The early morning light of day brings not only a toe-curling orgasm but also the realization that unloading my dirty little secret really wasn’t as terrible as I’d imagined it would be. Sure, it was right up there with one of worst experiences of my life, but now as I lie here in Jace’s arms and consider the magnitude of what I’ve revealed, I don’t feel regret or worry. I feel free.
“You hungry?” he asks.
As if on cue, my stomach growls angrily and reminds me that we never did eat last night. “Famished.”
“Come on then.” He smacks my ass lightly. “Let’s get up and make something to eat.” Tossing the blankets aside, he gets to his feet and stretches. Voyeur that I am, I can only lie there and appreciate the view.
Nerdy Teacher looks nothing like a scholar and every bit like the naughty cover of a dirty romance novel. His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist and those perfect, rock-hard abs are marred by the smattering of tattoos I can now see fully. There’s a quote of some sort on his left side, another down the opposite side from pec to waist, and a third I can only see the hint of as it disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts.
Shorts that are fully-tented in the front, I’m quick to notice.
He sees me appreciating him with my eyes and grins. “Yeah. I should probably do something about that.”
My face heats at his suggestion. “Uh, okay.”
Leaning over me, he whispers, “I’ll just take a quick shower. Wait for me.” He drops a soft kiss on my lips then growls low in his throat before strolling into the bathroom.
My mouth falls open. Did he just inform me that he plans on … on … Oh yes he did. So why the hell didn’t I offer to assist or … or … watch?
With a sigh, I curl into myself and face the bathroom door. The shower is running now and my dirty, over-emotional mind is imagining exactly what’s going on in there. Why am I so surprised that I’m all tingly and throbbing again?
Is this a proper reaction to coming clean with someone about something so very traumatic? How the heck would I know? It seems like both Jace and I are doing a whole lot of just going with the flow, which is just plain weird for me. The thing is it doesn’t feel weird. It feels … good and right. It feels safe.
By the time he steps out of the bathroom with nothing more than a towel around his waist, I’m half-asleep and waffling between that happy space of post-orgasm nap and the need to get my butt out of bed.
Jace saunters toward me, shaking his head and smiling. “Get up, sleepyhead. I left a towel out for you.” He wanders into his walk-in closet, and I hear the sound of drawers slamming. A minute later he reappears and stands over me once again. “Here’s some clean clothes. Take your time. I’ll get breakfast going.” With another quick kiss, he smacks my ass lightly and strolls back into the closet to dress.
With a groan, I toss the blankets aside, take the clothes in hand, and walk into the bathroom. One look in the mirror and I flinch. My eyes are swollen and red from all the crying, face blotchy, hair a hot mess around my face. My shirt is twisted and my pants are still undone reminding me all too well about the magnificent orgasm Jace gifted me. Damn, if the man can make me come like that with just his fingers, there’s no telling what will happen when we …
Slow down, girl, I reprimand myself as I turn on the shower and strip. Jumping the gun after all he and I have been through since last night is a lesson in disaster. I need to give him time to think everything through, ask his questions, express his concerns. And I most definitely need to give myself the time to ensure that this … that he… is what I really want.
As the warm water beats down on my head, I consider what would have happened had we never run into that man last night. How long would it have taken me to come clean with Jace? Would I ever have? The quick answer is no. I’d gotten so used to hiding behind my lies, living a half-life of semi-truths and fakery. I’ve done it for so long it should have felt like second nature, only it didn’t. Every time I threw on a phony smile or professed to be happy, I could hear “liar” being screamed loudly inside my head.
This sense of freedom I now have, while not complete, is certainly a start. Waking up in a man’s bed, wearing his clothes, being honest … it all feels so damn liberating. For once I can smile and laugh and know that those emotions come from a real, honest place and not the fictional one I created to spare everyone I love the pain of knowing the truth.
Helping myself to his toothbrush and deodorant, I pull on the T-shirt and tighten the sweats with the tie at my waist. Running his brush through my hair, I fluff it with my fingers and take one last look in the mirror. Better. Much, much better.
Dirty clothes in hand, I step out into the bedroom to the smell of something amazing. I hurriedly make his bed, dropping my clothes at the end, and pad barefoot out into the main room where he’s standing over the stove.
