The Real Thing: Flirt Romance

  I grab my chest because it does hurt. It’s my fault, and I have no right to feel like this, but I do. I can’t believe I did this to my best friend. I cry into my hands, because I’ve lost all sense of where I am. I’ve been stubborn and rationalized everything I did. It took losing Eric for me to get a clue. How could I have messed up something so real and beautiful for something that didn’t measure up to an ounce of what Eric gave me?

  I want to kiss him. I want to love him with all of me like we promised each other. But now . . . I’m not even sure it’s possible.

  Eric hasn’t touched me. I don’t blame him. I take as many deep breaths as I can to calm myself down, because it’s obvious he’s not going to help me.

  When I finally push through the worst of it, I glance at him through my tear-filled eyes. He looks like he’s in more pain than he was a second ago, and I’m wondering what I said or did to make him feel worse.

  I settle my hand on his cheek again. He doesn’t push me away, but I don’t know if it’s because he wants me to touch him or because he’s beyond caring about anything I do.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it a million and a half more if it gets him to realize I mean it. “I wanted you for so long, I loved you for so long, and I . . . I ruined it.” My body collapses into the water, knees sink into the sand, the air feels like a hundred pounds pressing down on my back.

  His eyes search mine. I put all of my heart out there. This is me groveling and begging him to take me back. I don’t care if it’s desperate. I just want to be in his arms again.

  “You didn’t . . .” He pauses, swallows hard, and his voice continues in a raspy whisper. “You didn’t ruin it.”

  Then, something changes in his eyes. I can’t describe it, because he still looks hurt, but they grow hungry. Needy. His hands come up from his lap and slide up my waist, gently encouraging me to inch closer.

  I understand lust. I get that because I’ve lived it. I remember slamming through doors and yanking off clothes in a fury to get release. The feel of someone’s hot skin against yours and the way things pull and tug in places you didn’t think existed on your body. It’s sweaty, it’s hot, it’s sometimes dirty and it leaves you satisfied physically. Well . . . at least you hope it does.

  Love is different. It’s all that lust, but more. So much more.

  I don’t understand love completely, but I know as I stare at his broken and hungry eyes, it’s not lust that drives me. It’s love.

  My hands move from his cheeks so I can wrap my arms around his neck in a tight hug. His arms circle my waist, and he pulls me against his warm body. Our hips press together—stomachs, chests, cheeks. I can’t keep my lips from kissing him behind his ear, my fingers from burying themselves in his short hair, my heart from racing. He doesn’t kiss me back, and I try not to let that bother me because he’s holding me again. I’ve missed my Eric bear hugs.

  My lips move closer and closer to his. He keeps me in a strong grip, but it won’t stop me. I need his kisses. I need him to know how much I love him.

  He surprises me by meeting my lips halfway. We both breathe out a moan into each other’s mouths and love takes me over again. My tongue reaches for his, and we give and take, falling into a familiar rhythm that can only be mine and Eric’s.

  His hands shove my shirt up as they travel across my sides. His fingers are wet, grainy with sand, and send tingles over my skin. I bend my body to be closer to his, but instead of inviting me in, he gently pushes me back. Our lips disconnect, and we breathe hot and heavy in each other’s face.

  “Emmy . . .”

  I stop breathing altogether and almost cry again. How long has it been since he’s said my name like that?

  Why am I asking?

  I know exactly how long it’s been.

  “What?” I manage to say with no air.

  “You aren’t talking to him anymore?”

  I shake my head, our foreheads slick and sweaty against each other.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. I haven’t said a word to him for weeks.”

  His fingers tighten on my skin, and I hold back a shiver that wants to run through me.

  “Has . . . has he tried to talk to you?”

  I wish he didn’t sound so scared. It makes things hurt all over again. But he’s holding me, and we’re touching, and it eases the pain. Now I have to ease his, and I’m so glad I can do it with the truth.

  “I told him good-bye. He won’t contact me unless I contact him first.” I slide my hands from his neck to his chest. “And I won’t. I don’t need to. I don’t need him at all. I never did.”

  “But if he’s your friend . . .”

  “It bothers you. And you have every right to be bothered by it. I love you. That is more important to me than anything else.”

  His mouth twitches into a smile, and my heart soars. “Even all those book dudes you’re always talking about?”

  Now I’m smiling, and it feels great on my face. “Even them.”

  He lets out a giant sigh, making loose hairs wave around my face. His hands trace up my sides and cup my cheeks. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

  I’m still smiling, still crying . . . I’m a blissed-out, gross mess, and I love it. I love every second because I honestly didn’t think this would happen. So when he kisses me first this time, I don’t stop. I take all of what he’s willing to give, because I almost lost it.

  His kiss is deep, slow, yet passionate as hell. I want to match his intensity, but I’m barely grasping the reality of it all. I have Eric back. He’s back, and he wants me. He’s kissing me and needs me. He missed me.

  Whoever said that quote, that staying in love was very special, was so right.

  Chapter 32

  Eric Matua is offline

  ***

  “I love you,” I say into Em’s mouth. Her nails rake through my hair and she says it back, and I believe her. It’s in my gut, my chest, my brain, my heart . . . everywhere. She means it when she says it. And she meant it when she said she was sorry.

