Chapter 11

“You still like a little coffee with your sugar, I see.” Cain stood against the kitchen counter later that afternoon. She’d spent most of the day lounging outside by the pool reading and trying to stop thinking about Cain’s large hands on her body. She’d even jumped into the cold pool hoping to alleviate the throbbing between her legs When he had returned from his jog, he prepared lunch for them, then finished packing up the kitchen, refusing her help.

She chuckled.

“I can’t believe I took off my shirt in front of you. It was kind of liberating. All that fear for nothing. So, what’s the next lesson?”

“We can’t move on to the next lesson until you’ve mastered this one.” He followed her to the living room and sat, but put a hand out to stop her before she could sit down next to him. “Strip again,” he commanded matter-of-factly.

She almost dropped the mug she was holding. “So, that’s your new thing? You point and command me to strip?”

“You wanted my help. You said you trust me. And until I think you are confident enough, yes, I’ll tell you to strip. You could say no if you want.”

She merely shrugged. “This morning wasn’t too bad,” she mumbled, hoping it would at least lead to more kissing. She pulled out the neckline of her shirt and looked down inside it, then reached for the hem and began to pull it up.

“What was that?” he asked.

With her head halfway out of her shirt she said, “Huh?”

“What were you looking at?”

She finished taking off her top. “Making sure I put on a cute bra after my shower.”

“It’s just me. Does it matter?”

She took a moment to think about it. Heck, yeah it mattered. He might not ever want her as anything other than a friend—or student, or maybe sex partner—but she didn’t want him to see her as drab. Somehow, though, she didn’t want to admit that to him, so she lied. “Guess you’re right. It probably doesn’t matter.”

He cleared his throat, then pointed to her jeans.

He was always cool as a cucumber, it seemed. He was sitting there asking her to bare herself—literally and figuratively—and he acted as if he did this kind of thing all day, every day. Well, that was precisely why he was the perfect person to help her. She needed that exact same attitude. She wanted men to look at her and say to themselves, She might not be the hottest woman, but damn, she’s sure of herself. She wished she had the confidence to sit back, point at a man, and tell him to strip. The thought crossed her mind that maybe it’d be easier for her to do something like that if she was wearing leather pants and holding a riding crop, and she nearly giggled. But instead she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Cain.

“What?” he asked.

“Is that finger you’re pointing at me your way of telling me to take off my jeans?”

He raised that stupidly beautiful eyebrow at her, the eyebrow that could say all sorts of things without any actual words. Maybe that’s why he didn’t need to speak. His eyebrow did all the talking, and right now it was saying, Duh!

She bit her bottom lip, then uncrossed her arms and hooked her fingers under the waistband of her pants. She hesitated. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and his eyes never left hers. He wasn’t looking at her trembling hands, her heaving chest, or the way she tried to suck in her tummy before pushing down her jeans. She closed her eyes, almost tripping over her feet, as she kicked her pants aside. Now she had these weird arms that she didn’t know what to do with, and his lack of words made it even more awkward. Should she leave them by her sides? Put them on her hips?

She chewed on her bottom lip and waited for some sort of verbal acknowledgement. She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes and looked everywhere but at him. When finally the silence was too much, she put her hands on her hips, sighed in annoyance, and looked straight at him, as if to say, Okay. What next?

“Finally!” he said, giving her a smile. “Fidgeting and not meeting my eyes is a surefire way to let me know you’re insecure. But now your eyes are on me. I’m thinking, ‘Damn, this woman’s beautiful and confident. I hope I can measure up.’ ”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Men have their hang-ups too, Vi.”

“I guess,” she said, unconvinced.

He smiled and his eyes scanned her body. “How do you feel?” he said, his voice huskier than normal.

“Weird. Uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“Uh…you’re staring at me. You can see all of me, my imperfections. My insecurities. It’s not easy, Cain,” she said, a tinge of exasperation in her voice. “Normal people aren’t casually naked around other people who are still fully dressed.”

