For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (25 page)

He did, tension coiling through his body. His cock stuck straight upward, intimidatingly big and hard. I knelt on the floor beside the sofa and pressed a hand to his stomach in a silent signal for him to be still. He settled back, his hand still tangled in my hair, his fingers spread over my scalp.

Anxiety lanced into me.
No.
I closed my eyes and breathed.

I remembered the first moment I saw Dean, crouching beside me on the sidewalk, his hand so close to my arm. I remembered how the sunlight gleamed off his dark hair, the way his smile creased his brown eyes.

A rush of perfect memories swept me. The sensation of Dean’s hand on the small of my back. The knot of his silk necktie as it nestled at the base of his throat. The way he held my face when he kissed me for the first time. The intensity of his eyes when he looked at me, as if I were the only person in the world. The way he made me laugh and feel. The easy glide of his fingers, the slow, tight thrust of his body into mine.

“Ah, Liv.” His voice was deep and husky. “So good…”

I reached for his hand. His fingers locked with mine. I lowered my head and enclosed the head of his erection between my lips. A salty tang filled my mouth.

Breathe, Liv. Breathe.

My heart pounded fast, but with an unexpected, exciting rush of power. Sweat trickled between my breasts. I took another breath and closed my mouth around him again, tightening my hand on the base of his shaft. I lowered my head another inch and pressed my tongue against the vein throbbing against the underside of his cock.

A dizzy sensation filled my head. I knew what I was supposed to do. I slid my lips up, then back down again in a rhythm that was almost pleasant. His erection was smooth, pulsing, as I stroked him in and out of my mouth. Another flood of emissions coated my tongue.

Dean. Dean. It’s him. It’s you.

Dean muttered something and shifted, his fingers gripping mine. I could tell he was trying to restrain himself from thrusting into my mouth. A heady sense of anticipation overcame me as I realized the effect I was having on him, the effect I
wanted
to have on him.

“Liv…”

I pulled back and inhaled a breath as I worked up the courage to look at him. He was watching me, his eyes dark with smoldering heat and something else, an indefinable emotion I’d seen before and that lodged right into the gentle area around my heart.

The heat of the fire warmed my skin. I shivered and lowered my head over him again. This time, he caught me by the back of the neck and drew me up to him, as if to tell me he didn’t expect more, not now. Our lips met in a kiss that flooded me with light and the feeling of something releasing, letting go. Unlocking.

Dean pushed upward, shifting us to change positions so I was lying on the sofa and he was beside it. He pulled me right to the edge of the sofa. My bottom slid against the soft cushion, and I spread my legs so he could edge between my thighs. He splayed his hand over my sex and circled my clit with his thumb.

“Oh…” I squirmed, loving his touch on the most intimate parts of my body. “Dean, hurry, please…”

My pulse hammered, the drumbeat echoing in my core. I could still taste him on my tongue—salt, maleness, Dean. New, powerful swirls of arousal coursed through my nerves. He moved away from me only long enough to roll a condom onto his thick cock. I gripped the edge of the sofa, my breath sticking in my throat when he started pushing inside me. I felt my body stretching, widening, filling with his hard flesh.

“Relax,” he whispered, pausing to rub my clit again. “Ah, you feel good, Liv. So tight. Open wider now… just like that.”

He sank in another inch, his jaw clenched. Sweat rolled down his temple, and in the flickering firelight, he looked almost dangerous with his rigid expression and burning eyes. Sweat gleamed on the planes of his chest. I clutched the sofa and spread my legs wider, letting him in, wanting him right
there.

He took hold of my hips and started to thrust, every stroke of his cock firing me with hot tingles. The rhythm increased, his plunges feeling like they were going even deeper, reaching a place inside me that only he could. Moisture dripped down my thighs. My body jostled back and forth on the sofa, my breasts bouncing with every thrust.

“Dean,” I pleaded when he plunged in again, hard enough that I gasped. “Oh, God, more… harder…”

“Tighten your pussy around me,” he ordered. “Yeah, like that… I want you to come all over my cock.”

