One Good Thing (16 page)

I looked down, at his head between my thighs. My stomach clenched at the image. I felt like a sacrifice sprawled before him, his to master, his to own.

I got a little carried away. My head turned into the mattress fitfully. “Take me,” I murmured.

He paused. His finger just breached my opening and my hips jerked. “Take you?” he said, amusement coloring his voice. “I feel like I’m in the eighteenth century.”

He circled the tip of his finger, but he wouldn’t go any deeper. “Fine,” I said, angry and aching and on fire, “Screw me. Bang me.
Fuck me
. Just do it soon or I’m going to hit you.”

I felt his laughter shake the mattress. I was just about ready to lash out with my fist when he moved out of reach and I heard his clothes hit the floor.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in his fake, horrible southern accent.

“Shut up, Rhett.”

He turned to open the drawer of the nightstand, the lithe lines of his body drawing my gaze like a magnet. A few seconds later, he rolled on a condom, then stretched over me. He captured my mouth in a soft kiss. I could taste the saltiness of my own body on his tongue.

In one quick movement, he rolled so I was on top of him and moved my legs apart to straddle his waist.

I wasn’t sure if I liked this. It made me too vulnerable, too exposed, but then his hands were digging in my hips and he was pushing me down.

His hands moved over my back. I lifted my weight, eased back down. His whole length filled me; he was more formidable than Drew. I’d thought that was supposed to be a good thing, but at this angle he was too unwieldy, pressing too deep. I tried moving again slower, tentatively, but even that didn’t help. I bit my lip against the discomfort.

Oh God. I felt like crying.

Twelve.

Twelve other women. Some of them had probably been gymnasts, contorting into all kinds of unusual, erotic positions. And I was having trouble with one of the most basic ones.

I was mortified. I wanted to go back to my apartment and curl up in a ball and nurse my misery in private. I pressed my hands to his chest and pushed myself off him, grabbing the edge of the sheet to hide my body as I scrambled away.

“This isn’t going to work.” This time I bit down on my lip because I was afraid it might start trembling.

“Dani?” he sat up, looking bemused. And sort of like a decadent pagan god, with his hair ruffled from my fingers and his erection leaping out from his body. His stupid erection. “You started thinking, didn’t you?”

I glared. “I happen to have an active mind, so what?”

“You weren’t thinking in the car.”

“No.”

“And everything was great.”

“It’s your fault,” I said, pointing at him. “You nearly punctured my womb.”

He frowned. “You mean I went too deep?”

I nodded, miserable.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Well it’s … it’s not very conducive to the moment, is it?” I asked, repeating his words.

“It is if I’m hurting you. You have to tell me if something doesn’t feel good.”

My face was red, hot. “I don’t—” I swallowed. “The Twelve were probably all naturals.”

“The Twelve,” he said with a slight grin.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I’d be having more fun if you weren’t standing on the other side of the room.”

I breathed deep; the backs of my eyes stung. “I don’t think I can compete.”

He rolled from the mattress to his feet, a graceful movement for someone as tall as he was. “I don’t know why you think it’s a competition. I don’t know why you think you have to be perfect either. We need time to learn each other.” His footsteps were muffled in the carpet as he moved closer. “How exactly did things work with you and your ex?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you talk to him about what you wanted?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Sometimes it wasn’t great, but it was ok.”

A notch formed between his eyebrows, one I wanted to smooth away with my fingertips. “Were you too embarrassed to tell him?”

“That was part of it. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either.” I shrugged, the sheet slipping down one of my shoulders. Evan’s eyes traced the movement. “And I didn’t want him to think I was a bad lover.”

“Why would he think that?”

“I don’t know … it just seemed like it should have been more intuitive, like maybe there was something wrong with me that made me hard to please. I didn’t want him to think I was too much work.”

Evan gazed up at the ceiling for a second. I would have thought he was asking for divine guidance, except he didn’t seem very religious.

“That’s not how it’s going to be with us,” he said.

I hugged the sheet more tightly around me. “It’s not?”