He’s wearing only a pair of shorts. Damp hair spills down to the tops of his shoulders as he turns to me and smiles. “Feel more human now?”
I nod. “Yes, thank you. How can I help?”
He gestures toward the pile of fruit lying next to the sink. “Want to make a fruit salad?”
My mouth starts to water. “Absolutely.”
We work silently together preparing a meal of bacon, hash browns, eggs, and fruit. Since he has no actual table to sit at, we settle on the couch with large mugs of coffee while we eat. The TV is on in the background, though neither one of is seems particularly interested in what’s playing. I look his space over, taking in the guitar propped up in a corner, the prints on the wall behind the television. One denotes images of famous writers. Some I recognize, others I don’t. The other print is simple. A muted background with books stacked on a table haphazardly, bookmarks spilling out of each one. His love of the written word is obvious and to be commended. I’ve never really been a classics sort of gal, but I have always loved to read.
“Who is your favorite author?”
He takes a sip of his coffee and sits back against the couch, plate settled on his lap. “Shakespeare.” When I wrinkle my nose, he starts to laugh. “Yeah, I know. You either love him or hate him.” He gestures toward the image on the wall. “Who is your favorite?”
Wincing, I reply, “Well, I’m more of a romance girl. Though I did read Pride and Prejudice.” I offer him an eye roll and reach for a piece of bacon. “English lit is really not my style.”
Jace laughs. “No worries, pretty lady. I won’t think less of you because you like to read smut.”
“Good to know.” I point to the guitar. “How long have you been playing?”
He shrugs. “Quite a while. Took it up when I was about ten and have loved it ever since.”
“Will you play something for me?” He nods, forking a bite of eggs. “What type of music do you play?”
When he finishes chewing, he replies, “Pretty much anything. I can read music, but I prefer playing by ear.” At my confused expression, he elaborates. “Hearing something on the radio and picking up the melody on my own and playing it.”
Wow. This guy is crazy talented. So much more than the nerdy-teacher persona he hides behind with his glasses and pulled back hair. While I’m not usually one to make comparisons between myself and others, it’s vividly obvious that this man is far more than one dimensional. Sure, I’m great at my job and I love it; I also enjoy working out frequently, but I have no other passions. He, on the other hand, is passionate about everything: his students, his job, literature, music. I envy that more than he’ll ever know.
Once he’s done eating, he pulls the sleek acoustic guitar from the case and props it up on one knee. After a quick pluck of the strings to test for proper tone, he starts to strum. The tune is one I recognize and after I exuberantly shout out the title, he decides we should play a game of “Name That Tune.”
And so he plays, and I guess the song titles, and most of the time I’m right, but sometimes I’m wrong. Through it all we laugh together and I even sing along to whatever he’s playing. My so-so voice blends easily with the notes he plays.
When he eventually sets the guitar aside and reaches for me, it feels so natural, so very right, that I go willingly without hesitation. His mouth comes down on mine hungrily, tongue searching for mine as it slides inside my mouth. He pulls me across his lap until I’m lying half on half off him but just enough so we can wrap ourselves around one another. His hands inch under my shirt, up my back, gripping me tightly as we kiss.
Threading my fingers in his hair, I arch into him pressing my breasts against his chest. There are so many reasons why this shouldn’t be happening and yet after all we’ve been through together in the past twenty-four hours, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t. This feels right. He feels right … and good … and …
Jace drags his mouth from mine and pulls my head against his neck, grinding out, “We need to stop. Slow down.”
I can feel his heart pitter-pattering ferociously under my hand, can feel his erection teasing my leg. Slowing down is the last thing he wants. “What? Why?”
His hands frame my face, and he tilts it up just enough so that we’re eye to eye. “When we have sex, I want it to be for no other reason than we can’t get enough of one another. I don’t want all the residual crap from last night or the leftover horniness from earlier clouding our judgement.” He grumbles a curse and presses his lips to my forehead, growling, “Fuck. I don’t want to stop.”
Well, that’s a relief, I think as he shifts slightly underneath me. He’s uncomfortable, and rightly so. The poor man has been hard off and on since we woke up this morning. While I’m well aware he probably tried to take care of his problem in the shower, I’m also an expert in knowing one’s own hand is no substitute for the real thing.
