Chapter 8
Lose my virginity
Have hot sweaty sex
I cried myself to sleep last night.
I haven’t cried myself to sleep since my diagnosis.
One tear seeped out, then another, until I found myself full-fledge crying like a baby. I trace my finger down the window pane, following the trail of a raindrop. Who knows, maybe a good cry was long over-do. In fact, my therapist would be thrilled to know that I’d broken down my emotional wall to let some real feelings seep out.
The tears weren’t because Christian had played me for a fool. They weren’t even because I’m still a virgin and am starting to wonder if I’ll ever mark that off my bucket list. I cried because I realized how much I’ve missed over the years while being ill. How much more I’ll miss when I’m gone.
I woke feeling depressed, heavy and angry. The dreary weather hasn’t helped. I’ve spent the day inside, huddled on the couch, dividing my time between watching BBC and watching people race through the city, dodging puddles. Gabrielle did her best to cheer me up, but she went out of town to visit a friend an hour ago, and won’t be back until tomorrow morning.
Two more days.
With a sigh, I rest my forehead on the cool glass of the window. When I was at home, I so desperately wanted to be left alone. Now that I am alone, I don’t want to be. Being alone means being forced to deal with my troubled thoughts, when I’d rather do anything else. I cross my arms over my chest and stare out onto the streets below. It’s strangely quiet and empty tonight. The rain is keeping people inside.
Only two days left.
I need to go out, enjoy the city and the days remaining. But Matt has left for the Netherlands, and Gabby is gone. Damn it all, I’m not going to sit around, pouting. I spent my first few days here alone, I can do it again. Even through the closed windows, I can smell the scent of pizza from the parlor down the block. A slow grin lifts my lips. Why not?
The buzzer rings, startling me.
Who the hell is that? Thunder rumbles outside, shaking the window panes as if in warning. The perfect start to a horror movie. Maybe Gabby decided to return tonight and forgot her key. Maybe it’s Jessica. I move eagerly across the living room. Company is just what I need to get me out of this bad mood.
I push the button. “Hello?”
“Why?” Christian’s voice invades the stillness of the room. “Just tell me why?”
I stumble back in surprise. A million thoughts fly through my mind at once. I hadn’t expected him to return. I thought this was over. Hell, I’m not good with confrontation. I wring my hands together. Why would he be here when he has the hot blonde?
Annoyed, and yes, a little curious, I step closer to the intercom and clear my throat. “What do you want, Christian?”
“I want an answer, Hope. I deserve that much.”
My shock turns to anger. “You deserve that much? Are you kidding?”
Thunder rumbles again, mirroring my growing irritation. The rain thickens, pattering against the windows like tiny, irate fists. I should ignore him. I should refuse to answer if he buzzes again. So why don’t I? Why don’t I turn off the lights and go to bed? Leave him to rot in the rain.
“Let me up, Hope.”
“No.”
“Let me up, or you come down here. I’m not going to leave until we talk.”
The words “fuck off” instinctively come to my lips. But damn it all, I can’t deny I’m curious. Curious enough to let him upstairs? I hesitate. I’m in sweats, my hair in a lop-sided bun, still damp from the shower I took only a half an hour ago. It’s raining and cold outside, I sure as hell am not going downstairs.
I take in a deep, trembling breath, trying to calm my racing heart. He’s still waiting downstairs, I can feel his presence like he’s standing right next to me. Who am I kidding…the moment he spoke I knew I was going to let him come up. With a sigh of frustration, I buzz him in.
What is it about this guy that gets under my skin? He’s like an infection that won’t go away. A sexy, hot infection. I could ignore his knock. Refuse to open the door. He won’t cause a scene. Scandinavian people don’t cause scenes, do they?
There’s a soft knock and my heart leaps. “Hope, open the door.”
I part my lips to tell him I’ve changed my mind, to go away. Then he adds, “please,” so quietly, I think I’ve imagined it for a moment. My body grows soft. He makes me melt. I’m not sure what I’m feeling anymore. Hot. Cold. Angry. Excited. He has too much power over me.
I move to the door and open it. “What do you want?”
Our eyes lock, and for one brief moment all of my anger fades. Damn, he’s gorgeous, even when he’s been standing in the rain for ten minutes. He’s soaked, water trailing down the hard planes of his face. His hair is damp, and the wet jacket and jeans he’s wearing cling to his lean, muscled body.
He looks like an advertisement for a high-end magazine. That spot between my thighs instantly throbs. Mentally, I might have written him off, but my body hasn’t. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to shift in an attempt to ease the ache. He looks fucking sexy as hell.
