Chapter Twenty-Two
Helene
Kane pulled up behind me in the driveway in his dad’s old rusted out pickup truck that I could swear was the same one he’d had since we were children. And when we walked toward the house, he took my hand.
My fingers trembled within his, and as I reached for the door to unlock it, he leaned to my ear.
“Don’t be nervous.” His voice was quiet, and his breath tickled my earlobe as my keys rattled against the lock.
I nodded the most unconvincing nod ever delivered, and as I pushed open the front door, I inhaled deeply. He closed the door behind us as I tossed my keys into the small bowl on the sofa table, and when I turned toward him, he was watching me solemnly.
My entire body felt rigid like the lightest touch or the softest sound would make me jump out of my skin, and I couldn’t get the trembling under control.
“Do you want to make love to me tonight?” He asked the question so simply as though it weren’t one of the most loaded and heavy decisions in the world. Maybe it wasn’t to him. But that wasn’t true. I knew that wasn’t true. But his eyes watched me calmly as I fought to stay composed.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, shaking my head rigidly. It was the truth. Want was a difficult thing when it came to sex for me. I could want and dread something in the same breath. That couldn’t possibly be normal. But it was. For me.
“That’s a no to me, baby.” His expression softened. “That’s okay. We’ll take it nice and slow.” His voice was soothing and warm, and the way his eyes didn’t waver from mine sent a hot tingle through my skin.
I nodded, and he took my hand, pulling me gently down the hall toward my bedroom. When I entered, I wandered around aimlessly for a moment. I finally sank into the occasional chair that sat in the corner, and I watched him as I clutched the small throw pillow that had been on the seat tightly in my lap.
He turned the bedside lamp on, and as he rounded the bed toward me, he flipped the overhead light off, leaving us in a warmer, dimmer space. I sighed as he walked toward me. When he reached me, he stared down at me, his nostrils flaring as he breathed.
“I don’t know how this is supposed to go,” I said as I peered up at him. I was still clenching the pillow tight in my hands, and I knew if I let it go, my fingers would be trembling again.
“Sure you do,” he whispered as he leaned over, planting his hands on the narrow arms of the chair and bringing his face close to mine. “Don’t you remember how we did this when we were kids?”
I shook my head, confused. “We didn’t. Not like this…” I didn’t want to finish that sentence, and I glanced down at my lap, focusing on my white knuckled grip on the pillow.
He reached for my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. “I’m not talking about that night. I’m talking about everything that came before it.” His voice was so gentle. “I’m talking about the flirting.” He bit his lip. “Come on… You know how this goes,” he coaxed as he angled his head down closer to mine, his lips nearly brushing my cheek. “We’ve done it before—so many times.” He pulled back just enough to study my eyes. “I’d stand a little too close,” he continued. “And you’d let me. I’d touch you when I had no reason to, and you’d never pull back. I’d look at you until you’d blush scarlet, and then I’d keep on looking.”
I could feel his breath touching my skin, and my chest was rising and falling. The desperate desire coupled with the equally desperate fear was causing a sort of elated panic to rush through me. It finally left in a shuddering breath. He took the pillow from my hands, and I had to force myself to let it go. Why was I so nervous? Kane, of all the men in the world, could never hurt me. And yet … I was terrified.
“How have you not lost this?” My voice was too quiet when I asked the question, and I was worried he wouldn’t understand what I meant.
But he looked back at me calmly, and there wasn’t an ounce of confusion in his eyes. “May I touch you?” he asked softly.
I paused, but then I nodded.
He kept one hand on the arm of the chair, but his other reached for my knee. I inadvertently clenched my legs closed for a moment when I felt his touch, but he cocked his head to the side. I released the tension, and his hand trailed slowly up between my legs under the skirt of my dress. I started panting, but I parted my legs more the farther his hand reached, until he was right there.
