CHAPTER EIGHT
Olivia
AFTER I’D TOLD DEAN EVERYTHING THERE was to tell about me, we became nearly inseparable. As I’d expected, as I had known, he didn’t retreat. He was ever more determined to give me what I’d never had. And one late Saturday afternoon in mid-November, I knew. It was a moment of instinctive clarity, like sensing the exact time to plant a tulip bulb or pick a ripe apple.
I hadn’t had a shift at Jitter Beans, so I’d spent the day at Dean’s apartment, both of us doing very little. He worked some, I studied some. I watched a movie. He read an architecture journal. We ordered out for pizza, watched funny video clips on the Internet, played backgammon.
Backgammon.
I almost smiled. Despite evidence to the contrary, we were not incompatible. Not at all.
I put my book aside and looked up to find Dean watching me. He was sprawled out on an easy chair with a sports magazine spread over his thighs and his bare feet on the coffee table. He was all rumpled hair, intent gaze, hard-edged stubbly jaw.
My heart thumped. I sat up slowly, smoothing my skirt over my knees. Delicious tension tightened my belly.
“Dean.”
“Right here.”
He knew too. For an instant, he just looked at me. Something indefinable passed across his features before he pushed to stand.
“Come here,” he said.
Breath in my throat, heart hammering, I crossed the room until I was standing in front of him. He didn’t speak for a moment. He looked at me with those dark brown eyes, so gentle, so reassuring, that I wanted to melt right into him. He slipped his hand beneath my chin and lifted my face for a lovely, feather-soft kiss that made light shimmer through me.
He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I tentatively slipped my hands underneath to touch his skin. Warm, muscled ridges. Oh, he felt so good. Everything about him felt unbearably good and right.
I tilted my head back to look at him. He’d waited a long time for me. His gaze searched mine.
“Thanks for waiting,” I whispered.
“My beauty,” he said, “I’d wait for you forever.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me again, with a delicious glide of his tongue across my lower lip. I opened my mouth to let him in, and then it was a deep kiss that tasted of pent-up urgency.
I felt one of his hands fumble at my neck, tug at my ponytail. I reached back to unfasten the clasp and let my hair fall loose. Dean skimmed his hands into the long strands and angled my head to deepen his kiss.
You’d think that after nearly three months of keeping our attraction at a slow burn, we would have been in a hurry, but he was determined to take it slow. For my sake, I knew. And I was so enraptured by his intoxicating kisses that I just wanted them to last until the end of time.
He touched my breasts, stroked the nipples through my bra, causing shivers to ripple through me. Our mouths met again and again, his hands sliding over the top of my clothes, my fingers moving restlessly over his back to the waistband of his jeans.
Then he eased my skirt up and pressed his hand between my legs. The warmth of his palm burned through my underwear. I curled my fingers reflexively around his wrist, pushing my hips forward. He muttered something under his breath, then reached around to stroke my rear and lift me against him.
It was exactly as sexy as it sounds. I wrapped my legs around his waist and bent my head to kiss him as he managed to get us both into the bedroom without tripping over anything. I felt the heat of him clear through the denim of his jeans. I started to writhe against his crotch before he’d even lowered me to the bed.
He looked down at me, a faint smile on his lips and his eyes hot. I twisted to unfasten the zipper of my skirt and pushed it to the floor. He reached for the fly of his jeans and flicked the top button open.
That was when I got anxious. My throat went dry and I closed my legs. I was breathing hard and my heart pounded with wanting him, but sudden fear froze every muscle in my body.
Dean paused. His eyebrows drew together. “Okay?”
“Yes.” My voice quavered a little.
He stopped unfastening his jeans and put his hands on my bare legs. Slowly he stroked my thighs from my knees to the hem of my shirt, never reaching far beneath it. I relaxed a little under the gentle rhythm of his touch, but nerves still knotted my stomach.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
“No.”
“If you need me to—”
“I know. I know.” I tangled my hand in the front of his T-shirt.