“Stop biting your lip and turn around.”

She blew out a breath and did a quick turn. He stood, picked up her top and pants from the floor, and tossed them at her. “Okay. Good. You’ll start getting more and more comfortable. Maybe I should just make you spend the rest of the day naked until you’re completely comfortable.”

“Are you crazy? No way!”

“I’m just kidding, Vi. Get dressed. Made reservations at Le Bouchon.”

She squealed. “I love that place.”

“I know. By the way, you got a whole bunch of hits on your profile already. I’ll start weeding them out for you. We’ll discuss tomorrow.” He turned to leave, but before he was out of sight he said, “Oh, and as for those imperfections…” He looked her up and down. “Only saw perfection, sunshine.”

She had a million and one questions, but he went into the bathroom and shut the door before she could ask any of them.

Cain sat on his couch playing with his phone as he waited on her to finish getting ready. When he’d told her how perfect he found her, she smiled that fucking blinding smile he hated. Hated because it brought him to his knees. God, he wanted to touch her so much, his palms itched. And at the same time he was so full of anger, regret, and guilt that it was eating him up inside. He knew he was playing with fire using this game as a means to be with her. Yes, he wanted to help her, but his reasons weren’t completely altruistic. He was a selfish bastard.

Violet walked out slowly. He expected her to be in jeans and a T-shirt or some sort of loose-fitting top; instead she looked so sweet and unsure in leggings and a summery pink top that fell off one shoulder. He stared at her for too long. All that pink against her milky white skin. His brain immediately went to all of her sweet pink spots. Primarily her pussy. But it would also be the color of her skin when she was flushed after he’d been playing with her pussy for hours. Okay, so it all seemed to come back to pussy. Was that what other men would think about when they saw his Violet wearing…“Pink doesn’t suit you,” he blurted out.

“What?” She looked down at her shirt.

God, I’m going straight to hell, he thought.

He was about to lie and tell her pink didn’t look good on her, but he felt like the world biggest dickhead for making her look so crestfallen that he opted for the truth, or at least a version of it. “Men have one thing on their minds most of the time. Pink reminds them of that one thing, so maybe hold back on the pink for the first date.”

Her eyes furrowed and then her skin flushed as a small smile formed on her lips. “So, it’s not that I look ugly.”

“Ugly?” He stood and walked toward her. His hand rubbed her shoulder, up and down. “Vi, you could never be ugly. You’re so damn beautiful.”

She looked up shyly. “Thank you, Cain.”

The French restaurant was just as she remembered it, and she was happy that they’d been given a table outside with a view of the river. It was a beautiful night, and she enjoyed the Texas warmth.

She looked at Cain sitting across from her. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back, as usual, and he was wearing a white button-down shirt and jeans. “You look quite handsome tonight.”

He looked down at the shirt. “I didn’t bring any good clothes. I found this shirt in my dad’s closet.”

“Well, it looks very nice.”

He smiled. When he smiled, his entire face changed. He needed to do that more often.

“Your hair’s so long,” she commented.

“I know. After keeping it shaved for so many years, I can’t bring myself to cut it.”

“It’s different.”

“Maybe I’ll cut it.”

Shoot. She hadn’t meant to imply she thought he should. “I like it. I mean, cut it if you want. But I meant it’s different good, not different bad.”

He smiled again as the waitress brought them their drink order, a beer for him a glass of red wine for her. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she said something that had been on her: “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from packing up your parents’ house.”

“You’re not. We still have a few days.”

“Are you going to sell it?”

“Not sure.”

The waitress brought them their food. His was a healthy choice of oven-roasted chicken breast with steamed vegetables; she had ordered chicken as well, but in a creamy sauce. “You eat so healthy. I should probably feel self-conscious. I wouldn’t do this on a real date, don’t worry.” She felt momentarily sad that this wasn’t a real date.