No. He’s a jerk. End of story. I slam up the emotional shield that has been my constant companion for the last few years. “What do you want, Christian?”
He brushes by me and enters the apartment like he owns the place. Even as my irritation flares, I can’t help but notice he smells of musty rain and heated male. And damn it all, if it isn’t a wonderful combination.
“Maybe I don’t understand American women…”
“Oh no.” I close the door and turn to glare at him, slapping my attraction across her slutty face. I will not fall for whatever shtick this is. I fell for his nice-guy act once, it won’t happen again. “Don’t make this about me being an American. There’s a lot of shit I’ll take for being American, but not this.”
“Then why? I thought…” He rakes his hands through his hair, sending droplets through the air. “I thought you liked me. I thought we were…dating.”
Always calm, always rational, this is a new side of Christian I’ve never experienced before. He’s obviously frustrated, but I won’t let myself be intrigued. I’m furious, I remind myself.
“Yeah, I thought we were dating too,” I admit, despite the voice inside my head screaming to tell him nothing. Nothing! I will not let him see how much he’s hurt me.
“Then what happened?”
“You kissing some blonde the other day by the castle happened,” I blurt out.
He looks confused. Even shakes his head as if in denial.
I roll my eyes and laugh. He’s not going to play this game. I’m not some weak-willed woman so desperate for a man that I’ll believe anything…will I? I shake my head. No, of course I won’t. If I want to lose my virginity I’ll call Matt. At least I can trust him.
“Christian, don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Jessica and I were walking by Rosenborg the other day. We saw you kissing a blonde woman.”
His gaze clears. He mutters something in Danish, or maybe it’s Norwegian, and paces the living room. His boots are heavy and hard against the floorboards, mirroring the pounding fury of my heart.
That’s right, buddy, you were caught and I have a witness. So stop playing the poor me card.
He finally faces me. “Kirstin is like family. She’s a friend.”
Kirstin? Ugh. And oh my god. He seriously expects me to believe that lame excuse? “Friend? Maybe it’s just an American thing, but we don’t greet our friends by making out.”
Enough, my rational mind tells me. For once, I listen. I start toward the door, determined to throw him out, but he refuses to follow, staying firmly planted in the middle of the living room. I know he’ll leave if I insist. As much as I hate him in the moment, I’ve never feared him. So why don’t the words leave my lips?
“Our families have been friends since before I was born.”
Great, they’re besties. Their names are similar, they probably shared a crib, first kisses. I glare at him. Nothing he says is making me feel better. I don’t even greet Matt with half the enthusiasm Kirstin greets Christian, and we dated. It’s bullshit. “Listen, if you’re dating other people, fine. Of course I get it. But don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I’m not dating anyone else. She has issues. Lots of issues, mostly because she has a shitty family.”
So what, I’m supposed to feel sorry for her? My anger and frustration are mounting, and I’m really starting to hate this Kirstin. “You kiss her to make her feel better? Just like you kiss me when I get dizzy? Wow, you’re a real hero.”
I shouldn’t be this angry. What the hell is wrong with me? We’ve only known each other a week and a half. But I’m not really angry about the fact that he might be dating other women. I’m angry because he might be lying about it, and refuses to tell me. Angrier at myself for being so upset. For wanting him even still.
Before I can prepare, he’s in front of me, his warm fingers wrapping around mine. And if he pulls me close…I know…know…I’ll sink into him. “She kissed me, and I pushed her away. I swear. I’d be happy to get the security footage from the castle.”
I can feel myself melting. My strength wavering. One touch. That’s all it takes.
“Very funny.” I tear my hands away and step back. Thinking is impossible when he is near. Did he really stop the kiss? I stare into his blue, blue eyes, trying to read the truth. A woman doesn’t just kiss a guy, unless she thinks he’s interested…right? Ugh, this is so out of my experience. “She wants to have a relationship with you?”
He frowns, hesitating, and I have my answer even before he speaks. “Yes. But she has problems. I don’t need that.”
His words hurt me like they shouldn’t. I have problems too. Maybe not mental and emotional, but I definitely have issues. He wants something easy. Something…normal. I get it. Which is why I never wanted this to be serious. Never wanted to care.
My emotional wall is wavering. I can feel it growing weak. Dare I believe him? Do I even want to believe him? Believing him means letting that wall down again. It means becoming vulnerable because I know I can’t stay detached.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I believe you. Just…leave. Please.”
It’s a weak, pathetic command, at best. And he knows it.
“No.”
I stiffen in surprise. “No?”
