Spencer was jarred to hear Trina use the phrase never again; he didn’t think he’d said that aloud.

Not that it was a unique term, but too often he felt like they were on the same wavelength, before the connection crumbled moments later. Walking up behind her in the kitchen was another example. He swore she felt the same spark he did, but when she scurried to put distance between them, he wondered what he’d missed.

If her never again was a key to unlocking that mystery, he’d take it. He wanted to hear her story either way, though.

He joined her on the couch and set his coffee on the table next to them.

She held onto her mug and traced her thumb along the handle, her gaze fixed on the liquid. “I dated a guy in college.”

The statement made sense, but it wasn’t enlightening. Spencer figured she had a past. “Okay.” What tugged at his distaste was that she wasn’t all right with what that involved.

“Leo was a few years older than me, working on his PhD, and a TA in one of my classes.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I guess I kind of have a type.”

Spencer got the older-man reference, but he didn’t care for being compared to a relationship that made her quiet and withdrawn.

“Not that I think you’re anything like him.” She turned back to her coffee.

And there was that hint of synchronicity again. As though she had a direct line to his thoughts, and vice versa.

She dragged in a shaky breath, then blew it out. “We dated for five months and twenty-nine days. He was never anything but sweet to me. All right with the fact I wanted to take things slow. Never pushy. Doting.”

“All those words a girl wants to use when she talks about her boyfriend,” he said. The possessiveness was back. But that wasn’t the right word for what he felt. He didn’t have a desire to lock her away; he wanted to help her replace the memories making her fidget with new, better ones.

Her smile was sad. “Pretty much. The next part of the story is your basic he was a lying, cheating douche kind of tale. I heard through a friend of a friend that he was fucking around. When I confronted Leo, he accused me of not trusting him, then said it was a one-time thing and finished with telling me it wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t a frigid cunt who gave shitty hand-jobs.”

“All in the course of a single conversation?” Spencer tried to keep his question light, but fury spilled inside. He didn’t just want to help her replace the old memories, now he wanted to find this guy and pound his face into a brick wall, too. He didn’t care how long ago the bad relationship happened.

She shook her head. “The first one was face to face. He stormed out on me, and I was crushed. Figured he must have a point. We were in love—why didn’t I trust him? The rest came in via a series of texts, over the next several days. I thought it hurt when the last one said, We’re finished. I can’t be with someone like you.”

Her hands shook enough her coffee sloshed around. She set the mug on the table with a soft thunk. “That was only the beginning. God, this is embarrassing.”

“For him, maybe.” Spencer spoke softly, in defiance of his mounting anger at this man he’d never met.

“That’s not...” She pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows. “It was the things he told everyone else, after we broke up. It’s humiliating to repeat them. He told everyone I was a lousy lay. That he dumped me because I was a blob in bed. That wasn’t the worst part, though the stares and whispers really gnawed at me. He told my professor that I’d threatened him. That if he didn’t sleep with me, I’d tell everyone he forced himself on me.

“It was my word against his, and the teacher trusted him. If I hadn’t had the grades and parents with money and influence, the rumors would have gotten me kicked out of school. Expulsion was discussed in great detail.”

Spencer clenched his fist, fingers burning from the grip. She covered his hand with hers, and the light touch drew his attention.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Or rather, there are a lot of things about it that aren’t, but like your memories, it’s in the past. It’s an instance of never again.”

“Except that it still makes you doubt yourself.”

Her smile was shy, but the sadness was fading. “It does. And it makes me doubt everyone else, too. I guess it’s not completely behind me. Trust is something that has to be earned.”

“That seems fair.”

“But it’s also put this huge block in my head that I hate. Like, I know logically that losing my virginity isn’t a big deal. That it’s this societal construct meant to hold me back, or something, but because it’s tied to that betrayal, even though it doesn’t define me, now it does, because of that one thing, and then you do something simple, like kiss me or invite me up here for the weekend, and my brain jumps through all sorts of what-if scenarios, and why the fuck can’t I stop talking—”

He pressed his lips to hers, not sure what else to do to slow her mounting frustration.

She moaned against his mouth and leaned in, her body relaxing.