He swept his hand under the leg opening of my underwear, and I whimpered when his finger slipped easily and wetly past the lips of my sex. He stroked gently for a moment, watching me as his lips dropped open. A breath caught in his throat as he exhaled, forcing the quietest faintest rush of air from his mouth.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus on me.
The sound of his arousal alone intensified mine, and when he pulled his hand back slowly, I gasped and held my breath. His nostrils flared as he exhaled a deep slow breath, and his eyes seared hotly into mine.
“Your pussy’s wet, baby. What in God’s name makes you think you’ve lost this?” he asked, finally letting the skirt of my dress settle back over my lap.
He sank to the floor at my feet, unzipping and removing my boots and socks before he pushed my knees apart and rose up to kneel between my legs. He gripped my hips in his broad and strong hands, and he tugged me insistently forward, bringing my groin close to his. It left me lounged back in the chair, and I reached for the hair along his hairline, brushing it back as I watched him.
He undid the buttons starting at the top of my dress and stopping at my waist, and then he slipped his hand hastily past the open fabric, pushing my bra up above my breasts and not bothering to remove it. He stared at me for a moment, focusing on my chest, and when he ran his palm slowly over the mound of one breast and then the other, his fingers trembled. His touch was light—not pressing against my skin but skimming it. The teasing, toying contact caused my nipples to harden even more than they already were, and goosebumps prickled my skin.
I didn’t have large breasts. I’d also never really cared. But I oddly did right now. I had no idea what his preferences were. I simply had no idea what anything he saw actually meant to him. But after watching his hands glide and taunt my skin, he ran his palm up my neck to my cheek, cupping it gently as he leaned to my mouth. He stopped short of kissing me, though, studying my eyes instead.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice caught in his throat, and I watched his subtly protruding Adam’s apple bob as he fought his own tension. “I want something I haven’t had before.”
“What?”
“Something he couldn’t force out of you. Something he never got to touch. Something that can be just for me.” His voice was whisper quiet.
I bit my lip, waiting for him to explain.
“I want to watch you come. I want to make you come.”
My breath left in a rush, but I nodded. “Okay.”
He leaned to my mouth, and he whispered, “Okay,” against my lips.
He kissed down the side of my neck and then over to my nipple. He sucked hard as I arched my back, pressing my breast to his mouth. He moaned, and he licked around the peak of my tit as I breathed out one quiet moan after another. I was writhing, my hips wriggling against his chest that weighed me down to the chair.
I’d never wanted to move so much in my life, and a certain freeness came over me as he pulled, tugged, licked and sucked at me. My body wanted, regardless of any fears or worries or embarrassments, and the movement coming from deep within me was driven by a place inside I so rarely felt.
He moaned against my skin, and I clutched at his hair, running my fingers down the back of his head and holding his mouth tight to me. I listened with my eyes closed to the wet sound his lips made against my skin, and then with a final frustrated grunt, he pulled back and started tugging desperately at the belt tied around my waist.
His eyes focused on his fingers. He undid the knot, yanking at the belt, and then he hastily fumbled with the buttons of my dress. His movements were erratic and quick, and his expression was needy as his fingers worked. He leaned to my stomach, kissing and breathing against my skin as he continued to work on the buttons, and he didn’t pull back until he had my dress completely open.
He breathed heavily as he stared at me, and he reached for my waist, gripping it for a moment before he gently ran his hands over my belly just as he had my breasts. He watched everything he did, focusing so closely on where and how he touched. My stomach muscles clenched tight when he grazed over my lower belly, and he glanced to my eyes.
He leaned down and kissed my stomach, and then his fingers slipped under the top of my underwear, and he tugged them down as I lifted my bottom from the chair. He sat back, letting me close my legs so he could strip the skimpy satiny fabric past my feet.