He pulls me into his hard body. His clothes are cold, damp, but the heat between us is strong. And damn it all if I don’t sink into him. My fingers curl into his jacket. I want him. That hasn’t diminished. He shifts, drawing me closer. The area between my thighs throbs almost painfully. I sigh. My head tucks perfectly underneath his chin. It’s almost as if…we were made for this. Dare I believe the guy? Does it matter? God, he smells good and I’m only here for another couple days.
Why not indulge? the breeze seems to whisper as it rattles the windows.
“Do you really want me to leave?” he asks, his hands pressed warmly to my back.
It’s as if he’s read my mind, knows my weakness. I tilt my head back and meet his gaze. My heart hammers so hard I know he can feel it. Maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I just don’t care. Maybe I’m tired of fighting the attraction. When he lowers his head and molds his lips to mine. It’s like coming back to life. I don’t want to sleep with Matt. He’s a friend, and as much as I try to tell myself otherwise, it would be awkward.
But Christian…I want him like I want to live. Desperately. Completely. His hands cup the sides of my face as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, a bold and demanding kiss that consumes me. My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces that flutter like butterflies inside my chest. I realize that I’m frantically clutching his sodden t-shirt, but I don’t care. I want him. Even if he did lie. Even if he is dating other women. I want him.
He pulls back, and tosses aside his jacket. “Damn, but I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I look into his eyes. “What?”
He doesn’t respond, merely catches my lips in another devastating kiss. I’d thought my first time would be slow, sensual. But I’m tired of waiting. Tired of fighting this attraction. Neither of us want to go slow at the moment. I slide my hands up his chest and around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. Not an earthquake, a tsunami, not even Gabrielle walking into the apartment is going to stop me.
He lifts me into his arms, moving across the room. The moment I accept the fact that this is going to happen, is the moment my rational mind retreats and instinct takes over. His hands cup my ass and he sets me upon the kitchen counter. Desperate, I grab the hem of his shirt. He pulls back just enough to allow me to tear the damp material from his chest. Dear lord, I was right…he is gorgeous.
Then he’s back, pressing his body into mine, holding me captive on the counter. I part my thighs, wrapping my legs around his lean hips. No time to be virginal, nervous or timid. While he kisses me, I allow my hands to move down his chest, savoring the hard muscles, dips and planes, the light sprinkling of hair that leads to the waistband of his jeans.
He’s amazing. I want to explore his body like an archaeologist explores a newly discovered civilization. Just call me Indiana Fucking Jones.
“God, I want you,” I whisper against his mouth.
He growls in response.
I’ve never heard anything so erotic. Gone is the sweet, caring Christian. His tongue rubs against mine, the kiss deep and hot and completely demanding. I’ve never been kissed like this. The kind of kiss that makes you feel branded, wanted, needed. The kind of kiss that sends heated shivers through every cell of your body.
He presses closer, the steel length of his erection straining against me. Hard. So very hard. It’s scary and intriguing all at once.
“I…I need to make it clear,” I somehow manage to get out. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
He mumbles something in Danish I don’t understand, but it sounds sexy as hell. His fingers grip the hem of my shirt and it’s suddenly jerked over my head. I’m not wearing a bra and for a brief moment I’m slightly embarrassed. His heated gaze slowly travels my form. I don’t have to wonder if he likes what he sees…I can tell by the way his body hardens, the way his eyes darken. The desire in his gaze makes me tremble.
When he cups my sensitive breasts in his warm hands I can’t help but arch into him. I’ve experienced so much pain in my life that I grasp onto this pleasure with a greedy grip, desperate to make it last forever. He presses his lips to my neck. How does he know exactly where to kiss? When his tongue darts out and slides against my sensitive skin, I melt, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“Beautiful,” he whispers.
I’ve been naked in front of a lot of people…nurses and doctors…but as a patient. With him I’m not a medical specimen. I’m a woman. A sexual being. Here, now, I’m not some little, pathetic creature to be pampered, looked at with pity. I’m someone to be pleasured and to please.
He lowers his head and presses his warm mouth to the top of my right breast. Even though I know where he’s going, when his lips cover my nipple I gasp from surprise. His tongue wraps around the hardened bud, before sucking it in between his teeth. Shivers, hot and cold, race up and down my body in a never-ending wave of delight. This, I realize, is what it’s all about.
“Oh dear god,” I mutter.
Desperate, I slide my fingers through his wet hair and grip the strands tightly. Probably too tightly, but he doesn’t complain. He’s all youth and mountains of muscle, while I’m all soft valleys and hills. I’m a novice, working on instinct, while it’s obvious he’s done this before.