He stroked down to my knees and back up again. “You’re nervous.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. It didn’t make a lot of sense that I was nervous now when I was so comfortable with him every other way and when we’d done some very sexy, intimate things already. But I was.
“So am I,” he admitted.
I wasn’t sure I believed that, but then I noticed his hands were unsteady as he moved them farther up my thighs. I swallowed hard.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I finally said.
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “Beauty, if you had any idea…”
He moved to caress my inner thighs. I flushed when he brushed against my damp panties—no denying that evidence—but he didn’t ease his fingers beneath the elastic.
“Take my clothes off,” he said.
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
I pushed myself onto my elbows and gazed at the bulge in his jeans. I wanted to see him completely naked, and if I were undressing him, he wouldn’t be undressing me. Yet.
I pulled my shirt back down over my hips. Dean sat beside me on the bed and waited for me to drum up my courage. My hands started to shake as I took hold of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head.
His chest was so beautiful. Muscled, defined, the ridges of his abdomen warm beneath my touch. I put one hand against his chest and pushed him to lie on his back. Then I cupped my palm around his erection. He shifted.
I glanced at him. He was watching me with that anticipatory gaze that made my blood pound. Anxiety twisted through me again, but because I was in control I knew it wouldn’t overwhelm me. I lowered my head, and a curtain of hair fell across either side of my face—concealing Dean from my view and, hopefully, me from his.
I felt his hand brush against my hair for an instant, as if he wanted to push it aside, but then he stopped. Relieved and emboldened with my face hidden, I tugged at the buttons of his fly. His erection pressed against my fingers, his evident need making my own body quiver in response.
I pulled his jeans and boxers off, my breath escaping in a rush. I shot him a quick glance through my veil of hair. My heart leapt, catching in my throat at the sight of him stretched out on the bed—all tense urgency, taut skin, lean muscles, and jutting cock.
“Liv.” His voice was strangled. He reached down to grab my wrist and guide my hand to his shaft. “Touch it.”
I wrapped my fingers around the base, feeling heat pulsing beneath the smooth skin. I pressed my legs together as an answering pulse throbbed in me. I started stroking him tentatively at first, until his hips jerked upward as if he wanted me to move faster. I did, entranced by the sight of his muscles tensing, the swell of arousal.
“Wait.” He pushed up on his elbows, breathing hard.
I stopped. “Did you want me to—”
“Everything. I want you to do everything.” He put his hands around my waist and pulled me on top of him. He pushed up the hem of my shirt and cupped my rear, kneading and stroking. I started to twist against him as the ache uncoiled.
He slipped his fingers beneath my panties and rubbed the cleft of my bottom before dipping below to my sex.
“Jesus, Liv. You’re killing me.”
“I need you,” I gasped. “I’m ready. I—”
“I want to see you first. All of you.” He pushed me up so I was straddling his waist. I felt his cock throbbing against me through my panties, and the sensation made me moan aloud.
“Take your shirt off,” he said.
I got a little tense again, but grasped the hem of my shirt and pulled it off. Before I could hesitate, I unhooked the front clasp of my bra and tossed it aside. Air brushed against my damp skin, sensitizing my nipples. I shuddered, curling my fingers against Dean’s flat stomach.
“Fuck, Liv. You’re incredible.”
Incredible. I wasn’t, but I knew he believed I was. Especially when he stroked his hands up the curve of my waist to touch me. My full breasts nestled right into his palms as if I’d been made for him. I watched as he caressed me, his fingers gliding over my nipples, his body hot and hard between my legs.
“Dean.” Strain threaded my voice, but my nervousness had shifted into a different kind of tension, one that was beginning to desperately need release.
He plucked at my underwear. “Take these off.”
I slithered the cotton over my legs, then flushed again when he ran his fingers down my belly and into my wet curls.
I gasped. He cursed. His cock throbbed against my bare backside. He eased a finger into me and stroked his thumb over my clit, and before I could prevent it, I came—sharp and fast and surging.
