Chapter Twelve

Waverly

What am I doing?

Okay, fine, great. So, against all odds, it turns out that he’s not the asshole I originally thought. He likes me. I like him. We should be able to work together now without ripping each other’s guts out. Mission accomplished.

So why the hell did I just invite him back to my place? I’ve never invited anyone to my place except Neon because he’s a friend, and frankly, even that took a little convincing at first.

And I’ve never...

And it’s not the alcohol, either. Nope, I can’t blame that. I’ve been drunk plenty of times, and I know I’m relatively sober and in control now. And even when I have gotten rip-roaringly shitfaced, I’ve never taken dudes home with me, no matter how much I liked them.

...I’ve never...

Is it the fact that he’s as talented as I am – maybe more? Even though I’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing I think it. Is it the fact that every other time I’ve tried to talk about high-level coding with anyone, even Neon, they end up staring at me like a cat that’s been shown a mouse carcass? I like him. The thought rumbles through me, thick with desire.

Or is it the fact that once the obnoxious scowl is gone from Hawk’s face, he’s actually one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met? Is it the respect and understanding – and yes, the way his black eyes devour me – that I see when he looks at me now? Is it that I spent so much time worshipping him from afar when I was learning how to code, there’s still some little girl’s crush inside of me that feels like it needs to be satisfied?

All of those things should still be easy for me to resist. But it doesn’t quite feel like any of them. Honestly, it feels like I’m a metal filing caught in the grip of a powerful magnet, dragged and pulled by an undeniable force. One that defies the laws of physics.

I never thought I’d lose my breath at the vision of the sexy man, whip smart and whip tight, standing in the wake of his brilliance as if the heavens above had sent him just for me. My eyes devour him just as my mind flips over.

I’ve never had sex. Oh God, I’ve never had sex before!

This is going to be a total disaster. He’s thirty years old! He’s had more women than I’ve had birthdays since he basically admitted what happens at the Defcon after parties. He’s coming back to my place, and he’s going to expect me to have sex with him. Worse, he’ll expect me to know what I’m doing. Exactly how to suck him off, and he’ll be angry and disappointed when I don’t because he’ll think I’m a cocktease. A big, fat, disappointment. All show and no go. Except that I think I still want to try. No...I know I want to, because whatever’s happening to me right now I just can’t fight it.

Wetness floods my panties, and I have the hopeless realization that part of what turns me on is the sheer undeniability of what’s going to happen. I’m a fly, and the warmth in his eyes is the ebony velvet web I’m trapped in, slowly and helplessly drowning in something sweet and sticky and not entirely unpleasant.

I want him.

As a woman heavily embroiled in a man’s world, I’ve learned to ignore my body. But tonight, she won’t allow me to push the surging sensations to the side. Desire honors those feelings even as it demands my surrender.

Nixon’s car service takes us back to my place. We keep talking about algorithms and lines of code, and I can hear my voice getting louder and more manic the closer we get. He probably thinks I’m some kind of crazy person, and right now, I sure feel like one. Maybe he’ll be turned off by my sudden strange behavior and make some excuse to go home. After all this time, a sliver of fear still makes me want to relinquish the decision to someone else.

Except I don’t want him to leave – and what’s more, I have a firm and unyielding knowledge that he won’t, the way I know the sun will rise tomorrow morning. Before, in Nixon’s office, the man’s imposing stature made it easy to feel like we were both being manipulated. But the forces compelling both of us seem so much larger now, like we’re chess pieces being moved by the hands of giants.

My whole life, I’ve never believed in destiny. But I sure do tonight, as it grabs me by the scruff of the neck and shakes me around like a dog with a fast food wrapper.

The keys rattle as my trembling hand unlocks the door. I motion for him to enter. The inside of my mouth feels like old sandpaper.

I close the door behind me, and when I turn to face him, he stands very close to me. Hovering. Demanding everything while offering nothing. Plenty of men have invaded my personal space before, and my response has always been to shove them away – or knee them in the groin, if they didn’t take the hint the first time.

This time, though, all I can do is wait, soaking up the closeness of him, feeling the space between us vibrate with unspoken wanting. We look at each other, arms at our sides, just breathing in and out while wondering who will make the first move.

I haven’t kissed many guys, since I haven’t wanted to encourage them to take it any further. But I do know what the moment before a kiss is like, when both people know what’s coming with every cell in their bodies, the inevitability crackling tensely like the expectation of thunder after a bolt of lightning.

I tell myself that I’m being stupid. That I can still stop this. That I can take a step back, admit that it was a mistake to bring him here, give him some half-hearted speech about how we should be professionals and concentrate on the project and maybe see where this thing between us goes once it’s done...

But that feels as hopelessly unrealistic as promising myself I won’t take my next breath for a week.

While I wage an inner war with myself, Hawk bends down and captures my lips with his.

And I lean into him, drinking it in, savoring it, soaking it up the way sunbathers soak up solar rays. His closeness warms me to an almost unbearable level, even though I know it shouldn’t.