His mouth moves back up my neck, and finally to my lips. I’m desperate to touch him. While he cups the sides of my face and kisses me, I reach for the button of his jeans, needing to feel him against my palm. The button pops open. The jeans ride low, hanging on his hips. I have just a moment to see the thin trail of hair that disappears under the waistband of his jeans before he scoops me up.
“Not here.”
His gaze has darkened into a deep, deep blue. I’m falling, sinking into him. I know this is right. This is who I’m supposed to be with. He is the man for me. For now. “Room on the left.”
As he carries me into the bedroom, I nuzzle my face against his neck and lick the spot where I see his pulse beating. He groans. A shiver of anticipation races through me. His scent swirls in the air, comforting and intoxicating. I’m dizzy, but this time it has nothing to do with my medication or my illness.
He lays me gently upon the bed, and reaches for my sweatpants. “Harry Potter fan?”
I flush. “They’re comfortable.”
He grins that lop-sided smile. “You’re adorable.”
Damn it all, why did I decide to dress down today, of all days? He pulls my sweats slowly down my legs. “No. Kittens are adorable.”
He arches a brow. “Sexy then?”
“Better.”
I’m lying on the bed in only my plain, white cotton underwear, wondering why I didn’t wear my new black, lacey bra, but determined not to cover myself or be embarrassed. My fingers curl into the bedspread. I want him. Need him. But I’m so innocent I might as well be a nun. I’m starting to wonder if I should maybe mention my lack of experience when he reaches for his jeans and I’m lost.
I’ve imagined this…but imagination is nothing like the feel of a warm, muscled body covering you. Nothing like the feel of a heart beating against your chest. The mingling of heated breaths. The breakdown of barriers until you’re left exposed and vulnerable in a way that leaves you raw.
His limbs are long and muscled. There’s a trail of hair that leads down, down, down… I don’t hide my curiosity, like I’m an artist preparing to do a sculpture. My gaze travels over his muscled stomach, to his long, hard erection. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, seeing him naked makes me hot. Bothered. Almost desperate. He is mine. At least for this night. Mine.
My hands curl into the blanket. Blood roars through my veins. Despite my naiveté, despite my vulnerabilities, I want him. He closes my door and then he’s here, leaning over the bed, moving over me like I’m prey.
“I…I don’t…I’m not on the pill.”
He nods. “I’ll take care of it.”
And I know he will. Good. Responsible. Caring Christian.
His biceps and forearms flex as he hovers over me. We don’t touch but I can feel his heat. I try to take in everything at once, but it’s moving too fast, making it difficult to savor the moment. Finally, his hard, warm body presses down on me and I almost sigh with satisfaction. His erection, hot and heavy and silky, throbs against my lower belly. Naturally, my thighs spread wide, my legs wrapping around his. I cling to him, desperate to be as close as possible.
“Do you know when I wanted you?” he whispers, nuzzling the side of my face with his. The day’s growth of whiskers is completely and utterly erotic. His tongue darts out, tracing the shell of my ear. I moan.
“I wanted you when you accosted me outside the castle for following you.” I realize he’s braced himself upon his elbows so he’s not crushing me. “Fierce, unapologetic.”
I laugh breathlessly. “You ran away.”
“I was surprised. Besides, you were American and I figured I’d never see you again.” His lips press against mine, a whisper, a promise. “Thank God I was wrong.”
And then we’re kissing as the full weight of his body presses into me. And it’s heaven on earth. His knee nudges my thighs farther apart, his erection pressing to my core. I’m sleek and wet, and have been so ready for this for so long.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and lift my hips, rubbing my damp folds against his erection as our tongues duel. This man is my addiction. My link to life. I don’t want this to end…ever. I crave this pleasure, need him to feel again. Bring me back to life.
“Do you want me to slow down?” he asks, breathless.
God no.
He brushes the hair from my face, a gentle touch that pulls me from the hazy lust clouding my mind. “Hope, do you want me to slow down?”
“No.” I bite his shoulder. Not hard, just a little to punish him for even asking such a question. With a groan, he rocks against me. His smooth erection slides between my folds, tempting and taunting. Never have I felt as sexy as he makes me feel here, now. My fingers dig into his broad shoulders. I want him inside me. Want to be as close to him as humanly possible.
As we rock, our mouths mold together in a devastating kiss. Branding. Connecting. Breathing in each other. It’s pleasure and pain combined into one excruciating moment of delight. I know I could come without him even entering me. Just a touch. A kiss. Only a few moments more and my body will find that release for which it’s been searching.
“Are you wet for me?” he whispers against my mouth. “Aching?”
