And I’m not giving her back. Not again.
Not ever.
The realization hit me like a sock to the gut after about the eighth girl I fucked in high school. They all had a similar look, a sameness to them that I hadn’t noticed until the night I hooked up with Maddie Whitaker. Flirtatious, blond Maddie had attached herself to my side from the moment I entered the party celebrating the end of school my senior year. I knew what she wanted.
I wanted it, too. And gave it to her good back in a guest bedroom, right after she blew me.
“I knew you’d fuck me,” she’d said almost triumphantly as she pulled her clothes back on. We were already finished and I just wanted the hell out of there. “Everyone said you would, since I’m your type.”
I paused in buttoning my jeans, glancing across the room to find her watching me. “I have a type?” I asked.
She nodded, buttoning up her shirt. “You like girls who are petite and blond. Blue eyes. Innocent looking.” She blinked her eyes at me and I saw nothing innocent about Maddie’s face. After all, her lips had just been stretched wide around my dick not even fifteen minutes ago.
“Really.” My voice was flat as I tugged my T-shirt over my head.
“Yeah. Rumor around school is some pretty, innocent blond totally broke your heart.”
Maddie slipped out of the room soon after she said that and I sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. No pretty, innocent blond had ever broken my heart. My heart was unbreakable. Hell, half the time I figured I didn’t even really have one. Not a normal heart, in any case.
Mine was impenetrable. Lots of girls at school had tried to get me to be their boyfriend but I wasn’t interested. Hooking up? I was all for it. A steady girlfriend who I had to make time for?
Fucking forget it.
Disturbed by Maddie’s observation, I ran a hand through my rumpled hair, wondering if she spoke the truth. They really talked about me like that at school? I swear half the time the girls liked the dangerous aura they believed I had. I was the son of a known serial killer. I couldn’t escape my reputation if I tried.
Lord knows I’d tried. Tried like hell.
The truth dawned on me about ten minutes later as I sat in the guest bedroom of a house owned by people I didn’t even know. Only one girl had ever touched me, broken me, lingered within me like an intense longing. I had no idea what happened to her, where she was. She’d cut me off, though I never forgot her. No matter how much I tried.
Katie Watts. Pretty. Blond. Innocent. Sweet and trusting and needing me so damn bad. She was the one I kept chasing like a drug.
She was the one I could never have.
He picked me up as if I weighed nothing, his big hands sprawled across my butt, my legs automatically going around his hips. I wore no panties and he held me so close, my bare skin pressed against his flat stomach, that I wondered if he could feel me. If he knew I wasn’t wearing underwear. If he thought I was too forward, too . . . much.
Stupid thought. He was a man. He was attracted to me and I could feel his erection, but it didn’t scare me. More like I became excited. My blood pumped hard, my heart pounded, and I throbbed between my legs. His hands rested over the cotton of his shirt I wore but I’m sure he could feel me.
I wanted his hands on my bare skin.
After delivering a lingering kiss that left me breathless, he carried me to his room, deposited me on the edge of the bed, and now stands before me, shedding his shirt, revealing his bare chest to me for the first time. I stare unabashedly, mesmerized by his masculine form. His shoulders, his defined arms, his chest, his pecs, his flat stomach. He’s muscular without being over the top, and my palms tingle I’m so anxious to get my hands on him.
There’s a tattoo on his side, along his rib cage, and I tilt my head, wanting a good look at it. Two short words written in elegant script say only us, with a set of angel’s wings beneath them.
Weird. And oddly familiar. I wonder what it means. I wonder who meant enough to him that he’d tattoo such romantic words on his body for that person. A girl. A girl that may have held his heart at one point in his life. A wave of jealousy flashes through me and I shove it away.
Lucky her.
I’m wearing only his T-shirt, nothing else—well, and the socks—and I rub my thighs together, unsure of the unfamiliar sensations flowing through me. I’m anxious. Edgy. I want his hands on me, yet . . . I don’t. I want his mouth all over my skin but I’m afraid. Will he push me too far? Will he get mad if I don’t let him do certain things? I don’t even know what those certain things are, but I might not be up for them and I don’t want to make him angry.
“You okay?” His deep voice knocks me from my thoughts. He touches my cheek and I lean into his hand, closing my eyes, absorbing his warmth, his kindness. “Katie.”
I open my eyes and look up at him. He took off his glasses when we changed out of our wet clothes earlier. His eyes are incredibly dark, the muscles in his face and neck visibly strained, and I know he’s holding back for my sake.
What would it be like, though, to have all of that restraint unleashed on me? Would I like it? Become lost in it? Or would all that focused intensity frighten me?
It was time I found out.
“You don’t have to hold back because of me,” I whisper, my gaze locked with his. His brow furrows, as if my declaration confuses him, and I continue on. “I want you, Ethan. I want . . . all of you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds until he finally clears his throat. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“Seeing you like this, knowing you’re completely naked beneath my shirt.” He clamps his lips shut and shakes his head, seemingly overcome. Pleasure slips over me, warm and liquid, as that sensation of unbridled feminine power returns. I love that I can make him react so strongly. “You’re going to make me lose control, Katie. I know it. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“So long? We haven’t even known each other—”
He kneels in front of me, startling me and cutting me off mid-sentence. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew.”
