in my body. How could I explain anything at a time like this? Certainly not that I was a fake. A virgin. It was my secret. At least it had been. Now it was neither a secret nor true and I just wanted to move on to the obvious benefits of not being a virgin any longer.

  I wiggled, testing out the feel of him in me.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Baby, don’t. When you do that, I just . . . don’t.” He started to withdraw and that slight movement made me moan. My hands flew to his ass, dragging him back inside me. That slight thrust made me gasp and arch under his body. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Oh, Emerson, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” His bracketed arms trembled on either side of me. “But you probably shouldn’t move right now,” he hissed.

  “I can’t.” I had to move. It was like something propelled me. It certainly wasn’t experience that had me lifting my hips up and down, seeking a repeat of the friction that I’d just experienced. With him over me, pinning me to the bed, I couldn’t move enough and I let out a sound of frustration, my nails clawing him.

  His hips lifted then, pulling out almost completely. I whimpered at the drag of him against my aching flesh, clenching his firm ass, hoping this was it. He would finally move, finally satisfy my desperate hunger.

  His cock hovered at my entrance. I felt the top of him there, and it killed me. Small, animal-like sounds I didn’t even recognize escaped me. Finally, he thrust deep once again, his hands anchoring on my hips. There was no pain this time, just pleasure. “God, Emerson. You’re so perfect, so tight.”

  He kept a steady pace then, slow and even, cautious, almost like he was worried that he would hurt me if he let go, if he went faster. The friction drove me wild. A pressure built at my center, coiling in my belly. My body demanded more, needed it harder.

  I angled my hips, taking more of him inside me, following my instincts, searching for a way to bring him closer, deeper, to assuage that ache that only seemed to pulse and grow. “More,” I pleaded.

  “Emerson,” he choked. “You don’t know. You’re so small—”

  “I won’t break,” I growled. Lifting my head, I bit him, my teeth clamping down on his shoulder and it was like I flipped some invisible switch in him.

  “Fuck!” He moved then, his big hands sliding under my bottom and lifting me higher, holding me off the bed, angling me in a way that changed everything. Stars blinded me as he slammed into me, hitting that magic spot buried inside me. I screamed his name, my spine arching, head dropping back on the bed as he did precisely what I asked. He took me. He fucked me. He loved me. And I knew with a sense of shock that this was more than sex. He’d stamped himself not just on a canvas for me. He’d etched himself on me. Indelibly. He was under my skin. In my blood. A part of my soul.

  I shuddered, coming apart. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as he joined me, pumping several more times until he shuddered and then stilled. I clutched him close, one hand buried in his hair, the other at his back.

  The sound of our ragged breaths filled the air. I didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to face the questions I would see in his eyes.

  His head turned to press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of my neck. “Emerson.”

  A question hung in the sound of my name. I sighed, relaxing my arms around him. He pulled back and studied me for a moment before rising up from the bed. I watched him, a twisting ache in my chest. I’d done it. Given up control. And I was terrified. I pasted a smile on my face and hoped it didn’t look too thin. I sat up and reached for his shirt, pulling it over my head. I curled my knees together, wincing a little at the soreness between my legs.

  He watched me carefully as he disposed of the condom. My face burned. He pulled several tissues from my Kleenex box and then sat back down on the bed. “Let me.”

  I shook my head fiercely, mortified. “I can do it.” I snatched the tissues from his hand and turned halfway on the bed, cleaning myself off. The sight of the blood on the white tissue only drove home what I had just done. I wadded up the evidence in my hand and rose to dispose of it in the trash can. While I was up, I grabbed a fresh pair of panties from my drawer.

  “Emerson.” The sound of his deep voice pulled my gaze back to him. So unbelievably hot and still naked. Not a flicker of embarrassment crossed his features. “Why
?” He shook his head like he didn’t even know where to begin.

  I decided to make it easy for him and get to the point. “I never said I wasn’t a virgin.”

  “But you let everyone—me—assume—”

  “I can’t help what people think.” Lame, I know, but if I was honest with him, I would be giving him too much of myself and I’d already given him enough for tonight.

  “C’mon.” His mouth quirked into that sexy half grin. “What about Pepper and Georgia? Do they even know?”

  I looked away at that, unable to hold his gaze. I let Pepper and Georgia assume I was experienced—maybe even implied it on more than one occasion.