A year ago his words would have embarrassed me, but as his hand travels down between us, brushing my stomach, my thigh, before sliding between my legs, I’m anything but embarrassed. And I sure as hell don’t care that I am wet and aching and society says I should be feeling shy and virginal. I just want him to touch me. Please, dear god, let him touch me.
His finger slips between my folds as his tongue wraps around mine. When he presses into me, I nearly cry out in relief. Yes. Yes! This is what I want. I lift my hips in a desperate attempt to take him deeper. But he pulls his finger out, teasing me, then thrusts back inside. It feels as if I’m standing on the beach in the sunlight.
I whimper, my nails biting into his back. I’d gotten this far with Matt…before we’d stopped dating. But when Matt touched me it had never felt like this. I’d been curious, and a tiny bit afraid, not sure what I wanted. With Christian, I know exactly what I need. There is no fear. Only desire.
He pulls back, his breath harsh and hot against my lips. “You’re so ready.”
“Yes,” I manage.
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!
He’s off the bed and pulling a condom from the pocket of his jeans, and before I have time to truly think about what’s happening, he’s back, his heavy, hot body stretching out atop me.
“How can this feel so right when we just met?” he says.
His words hit me hard, tearing down the few remaining bricks of my wall. I’m not the only one who feels this connection. His knee nudges between my thighs, spreading my legs. I wrap my arms around his neck, trusting him completely.
How can this feel so natural, so good? How can he feel like mine when I just met him? As if sensing the way of my thoughts, he grasps my right hand and brings it forward, pressing a kiss to my palm. It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done. I can no longer control my emotions. A rush of feeling bursts through me all at once, leaving me shaky and confused. It’s just sex, I tell myself. It’s supposed to be just sex.
I feel the tip of his erection enter me. A moment of extreme clarity washes away every other feeling. Shit, this is really happening. I search his gaze, looking for something, anything. A fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead. His eyes have darkened, his jaw clenched tight. And then I see it…a softness underneath the desire, a sense of familiarity when I shouldn’t know him at all.
In this moment, it’s not just sex. Maybe it never was. The unease fades. My uncertainty vanishes. There’s a connection between us that scares me. That makes me uneasy. A connection I can’t explain. But it’s there. It always has been.
There is no subterfuge, no lying with this man. He’s honest. Clear. Compassionate. I have the oddest feeling that this is supposed to happen. That I’m supposed to be here, in his arms. That the quiet, uncertain longing I’ve had for years, has been for him. He lowers his head, pressing his lips to mine. It’s a soft, gentle kiss. He is mine. I am his.
I want him. All of him. Desperate, I tilt my hips up, rocking into him and taking his cock deeper. With a groan, he surges forward. The pain that rips through me is shocking, although expected. He enters me fully, the hard length of him stretching my tight passage. I have just enough time to catch my breath and adjust, when he pulls out slightly, then surges back in. Deeper. I gasp, partly from pleasure, mostly from pain. I knew it would hurt. But damn.
Deeply inside of me, he pauses. I grit my teeth, my nails biting into his back as I try to lay still. Barely breathe. It’s not pleasant. He feels way too large. Why am I doing this again? Shit, has everyone lied about how great it is? Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Wrong with him. Maybe we’re not doing it right. I shift in unease, concerned. Suddenly, he feels too heavy. His weight isn’t comforting anymore, but confining.
“You alright?” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine.
I can see the concern in his gaze and it warms me, making the pain almost bearable. Do I want to stop? I don’t want to stop. Not yet. There has to be more. There is more, right? Why would women keep doing this if there wasn’t more? Maybe it’s like climbing Mount Everest, it sucks on the way up, but once you reach the top…
“Hope?”
“Yeah,” I say, breathless.
He rests his forehead to mine. “Jylland,” he whispers. “You feel so damn good.”
Wish I could say the same, buddy.
He lowers his head and kisses me again, his tongue thrusting between my lips. It’s a languid, thorough stroke that makes me forget my pain. Something sweet and delicious coils low in my belly. I slide my hands up the back of his neck, my fingers entwining with the thick, cool strands of his hair. As my body melts, the pain eases and I remember why I’m doing this in the first place.
He cups my breasts, his thumbs rubbing the hardened peaks of my nipples. Shivers of delight tip-toe down my spine. Unable to help myself, I arch my back. He shifts ever so slightly, but it’s enough to take him deeper. A moan escapes my lips.
“The pain will stop,” he says softly against my mouth.
But as he kisses my neck, and his hands skim my body, I wonder…what pain? I rock again, reaching for the sensation that lingers in the background…waiting. With a growl, Christian pulls out and thrusts back into me. I gasp, my fingers clawing at his back, trying to bring him closer. This time the pain is almost a vague memory. Something shoved to the back of my mind to make room for the intense bliss I experience.