I take his hands, his fingers curling around mine. “You knew what?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“That you would be mine.” He leans in and kisses me, softly. Slowly. “That I would make you mine and there would be no going back once I did.” Another kiss, his tongue tracing the inside of my lips, making me gasp. Making me shiver. “Do you want to be mine, Katie?”
“Yes,” I whisper against his lips. “That’s all I want. To be yours.”
He says nothing, just pushes me onto the bed, his large, warm body over mine, our hands still clasped. He lifts them, brings them up over my head as he continues to kiss me, our tongues tangling, our bodies rubbing. His erection is nestled between my legs and I spread them wider, the shirt riding up, baring me, and I can feel the direct contact of his cotton-covered erection brushing against my core.
I tense up and he senses it, his entire body going still for a long, quiet moment, and then my moan breaks the silence.
“You feel so good.” I don’t sound like myself. God, I don’t even feel like myself. My skin is hot, my entire body throbbing in time with the frenzied beat of my heart, and I lift my hips, deliberately rubbing against him. It’s his turn to groan, the low, masculine sound rippling through me, making me insane.
Making me wish I could hear him groan like that again.
Without a word he lifts away from me, letting my hands go so he can rest his at my hips, his fingers pressing into my flesh. I wait with held breath as he slowly lifts my shirt, exposing my body inch by inch, until the shirt is above my stomach, bunched just below my breasts. I close my eyes with a sigh as he stares at me, his fingers drifting across my stomach, one finger circling my belly button.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs reverently.
I say nothing, just bask in his compli
ments, in the way he touches me. He pulls the shirt up higher, over my breasts, the fabric catching on my erect nipples, and I suck in a breath when the cool air hits my sensitive skin. He cups them both, engulfing my breasts in his big hands, his thumbs smoothing over my nipples, and I press my lips together to keep from whimpering.
“I want to hear you.” I open my eyes to find him staring at my chest with an almost dazed fascination. “Don’t hold back, Katie. Does this feel good?”
I nod, unable to speak. Too entranced with the way he seems entranced with me. It’s fascinating.
Thrilling.
“Let’s take this off,” he urges. I lift my arms above my head, lift my head away from the mattress, and he tugs the shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. I’m completely naked beneath him. The only barrier between us is his sweatpants and they’re just thin cotton. I can feel every inch of him press against me and though I’m a little worried about how exactly this is going to work, I’m also excited.
“Fuck, Katie.” I close my eyes once more at the guttural groan that escapes him as he lifts away from me. I can feel his hot gaze rove over me, as if it were a physical caress. “I don’t know if I can hold back much longer.”
“Then don’t.” I reach for him blindly, my fingers tracing over the hot, firm skin of his chest. I want to feel all of him against all of me. “Please, Ethan.”
I think it’s the use of the word please that gets to him. He’s on me in seconds, his mouth devouring mine, his hands wandering everywhere. I arch into his touch, moan against his mouth, entwine my tongue with his. Urging him on, wanting more, pushing past my fear because this is Ethan who I’m with.
I trust him. I care for him. Despite his earlier hot-and-cold attitude, I can’t deny the connection between us. It tethers me to him whether I like it or not and when he’s not with me, I feel a little lost. A lot alone.
And I’m so incredibly tired of feeling alone.
He moves down my body, his mouth blazing a trail over my skin. Along my neck, my throat, my collarbone, my chest, the tops of my breasts. The valley between my breasts, his lips lingering, his hot tongue darting out for a lick, making me gasp and hold him close. When his mouth rains kisses on my left breast, then my right, I bury my fingers in his hair. When he draws a nipple into his mouth and sucks, his tongue swirling, I pull his hair and cry out.
The attention he lavishes on my breasts leaves me mindless with pleasure. My entire body shakes, my stomach clenches, and between my legs, I’m wet. Incredibly wet. I want him to touch me there. I want his mouth on mine again. I love the almost forceful way he uses his tongue. His gentle approach drives me wild, too, and I pull on his shoulders. I want him closer. I want more.
Ethan gets the hint and he’s there, touching my face, his mouth fused with mine. He shifts so he’s directly on top of me, his erection between my legs, his chest hot against mine. I stroke him everywhere I can reach, our mouths open, our tongues wild. His hand wanders across my belly and lower, and I tense beneath his touch. I can’t help it. My fears still drive me and though I trust Ethan, it’s hard to break those old habits.
“Let me,” he whispers, his fingers barely grazing my pubic hair. “I want to make you feel good, Katie. I want to make you come.”
I melt at his coaxing words. Slowly I nod and his hand moves lower so he’s cupping me, his hand covering the entirety of me. I pulse beneath his palm, my breath lodged in my throat. One long finger presses against me, gains entry, and then he’s searching my delicate folds, his touch feather light.
“You’re so fucking wet.” He sounds as if he’s in agony, and a matching pain pulses in my blood. “God, Katie what you do to me.”