“In the long run I’m not going to be able to please you any better than he did if you don’t tell me what you want. There’s no reason to be embarrassed around me, Dani, no reason to worry about every little thing.”

My lips twitched. “Do you remember who you’re talking to?”

The warmth of his palm rested on my bare shoulder, slid along the curve where shoulder met neck. “How could I forget?” And then he said, more seriously. “Can we try again?”

I was already leaning into his touch. “I’d like to.”

He lifted the sheet from my grasp, unraveling me until our bodies met once again, skin to skin. His head lowered, his hair brushing my throat as his lips touched my collarbone.

He started to ask me questions, forcing me to tell him what I wanted. Did it feel good when he nipped my earlobe? Did I like it when he rolled my nipples in his fingers? When he licked them? When he sucked? Was there anywhere I was ticklish? What kind of motion felt the best when he had his hand between my legs—circular, downward, harder, softer?

Just like he’d unraveled the sheet from around my shoulders, he unraveled me with his questions until there were no barriers between us. I was naked, in the truest sense of the word.

And it was terrifying. But the onslaught was too great to withstand, his questions didn’t stop, nor did his touch. Even if I’d wanted to think, I was too distracted.

He led me to the mattress and lay back as I straddled him again, but this time he didn’t guide me as I lowered myself onto him.

It took me a few tries before I figured out what I wanted. He didn’t say anything as I experimented, simply watched me with eyes that looked almost black; only a thin line of color remained around the pupil.

I leaned forward, supporting myself with one arm, my hand spread on the white of the sheet next to his head. I moved slowly, more diagonal than up and down. That small change made a world of difference. He couldn’t go quite as deep; the amount of pressure, the sensation of slow-heat and friction, was perfect. I moved against him, the muscles low in my abdomen clenching.

“Better?” he asked, brushing my clit with his thumb, the way I’d told him I liked it.

I sucked in a breath. “Not bad,” I responded, my voice strangled.

His hand fisted in my hair; he pulled back, exposing my neck, sweeping it with his tongue.

And for a long time, there was no talking, only our mingled breathing, and the sounds that seemed to erupt from my throat, cresting in volume and frequency as I pressed down harder, rode him faster. I knew I’d be crazy embarrassed later, but I couldn’t stop myself from vocalizing my pleasure.

He lifted his head, capturing my nipple in his mouth as his thumb continued to work me; he bit down.

My orgasm crashed like a wave dragging me under the surface; I trembled and moaned, burying my face in his neck, and he drew out the sensation with a few slow strokes as he wrapped his arms around me.

It took me a long time to find my voice.

“Did you …” I trailed off, embarrassed.

“What?”

“You know … finish.”

“No.”

I frowned against his skin; I tasted a hint of salt. “It wasn’t good for you?”

He rolled me over, still joined, and pinned me.

“No thinking,” he said.

“But—”

“I wanted you to come first. It’s very simple,” he teased. “No worrying required.”

“I don’t like you,” I muttered.

He grinned, knowing I didn’t mean it. “Do you like this?” he asked. He pulled his hips back until he’d nearly withdrawn, and then surged forward to slide all the way in.

I arched my back off the bed. “I do like that,” I responded.

He did it again. And again. Until I was writhing underneath him and my worry faded to the point where we connected.

I spent the night at Evan’s house without even meaning to. But after eating dinner and then making love again, I was exhausted. Wrung out, limp, but in a way that had me stretching out like a cat stealing a shaft of sunlight—utterly satisfied.

Sometimes I had trouble sleeping at night. But my mind was blissfully blank after that evening with him—I slept better than I had in years.

My first booty call had been quite the success.

If the light flooding the room was any indication, I awoke late the next morning, curled up around Evan as tightly as a vine on a trellis. We were both naked. My head was against his shoulder, my leg flung over his waist, pinning him down. It was a little too intimate.

I inched back, trying to extricate myself.

His hand tightened on my knee. He cracked his eyelids open, a shimmer of blue.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked softly, my pulse accelerating just from being so close to him.

“Just a few minutes.”