He looked up, and there was a flash of something in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. “You should never feel self-conscious, and you should always order whatever the hell you want. If the guy’s into you, he won’t care what you eat.” He forked up some chicken and changed the subject. “When was the last time you were here?”

She thought back. “It was with Jeremy,” she told him. “I remember he opened the door for me, pulled out the chair for me—he even buttered my bread for me.” Jeremy had always treated her like she was made out of glass. When they were kids, he’d move things out of the way so she wouldn’t trip over them. When they were dating, he’d ordered for her all the time. When it was time to pick a major in college, he’d convinced her that nursing was too stressful a job and that she’d get sick too often from being around sick people. When she was buying her first car, he’d chosen it for her, going down a checklist of safety features and convincing her that the car she really wanted, the cute little convertible, wasn’t safe enough. He never did it in a demeaning way, though. She had always thought it sweet. But now she’d had six years of taking care of herself, of not being accountable to anyone, of not needing anyone’s opinion, of making decisions for herself. She liked how it felt.

Cain, on the other hand, had always treated her a little differently. When they were growing up, he’d always been there when she needed him, but in general he’d given her the space to make her own decisions. When Violet was eleven and broke her leg climbing a tree, Cain had carried her all the way to her house, and while she was in a cast he’d helped her with her books when they walked to school and did her chores for her when her father was away. Jeremy, on the other hand, had made her stay in her room for a week and fed her soup.

Cain looked at her. “Did you want him to butter your bread?”

She laughed. “Well…not necessarily. But I guess that’s how he showed he cared. He always worried about me.”

“I always worried about you too,” Cain said, so softly she could barely make out the words.

“You did?”

He pushed his plate back. “Of course I did! I worried every single fucking time you drove alone all the way out to Florida to see JL. I worried that you were lonely. I worried if you had a damn cold. I worried about you every single godforsaken day that I was away from you.”

“What? You never told me that!”

“I never told you because you weren’t mine. What the fuck was I supposed to do? You were my best friend’s girl.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed. “We were engaged, yes, but I didn’t belong to him. I’m my own person. I don’t want to be owned by a man.”

He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her, his eyes intense. “If you’re lucky enough, one day a man will come along one day and possess you completely. There won’t be one inch of you that won’t belong to him. Every cell in your body will crave him. You will be his. And the fucked-up part of the whole thing is that the hold he’ll have over you will be the sweetest kind of torture you’ll ever experience, and you’ll fucking love it, Violet.”

Shaken at the emotion behind his words, she asked, “How about him?

“Oh, you’ll own him too, every single fucking inch of him, just the way he’ll own you. And it won’t be demeaning. It won’t mean you’re not equals. It’ll mean that together is the only way you’ll feel whole. Any emptiness you have ever felt will be filled by him.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

“That woman I loved once…That’s how I felt. Every time she was around I was whole. She was my balm.”

She reached for his face and ran her palm against his cheek. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with her, Cain. It sounds like you really loved her. Do you regret it?”

“Do you regret the time you had with Jeremy?”

“No,” she said without hesitation.

Electricity sparked in the air between them. “I have no regrets either. I do, however, have a wish for you, Violet. I wish for you to one day feel consumed by love. I hope that you can come to me and say, without regret or hesitation, that you are owned body and soul by a man.”

“I wish the same for you, Cain.”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You only get that once in a lifetime, sunshine,” he said, sounding solemn. She hated seeing him sad. She wished she’d known he’d loved and lost in his life. How had she not known this?

“I don’t believe that. That would mean I’m destined to live the rest of my life loveless.”

Cain’s words came out in a rush. “You haven’t had that, Violet. Jeremy had that. You haven’t. I heard how he spoke about you. I know that he loved you in a way that consumed him completely. You didn’t. I don’t mean to upset you; I’m telling you this because I want you to find that kind of love.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” Violet said, a quiver of uncertainty in her voice. “You don’t think I loved Jeremy?”