  Her knees slip farther into the sand, putting more pressure on me, and instead of a rush of panic, my body wants more. I want more. My hands reach under her shirt, run all over her back. The tide kicks up against us and I wait for her to panic as it washes over her exposed skin, but she just keeps kissing me.

  “Em?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Stay here tonight?”

  “In the ocean?” she teases. “I think you’ve overestimated my control.”

  “Are you scared?” I ask, kissing her neck. I wrap my hand around her hair and pull her holder loose. The long dark strands fall over her shoulders, down her chest, and my dick doubles in rigidity.

  “A little,” she admits, a shy smile on her face. “But I don’t want to stop.”

  I put my hand over her lips as they close in. “What about a pause?” I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. “Come inside with me.”

  “I’m all wet,” she says, “and the only extra clothes I have are a pair of panties and a stained pink top.”

  Not a bad choice in clothing in my opinion, but I say, “You can wear mine.”

  Her full, sexy lips pull into a grin and she nods, rising up to her feet and helping me out of the water. I can’t get her across the beach, up the stairs, and into the condo fast enough. Seems like it takes us twenty minutes just to get the door unlocked. We’ve claimed each other’s hands, and the only time I let go is to wrap a towel around her and dry her off. She laughs as I rub her ass, and I keep rubbing even after she tries to tickle me, telling her I’ve got to get all the ocean water off. That’s all I’m doing, I swear.

  “There, now you’re dry,” I say, and she nods, pushing the towel out of my hands. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip as her eyes flick to the bed behind me. I grin. “You tired?”

  “Kind of,” she squeaks. I shake my head and wrap my hand around her nape.

  “You don
’t have to ask if it’s okay,” I say, running my thumb over her jaw. I love her skin under mine again. She’s so smooth, so soft, so real . . . and I can tell she wants every touch I give her. “You’re forgiven. I love you. And it’s me. We’re good, okay?”

  “I think part of me still can’t believe it,” she whispers. “I thought I’d be sad forever.”

  “Would sleeping in this bed with me make you happy?”

  “Yes.”

  I grin and pick her up by the waist. “Then get this sexy ass under the covers.”

  She laughs as I drop her on the mattress, her long hair bouncing over her breasts. I jump on next to her, roll to my side and grab her hand. I want her pressed against me, but she stays on her back, letting her eyes close as I kiss her shoulder and nuzzle her nose.

  “Can I ask you something?” she says to the ceiling.

  “Shoot.”

  “Can you . . . not move to Tampa?”

  I lean on my arm and play with the waistband of her shorts with the other hand. “Where would I go?”

  “Anywhere to be with me.” She frowns. “I’ve been without you too many times. I don’t like it.”

  “Well, we have Skype. And Facebook. And Twit—”

  She pinches my elbow and I jerk back with a laugh.

  “I think my online time will be a little bit limited.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because there’s life outside of my phone. Who knew?”

  “Hmm, then that is a problem.”

  “Exactly. I need you not in my computer.”

  “So I should find a place near Keiser.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you should move in with me.”

  Her eyes flick open and she turns her head, nose hitting mine. “You still want to do that?”

  “Beats the hell out of living with my brother.”

  “Eric . . .”

  I squeeze her hip, kiss her neck, and nibble her earlobe. Her body shivers next to mine and it makes me grin like a damn fool.

  “Of course I still want that.”

  I press my lips to her one more time, and she wiggles in my arms.

  “I like seeing you like this.”

  “Horny?”

  She smacks my shoulder. “Happy.” Then she pauses. “Wait . . . horny?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Hmm . . . interesting.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, and it damn near kills me not to ask. Her eyes close and she settles onto her back again. She’s not asking, but I can tell she wants it. I want it. I’m shaking and having a hard time breathing, and I can’t get it together to make the first move. I rarely make the first move. But I think I’m going to this time.

  Our palms are moist as I squeeze her fingers, then I press a kiss to her shoulder, dragging my lips to the dip in her neck. Her breath catches, and I feel her tense up next to me. I give her hand another squeeze before leaning up to hover over her body. Her shirt is still damp as I push it up over her belly button.

  “Wait . . .” she says, and I stop dead. She twists underneath my hands, stretching up toward the lamp on my nightstand. When she clicks it on, I blink a few times to adjust to the light, and then meet her wide eyes.

  “I want to see you,” she says, gorgeous blush filling her neck. The corner of my lip turns up, and I bend down to kiss the freckles along her cheeks. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, but other than that, she doesn’t move anymore. She lets me take the lead, and my nerves chill the hell out, but I’m still anxious.

  I’m anxious to get this shirt off. These pants down. That bra open. This woman under me. On top of me. Wrapped around me.

  This anxiety I can handle.

  I nip at her shoulder and push her shirt up. “You’re still wet.” Shit. “I mean your shirt is wet.” I tug at it. “I mean, you could be wet, too, but . . . ah hell.”

  Em presses her lips together and stifles a giggle, and I push my face into the pillow.

  “Damn, I was trying to say something sexy there, and it came out wrong.”