More like what he does to me. He shifts to the side, gaining a better angle so he can stroke me, and I rise up against his hand, my legs spreading wider, and moan. He leans over me and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking it deep as he slips one finger inside my body, and I stifle the cry rising in my throat.
I’m . . . overwhelmed. And the slightest bit ashamed. It shouldn’t feel so good, should it? My worry, my guilt, is such a burden, unable to let me go, seeming to dig its claws deeper inside me every time I think I’ve shed it for good. I hate it. I hate it so much and I don’t want my issues to ruin this night with Ethan.
But here they come. Engulfing me. Reminding me of who I am and what happened to me.
“Relax, baby,” he whispers against my breast, his breath blowing across my nipple and making me shiver. “Let go.”
“I-I can’t,” I admit, my voice practically strangled with frustration.
“Don’t think about the past,” Ethan urges as he lifts up to watch me. “Don’t let any of that shit hold you back. Just focus on me. Focus on my touch. Focus on how I can make you feel.”
I try my best but it’s no use. The pleasure that had zipped through my veins only moments ago feels like a distant memory now. His mouth returns to my skin, his fingers shift and move between my legs, but I can feel only a small measure of excitement. It’s faded to almost nothing and I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears away.
But they fall despite my wishing them gone.
By the time I was sixteen, my expectations of romance had turned into complete Fantasy Land. I was a walking, talking Disney princess, alone in my castle.
I awaited my mysterious, handsome prince to come and rescue me from my lonely tower. I read romance books, sweet young adult stories with plenty of longing and covert glances and enough dreaming of kissing to fill an entire teenage girl’s secret diary. All that wishing and hoping and praying was my favorite part. Once the kiss happened, once the confirmation of boyfriend/girlfriend status was in place, I was totally over the story.
The unrequited love was what spoke to me. I could understand that. That was me. Actually having a boyfriend, dealing with the issues that came with a relationship, talking and hugging and kissing a boy on a regular basis?
I could barely wrap my head around it. I was sixteen and completely isolated. Completely alone.
I hated it.
Boys never paid attention to me before everything happened, and they sure as heck didn’t pay attention once I returned to school. I think I scared them.
I know they scared me.
Everyone scared me. That was half the reason Mom decided to homeschool me despite the protests from my guidance counselor and my teachers. They wanted me in school; they wanted me experiencing a normal life.
But I couldn’t deal. Neither could Mom.
My therapist was desperate for me to have a breakthrough. She wanted me to realize who my fantasy boy was. My hero. My rescuer. I was in denial. I knew, deep down inside, who he was. But so much time had passed. Almost four years. I should’ve been over him, right? No way was he coming to rescue me ever again. He’d done it once. He’d met his obligation.
Our moment together was done.
I brushed my fingers across the guardian angel charm, then slowly withdrew the bracelet from my wrist. Went to my dresser and grabbed the old jewelry box I received from my grandma the Christmas I was seven. Opening the top, I set the bracelet inside, then slowly closed it.
There. No more physical reminder of Will.
It was the emotional reminder, the way he lingered in my mind and came to me in my dreams, that was going to be so much more difficult to shut off.
I lost her. She was so close, too. I know she was into it. Enjoying it. Deriving pleasure from my touch, from my mouth, my words.
“Hey.” I shift up, aligning our bodies, and see the tears flowing down her cheeks. They make my heart stutter almost to a complete stop. I hate seeing her in pain. I always have. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
She cracks open tear-filled eyes, blue and so intense. “I don’t know if I can do this, Ethan.”
“What happened?” I stroke her cheek, gathering up every tear I can with my thumb. “I pushed too hard.”
“N-no.” She shakes her head. “It’s all me. My problems. My issues. I’m a
-a m-mess.”
I pull her in close and wrap my arm around her back, letting her press her face against my chest. Her tears wet my skin, her shoulders quietly shake as she cries, and my heart splinters into what feels like a million pieces.
What if I can’t help her? What if she’ll never be one hundred percent comfortable with sex? I don’t want to think that could happen, but it’s a distinct possibility.
“You’re not a mess,” I reassure her, my fingers drifting up and down the silky-smooth expanse of her back. Every naked curve is snug against my side and my cock could pound fucking nails, I swear. But I have to restrain myself. Pretend that I’m not all worked up and dying to push deep inside her. Fuck her until the both of us are sweaty and gasping and moaning and coming.
“I am,” she says against the skin of my neck, making me shiver. “I know—I know you want me. That you want this. But I don’t think I can give it to you.”
I draw a single finger along the length of her spine, stopping perilously close to her perfect butt. “You don’t want this? Me?”
Her entire body goes still as she lifts her head, her gaze snagging with mine. “I-I do.”
“You’re just scared.” I kiss her. Just a soft press of lips, completely innocent. No tongue. Her lips part beneath mine, but I break away from her before we can take it any farther. “I understand.”
“I’m not scared. I’m not really. I just . . . I don’t know.” She trembles as I continue to stroke her back, and I know she’s not as unaffected by my touch as she believes.
“Sshh.” I roll her onto her back and she stares up at me, her eyes wide, her entire body shaking. “Just listen to me, Katie. Close your eyes.”