“Better?” he murmured into the kiss.

“Mmhmm.”

He cupped her cheek and laid a kiss on her nose, then her forehead, then another on her lips. “Good.”

*

IT WAS LIKE BEING HIGH without the munchies, which made the threat of the crash after that much worse. When Spencer’s touch was there, Trina wasn’t worried about coming down from the high, or about anything else.

“You don’t need to put your hesitation into words,” he said. “You’re allowed to be nervous. It’s new, and it’s frightening, and there’s a lot of pressure, and everyone stresses about the first time they have sex. Hell, I did. I was terrified.”

The confession was more comforting than it should be. “What was your first time like?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know that. Not today.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“This is only about you, and I’m hoping me.”

She liked this. The simplicity of it. “I’m hoping you, too. But I don’t want to have to promise anything.”

“I’m not asking that.”

“But what if it ends up meaning something?” Why was she still talking? Why didn’t he kiss her again and make her stop?

“Then that’s what happens.”

“Damn it, stop being reasonable.” She’d run out of excuses, and then fear would be her only excuse. He said that was okay, but she didn’t know if she agreed.

The way he traced his thumb over her cheek was soothing. “Do you want me to be irrational?”

“It would be nice if I weren’t the only one struggling with this.”

“You’re not.” He brushed his lips over hers. Another light caress, but a tremor ran through his hand.

It was like that simple gesture, his lips on hers, patched the broken solder points in her brain and brought the circuits back online. “What are you struggling with?” she asked.

“I’ve wanted you since that first night we ran into each other. Christmas Eve. I’m trying to behave, but if you’re asking—and as long as we’re being blunt—it’s killing me.”

This was enticing and terrifying, wrapped up with a bow. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He leaned in to draw his nose along the shell of her ear, his voice soft enough she barely heard it. “Practice makes perfect.”

She sighed at the sensation and the way it tingled over her. “Practice implies more than once.”

“Only implies?” He nipped her lobe, then kissed along her jaw. “I’ll be more direct. We have all weekend, and that’s just to start.” He stood, tugged her to her feet, and led her to the bedroom. “If you don’t like how you’ve built this up in your head, let’s tear it down. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to make light of sex. But it’s also not a big deal.” Spencer stopped by the bed and turned to face her.

She pursed her lips at the mixed message. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’ll make it helpful.” He settled a hand on her hip and spun her so her back was to him. Brushing her hair aside, he trailed his lips along her neck. “You’ve got some experience.”

Shyness snaked through her. “A little.” She’d gone as far as third base more than once. And despite Leo’s complaints after the fact, he always seemed to enjoy the hand-jobs while they were happening.

Spencer slid his hands under her shirt, to rest his palms on her stomach. The heat chased away some of her doubt and raced over her with possibility. “You know how to get yourself off?” he asked.

“Yes.” The response squeaked out. Her confession pulsed between her legs.

“So you know what you like.”

“I know what I do that feels good. That’s not a broad range.”

He moved his hands higher. “It’s a starting point.” His lips were on her neck again, vibrating with each word, tightening in her belly and traveling lower. “For instance, do you play with your nipples?”

“Yes.” She should be embarrassed to have this conversation out loud, but it was turning her on more than she ever remembered being.

He cupped her breasts, squeezed gently, and traced his thumbs over the fabric. Each time he passed over the swollen nubs beneath, she squeezed her thighs together and squirmed.

The longer the attention continued, the wetter she got. The feather-light teasing, combined with his mouth on her shoulder, stole her breath and thoughts. She could fall into this for a while.

“What do you think about?” His low question added to the moment, rather than detracting from it. “What kind of fantasies turn you on?”

The one in her head right now, of putting on a show for him. Of playing with herself and watching him get as aroused as she was. But the confession was more than a simple yes answer, and fear lodged it in her throat. What if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear? “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone was coaxing and commanding in the few short syllables.

“I’m not going to say something like, dressing up as Princess Leia in a gold bikini.” She winced as what was meant as a joke slipped out.

He chuckled and pulled her closer. The warmth of his solid chest seared through her T-shirt. “Give me some credit. I’d take the Endor outfit over the bikini any day.”

