I circled her wrist and pulled her in, wrapping my arms around her to comfort her, to show her there were other ways of connecting. She melted against me.
When was the last time she’d been hugged?
It didn’t last. She drew me toward the edge of her bed, dropping on the mattress, her face level with my stiffening cock. “Let me,” she said as she unbuttoned my pants, slid the zipper down, and found me, already hard for her. She stroked me, and it felt incredible but somehow wrong.
As much time as I’d spent fantasizing about my cock in her mouth, this wasn’t how I wanted it. I dropped to my knees before her. Her cheeks were wet, and I wanted to know what was going on in her head. But unlike that first night in the bar when she’d so carelessly spilled so much truth, I had no idea how to coax out her secrets, so I lifted up on my toes and kissed her.
She responded with desperation, like sex with me was her Band-Aid. I wanted to ask who’d hurt her, though I had a guess.
“Chelsea,” I said, stroking her hair back out of her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She nodded, and I climbed up on the bed beside her. Her head fell against my chest, and I put my arm around her shoulders.
“I really like you.”
“I like you, too. Despite your terrible jokes.” Her back shook with quiet laughter.
There she was. I sighed with relief. “You remind me of my bratty sisters.”
She groaned. “God, I really hope not, you perv.”
I had to laugh. “I’m the perv? You’ve got a fencing fetish.”
“Swashbuckling. And I could lock you in an arm bar, so don’t mess with me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She faced me, swallowing back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so weird. If you want to go, I understand.”
She was scared to death of something, but as long as it wasn’t me she feared, we were good. I was starting to see the fissures in the wall around her heart. I didn’t want to break her; I justwanted the wall to crumble, leaving the girl intact.
“What do you need from me?”
“Kiss me?”
“That’s the easiest thing in the world.”
“And stay?”
“Already planned on it.”
This time, though, when I kissed her, I wasn’t as foolish as last time, rushing everything toward climax, like that was the best part of sex. I kissed her softly, never breaking away from her lips. My hands strayed to places I hadn’t yet explored. I let her undress me, and slowly, I peeled back her layers, touching her, finding what felt good to her, what tickled, what made her sigh. And I squirreled it all away because I was 100 percent sure no man knew this much about Chelsea Abbott.
And when at last she fumbled for the condom, I wanted to stretch this out, too. I kissed her as I slid into her, whispering, “You feel so good.”
She sighed and said, “You make me feel so good.”
Did she realize we were making love?
She came like a tiny earthquake, but quieter, and the power I felt at bringing her there brought me over the edge, too.
I kissed away a tear rolling down her temple and said, “Αγγελ?κι μου.”
She peered at me through wet eyelashes.
“What’s that?”
“It’s Greek.”