  “I think it came out just right.” She laughs, drawing my face toward hers again.

  “I meant to say I want your shirt off.” I shake my forehead against hers. “As soon as I get my foot out of my mouth, I’ll start kissing you again.”

  “I think it’s sexy.”

  “Well, then. You’re wet.” I jam my hands under the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes widen and a sharp gasp flies from her lips. “So this needs to come off.”

  I test her reaction, keeping steady under her shirt. The perfect circles of her eyes have me a little worried, but another gorgeous wave of red flushes come up her neck and she lifts her arms over her head.

  I take in each inch of her skin as it’s exposed. She’s so beautifully freckled, so beautifully pale. As soon as she’s completely free from the fabric, I drop it to the floor, sit back, and trace my fingers over her skin. Her stomach tightens when I tickle her belly button. Her breasts bounce under a polka-dotted bra as she shivers each time I stroke her. I gulp and bend my head, kiss the top of her chest, feel her racing heart under my lips.

  “I think you’re wet, too,” she says breathlessly, pulling at the buttons on my shirt. I brace myself against the mattress, holding my weight above her body and pinching my eyes shut as she pushes each button through its hole. I’m not breathing, and that’s not good, I know it’s not good, but I don’t care. There’s nothing in this room but Emmy. Nothing in my head but her. So whether I have air to breathe or not, I know she’ll be the one to guide me through it.

  “Eric?”

  “I’m okay,” I say, but my eyes won’t open.

  “No, not that . . .” Her nails graze the skin of my abdomen. “I mean, I’m glad you’re okay, I was just going to say that . . . well, you are freaking hot as hell and I’m not sure how much slower I can go because I’m pretty sure I’m about to rip all these clothes off you.”

  I laugh, opening my eyes, and my arms wobble. Her hot skin collides with mine, and I’m thrusting against her without even thinking about it. She moans my name, and I pull her up with me to a sitting position, kissing her fiercely on the mouth, on her neck, behind her ear, over her breasts. I’m biting again because I want so badly to taste her, and I can’t get close enough. She’s gripping the back of my head, pulling me against her, rubbing herself against me, and I’m done with those damn shorts she’s got on, and I want out of my pants. We’re a fumbling mess as we try to keep our lips on each other as we tug at our clothes. Her bra is off and her breasts are in my mouth, in my hands, pressed against my chest. Her hands are in my hair, gripping my shoulders, grabbing my ass, and stroking me. I feel like I can’t breathe, but I am breathing. My breath is blowing against her hair, it’s creating goose bumps up and down her flesh, it’s hot on my lips as they press against her skin. Everywhere. I’m breathing everywhere, yet I’m drowning, but I don’t want to come up for oxygen.

  I don’t know how we end up the way we do, but I’m yanking her legs toward me. I slide down her body, kiss and bite and lick every avenue of her skin and revel in her moans. Damn, her moans. They’re killing me in this water we’re drowning in. I rasp, “I love you,” in her ear, and I keep saying it. She’s saying it back. She’s telling me how damn hot I am, and I can’t stop calling her beautiful, gorgeous, and she feels

  So.

  Damn.

  Good.

  And I can’t focus anymore. I pause, holding myself up over her, pressing against her inner thigh, and I feel a drop of sweat drip down my temple and I gulp for air.

  Em’s chest rises and falls, bumping against mine, making my mind check out even more. She wipes the sweat from my brow, eyes hooded and dark—a look of pure pleasure that has me so damn proud that I put it there. I lean in with a light smile and peck her swollen lips.

  “Emmy?”

  “Yes?” she asks, voice cracking. She thinks I’m stopping, and I smile wider so she knows I’m okay.

  “Be ge
ntle with me.”

  Her body relaxes and she lets out a giant snort. Then she smacks her hands over her face while bolts of laughter rush through me.

  “That was hot,” I say, kissing her knuckles over her eyes. She drops a hand to tap me across the face.

  “Just for that, you’re not getting gentle at all.”

  I raise an eyebrow and she reaches down and digs her nails into my ass. She thrusts up, and I’m in her, and my brain has jumped ship. I lose my teasing smile and fall face-first into the pillow by her head.

  There’s no chance in hell of “gentle” anymore.

  Chapter 33

  Emilia Johnson is offline

  ***

  “Wow,” Eric grunts, and he slides off me, but instead of landing on the mattress, he falls ass-first to the floor.

  I’m too weak to do anything but utter an out-of-breath, “Are you okay?” as I stare at the ceiling and wait for my vision to return to normal. He grunts something, but my ears are buzzing. My body is slick with sweat, breasts sensitive to the cool air that’s suddenly where Eric just was, heart throbbing so hard I feel it in my toes.

  That was . . .

  “Wow,” I manage to echo. I want to be close to him again, but I can’t move. My limbs are jelly. My brain is goop. My eyes are wet. My lips are swollen. My legs are sore. My heart is a giant balloon.

  We lie in silence, except for our rapid breathing. After a few minutes, Eric lifts his head and looks down at himself.

  “I’m a mess.”

  A laugh rumbles through my throat.

  “Me, too.”

  “Shower?”