  “Wow. Your own best friends.”

  “Why should it matter?” I snapped, looking back at him.

  “It doesn’t. I still would have wanted you. I still do.” His eyes gleamed fiercely. “But I might have liked to know before this happened.” He motioned between us. “I could have made it better—”

  “You were fine.” I dropped on the bed beside him, splaying a hand on his chest, directly over the tattoo. Fine? Try amazing. “Better than fine. It was . . .” I paused, suddenly self-conscious under his intent gaze. “It was beautiful.”

  He dipped his head swiftly and kissed me then, long and tender. I would never have suspected when I first spotted this guy at Maisie’s that he was capable of such tenderness. That Hot Biker Boy would be the one to change everything. Change me.

  He broke the kiss and whispered against my mouth, “No more secrets. I want to know the real Emerson.”

  The real Emerson. The idea of that sent a bolt of panic through me. Could I do that? Could I be real with him? I nodded, determined to try. I’d come this far.

  “Good.” He sat up and reached for the lamp, his muscled bicep flexing as he stretched his arm and flipped it off.

  He came back down, pulling me against his hard body. Smooth, warm, male skin surrounded me. I found my voice. “W-what are you—”

  “Staying the night.”

  I swallowed, thinking about my rules. Spending the night with a guy was a big no-no. One of my cardinal rules. But then so was sex and that had just kind of gone out the window. I sighed and nestled my head against his chest.

  I guess it was a night for breaking rules.

  Chapter 16

  AN INSISTENT KNOCKING WOKE me. Blinking, I sat up, clutching the sheets to my bare chest. Shaw was already up and buttoning his jeans. I paused, gawking at him. There was no other word for it. With sunlight streaming through the blinds, there was no hiding the brilliance of his body. Seriously. He was criminally hot. Everything about him shouted strength and power. Heat washed over my face as I recalled that body joined with mine—as I remembered how easily he had lifted me up in his arms. His body wasn’t created from hours at the gym. It was the result of his life. Playing sports. Years in the Marines. Hours of labor. He was real. He wasn’t a boy. He was a man. A man who made me feel like a woman for the first time in my life.

  The knocking started up again and jarred me to action. I scrambled to my feet, yanked his shirt off me and tossed it at him. He grinned, his eyes devouring me as I darted to my closet in my panties.

  I slipped on a pair of yoga pants and a University of Dartford sweatshirt as he pulled his shirt back on. A glance at the clock revealed it was eight forty-five A.M. I didn’t know who it could be, but the RA was rather free with her master key. If it was Heather, I didn’t want to risk her walking in on us partially dressed.

  Shaking my hair back on my shoulders, I pulled the door open and faced a girl I had never seen.

  She clutched the strap of her messenger bag, her wide eyes sweeping over me. “Emerson?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  She held out her hand. “I’m Melanie, Justin’s fiancée.”

  Heat flashed through me, followed by a sudden rush of cold. Justin’s fiancée. What was she doing here? I glanced over my shoulder at Shaw. He watched curiously.

  She followed my gaze, noticing him. Pink brightened her cheeks. Wholesome. That’s the word that popped into my mind. This girl was sweet and wholesome. And she was marrying Justin. Ugh. That made about as much sense as bananas going into a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Oh. Hello.” She waved once at him.

  Shaw stepped forward and offered his hand. “Hello, I’m Shaw.”

  She visibly relaxed at the courtesy, shaking his hand in turn. I certainly hadn’t shown her any such courtesy. I was too bewildered at her appearance. “Melanie.”

  “Emerson’s boyfriend,” he added.

  My gaze whipped to him and I forgot that Justin’s fiancée was standing in my doorway. He looked at me mildly, as if he hadn’t uttered the most shocking thing. Boyfriend? I’d never had a boyfriend before. There had been boys, sure, but I’d never had a boyfriend. To hear him call himself that both thrilled and terrified me.

  “Oh,” Melanie practically gushed now, drawing my attention back to her. “It’s so nice to meet you, Shaw.”

  Feeling annoyed, I asked as gently as possible, but there was really no way to take the bite from my words, “Melanie . . . why are you here?”

  Her cheeks colored again. “I know this is unexpected . . .” She shook her head and smiled weakly. “This is more awkward than I thought it would be.”