Sliding off his lap, I stand next to him and reach down for the edge of my shirt pulling it up and over my head. Stunned, his mouth falls open and his eyes immediately drop to my breasts. Decision made, there’s no turning back now. I might have some regrets tomorrow, but right at this moment I have none. I’ve waited years for my freedom, years to feel free to express myself. I’m certainly not dumb enough to believe that sex is any answer to the problems that will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life, but I do believe that I’ve more than paid my penance.
Hooking my thumbs in the waistband of the sweats, I quickly drag them down and step out kicking them to the side. Jace is still silent, hazel eyes dark with need, as he greedily looks me over shifting again and bringing the heel of his hand against his crotch to ease some of the ache.
Smiling, I drop to my knees and give his shoulders a shove until he’s semi-reclining against the couch, hands pulled into fists on either side of his body. Reaching out, I tug the button open on his shorts, slowly inch the zipper down, and grin wide when I hear his inhaled breath through clenched teeth.
Easing my hands around his hips, he lifts up just enough for me to slide his shorts and boxers down baring his body. His long, thick cock bobs against his stomach and just the sight of it makes me tingle all over. Tossing the clothes aside, I inch closer between his spread legs, grasp him with both hands, and sigh when he groans.
“Fuck, Bella. Do you know what you’re doing to me?” The heat from his eyes is almost as intense as the heat coming from his body.
The man who had total control over me and my body just a few short hours ago lies prone before me allowing me full access to every tanned, glorious inch of him. He makes no move to touch me as I lean forward and press my lips against the hard plane of his stomach. Doesn’t do anything except moan when I swipe my tongue out and taste skin. My hands start to move up and down along his shaft, alternating a firm grip with soft strokes. I know without a shred of doubt that I can trust him with my body, my heart, my life. I know this, I believe it, without anything needing to be said or without me needing to be convinced. He’s shown me I can trust him simply by being here and taking care of me.
Trailing kisses all along his abdomen, I take a moment to absorb the words inked into his skin. “Never let your fear decide your fate” is written in script over his ribs just under his heart, while “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none” is printed in block letters down his right side. “When in doubt, tell the truth,” cascades from one hipbone and partially down his leg, the letters smaller and harder to read than the others. While I cannot say where the quotes originate, I’d bet my last dollar that at least one is from Shakespeare.
My lips drift lower and I release one hand to give my tongue room to explore. The moment it touches his hard flesh, he growls out a curse and his hips shoot upward. “Christ, Bella. You’re gonna destroy me.”
Smiling, I drift my tongue up and down the satin ridges of his cock tasting, teasing, taunting until he finally reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair. He doesn’t push me or coax me, but the message is clear all the same. He’s strung too tightly for me to drag this out and tease him. So with one more swipe of my tongue, I lean over and take him all the way down my throat.
“Fuuuck!”
Gone is the tentative man from a few moments before. Now he’s gripping my hair tightly and thrusting his hips up in a move I feel directly between my legs. I take him as deep as I can until my eyes begin to water and I’m just about to gag. Then I pull back out and sink back down again. Over and over, I take him until we’re both moaning and he’s thickening in my mouth. I’m half convinced I might pass out from the pleasure of it all.
“Gonna come,” he warns, releasing his hold on my hair. My answer is to tighten my lips around him and moan when he hits the back of my throat sending him a silent message that I’m staying right where I am. With a groan he spirals into a mighty, intense orgasm calling out my name as he comes. I greedily swallow down every last drop and release him only when he slumps against the back of the couch, breathing heavily.
Sitting back on my heels, I gaze up at the man who has changed my life in every way. A bead of worry nags at me, but I shove it aside when he opens his eyes and smiles lazily, whispering, “Come here.”
Rising up, I fall across his body and let him enfold me in his embrace. His lips find mine in a sweet, sensual kiss that’s both unhurried and intentional. He’s not through with me, not by a long shot, and the knowledge of this sends a thrill racing up and down my spine. I have no problem spending the day wrapped up in his embrace and exploring everything I’ve put on hold my entire life. My problems will be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. I can only hope he’ll be there too.