“You’re going to kill me,” he murmurs.
He kisses me deeply, exploring, as his velvet tongue rubs against mine, as his hips rock slowly against me. It’s a steady pulsing rhythm that seems to mirror the beat of my heart. My fingers travel down his back to grip his hard ass. The pleasure is torture. But a torture I welcome. I try to memorize every detail, knowing I will go over this moment again and again in the years to come. The warm, manly scent of his body as it clings to me. The friction of his hard erection sliding into my soft flesh.
I wrap my legs around his, clinging to him. My body grows flushed. His hand shifts, sliding between us. His touch is like magic, and when his thumb presses against my clit I practically scream into his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure rings through every cell of my being. I’m open and vulnerable and completely at his mercy, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.
“Good god,” I gasp, my fingernails biting into his lower back as I pulse around him.
He groans against my mouth.
For one long moment I’m blissfully unaware of anything but my own pleasure. All too soon the feelings fade and I’m left in a state of suspended euphoria. That one orgasm isn’t enough. Somehow, instinctively, I know there’s more and I’ve become like an addict, desperate for my next fix.
I shift underneath him, urging Christian to move, to work his magic again. Restlessness eats at me. The pain is barely noticeable, but that aching need is back and it’s a bitch. My body is demanding satisfaction after what it’s had to endure the last few years.
“Christian,” I murmur, pressing my lips to his chin, lower to his neck where a pulse beats strong and sure. “Please.”
After tonight I might not ever see him again, but in this moment in time, I’m closer to this man than I’ve ever been to anyone my entire life. He knows things about me, sees things that no one else ever has. The realization makes me feel oddly vulnerable, and strangely excited.
He cups the sides of my face. Our breathing is choppy and harsh, mingling together, connected. We are one. It should feel strange, it doesn’t. He presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips, then surges into me. We rock together, moving in a rhythm that is all our own. As he thrusts into me, something stirs deep within. An awakening I can’t ignore.
“I want to feel you come around me again,” he demands.
It should scare me how much I want him, it doesn’t. The determination upon his face thrills and intrigues me, as much as it makes me nervous. In this moment, I truly believe that by his command alone he could make me come again. That he could do anything. I rock up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The more he moves, the more I move.
We are connected…everywhere. I have no control. Yet, for the first time in years, I enjoy it. I enjoy the complete freedom of letting him take over. Letting him show me the truth of what life can be like. No pain. No worry. Only pleasure. Complete pleasure.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamt of this?”
His words make me hot. Our skin is sleek with sweat, our hearts thundering. I know I’m clawing at his back like I’ve gone insane, but I can’t stop myself. A weak whimper seeps from my lips. I can do nothing but give myself over to my desires. To him.
“So many times I’ve had to stop myself from touching you, kissing you, taking you fully.”
The pressure builds, so intense I can barely take it. “Please, Christian. Now.”
He thrusts into me with a growl. I wanted this to last, but as he surges into me again and again, I know I can’t stop what is about to happen. Don’t want to stop. The pressure explodes and a flood of pleasure washes over me. Vaguely, I’m aware of a moan slipping from between his lips, the steely heat of him as he surges one last time into my body.
I’m flying. Free. Yet, I still feel Christian’s hard form anchoring me to reality. Hell, is this what an out of body experience is like? Euphoria. Pure bliss. Heaven.
All too soon I float back, a pleasurable buzz remaining. As I settle into my body my sex is still throbbing. Christian takes in a deep, trembling breath, trying to regain control, but even the slight movement of him breathing is too much and I moan. He lowers his head and captures my lips. It’s a long, slow, devastating kiss. Instinctively, I lift my hips, but he’s the one who pulls back.
“Not so soon. Give me a moment.” He rolls off me and sits on the edge of the bed. I feel rather like gloating as I realize I’m full of energy while he’s depleted. He murmurs something in Danish. Is he cursing? With trembling hands he rakes back his hair. Did it feel just as amazing for him? Did it feel as if the earth has shifted? His entire world changed?
With a bemused grin, I stare up at the ceiling. So, this is what sex is all about. Talk about living in the moment. There’s no better way to focus on the here and now. I’ve thought of nothing since his lips touched mine. I want more. I could get addicted to this. Addicted to feeling alive. Feeling attached to someone, something. My smile falls.
I could get addicted to him.
And that scares me more than I want to admit.