  Suddenly she riffled through her bag and pulled out two envelopes. “I know you probably got these already. We mailed them, but here are the invitations to the wedding and the rehearsal dinner. It’s next weekend.”

  “I know,” I said through numb lips. “I got them.”

  “Yes, well. I’d love for you to be there. Justin and your mother . . . well, they’ve told me all about you.”

  They did?

  “Did my mom send you? Or Justin?”

  Her pretty blue eyes widened. “Neither one actually sent me. But they know I’m here. Your mother is heartbroken that you won’t come.”

  I swallowed back a snort. In order for her to be heartbroken she would have to possess a heart. “What did she tell you?”

  “Er, just that you two had a fight a while back.”

  Try five years ago.

  “I know it’s none of my business. I’m not trying to pry. It would just mean so much to her and Justin if you came. And, well, me. I’m an only child . . . I kind of thought it would be nice to have a sister-in-law.” She smiled that smile again, her hands fluttering self-consciously in front of her. Genuine and self-effacing, and the insane urge to tell this girl to run as far as she could from my stepbrother and mother seized me. I wanted to warn her that she was marrying into one ginormous hot mess of a family. Mom. Justin. Even my blah of a stepfather. All three of them equated the family from hell. A crazy impulse, of course. If I did that I would have to explain why, and I wasn’t having that conversation. Especially not in front of Shaw.

  Not for the first time I entertained the thought that my stepbrother had changed. The possibility—the hope—had been there ever since that phone call. Melanie seemed like a smart girl. I doubted she was diving into marriage without knowing the man she was marrying. She at least knew him better than I did. These days anyway. I couldn’t claim to know Justin at all anymore. Could I still hold him to the same judgment of five years ago?

  “Here, just take them . . . . in case you lost the others.” She thrust the invitations into my hand. “Feel free to bring Shaw.” She flashed a sparkling smile at him. “It should be a lot of fun. The menu is amazing. Daddy pulled some strings and got last year’s James Beard winner to cater the wedding.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” I murmured.

  “Friday night’s rehearsal dinner is at the Four Seasons, overlooking the Public Garden. Your mother would have nothing less. It might even outdo the wedding.” Melanie started to edge out the door, but she hesitated before turning back around and folding me in a hug. “I hope we can be friends, Emerson.” Her lips brushed my hair as she spoke.

  I patted her back awkwardly. Damnit. Why did she have to
be so nice?

  Releasing me, she stepped back, her cheeks pink again. She really was a Girl Scout. “Well. I hope to see you soon. At the wedding or . . . maybe Easter.”

  Easter? Did she think I regularly spent holidays with my mother? I nodded rather than explain how that wasn’t going to happen. “Bye.” With a flutter of her fingers, she turned and disappeared down the hall. I closed the door behind her.

  Shaw arched an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

  I shrugged. “Family.”

  “Yeah. Apparently yours wants you to attend a wedding.”

  “I’m not going.” I moved for my closet and grabbed my shower caddy, still bewildered by Melanie’s visit and needing something to do with myself.

  He reached for my hand, stopping me. “Why does it sound like there’s a story there and you’re trying to avoid sharing it?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not tight with my mom. Even less so with my stepbrother.” I lifted my robe off the hook.

  “Why?”

  Why?

  Such a simple question, but loaded with so much pain. I lifted my gaze to Shaw, my chest tight and aching. For the first time there was a longing to unload, to unleash everything that I’d kept bottled up inside me all these years. Maybe because of last night. Maybe because he knew almost everything about me already. He was closer to knowing the real me than anyone else. Could I tell him the rest?

  He must have seen something in my face because he squared himself before me, both of his hands on me now, gently chafing my arms. “Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me, Em. I want to know. You can tell me anything.”

  I nodded jerkily, the scald of tears rising up in my throat. He tugged me toward the bed and forced me down on his lap.

  “I’m a mess,” I choked, warm tears dashing down my cheeks.

  “Hey. Ssh.” His fingers ran over my cheeks, the callused pads wiping the tears away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  I sniffed noisily. And I couldn’t believe I was crying. I wasn’t the type of girl to cry in some guy’s arms. I wasn’t weak like that.

  “It’s not you.” I sniffed again, wiping at my nose. “She just . . .” I motioned to the door where Melanie had just stood. “She seemed so nice, right?”