“I think you loved him. I don’t think you loved him the way you want to love the person you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with, though. I don’t think you felt the same passion for him he felt for you. I don’t think he knew you. The real you. The Violet who didn’t want her bread buttered and her food ordered for her.”

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

He shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

Eventually the heavy conversation morphed into lighter talk about the weather and his training. The warmth of the evening enveloped her skin like a blanket, and the wine warmed her insides. She had a great time.

Holding on to him tightly as they rode his bike back to his house, she rested her cheek against his hard muscular back, her thighs pressed against his sides. He rested one hand on her knee while they waited at the red lights, and their bodies leaned in perfect sync during turns. It was a level of wonderful she’d never experienced before.

When they arrived he tapped her leg. “Off, sunshine.”

He reached out to steady her shoulder as she lazily swung her legs down. His touch sent a bolt of electricity down her spine. She’d always had these weird kinds of physical reactions to him, but lately they were really getting out of control. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine. Maybe it was the white shirt that was about a size too small, making her want to run her teeth against those flat little nipples she saw outlined against the taut fabric. Maybe it was those hypnotic blue eyes. Or…maybe she was just horny, like he’d suggested earlier. Damn, was this what he’d meant about delaying gratification? She thought she’d explode if he didn’t touch her soon.

“Vi, I think you might be a little drunk,” Cain teased. Violet’s eyes were hooded, and her eyes were focused on…he followed her line of vision down. Was she staring at his chest?

“Violet?” he asked again, trying to get her attention.

She quickly brought her eyes up to his. “Uh…what? Did you say something?”

He chuckled.

He opened the door for her and stood aside to let her in. As she walked past him her body pressed against his for a split second.

He went straight to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Instead of joining him, though, she stood facing him, a scowl on her face, her hands on her hips…waiting.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“What is that you want. Vi?”

“You.”

Her confidence surprised him. “Why don’t you strip for me?” He sat back and casually extending an arm over the back of the couch, his ankle on his knee.

“I think this is getting weird. Isn’t it? I mean, you just tell me to strip now like it’s your right. And I’m like this Pavlovian dog that follows your command?”

“Pavlov’s dog didn’t argue and I have a feeling you’re going to argue with me every time.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanted the lesson, and you agreed. We can stop anytime.”

She released a deep breath. “No. No. You’re right. I just…I can’t seem to get over the fact that you’re seeing me almost naked.”

“Do you feel uncomfortable? I’m trying to push your limits, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Well, yeah, I feel uncomfortable, but not in a pervy sort of way. I’m glad it’s you and not some guy I just met.”

He swallowed. Why was she reminding him that all his efforts would eventually benefit some other man? “Well, good. Now strip.”

But instead of taking off her clothes, she stood still. “Can we move to another lesson? How important is this nudity business?”

His eyes twinkled. “Maybe it’s been a long time and you forgot how it works, but there needs to be pussy-to-cock contact.”

“Ha ha.”

“And for that to happen you need nudity. Unless you’re planning on pulling your panties to the side and leaving all your clothes on? The guy might think that’s weird.”

“No, I guess I’ll have to get naked at some point.”

“You guess?” He chuckled. “Tonight, you get totally naked.”

She buried her face in her hands.

“You’re still shy,” he observed.

She lifted her head indignantly. “Would you just strip on command?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” He leaned back. “A woman asks me to get naked, and I’m naked before she finishes the sentence.”

“Well, then maybe it’s me.”

“You don’t have to go through with it,” he told her. “But, if you’re this shy with me, how’re you going to be with the guy you decide to sleep with? And babe, that guy’s not going to think it’s cute.”

From her expression, he could tell she was thinking he was a son of a bitch. “Maybe it’s the way you’re just telling to strip,” she tossed back. “I mean, really? Is that how you would ask your date? Is that what women are into? I don’t know if that would do it for me. I mean, it was a fantastic date, but I don’t think I’d be willing to strip on demand like that.”

