Attraction

Me want Martin flavored cookie! Me want cookie now!!

The sight was indecent because the sight immediately made me want to do several indecent things to him, around him, near him, on top, underneath, adjacent to—if it was a preposition, I wanted to do it with Martin.

“Ack! No!” I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands. “Not the chest! Anything but the chest!”

“Anything?” I did not miss the wicked teasing in his taunt, nor did I miss the distinct sound of a zipper being undone.

“Okay, I lied. Shirtless is fine, just please, please, please don’t take off your pants.” I turned from him, still covering my face with one hand, and blindly reached for the door of the closet with the other. The closet ran the length of one wall and had sliding doors. I knew I would be able to fit inside. Maybe I could barricade myself until he left, or throw my shoes at him like missiles.

For the first time in my life I wished I owned spiky heals instead of mostly sneakers. I did have one pair of Doc Martins, however…

His pants hit the floor, the change in his pocket jingling on the descent, and I imagined he was now toeing off his shoes.

“For the love of Bunsen, please put your pants back on.” My voice sounded desperate because I was desperate.

I slid the closet door open just as Martin’s hands claimed my hips from behind. I stiffened because he pressed his bare chest to my back and his groin to my bottom. He was hard and I was soft, and I was convinced I was about to die of… something related to abrupt sexual desire. I released a tortured moan because I could feel his stiff thickness through his boxers—or briefs, or boxer briefs.

Unthinkingly I reached around me, my eyes still shut, and encountered the thin cotton of his boxer briefs just as he bit and kissed my neck. I yanked my hand back. “You’re in your underwear.”

“So are you.”

“Oh my God. Who does that? Why would you do that?”

“I’m launching a counter attack.”

“A counter attack? I haven’t attacked. You can’t launch a counter attack until the other person has attacked.”

“Fine.” Kiss. Bite. Tongue. Lick. “Then it’s a preemptive strike,” he said, hand under my shirt, on my stomach. Other hand over my shirt, kneading my breast.

Some instinct had me pressing my bottom backward and against him as I arched into the hand toying with my breast.

“You think I’m only interested in you for one thing. You’re wrong,” he whispered against my ear, hot breath spilling against my neck making me shiver, his hand on my stomach inching lower.

“This, what you’re doing now, how you’re touching me, does not give credibility to your words.” My breath hitched, my brain disengaging.

“You’re wrong. I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’m right. I’m right. I’m so, so, so right.” I sighed, my hands abandoning the closet door and reaching behind me to touch his body. My center ached. My stomach fluttered. My skin was on fire. Lust and madness had descended.

“You’re coming with me. There is nothing temporary about how I want you.” His thumb was tracing a circle around my nipple. He pinched it roughly, causing me to suck in a startled—yet delighted—breath.

He was so talented at this. So very, very skillful. His movements were expert, practiced. Meanwhile, I was fumbling, a creature of instinct, reacting to his proficient petting.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his voice sounding dark and lovely against the shell of my ear. “Does it feel good?”

I nodded.

“Do you want more? Say yes or no.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “So much yes.”

The fingers of his other hand delved into my panties, his long middle finger stroking my center. If I hadn’t been lost to lust and madness, I would definitely have been embarrassed by the state of my nether region.

I was sure the girls he was used to had porn-star vaginas—waxed, smooth, bleached for color tone consistency, surgically enhanced to make them appear less like a forest floor—but I was au naturel downstairs. I’d never had a reason to do anything beyond trimming the hedge for hygiene’s sake.

But I wasn’t embarrassed. I was a little terrified and a lot confused, but mostly I was trapped in Martin’s erotic haze. I was bucking against him because his finger had just entered me.

“Whoa!” I panted.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the back of my neck, his teeth sharp as they bit my spine. “You are so tight. So fucking tight.”

“That’s because I’m a virgin and I’m aroused,” I said unthinkingly on an exhale. “The vaginal canal swells when aroused.”