“Like with the Ewoks? Is this a furry thing?” The teasing was easier than letting go of the thin ledge she balanced on, to keep from falling the rest of the way into his touch.

He pushed her bra over her breasts, and elastic scraped the tender skin, making her gasp. He pinched her nipples. God, this felt good. Her grip was slipping. She wanted to lose herself in this. She needed to let go.

“When you’re lying in bed, wet and turned on, sliding your fingers between your legs, what’s playing in your head?” His question wrapped her in desire. “I want to know.”

“That someone is watching.” She liked the sound of the confession, as she forced out the answer. “That I’m putting on a private show, and the other person is getting off to me getting off.”

“I want to see.” Spencer trailed his fingers under her bra strap, to her back, to unhook the clasp. The tension fell away, and so did any contact with him. He stepped in front of her, out of reach. “Clothes off.”

The command was as electrifying as his touch. She stripped off her top, intently aware of the way he followed her movements. Her jeans and panties were next, shoved to the ground and kicked aside, leaving her naked and on display.

He raked his gaze over her. The desire in her core, begging for attention, intensified as much as when he was playing with her breasts. He stroked himself through his shorts as he studied her. “On the bed. I want to watch this show. Take it out of your head and make it real.”

“Okay.” She had zero desire to argue but didn’t know what to do. She sat in the middle of the mattress, and hesitation returned.

“Do what you do when you fantasize,” Spencer said. He lowered himself into the chair across from her and worked his erection free. “I’m the man in your imagination, watching the show. There are no wrong choices here.”

She laid back and slid one hand between her legs, while she teased her tender nipples with the other. Her touch wasn’t the same as his, but if she tilted her head, she could see him gliding his hand along his shaft. This was better than in her head. She brushed her clit, and an involuntary gasp slipped out.

His tiny smile and the way he stroked faster encouraged her. She glided along her slit.

“Are you wet?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

She didn’t know what he was looking for. But she knew what her fantasy hoped for. She dipped her fingers near her opening. “I’m so slippery.” The words tasted good. “So fucking hot, with you watching.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His low growl rolled under her skin.

“How turned on I am.” She traced circles around her clit but didn’t make contact. “How I want to get off for you. How I want to know you came to the sight of me playing with my pussy.”

“Fuck. Come for me, gorgeous.”

She zeroed in on the swollen button, and her body jerked away from her touch. His heavy breathing spurred her on, as she closed her eyes and sank into the feeling. His grunts kept pace with her moans. Her hips thrust in time with her attention.

Orgasm sped up on her without warning, crashing over her and tingling from her fingers to her toes, but she didn’t want to stop. This might not be sex by the dictionary definition, but it was intimate and incredible, and she was drowning in the sea of stars dancing behind her eyes.

She was vaguely aware of the shift of the mattress, as she hit the height of her climax. Spencer penetrated her with his fingers, and she clenched around him. A pop of pain—a tiny tearing—jolted through her, but it mingled with the moment and heightened her pleasure.

She eased away from her sex as she finished, but he didn’t withdraw. Her body clenched around the fingers inside her. She wanted more.

“You’re stunning like this.” His words caressed her cheek. “Open your eyes.”

She looked, to see him watching her with an intensity that kept the light-headed fuzzy feeling in her head.

“You said you wanted me to get off too...” He kissed down her chest, then wrapped his tongue around one nipple.

She arched her back into the sensation. Her body was a live wire. “That’s the fantasy.”

“But I need to be inside you.” He knelt between her legs. He’d put a condom on at some point. It was good one of them was thinking sensibly. He dragged the head of his cock along her slit, teasing, before sliding his fingers out of her and hovering at her opening.

He penetrated her slowly, and she gasped at the intrusion. “All right?” he asked.

“Don’t hold back.” Trina tried not to whimper, but her words came out as a plea.

“Don’t take that leash off me yet.” Warning hung in his voice.

She was tired of waiting. She thrust her hips forward, plunging him inside. It hurt, being stretched out, but it felt so good too. So right. She groaned at the penetration.

“I warned you.” He sounded strained.

“I don’t care. Fuck me hard. Please?”