****
It’s been an hour since we had sex. Christian is still here, still in my bed and as we cuddle…cuddle, for fuck’s sake….I’m wondering if he’s going to leave anytime soon. It’s not that I don’t want him here. I want him. It’s just that the longer he stays, the less this feels like a one-night stand sort of thing. It’s making me nervous, uneasy.
We’ve already taken a shower in the tiny stall. Another first for me…bathing with a man. We spent more time bumping into each other and laughing, than doing anything sexy. We’d finally had enough and stumbled out of the bathroom to make out on the couch, before ending up back in my bedroom.
“So,” he says, his hand running down my back, soothing and warm.
It’s at least midnight. I’m not sure of the time, and it doesn’t really seem to matter to him. I should be exhausted, but I feel more awake than I have in years. And most of the time I’ve spent staring at the wall wondering how long he’s planning to stay.
He presses up behind me, the full, hard length of his body comforting and erotic all at once, which annoys me. Really annoys me. I don’t want to need him. I don’t want to crave him. I thought we’d have sex, I’d lose my virginity, and our attraction would be spent. Out of our systems. Yet, I can’t deny that as he presses a kiss to my bare shoulder, a shiver of awareness races over me, awakening that ache between my thighs.
“You were a virgin?” he says. “Should we talk about that?”
“Oh god,” I whisper, rolling to my stomach and pressing my face into my pillow. Why do Scandinavian people have to be so open about sex? Does nothing embarrass them? “Was I that bad?”
He laughs, a deep rumble I can feel in his chest. “No. Absolutely not. But you know… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Why did he have to notice? I hide my face again. Who knew it would be this embarrassing? “Yes, I’m okay.”
He rolls me over, forcing me to confront the situation and meet his gaze. I’m not used to such intimacy. I feel awkward and intrigued all at once. His hair is mussed, the ends curled from the shower, or maybe from my fingers. When Christian is dressed like a model he’s hot, but this Christian, a man who is scruffy and naked, is downright sexy.
“You should’ve told me.”
“Why? So you could have bought me a cake? We could have celebrated?” I definitely do not like where this conversation is going. I trail my fingers down his chest, lower… I don’t miss the way he sucks in a sharp breath. The way his cock jumps to attention, pressing against my thighs. “If I’d told you, then you might have left.”
“No…” He frowns, grabbing my hand right before I reach him. I’m trying to change the subject and he knows it. “Maybe.”
Of course he feels guilty. I finally meet his gaze. “Hey, it was my choice.”
He sighs and leans down to kiss me. “Alright. I can’t argue with that.”
I don’t want to have some embarrassing conversation about my virginity. There are more important things to focus on. Like him. As we kiss, I can feel his erection lengthening against my thighs.
His hands move over me. Hell, I would sell my soul if he promised to keep touching me. He has magic fingers. A caress that sends my senses spinning. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of his touch. But it’s too soon to have sex again…isn’t it? I should have researched better, asked questions, bought a book.
He pulls away, his breath as harsh as mine. A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, and I give into temptation and brush it back, my fingertips lingering on his cheekbone. He’s braced atop his left elbow, as his right hand slowly trails up my thigh. He’s going to touch me now. There. I try not to stiffen up as I wonder if I’ll be sore.
But he’s not looking at me, and doesn’t notice my reluctance. His gaze is following his hand as it travels farther, and farther. When his fingers brush the light nest of hair shielding me, I have to bite my lower lip to keep from gasping with excitement.
He meets my gaze. I want to hate him for teasing, but I can’t hate him. Not ever. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine. As his tongue thrusts between my lips, his finger slides between my folds and enters my body. I groan against his mouth, mostly in pleasure, only slightly in pain.
He’s good. Too good. He knows exactly how to touch a woman, while I feel like a complete novice when it comes to men. Needing to anchor myself, I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck. It’s only one night, right? I might as well enjoy it.
His tongue wraps around mine, and any lingering pain fades. Forgotten. He kisses me with a gentleness that makes my chest feel tight. That aching need flares. My body remembers. Remembers every caress, every thrust, every movement. He’s awoken something inside of me that has been dormant, waiting, and it won’t be satisfied. How can he do so much with only one kiss?
“You feel so damn good,” he growls in that lovely, sophisticated accent.
I want to touch him too. Want to wrap my fingers around his velvety, steel cock. To explore and caress until he’s moaning, begging. I want to be in control of him, like he controls me. Before I can reach for him, he pulls away, and starts to travel down my body.
His lips press to the valley between my breasts. Lower to my belly. He’s trailing kisses down…down…and I know where he’s going. I might have been a virgin, but I’m not an idiot. I stiffen, unsure how to react. Do I want him to do this? But I want to know…I want to understand what it’s like…no regrets.