When he pushed my knees apart again, I let him without hesitation. He studied that place between my thighs, and he struggled to swallow for a moment. He seemed to be lost as he stared at me, and I reached for his face, cupping his cheek gently. He leaned into it, letting his eyes close, and when he opened them again, he looked at my face. He nodded subtly, and I had this strange idea he was reassuring himself that it was okay to see me and touch me. Actually, it wasn’t so much an idea as an intrinsic understanding. He was absolutely reassuring himself.
When he finally did touch me, it was to use his index finger and middle finger to part my lips, and his fingers were trembling again. The air was cool against that wet warm skin, and he hummed as he focused on the sight.
“I love how wet you are,” he whispered. “You can be nervous, fragile, tense, unsure, confused, frigid. But you can’t hide this.”
I shuddered, and when he reached his other hand out to me, I held my breath. He ran the pad of his thumb over my clit, and my thighs tried to close—not because I wanted them to but because of the intensity of that touch. And moments after the shockwave of pleasure passed, he pressed his middle finger into me, slowly sliding in deep. His knuckles grinded against the inside of my lips as he twisted his finger back and forth, and my head dropped back.
He pulled out slowly, and then he sank two fingers in just as deep. He twisted again, wiggling his fingers as he did, and I looked down to see his knuckles glistening with my wetness. When he pulled out again, it was brief, and he started thrusting in and out, the sound sloppy, wet, and lewd as he fucked me with his fingers.
I wanted this. I wanted this more than I would have imagined I could, and when he circled my clit with his thumb once more, I cried out loudly. My back was arched again, and I was writhing in agonized pleasure as he pumped hard and fast into my sex. I pushed against the floor with the balls of my feet, lifting my bottom from the seat as I neared my release.
Every muscle was strained tight when I finally came, and as I did, he pushed hard into me with his fingers, holding them there as my body tried to turn inside out. I twitched as my bottom sank back down to the seat, my shoulders rolled forward, trying to wrap around my core, and I whimpered as I gripped the arms of the chair.
He still held his fingers deep, pushing on my clit with his thumb but not stroking, and it wasn’t until I was sprawled across the chair, my muscles too spent to work, that he slowly withdrew them.
He chuckled as he watched me, and it turned into a warm humming sound when he leaned over me, lowering his body to collapse on mine. He rested his cheek to my chest, and his hands held my waist as he nestled against me. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he sighed as I stroked.
“Well that answers that question.” His voice was quiet.
“What question is that?” I tucked my chin down, so I could see him.
He lifted his head, planting his chin on my breastbone. He smiled. “If you’re as fucking stunning as I always assumed you’d be in the throes of orgasm.” He winked as he shoved his tongue into his cheek playfully. “I used to wonder all the time if you got wet for me.” He leaned down, kissing my skin before he lifted his head again. “How old were you … when you had sex again for the first time?” His face was no longer playful.
I glanced away for a moment. “Twenty-two. His name was Mikkel, and he was an English major. We dated for … four months.”
“What went wrong?”
I actually laughed at that, but there was nothing at all funny about it. “Me,” I said with a shrug.
“How many other men have you been with?” His fingers tickled the sides of my ribcage for a moment.
But I shook my head in embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” he coaxed gently.
“Two.”
He nodded.
“I ended it with the second man, because I knew he was cheating on me.”
“Fucker,” he muttered as his fingers tightened on me.
“No,” I said quietly. “He was just lonely.” My eyes warmed and filled with tears, but I didn’t cry. I brushed a tear away, and I smiled at him. “I didn’t even tell him I knew. I just … set him free.”
“And then there was Brian?” he asked.
I nodded. “I tried to be what I was supposed to be with him.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t enough.”
“They just didn’t know how to touch you the right way.” His fingers pinched gently.
My body twitched. “Is that all it is?”
He nodded. “Mm-hmm. And a little bit of patience.” He sat up straighter, planting his elbows on the seat beside my thighs. “Did you love any of them?”