His hands stilled—both at my breast and in my panties—though his penis seemed to push more insistently against my ass, as though raising its head and saying, Tell me more about this vaginal canal swelling of which you speak.

“What?” he asked, his tone sharp, exacting.

“It’s true, it swells.” I shifted restlessly when he remained motionless. “It also elongates.”

“You’re a virgin?”

It was my turn to hold still, a spike of some unpleasant sensation coursing through my body. I hadn’t meant to admit that. I hadn’t meant to ever tell him anything personal about myself, anything that could be tucked away and used to make me cry at some later date.

“Um…,” I said, struggling to think of some way to hide that fact without flat-out lying.

Martin withdrew his hands and I felt the loss of him at my back; a few seconds later I heard the jingle of the change in his pants pocket. I closed my eyes again, my forehead hitting the closet door.

“Ah, barnacles,” I whispered, my body cold and hot. I was tightly wound with both mortification and unspent sexual energy.

“You’re a virgin,” he said, this time not a question; it sounded like an accusation.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and glanced over my shoulder. He was buttoning his jeans, his expression thunderous. I glared at where his fingers gripped the waist of his pants.

“So what?” I said. If I pretended like it was no big deal maybe he’d believe me. “So what, I’m a virgin.”

Finished with his button, he pulled the zipper up with a rough yank. “So you’re a virgin and I’m not going to—” He growled, cutting himself off and reached for his shirt with rough swipe. “I’m not a total bastard,” he said, this to his shirt.

I glared at him, disbelieving what he’d just said, what he’d just implied. “What does my being a virgin have to do with anything? All girls should be treated with respect regardless of whether or not they’re virgins. Being a virgin doesn’t make me any more or less worthwhile than a non-virgin. Your seduction logic is flawed.”

“It’s not virgins I have a problem with. I’ve fucked plenty of virgins.”

I winced at this and watched him pull his shirt on with jerky movements. Before I could recover from his harsh admission, he continued.

“But you being a virgin and you being Kaitlyn Parker makes me want to ensure our first time touching each other isn’t some grope session against the closet of a dorm room.”

“So if I hadn’t been a virgin, then we would…what? We would have just, just…” I couldn’t say the word fuck. I just couldn’t. Instead I rushed to finish. “You would have impaled me with your penis while I face planted against the closet?”

“God, Kaitlyn. No!” His protest appeared to be equally appalled and earnest. “I wanted to tease you until you agreed to come with me. I wasn’t going to let it go that far. Haven’t you ever fooled around before?”

I think he knew the answer before he finished asking the question, because his eyes widened with realization as the last words left his mouth.

No. No, I have never fooled around.

I didn’t want to admit anything. Yet I couldn’t help but look away, stare unseeingly at the foot of my bed. I belatedly realized my small evasive action told him everything. My hands balled into fists and I crossed my arms over my chest. The weight and heat of his gaze, what he must be thinking about me, made my skin feel three sizes too small.

“Damnit, Kaitlyn! Was I your first kiss too?” He sounded angry and his words made me jump.

“No. Of course not.” My cheeks and neck were on fire. I tried to lift my eyes to his but couldn’t manage any higher than his chin. “I’ve kissed someone before.”

“Someone? As in, one other person?”

For some inexplicable reason, I felt like crying. Tears stung behind my eyelids and my throat felt tight.

I knew it.

I KNEW IT.

I knew he was going to make me cry. It’s what he did. Therefore, I didn’t answer him. I just blinked at the foot of my bed and pressed my lips together, focused on my breathing.

He sat down heavily on the edge of my bed, his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair, and I heard him exhale a dumbfounded, “Fuck.”

I muttered, “That word is unimaginative.”

“You’re completely inexperienced.” He said this to the room.

He was probably thinking, What is wrong with you that you’ve only been kissed by one other person? That you never made it past first base prior to yesterday?