CHAPTER 7
My legs are draped over the side of the bed. Edward has his hands on my shoulders, applying gentle pressure, massaging my tension away. The movie was good, but my mind was elsewhere. We came back to the apartment, and quickly ducked behind my bedroom door before Emma could comment on her brother being in my room so late.
Edward leans closer, his warm breath tickling in my ear, “I had fun tonight.” I smile absently, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as his breath lingers.
We haven’t been together yet. The time never seemed right. Or maybe I just keep putting it off because I’m not sure that I want to have sex with my best-friend’s brother. That is a lifetime of awkward moments if things don’t work out. He’ll be picturing me naked in his mind, doing all the naughty things I like to do—things no one knows about—with that adorable grin on his face every time he sees me. I don’t know if I’m up for that.
Edward’s hands slide along my shoulders, his fingers slipping under my collar, tracing my neck with his fingertips. I close my eyes and shudder at his touch. He’s beautiful and funny, witty and smart. He’s everything that makes my heart race, but I still feel nervous about being with him. He doesn’t pressure me, not really, but he doesn’t stop trying to seduce me either. Eventually, I’ll give in. He knows it and so do I. It’s only a matter of time until I can’t resist him any longer.
“So did I,” my voice is weak, like I’ve been sleeping. I clear my throat, trying to bat away the butterflies forming in my stomach.
As I turn toward him, Edward reaches for my face and pulls us together. His lips are soft and hot. Gently, he kisses me, over and over. The kisses are so soft and sweet that I gasp. My heart is pounding. It feels like my head is spinning and I want nothing more than to feel my body sliding against his. I want to forget this day, escape it—with him.
I slip my fingers beneath his shirt and trail my hands up his hard stomach. Our kiss deepens as I do so, and he moans softly. I pull him tighter for a moment. His bare skin is scorching under my palms. I want to lose myself in him. I want to stop thinking, stop freaking out over what happened earlier. I was so upset and scared—terrified—that my future had been ripped out of my hands. I never saw it coming.
Edward’s hand cups my breast, his lips kissing me, making me hotter and hotter. He squeezes me hard and I gasp, wishing he’d do it again. As he lowers me onto my bed, his blue eyes lock on mine. Edward’s hands slide under my shirt and he pulls it over my head before my back hits the comforter. I lay in front of him with my hair splayed around me in long dark curls. I’m wearing a lacy black bra and jeans that sit just below my waist.
He sits above me, his eyes taking me in like he could never get enough. “You’re so sexy, Anna,” he says, and lowers himself on top of me. Edward kisses my cheek, then my ear, and starts moving down my neck. The heat of his mouth leaves a hot trail in his wake.
My body is strung tight—my back arches into his touch—into his kiss. My pulse pounds faster and faster. I’m so hot. The pit of my stomach has no floor. It’s fallen away with his kisses, and the heat between my thighs is completely unbearable. He feels my body shift beneath him, notices my legs opening for him. Edward’s fingers reach for the button my jeans and he slips it through the hole, then lowers the zipper. His hand slides into my pants, slowly pressing into my panties until I feel him hesitate.
Gasping, I say, “I want you. I want to feel you. Please, Edward. Touch me.”
He smiles that beautiful smile that I love and his fingers press against the bare skin between my legs. I slide against his hand, my jeans pulling tighter as his hand moves. Edward dips his lips to my breast and he nips me gently, tugging my nipple with his teeth. A moan escapes my lips. I’m burning up inside. I want him. I want to feel him. I want to ride him and be with him.
His fingers circle the tender flesh between my legs, gently rubbing and stroking until I can’t stand it. The heat flashes through my stomach as I arch my back, begging him to touch me. He slides a finger into me and I moan, pushing back against his hand. Teeth nip my breasts, and his tongue teases me through the lace bra. I gasp, saying his name. With one hand he continues to stroke me, making me wetter and wetter. My body moves against his hand, craving more. His other hand finds the closure on my bra and flicks it open. The lace loosens and he pulls it away. His lips kiss me gently at first and then harder, drawing my tender flesh into his mouth, sucking. Writhing, I come against his hand. He pushes into me hard as he feels me pulsate, his lips still on my breast. Every time his hand pushes into me, I moan.
Edward kisses me gently and pulls away. He jumps up and walks toward the door, “Be right back.” He grins at me.
Breathing deeply I watch him, wondering what he’s doing. I never let him touch me like that before and I didn’t expect him to get me so riled up and then stop. I thought this was foreplay, but he’s left me alone. Sweat is covering my body. The air feels too cold with him gone. When I look up, he’s standing in the doorway with a towel in his hands.