His raw words spilled into me, and with one more flick of his fingers, I came with a cry of pleasure, my hips bucking toward him. As I was still convulsing around his shaft, he thrust deep and stilled, his own body vibrating with an orgasm. He groaned, low and heavy, his lips capturing mine in a hot kiss as the sensations slowly ebbed.

Our bodies went slack, both of us struggling to catch our breath. Dean moved to the sofa and put his arm around me, pulling me right into the space against his side where I always fit so perfectly.

*     *     *

I woke at
three on Christmas morning, snuggled against Dean’s warm, naked body. I lay still for a moment, absorbing the sensation of him beside me, the pure rightness of how we felt together. It had always felt that way with him. Both
then
and
now
and—

An idea bloomed bright and clear in my mind, like the first frost of winter glinting with sunlight. I slipped out of bed, leaving Dean sleeping heavily, and pulled on my
Merry Me
pajamas.

I went into the kitchen and scrounged around for everything I needed—thankfully, over the past few months, I had brought enough stuff to decorate Dean’s utilitarian apartment that I was not short of craft supplies. After putting a note on the inside of the bedroom door reading
Knock Before Entering
, I closed the door and sat at the kitchen table.

I had two empty mason jars, a swatch of fine-grained burlap, a spool of gold ribbon, and a stack of parchment paper I’d brought over one afternoon to do some drawing. I wrapped the jars in burlap, fastened them with the ribbon, and painted the lids with sparkling gold paint. Then I carefully tore the parchment into strips and began to write.

Within two hours, I had filled both jars with strips of paper, and my soul felt as if it were brimming over with silver glitter. I made a label for each jar and glued them on over the burlap.

I checked the clock, which was nearing five-thirty, about the time Dean usually woke up. I hid the jars beneath a branch under the Christmas tree, concealing them further behind the wrapped gifts Dean had placed there. I cleaned up the bits of paper and ribbon and was making a pot of coffee when a knock sounded at the bedroom door.

“Come in!” I called.

He emerged, all rumpled and gorgeous in his low-slung pajama pants and no shirt, his jaw bristly with stubble. I tingled all over just looking at him.

“Hey.” He appeared faintly baffled at the sight of me. “You’re up early.”

“Thought I’d make the coffee, for a change.”

“Why did I have to knock?”

“I was making something for you, but you have to wait to see what it is.” I went around the counter to approach him.

He met me halfway across the living room, and we exchanged a warm kiss that tasted like toothpaste and a warmer embrace that felt like a homecoming.

“Merry Christmas.” Dean kissed the tip of my nose. “Should we open presents now or later?”

“Later. I’m going to make French toast.”

“Wow. You’re all kinds of domestic this morning.” He slid his arms around me and rubbed my bottom. “The caveman in me kind of likes it.”

“Good, then you can really be macho and go build fire.” I thumped his chest manfully.

“Yes, mistress.” He detached himself reluctantly from me.

“Mistress, huh? The woman in me kind of likes that too.”

Dean gave me a wink and a smile that made me all fluttery inside before he went to build a fire in the fireplace. I made an easy version of French toast and fried some bacon, then we sat down at the little table for breakfast. One of Dean’s colleagues had invited us to a Christmas party later that day, but aside from that we had no plans, except to lounge around the apartment together. Exactly the way we both liked it.

After breakfast, we sat cross-legged on the floor by the Christmas tree to exchange presents. I was suddenly a little nervous, not sure what he’d think of my spontaneous gift. He gave me several gifts I knew I’d always cherish, no matter what happened when June rolled around. A book of Emily Dickenson poems, a personalized journal and planner, a framed illustration of a knight on horseback, and a soft knit scarf, hat, and gloves set that I’d admired over a month ago in a shop window.

As I’d expected, he was pleased with the leather notebook and pen set, but as he leaned in to kiss me, I put my hand up.

“That’s not all.” My heartbeat increased a notch. I dug behind the branches for the two jars and set them in front of Dean. “This is what I was making for you.”

He lifted the jars and read the labels.
Past First Memories. Future First Memories.

After giving me a questioning look, he opened the
Past First Memories
jar and took out one of the slips of paper.

