Cruise

The light filtering in from the hall is just bright enough to see her, really see her. It’s a different side than when she was feisty and confident on campus a few days ago and sexier than the girl who I met earlier tonight when she was both fearless and tempting.

Clara distracts me both times. She makes me crave her sweet, cherry-kissed lips.

When I came home with Clara, I thought I might get laid. I want her. Badly. I want to taste her sweetness and savor her until she’s on the bed rendered useless for all others. And that will be just the first time.

I want the warmth of her hands to sear my skin not just heat through clothes. I’m no stranger to hookups or one-night stands, but I already know, with Clara, this is much more. The cool air outside has sobered me, but I don’t think it’s the alcohol that has my mind spinning. In the peace of her bedroom, I’m seeing the beauty for who she is, who she really is—shy, a little quiet, bold to be lying in front of me, but present with focused eyes.

Like her room, her skin is pristine, too perfect for me to mark with the filth of my past. Like a criminal, I can’t stop myself. I’ve had a taste . . . Her sweater is tossed to the floor. On the bed, her jeans follow right after. She doesn’t protest, but encourages, lifting, tugging, wiggling free from the confines as if her clothes are suffocating her.

Positioning herself on her knees, Clara pulls the hem of my shirt up as high as she can reach. I take it from there and drop it at my feet. My socks and shoes have already been discarded, but my erection is still caught inside the denim of my jeans. It’s a painful reminder when I lean down over her just as her back hits the mattress again. Bending in the stiff denim hurts.

But fuck that. I’m kissing the center of her chest, my lips on that skin that pebbles under my hands and mouth, and then I go lower between her breasts. Clara squirms, arching her back, but the pressure of my body on her lower half keeps her steady. Her eyes are on mine as I taste her bare skin, licking her from navel to neck while squeezing her tits through the silky lace-edged fabric of her bra.

“Does that feel good?” I ask, pressing my dick against the mattress because being with her feels too damn good, and I want her to come first.

“You feel good.” She moves her legs wider, wrapping them around my middle.

I move down on her. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

“No.”

I’m about to fucking eat her through these panties she has me so ravenous, but I stop. Did she just say no? I look up, catching her eyes on me, and ask, “What? You don’t see how beautiful you are?”

“I don’t feel it.” What the hell?

“How is that possible? You’re stunning.”

“I’ve lived what some would call a sheltered life. So no, I don’t know.”

“You are. You’re so beautiful.”

A sweet pink colors her cheeks. She’s so goddamn enticing. Opening my mouth, I exhale a hot breath against the soft cotton of her white underwear. Those fuckers cause my dick to ache. So much fucking innocence wrapped inside them.

They’re going to be in shreds on the floor if I don’t control myself. I flatten my tongue against the fabric and breath until she’s wet and panting. “Oh God,” escapes her lips.

“God has nothing to do with this, Dove.”

I’ve been with enough women to recognize the level of their experience. She’s so innocent, maybe never touched. Lowering my head t0 her stomach, guilt invades me, because I won’t be gentle tonight. I’m too turned on for that, and she deserves gentle. Fuck.

Fingertips run through my hair, as she begs for answers, “What’s wrong? Is it me?”

My head jolts up. “What? No. You’re perfect. I’m not.” It may be the last time I get the chance, so I kiss the soft skin right above her hipbone, right before pushing up. Sitting down on the bed, I reach for her hand. When she takes it, I pull her until she scoots lower and is sitting next to me.

Concern runs through the lines of her eyebrows. Even worried, she’s so pretty. “What happened?” she asks. “Were you not enjoying yourself?”

I love how a trail of goose bumps follows as I stroke her leg. “It’s not that. I promise.” I want to fuck you. I want to leave my fingerprints all over your body. I want to lick you and cover you in ways that are despicable. “I’m bad for you, Dove.”

I love the feel of her hands on me. One is comforting my shoulder like I actually matter while the other splays across my thigh possessively. “Bad? How, Cruise? Explain why even though I’ve only known you for five seconds, I want to know more. Explain how you can be so bad, when despite you pushing a man’s head to the bar table earlier, it was you I wanted to leave with. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I see someone . . . good. And I want to be with you. You told me you’d never hurt me, so please just tell me the truth now.”