“Dean… oh, God, Dean…”
I was still shuddering when he put on a condom, then rolled us both over and pushed my legs apart with his knee. I grabbed his hips to encourage him to move faster.
“Wait.” His breath rasped against my forehead as he held himself off me with one hand and slipped his other hand between my legs. He slid two fingers into me and groaned when I clenched around him again. “You’re so tight, Liv. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” I panted, twisting as he stroked my inner flesh.
He’d make it good. I knew it. He moved the head of his cock into position and eased into me slowly, his muscles corded with restraint. I clutched his hips tighter and pushed upward.
With a mutter of surrender, he sank into me, stretching me with his thick length. A sting burned me from the inside out. I gasped, gripping him harder, swimming in the conflicting sensations of both pleasure and pain.
“Liv.” Strain threaded his voice as he stilled, holding himself off me with his hands on either side of my head. His gaze searched mine.
“I’m… I’m okay.” I wasn’t entirely sure that I was, but I knew I would be soon. I squirmed beneath him, drawing air into my lungs, every part of my being sensitized to his touch.
I cried out when he pulled away and pushed slowly back into me, like a key fitting into a lock. He stopped again, his chest heaving, and waited for me to adjust to his size.
My nerves sizzled. My heartbeat pounded in my head. My body pulsed around his cock, the feeling of overwhelming tightness dissipating into a throb of urgency.
“Okay?” He shifted. His jaw clenched.
“Okay.” I forced my muscles to relax and arched into him. Sweat trickled down my neck. “I want this… want you…”
He eased back and pushed forward again, levering his upper body off me. I lifted my knees to hug his hips and met him halfway, stunned by the slick ease of our bodies sliding together. He pushed his hands beneath my thighs and spread me wider, sinking into me until he could go no farther. I drew in a gasp, lost in the sensation of us finally becoming one, forgetting where he left off and I began.
“Oh…” Blissful tension began to spiral through me, and the threads of discomfort faded into a swirl of colors. I seized Dean’s forearms and pulled, wanting him closer.
His mouth crashed down on mine as he thrust again, and then we were pushing and sweating and rocking together. He filled me over and over, still slow until I flexed upward to meet his every entry.
Then his thrusts grew faster, eliciting streams of sensation that seemed endless, his shaft sliding in until he could go no farther before he pulled away and pushed forward again. The rhythm increased in pace, his breath rasping against my neck.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his thighs. My breasts rubbed against his chest with every push, sensitizing my nipples. Thoughts fell away, and there was only the feeling of his thrusts, the need spooling through my body, his hands and lips everywhere.
I convulsed again, my inner muscles clenching around his cock. He groaned and thrust deep, his body tensing above me as release coursed through him. When he rolled to the side, we both panted for breath, our bodies slick with sweat.
My sex throbbed, pleasure coating my mind like a fine mist. Dean reached over and put his hand on my belly.
“Wow,” he said. “That was… terrible.”
I started to laugh. He grinned and pulled me to him, kissing me and squeezing my bottom. I sank against him, my curves yielding to the hard planes of his body.
“Stay with me,” he said.
“Yes.”
I tumbled into a shallow sleep with the scent of him on my skin. When I woke at three in the morning, my body was sore—but in a pulsing, rather pleasant way. I hadn’t slept very well, waking and turning often, but no dreams had disrupted my light slumber.
I shifted toward Dean. I’d never slept in the same bed with a man before. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head and the sheet tangled around his waist.
I lifted myself on one elbow to look at him. Slivers of moonlight slanted through the blinds and spread over his long, half-naked body. His features were relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes shadowing his cheekbones.
Reaching out a tentative finger, I traced the half-moon line of his eyelash. Like feathers sweeping across my fingertip. He twitched. I lowered my hand and tracked my gaze over his body from his shoulders to the planes of his abdomen.