And on a wave of blazing sensation, all of my rational thoughts and protestations flutter out of my brain through my ears, like butterflies released from a jar.

One of his hands grasps the nape of my neck while his other arm encircles the small of my back. He tugs me closer, holding me against him. Maybe I’m imagining it, but his whole body seems to radiate an energy of desperation. Not the desperation of a man who needs to get laid, but the true, deep, all-consuming hunger of someone who’s found the missing piece that will make him whole.

I feel the same way. I push myself against him more tightly, waiting for our jagged edges to come together with a satisfying click, like puzzle fragments. I can feel his hard length as he presses himself to me, just like I can feel my inner thighs getting damper at the thrill of his touch.

If I’d had a gun when we were standing in Nixon’s office a couple of hours ago, I’d probably have shot this man through the stomach, then popped some popcorn and happily watched as he bled to death in agony. And now...if only I had a time machine to take me back in time to that day when he insulted me. Things might have been different, and I might not have spent the past few years hating him.

It’s surreal, like I’m having the weirdest dream of my life. But it’s one I hope I don’t wake up from.

Please, please don’t let me wake up.

Hawk pulls away for a moment, his eyes filled with confusion and uncertainty – or rather, a fear of his own uncertainty. I wonder if that’s the same look he sees in my eyes, and it seems like it is, because he clears his throat uneasily, his brow furrowed. “I, uh, don’t normally just...I mean...no matter what you think about me...my reputation in the community...”

“Neither do I.” My mouth still hovers inches away from his. I can taste him on my lips, and it leaves me aching and unfulfilled, like a single drop of water on the tongue of someone dying of thirst. “Never.”

“If you don’t, um, want to...it’s just, we still have to work together, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or...I don’t want to wreck anything, Waverly.”

“Shut up,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair and kissing him again. I don’t want him to keep saying what I’m already thinking – that this is insane, it’s reckless, it’s a stupid and dangerous decision for both of us. I want to suffocate all of those thoughts with the comforting musk of his scent, clean and fresh but undeniably masculine.

He removes the hand from the back of my neck, and a moment later, I feel it under my shirt. His fingertips trace delicate lines up the side of my ribcage, finding my breast and caressing it. Goosebumps ripple up the skin on my arms. I’ve never bought a bra in my life – they’re uncomfortable as hell, and despite the fullness of my breasts, I can’t even stand to be in the female underwear section of most stores, surrounded by pink posters, mannequins wearing see-through teddies with patterns of red hearts, and all kinds of other girly crap. Besides, I stopped giving a shit about how people saw me a long time ago.

But I care about how Hawk’s looking at me now.

And I’m glad there isn’t anything between his fingers and my nipple as he rubs his thumb against it, making it harden into a sensitive little pebble under his touch. I can feel myself breathing harder against his mouth now.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand cups him between the legs, finding the steely hard length of his erection – rubbing it, kneading it, feeling how badly it wants to escape its confinement. I unzip his fly, my fingers carefully burrowing through the slit in the front of his underwear and finding his cock. I’ve never even done this much with anyone before, and the heat of his skin surprises me a little. It’s as though this one part of him rages with a fever, and only I have the cure.

I pull it out, and my fingers make their way down to the base of his shaft, squeezing gently. A few random hairs tickle my knuckles. Through our kiss, I hear a faint moan of pleasure from him – it vibrates on my lips, and the tingle seems to travel the length of my body, all the way down to my labia. My heart feels like a hummingbird trapped behind my ribs.

“Do you have a bed?” he whispers.

I manage a smile, even though my whole body feels like trembling. “What’s wrong with right here?” It’s the kind of casually-sexy retort I’ve seen in movies, but not something I ever thought I had in me. He frowns, and I realize I’ve done something wrong. Perhaps I should worry more about what I haven’t done than appearing like a worldly woman. He’s going to know the truth before he leaves here anyway.

“No. This is the first time for us. I want a bed.”

The first time? That means there will be more. I’ve never been so curious in my life over a simple turn of phrase. Anticipation flutters in my belly, for tonight and the future.

I point, and he sweeps me up into his strong arms as if I’m weightless. His long strides reach my bedroom in seconds. Lowering me to the softness of the mattress, Hawk never lets go of my mouth. I’m on my back with him next to me, and somehow, he’s managed the transition without removing his hand from my aching breast. I can feel the soft mattress against my spine and shoulder blades, but somehow, the act of being prone just seems to add to the feelings of pleasure throbbing through the rest of me.

I want him right now. His weight. At the same time, I want this moment of delicious anticipation to last forever.

He slides my shirt up over my head, tossing it aside. My fingers spring to action as though they were waiting for their cue – seizing the buttons on his shirt and undoing them one by one. He kicks his shoes off and unbuttons his pants, yanking them down along with his underwear. I realize it probably wasn’t very comfortable for him, having his pants on with his cock out and feeling the zippered edges of his fly against his shaft. Are these the thoughts most people have when they’re about to fuck for the first time? I feel dizzy. Uncertain.