She wants to know me? She, who is so pure, so strong, so vulnerable, wrapped in a beautiful, irresistible package. She sees who I want to be, not who I am. Covering her hand with mine, I turn to look at her. “You’ve had a few drinks. I’ve had a few drinks. I’m not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents. I’m the one you hide, the one that you see when you want to walk on the wild side. I’m not the one someone marries. You’re good inside, so if you’re seeing that in me, it’s because it’s reflecting from you.”

Quickly standing, she goes to grab a T-shirt from a drawer and pulls it on. With her jeans in her hands, she backs away from me. Pain morphs her delicate features, the gentle slope of her nose to the downturn of her eyes that are filling with tears. It’s the cherry-kissed lips that taste like heaven that start to tremble.

Jumping up, I go to her. “Don’t cry, Clara. I want you. I do. We just need to slow down. Want me not because I’m the guy you ran into tonight, but because it’s me.”

The trembling chokes her when she asks, “You don’t want me how I am?”

“God, no. That’s not it at all.” Running a hand through my hair, I say, “I want you so much that I’ll fuck you when I really want to make love to you.” I turn my back and grab my shirt. I can’t believe that shit just came from my mouth. It may be true, but it’s not the kind of stuff I should be spewing. I need to remain in reality and forget the froufrou shit.

I said it myself. I’m not the guy she will want to take home to meet the parents. I realize my problem isn’t that I want to fuck her. The problem is that I want to fuck her and then hold her all night.

I’ve lost my mind. Clearly.

But even when rejection is justified on one side doesn’t mean it is on the other. “I want you to leave, Cruise.” Her own anguish comes out through her temper. “Now. I want you to leave.”

“I’m sorry.” I put my shirt on over my head.

Turning away from me, her head drops. “No. I knew better and I broke my own rules. Rules that exist for a reason.”

I slip on my socks and shoes as she disappears into her thoughts. “My father warned me about other men. How they’d hurt me. I just thought they’d use me first, but you don’t even want me.” This time her voice wobbles under the tears choking her. “Please. Just leave.”

I want to comfort her, make her understand that I want more than just sex with her. I want tonight if nothing more, but the mood is ruined because I fucking forgot how fucked up my life was for an hour or two. Being with her gave me a reprieve and now I’m paying the price for letting my guard down.

When I reach her bedroom door, I stop, the situation feeling similar to when I left Celeste. Except this time, I’m the one being told to go. My head is down, too ashamed to look at the pain on her face. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything, so I go, making my way back through the living room. I failed to notice the obsession of French knickknacks when I arrived, blinded by the brunette beauty. I swing the front door open, turning the little lock on the inside of the knob before shutting it. Hope she locks the bolts once I’m gone.

I shove my hands in my front pockets and head to the street where I parked my car. Only looking back once, I keep going. I royally fucked this up. I shouldn’t have left the bar with her, or walked her home. I shouldn’t have kissed her, or gone to her bedroom. I really shouldn’t have taken her shirt off and kissed her tits like an addict needing a fix. I really shouldn’t have taken her jeans off and inhaled her deep into my lungs. Fuck. I think I just met the one person who speaks to my body and mind, and makes me feel alive again. Dove. My little peacemaker.

She smells like heaven, but I bet she tastes like sin.

Undoing.

If there’s one person who can make me lose myself, she’s it.

Fuck.

I click the car alarm and open the door.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I see someone . . . good. And I want to be with you.

Am I, though? Is there any or enough goodness in me for someone as sweet as Clara? Her dad was right to warn her off men like me. I hate that I left, but I knew at that moment I needed to. She needed me to leave, even though I wanted to stay and make things right. I want you, little dove. Could she be the answer to my problems? Or is she my destruction in disguise?

I don’t know if she’ll give me a second chance to make this right, to do things right next time. I’m willing—desperate—to try again. Something tells me she has a forgiving soul. Maybe she’ll even be able to forgive a sinner like me.