“You didn’t watch me sleep or anything did you?”

“I’m not weird.”

I stared at him.

“Okay,” he relented. “I might have watched you sleep for a little bit, but it wasn’t anything stalkerish.”

“I should go,” I said. “Alyssa will wonder where I am.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Can’t you send her a text?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to be pushed.

“All right,” he acquiesced. “Do you want breakfast before you go?”

My stomach growled—loudly enough for him to hear—as soon as he mentioned the word. It was my turn to acquiesce.

“Pancakes?”

“I thought you could only make scrambled eggs,” I said.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he responded. “Actually, it’s a box mix; I just add water.”

I smiled. “I’m
so
impressed.”

Evan propped himself on his elbows, and his hands framed my face. He dropped a faint kiss on my lips. “I think I can find other ways to impress you.”

He grinned—a mischievous, slow thing. He looked boyish and carefree, his hair a random mess from the exploration of my fingers.

It was the complete opposite of how he’d appeared last night when he’d set foot in the kitchen and uttered my name. Then he’d looked worn, old, much older than twenty-eight.

“Was everything okay at your parents’?”

Evan’s smile faded. For a second I didn’t think he would answer. “It was fine.”

I stared at him, frowning. “Are you—” I stopped. I’d been about to ask “Are you having problems with your family?” but it was too personal a question.

It would be an investment in a relationship I didn’t want to have.

I shrugged off his evasive answer. “Never mind.”

He could evade me all he wanted—it didn’t matter. I crawled from the bed, aware of Evan’s eyes following me the whole way. Our clothes were strewn haphazardly on the floor; I crouched and sifted through them, my skin heating at his attention.

“Stop watching me,” I muttered. “I’m not dressed.” I lifted my crumpled sweater and jeans in front of my nakedness as I stood.

He was lying on top of the sheets, his arms crossed behind his head lackadaisically, unabashed by his own nudity and the way the daylight was much more glaring and revealing than artificial light. Of course, he’d been with thirteen women, so he was probably used to baring it all.

“I like watching you. Particularly when you’re not dressed.” He flashed a wicked smile at me. “Anyway, I’ve already seen everything.”

Everything.
My hands tightened around my clothes. Good Lord, he had seen everything. And more miraculously, at the time I hadn’t cared.

He tilted his head. “Come here.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Because,” he said, changing his voice to sound like the cultivated, deep tones of Clark Gable, “you need to be fucked, and often, and by someone who knows how.”

I pressed my knuckles to my lips as I started to laugh. “Oh wow. That’s really bad.”

He grinned. “You know I’m liable to say all kinds of stupid things just to make you laugh. It’s the price you’re going to pay for your booty calls.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “So my laughter is the payment for your services?”

“Something like that.”

My arms folded over my chest, still hugging the clothes against me. “What makes you think you’re good enough to get paid?”

The look he sent me was pure male arrogance. “You whimpering my name over and over kind of lends to that impression.”

I
had
whimpered his name. Especially the second time, when he’d tortured me with a series of quick shallow thrusts, refusing to go deeper for a long time even though I’d clawed at his back and uttered a stream of profanities. Totally embarrassing. But I tried not to show it.

“I’m glad to see you’re making up for the confidence you lacked in high school. But I really think you’re overdoing it.”

“Overdoing it?” he asked. “We’ll see about that.” He unfolded his long body from the bed and advanced on me.

I was frozen to the floor, caught by the easy, graceful way he moved, by the sense of purpose evident in his stride.

His arms wrapped around me; his mouth descended on mine. “I didn’t tell you,” he said, breathing my breath, “how much I love your dirty mouth.”

I flushed from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. “That wasn’t like me. You … you were teasing me; it was frustrating—”

“I had trouble falling asleep last night because I was imagining how it would feel to have that mouth on me.”

His lips forged a gentle, tingling trail to my ear and along my jaw. I swayed against him, some voice in the back of my mind wondering why something that had seemed like an obligation with Drew caused a potent, consistent throbbing when I thought of doing it with Evan.