“The first time we saw the butterflies in the Botanical Gardens,” he read, then looked at me again. “That was a really nice day.”

“It was also the first time you patted me on the ass, but I didn’t write that memory down.” I arched an eyebrow at him and plucked another paper from the jar. “Our first date dinner at the White Rose.”

“One of the best dinners of my life.” Dean took another paper and read, “The first brownie sundae we shared at that café in Mount Horeb.”

I moved to sit beside him as we read through all the memories we’d already compiled in the few months we’d been together. Some were spicy—
the first time we made love… in the shower, in a car, in the kitchen… our first phone sex episode, the first time I came with you inside me.

Others were tender reminiscences I’d never forget.
The first time you touched me, our first game of Scrabble, our first kiss, the first time you walked into Jitter Beans. The first time you spent the night on my sofa. Our first weekend away to Door County. The first time we shared a bottle of wine, worked the crossword puzzle together, danced, watched a movie. The first time we laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. The first time we stayed up all night. The first time you called me beauty.

When the scraps of paper were piled on the floor beside the jar, Dean reached out to put his hand on my knee.

“This…” He paused and cleared his throat. “This is amazing.”

My heart thumped. I put my hand over his. “There’s another one. But I don’t want you to think I’m…”

He paused in the motion of removing the lid of the second jar. “You’re what?”

“Um…” A flush heated my cheeks. “Moving too fast.”

Dean stared at me for a second before he gave a shout of laughter. “Olivia West, moving too fast? I’ve never waited for a woman as long as I waited for you.”

My flush deepened. It was true—I’d been so nervous and anxious that I’d asked him if we could take our relationship slowly, and had we ever. He had been exceedingly patient and kind, which was yet another reason I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave him.

“Make no mistake, beauty.” Still smiling, Dean leaned in to kiss me. “I’d wait for you an eternity longer.”

Pleasure flooded my chest. Dean’s lips lingered on mine for a moment before he pulled away to open the second jar. He pulled out a scrap of paper.

“The first time we walk through the Louvre together.” He looked at me with faint surprise.

“Not now,” I said, tapping the label
Future First Memories
on the jar. “These are memories we still have to create… someday.”

Dean pulled out another piece of paper. “The first time you kiss me on a gondola in Venice. The first time we host a party, go to a baseball game, visit the Art Institute. The first time we call each other when you leave Madison.”

He paused. “Liv…”

“There’s more.” I gestured to the jar.

A lot more. I’d imagined so much about our future together, and only now—with the knowledge that our relationship didn’t need to have any kind of deadline—could I believe those imaginings might one day come true.

“The first time we take a train trip,” Dean read. “The first time we listen to an audio book together. The first time we go to the top of the Empire State Building.”

The first time we see the Coliseum in Rome. The first time we drive across the country. The first time I send you a letter in the mail. The first time you learn one of my passwords. The first time we hold hands on a mountain. The first time we see the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. The first time we find a sand dollar, ride a Ferris wheel, carve our initials in a tree trunk.

When the jar was empty, Dean put all the scraps of paper back in and fastened the lid. Without a word, he leaned against the sofa and pulled me to him. I nestled against his side, spreading my hand over his abdomen. I felt his gaze on me, and I glanced up. His eyes glittered in the light from the fire. A warm, electric current crackled in the air between us.

“Wait for me,” he said.

An overwhelming sense of hope rose inside me, like a bright, shining glass ornament mirroring the world. I stroked my hand upward and pressed it right over his heart. His heartbeat thumped against my palm—strong, steady, everlasting. Just like him.

“I’ll wait for you,” I promised. I had the sense I would wait for him forever.

Dean moved his hand around to the back of my neck and eased closer for a warm, lovely kiss that both anchored me to the earth and made me want to take flight. When he lifted his head, we were both breathing hard, the promise of
more
like a tangible thing between us.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” I whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Liv.” He tugged gently at a lock of my hair and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Thanks for giving me a present I’ll never forget.”

*     *     *

Read the complete erotic romance of Liv and Dean West—an intense, passionate couple who struggle with life after the “happily ever after.” Starting with
AROUSE: Book One