He parts my thighs with his hands. I take in a deep breath and force myself to relax. I want this. I want to experience it all. Okay, maybe not everything. His warm breath brushes against my thighs right before he slides his tongue through my folds. I gasp more from surprise than pleasure.
He licks once, twice. Just when I’m wondering why people like this oral sex thing, he brushes his tongue against my clit. A shock of pleasure bursts through me. I groan, arching my back. Oh god, he knows what he’s doing. He knows. I grip the sheets, staring hard at the ceiling as he screws me with his tongue. I’m not sure how I feel. It’s strange, and way too intimate, and…hell, I’m going to come again.
“That feels good, so good,” I mutter.
The area between my thighs tightens, throbbing. I bend my knees, my toes digging into the mattress. My entire body is flushed hot, burning from the inside out. As he cups my ass and lifts me toward his mouth, I’m panting like I’ve just run a marathon. His tongue presses farther into me. In, out, sweeping across that sensitive spot.
A jolt of pleasure explodes, bursting into wave after wave of pure orgasmic bliss. Even as I’m floating back to earth I realize that this orgasm is different. Not deep within, but more on the surface. How very strange. Sated and drugged with pleasure, I stare stupidly up at the ceiling. Who knew there were different kinds of orgasms?
Christian crawls up me and presses his lips to mine, a quick kiss that tastes like sex. I’m trembling and spent and feeling better than I’ve ever felt before. I’m going to sleep so very well tonight…when he leaves. I slide him a glance. When is he going to leave?
“Did you enjoy it?” he asks with a grin.
“Don’t beg for compliments.”
But I’m grinning too. He knows very well I enjoyed it. Sex is pretty amazing with a guy who knows what he’s doing, who cares about pleasing his partner as much as himself. I wonder why I’ve waited this long. But then I realize why…because with any other person, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have felt this wonderful, this free.
I’m older now. I’m more mature. More sure of myself. If I’d done this with Matt I would have been naïve. Wandering, fumbling hands. Two people too young and inexperienced for sex.
He leans closer, his lips brushing my neck. “There’s more. So much more.”
His words send a thrill of delight shivering through me. Even as I’m tempted to ask what kind of more…I realize more means more than a one-night stand. More means I’ll have to see him again. We’ll have to sleep together again.
His hand slides down my waist, tickling the sensitive skin. I jerk, gasping. He pauses, a grin on his face. “You’re ticklish?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
Of course he ignores me, and straddles my hips, his fingers tickling my sides. I laugh, wiggling underneath him, desperate to escape. And even as I’m trying to escape his touch, my hips are lifting, pressing against his growing erection. “Stop!”
He leans down and his hot mouth is on mine. Then lower, to my neck. I groan, closing my eyes. Lower still…he presses his mouth to my right breast, and then my left. That aching heat is working its way through my body, pooling in the pit of my stomach. I’m into this. Totally into this. Yes, I could so have another orgasm. Then, suddenly…he stops.
“What’s this?”
Startled, I open my eyes. His gaze is focused on the area below my collarbone. His thumb brushes the port scar where my chemo was pumped. Frantic, I push his hand away. “Stupid accident. Nothing. Christian…I think we should wait. I mean we just…”
“Okay.” He flashes me his brilliant smile. Before I can prepare, he presses his lips to my scar then rolls off the bed. “Any food in the refrigerator?”
Relieved, I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Thank god he doesn’t push things or pry much. “Leftover Chinese.”
He pulls on his jeans, leaving them hanging low on his hips. I can’t help but devour his six-pack. “Delicious. Want some?”
Content, I snuggle into the covers, watching him dress. He holds no embarrassment over his body and he shouldn’t. He’s stunning. “Sure.”
He pulls the t-shirt over his head. It’s still damp and clings to his broad shoulders. “Hey, how would you feel about going to an event dinner with me tomorrow night? For charity.”
A million thoughts race through my mind. What kind of dinner? What charity? Why me? I shrug, feeling uncertain and confused. Do I have anything to wear? This isn’t feeling like a one-night stand. Yet, as I mentally form the words of rejection, I’m surprised when I agree. “I guess. Sure.”
With a grin, he leans down and kisses me. “Good. Will make it more bearable with you by my side.”
He moves to the door only to pause. “Oh, and my dad will be there.”
Before I can respond, he’s gone. I bolt upright, clutching the blanket to my chest. His dad? I hear him rustling around in the refrigerator. I’m going to meet his dad? His freaking dad? With a groan, I fall back onto the bed.
Simple. We were supposed to keep things simple.
But everything just got way, way complicated.