“Sorry,” I mumble between kisses.

“For what?” There’s genuine curiosity and concern in his voice, and it takes me a second to understand that he thinks I’m apologizing for the whole thing – that I’m about to say it’s a mistake and he should go.

And it probably is. And he probably should.

But in this moment, it would be easier for me to spontaneously detach an arm or a leg than to tell him to leave.

“Never mind,” I say. “Just don’t stop. Please.”

Hawk unclasps and unzips my torn jeans, pulling them down. I’ve made a habit of wearing boy shorts instead of frilly panties for years – they’re a lot more comfortable and roomy. Those chicks that walk around with dental floss up their ass crack? No Bueno. I never cared what anyone thought of my choice of clothes before – and I feel a brief spike of concern that seeing them will turn him off. It never actually occurred to me before how strange most guys would find that, and the thought of him ending this perfect moment makes me feel like crying.

But it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He takes them off me, and suddenly, my whole body is bare, and I feel more exposed than I ever have in my life. My eyes take in his nakedness. He’s cut but not massive, kind of like a runner. I long to explore every inch of him with my hands and mouth, without knowing where to begin.

His hand makes the return trip from my breast to the back of my neck, cradling it tenderly. The other hand softly strokes the lips of my pussy from back to front. I haven’t shaved in a long time – why would I, when I don’t date, and I certainly wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen? I hold my breath and clamp my eyes shut. But again, he’s undeterred, and the sweetness of his touch makes my body feel like it’s going to dissolve into a puddle.

He pauses for the briefest of moments, and then his fingertip finds my clit, and I feel a jolt like electricity travel up my spine, exploding in my brain and eradicating all but the most primal urges in a blinding mushroom cloud of sheer desire. The finger moves in a gentle circular motion, and an unfamiliar sound escapes my lips – no words, just a string of vowels, an alien language pleading for more.

I’ve never been this wet in my life, not even alone with my most private fantasies.

“More,” I groan, lifting my hips. I’m searching for something. Anything.

I want to ask him if he has a condom, but the part of my brain that forms words seems to have been shattered, and all I can do is grope for the pieces. As though reading my mind, he reaches over to the pocket of his pants and roots around in it for a moment, pulling out a wallet and producing one from it like a magic trick.

But I know the real magic is what’s coming next. Something I’ve never experienced.

Hawk gingerly tears the wrapper open and reaches down, sliding the latex over himself carefully. Part of me wants to watch – after all, I’ve never seen a man do that before, and I have to admit I’m curious – but I can’t tear my eyes away from his. All I can do is open my legs wider, letting him know that I’m ready to surrender myself to him in every way.

He positions himself over me, and I feel a stab of fright at the base of my skull. They say the first time is supposed to hurt. What if the pain is too much? What if I cry out when he penetrates me? I don’t want him to know he’s taking my virginity. I don’t want him to suddenly pull back and treat me like I’m delicate or start asking if I’m “sure I really want this,” or start feeling like he’s under pressure to put a ring on it.

I don’t want him to hold back at all. I want him to fuck me so hard and deep there’s no question in my mind or his that I’m all woman.

Hawk moves his hips forward, and I feel him enter me. And there is pain, a deep and burning sensation that makes me gasp as it rockets to the core of my abdomen. I can feel him push against then through my hymen, and I’m worried that he’ll notice the tiny layer of resisting tissue and know this is my first time. Its startling rupture brings a twinge of shameful ecstasy with it – the exhilaration of being on a rollercoaster as it starts its plunge. The wild thrill of accepting that whether you’re about to have a safe ride or get thrown from the tracks, you’re strapped in and powerless against whatever comes next.

“Jesus, Waverly. You’re so damn tight. You’re sucking me like a vacuum hose.”

I hope that’s good. It must be, because he’s so deep inside me, I feel claimed.

As he thrusts, the sharpness of the initial penetration gives way to a dull throb, still skirting the line between pain and pleasure. It pulses through me, consuming me, sponging away all thoughts and replacing them with a cyclone of unexpected emotions. I can feel his breath on my neck, his chest sliding against mine, his strong heartbeat behind it. The tip of his cock presses against my G-spot, and I feel like I might faint. He shifts his frame against me, finding angles that will allow him to be deeper inside of me until it seems like he’s filling my entire body, the whole of my being.

Hawk reaches between us to strum my clit with his perfect fingers.

Something cracks inside me like tectonic plates, spilling out raw magma that quickly rushes through me. A long moan emerges from my lips, tightening and rising into an orgasmic scream as everything in me turns to helpless liquid. Somewhere among the sounds coming out of me, I think I hear Hawk’s name. A moment later, I feel his climax as he says mine, the syllables rising and falling like musical scales in time with his bursts.

Then there’s nothing but our heavy breathing and our ragged heartbeats echoing against the memory foam as we hold each other tight.