It takes me a minute. I’m dazed with a lust-induced stupor, but I figure it out and ask, “You washed your hands?”
He nods and tosses the towel aside, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. Why? Does that bother you? Most girls like that I want to be clean.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. My pulse is slowing, my senses returning. He just said several things that bothered me, but getting up and leaving me there to wash his hands was the worst. I can’t even process what he just did so I latch onto the obvious, “Girls? How many have you been with?”
Leaning on the bed, he drapes his arm over my waist, “Enough to know what I like. Enough to know I want you.” His eyes rove over my body like he’s still filled with desire, but the way he washed me off his fingers broke whatever spell he wove. The illusion is shattered. Maybe getting up and washing in the middle of having sex didn’t bother other girls, but it bothers me. I pictured my dream guy loving my scent, burying his face between my legs like he couldn’t get enough, licking me off his fingers and then begging for more. That isn’t going to be Edward. He ran to the bathroom before we were even done.
Edward eyes me lazily and leans forward, sliding his hand into my waistband. Placing my hand over his, I stop him. He looks up into my eyes. I can’t let it go. I have to know what I am dealing with. Is he mental or was this just a precaution since we haven’t been together very long?
I ask, “If you found the right girl, the one you wanted in every way possible, would it be different? Would you want the scent and the feel of her on your hands?” Would you want to taste her? Would you swallow? I wonder, too afraid to ask . The questions rush out. Suddenly, this conversation feels very awkward.
Edward sits up and withdraws his hand from my waist. He looks confused. I pull my shirt over my head so my breasts aren’t just out there.
He watches me carefully, knowing he blew his chances with me tonight. He runs his fingers through his hair, “It bothered you.” He breathes deeply, shaking his head like he’s annoyed with himself. “I’m sorry, Anna. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, it’s just that—”
I waive my hands at him, shaking my head, “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” the words are falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. It did bother me. It seemed like he couldn’t get me off his skin fast enough. I was offended, but my mouth is saying I wasn’t. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just tell him what I want? I’ve only been with two guys and neither of them did what I was hoping for either. I am barely twenty-two, but I know what I want. At some point I started to think that the things I want are strange. And I can’t talk sex with Emma—not when it’s sex with her brother.
Looking relieved, he touches my cheek gently. “Good, I’m glad. I don’t know what it is, but the idea of having someone else’s fluids on me just makes me feel like I need to wash it off.” He shivers like it’s gross—like I’m gross—and my heart sinks.
I can’t look at him. The bedspread is twirling between my fingers, my voice soft, “So, you probably don’t like the idea of tasting me. There.” The question is in my voice. I sound frail, like his words could hurt me. Maybe they could. I want him to say yes. I want him to want me.
Edward notices my tone, but he misreads my question. “I’d taste you there. I could do that.” He doesn’t sound eager. “Honestly, the idea of you doing that to me is more appealing.” He fumbles his words, laughing nervously.
I blink hard. What a dick. Did he really just say that?
Another question bashes me in the brain before I can think—why didn’t I notice this before?
Carefully, I ask, “So, I could go down on you and swallow, and you’d like that?” He nods at me, like he’s ready to do it now.
This is what I was afraid of, he doesn’t want to touch or taste me like that. It’s one-sided. We can’t do the things I want to do. Sex with him will be very limited if he doesn’t like sweat and other slippery substances. The pit of my stomach drops. This relationship wasn’t going to work. Damn. I’d asked him if he had any sexual preferences I should know about. Clean-freak didn’t come up. I lean my head back against the headboard and stare at the ceiling. I know there’s no future for us, but I can’t admit it. Things can’t be this way. Not again.
“Anna?” he asks, his hand sliding over my knee.
“Hmmm?” I can’t look at him. It feels like my insides have been carved out. I feel the loss of things I thought I’d have with him, things that will never be.
“I love you,” he whispers. My neck snaps and I blink rapidly, staring at him. My heart rate shoots up to stroke territory. A boyish smile forms on his lips. He doesn’t realize the effect of his words. “Just because that doesn’t appeal to me doesn’t mean that I don’t want you.”
My eyes are glassy. I feel like I’m going to cry. He loves me? But he’s too grossed out to show me the way I need. The way I want. I smile softly at him and he takes me in his arms, stroking my hair.
“I know I said it too early,” he says into my hair. His breath warms my throat. “But, I couldn’t let you think—”
I pull back and look him in the eye. Smiling, I say, “I love you, too.” My words are sincere. I care about him. I think about it and realize that I do love him. I want things to work out between us, so I say it. But I say it too soon after he drops a bomb on us and the consequence is disastrous.