Cain chuckled and stood up. Okay, time to play this fucking crazy-ass game. We’ll call it pretend. He stalked toward her, making her back away until she hit the wall.

When there was nowhere else to go, he placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head. Her eyes were glossed over with a lust he’d never seen on her before. Fuck, he’d never seen it on any other woman before. He suspected he looked the same to her, since his cock was currently pressed so hard against his jeans that either the zipper or his dick would break if it didn’t get released soon. His rubbed his nose up and down her cheek to the crook of her neck and back up to her ear. He heard her whimper, and the sound drove him to press his body further against her.

“Violet…” His voice was surprisingly hoarse. He continued to rub his body and face against hers till her whimpers sounded like a purr. “Baby,” he whispered right by her ear, “I need you to take off all of your clothes, so I can see your fucking delicious body. I need you to show me your pink nipples, your white creamy skin, and your wet little pussy. I need it, Violet. Will you do that for me, sunshine? Will you take off all your clothes for me, baby?”

She gulped and bobbed her head.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered into her ear before nipping her earlobe gently.

“Yes!”

He stepped back, giving her some space.

It was a while before she finally spoke. “Wow,” she said, fanning herself with her hand. “Okay, I see how anyone would strip after that. Damn, women must have orgasms just talking to you.”

He chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll strip for you,” she decided, “but not here. In my room. I mean, your room. The one I’m staying in.” He wanted to laugh at how awkwardly cute she was, but decided that laughing at a woman who was about to get naked for him maybe wasn’t the smartest thing to do. He began following her down the hall, all of a sudden feeling nervous. “Wait!” she said. “Give me a minute. Meet me there.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Those women who orgasm from just talking to me don’t usually run away or give me any backtalk. I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m not most women!” she said, and shut the door.

Didn’t he know it!

Inside the bedroom, Violet turned off the overhead light and threw a white shirt over the lamp shade, hoping the dimmer light would be more flattering. She didn’t want her naked body displayed in all its flabby glory. Maybe she wasn’t as proud of her curves as she wanted to be. Even with the shirt, though, the lamp was still too bright. She quickly unplugged the lamp and tossed it in the closet. Then she stood on the bed, unscrewed the lightbulb attached to the fan, and gently put it in the nightstand drawer.

Just then he opened the door. “Violet? Why is it so dark in here?” Cain said, searching for the light switch. “Why didn’t you tell me I need to change the lightbulb?”

She ignored the questions and fumbled with the bedspread uncertain as to what she should be doing. Cain eyed her curiously before toeing off his motorcycle boots and placing them by the door. “Vi?”

“I’m here.”

Cain laughed and sat on the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Talk to me.”

She covered her face. “I’m nervous.”

“But you were practically naked the last couple of times.”

“Yeah, but not completely naked. And it’s you!” she said. “It’s weird, right?”

“Not unless you make it weird.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to be that girl who’s like, ‘Oh, I’m too fat and ugly’. I mean, I’m really trying to be brave and feel good about myself, you know? But…you want the truth?”

“Always.”

“I feel unpretty.”

“Haven’t I always told you you’re beautiful?”

“You have to say that—you’re my friend. But before you try to deny it,” she rushed on, “even if you did think I’m pretty, you’re so out of my league. I mean, I don’t usually feel unpretty. I usually think I’m okay. I feel more or less on par with the men I’m hoping to meet. But with you…you’re, you know…” She flapped her arms helplessly. “On a scale of one to ten, you’re like an eleven. And I’m, well…I think I’m like a seven. I’m cool with being a seven, really I am. Seven and I have come to an understanding and we’re good. Still, I’d mostly date sevens, never an eleven. So while I think you’re awesome for helping me, I’ll probably never feel cool stripping in front of you.”

“But you will for your seven?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She slumped down on the bed.