A foreign emotion rose in me—a mixture of longing and affection and fear. When I lifted my eyes back to his face, I found him watching me.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
“Nice to wake up and see you here,” he said.
“Nice to wake up and be here.”
He reached out to push my hair away from my forehead. “You okay?”
“Remember last month when we went to the botanical gardens?” I asked.
“That day you wanted to see what plants were still blooming at the end of October and we nearly froze our asses off? Yeah, I remember.”
I grinned. “Remember how that wind was biting through our coats and stinging our cheeks, and the cold got into our bones? Then remember we went to the conservatory, and the moment we stepped inside we were in the warm, humid tropics with blooming orchids, butterflies, canaries, and waterfalls?”
Dean twined a lock of my hair around his finger.
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”
“That’s how I feel.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “You have me at your feet, Olivia Rose. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, but that sounds very promising.”
I leaned over to kiss him, pleasure flooding every part of my being. We sank into each other for a few long, luscious minutes before Dean eased away. Desire filled his eyes, and I glided my hand down his chest and beneath the covers.
He captured my wrist with a laugh. “Not so fast.”
“You don’t want…”
“Oh, I do,” he said, his gaze sliding down to my bare breasts. “And I will. But you’re probably sore, so I’m going to make us both wait awhile.”
I wondered how long awhile was. I stopped the downward trek of my hand and settled for rubbing circles on his abdomen. “I have a morning shift at Jitter Beans.”
“I’ll take you, then come back here. I need to get those essays finished and start grading midterms.”
Midterms were already over. It had been almost three months since that day at the registrar’s office.
“It’ll be Thanksgiving soon,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to visit your family?”
“I usually do.”
There was a dissonant note to his voice that sparked my curiosity. I leaned my head on my hand and studied him.
“What’s it like?” I asked. “Thanksgiving with your family?”
“Tense.”
“Why?”
“My mother always has this illusion about what holidays should be like, but things can’t be that way.”
“Because of your brother?” I asked.
“Because of everyone.” Dean shifted to look at me. “What about you? Not so good?”
I shook my head. “My mother and I spent most Thanksgivings at diners. Sometimes with the guy she was seeing at the time. Sometimes alone. I’ll probably visit Aunt Stella this year.”
He was silent for a moment before he asked, “Do you want to come to California with me instead?”
My heart thumped. “You’re serious?”
“Not only am I serious, I want my parents to know I’m serious about you.”
“You’re serious about me?”
“Seriously.” A smile twitched his mouth.
I tried to picture it, tried to imagine myself in the illustrious household of Justice West and his socialite wife.
“You’re sure?” I whispered.
“Beauty, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
We looked at each other for a few minutes, the air charged with this fragile understanding.
I wanted to give him everything, this man who had changed my life. He made my heart soar and my body sing. He was brilliant, handsome, kind, patient. He knew how and why the Crusades had changed thirteenth-century castle architecture. He couldn’t cook much better than I could. His chocolate-brown eyes filled with heat and affection when he looked at me. He thought boring foreign movies were fascinating. He made me laugh. I liked myself when I was with him.
A memory of his voice echoed in my mind from three months before, that night when I’d first come to his apartment for dinner.
“What’s your key, Olivia?”
“My key?”
“An old friend once told me that everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets. What’s yours?”
“Um… I’m pretty sure I don’t have a key.”
“I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Well, if everyone has one,” I said, “what’s yours?”
“Ah.” A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “You have to discover that yourself.”
“Then you have to do the same with me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The coldness that had lived inside me for so long was dissolving now, spreading warmth through my blood. A little bud seemed to be unfurling in the depths of my soul, something with petals of velvet and a core that contained a thousand unspoken wishes, wants, and desires.
I moved closer to Dean, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heat of his body.
“Remember when you told me everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets?” I whispered. “And you wanted to know what mine is?”
He nodded. “And you told me you didn’t have a key.”
“I think I do.”
“What is it?”
“You.”