“I thought I could love Brian, but… I don’t know. Did you? The women you’ve…”
He shook his head without hesitation. “Nope.” His eyes were distant as he stared over my shoulder. “I didn’t even want to. Too complicated. Too … exposing. You have a hard time warming up to people physically. I get it. I have a hard time warming up to people emotionally.”
“You don’t seem emotionally cold to me.”
He smiled. “You don’t seem physically cold to me.” He smirked, but it was interrupted by a yawn. “Can I stay with you tonight, or would you rather be alone?”
I reached for his chin, pinching his whiskers softly. “I like it when you’re here.” I studied him for a moment. “And I like sleeping next to you.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” He pushed up from his knees, reaching his hand down to me and then pulling me up to my feet. I let my dress slip off my arms and fall to the chair, and I reached back, unclasping my bra and shrugging out of it as well. He pulled me toward the bed, and I crawled in, curling up on my side to watch him. He undid his pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them. He tossed them to the chair on top of my forgotten dress, and when he turned back around to face me, I tried not to stare.
He was wearing boxer briefs again, and they were a crisp clean white, so damn white there was little at all hiding what was underneath. He was hard, thick, and long, and his erection was pressed to his lower abdomen, running off to the side toward his hipbone and held snug in place by the fitted fabric. It was an intimidating thing to see him like this.
I remembered his body from eleven years ago, but it was more the pain I felt than the visual image of him. The visual images must exist somewhere in my mind, but I struggled to even recall what the stranger looked like now. I remember thinking he smelled and he was ugly, but yet … it was all nondescript in my head. Maybe I’d just closed my eyes too tight, refused to see what was happening. Or maybe I just didn’t want to remember.
But this sight didn’t scare me. It was my own arousal that did. That was fucked up.
“Should we just get this out of the way?” He ran his thumb under the waistband of his underwear, casually letting it trail under the material as he studied me. “Seeing doesn’t mean touching. It doesn’t mean sucking or fucking.” His voice was so calm, so warm. It was what I remembered from our childhood—the cool laid-back kid without a care in the world.
I nodded.
“Do you remember what I look like?” His thumb still toyed with his waistband, but his voice had lost that playful edge.
“Not really. Kind of, but…” My brow furrowed as I thought about it, and I finally sighed. “Not really,” I finally settled on the response.
When he pulled his underwear down, I sat up on the side of the bed, and when his erection sprang free as the fabric was pushed lower, I gasped, my lips trembled, and my focus shifted to his face. He pushed his underwear to the ground then, stepping out of them quickly as he walked toward me.
I glanced down again, but he reached swiftly for my cheeks, angling my face up to look at him as he leaned over to me. He held me there, staring at my eyes and refusing to let me look down again. “It’s just a part of me,” he whispered. “Not me, not who I am.”
I nodded rigidly, and I reached for his hips, clasping them tightly as I focused on his face.
“Please don’t make me a bad memory. Let me be a good one.”
My eyes were tearing again. “Okay.”
His thumbs brushed under my eyes, and as they swept the sides of my cheeks, he released his hold on me. I stared up at his face for a moment longer, but then I slowly glanced down along his body—my attention trailing over his tight, well-muscled chest to his abdomen. My fingers dug into his hips harder the lower I looked, and when my focus finally lit on the head of his cock that was jutting up high on his belly, my nails sank into his skin as he hissed.
I stared. I panted. I remembered the feel of him inside me. And as a momentary rush of panic coursed through my veins, I closed my eyes and I exhaled deeply. When I opened my eyes again, he was staring at me, studying my face. He leaned down again as my hands slipped from his hips, and he kissed me.
I heard the click of the lamp’s switch as he turned it off, and when he pulled back from my lips, it was dark. He crawled over my body, and then he pulled me into his arms. I could feel the length of him against my thigh as I slipped my leg between his. He groaned, and his head dropped to my shoulder.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” I whispered. “You asked me what I remember… I remember waking up alone.”
His body tensed for a moment, but then his arms tightened around me. “Good night, sweet Hell. I’ll see you when you wake.”