ChapterSix
CHLOE
My whole world is now focused on that one small point, the one where Blake’s mouth worships me with a laser-like focus, burning me, branding me, owning me.
This is nothing like I’ve read about in my romance novels. No candles and soft music, instead the urge to scratch the most basic of urges. Hah, who am I kidding? There’s nothing basic about the sensations threatening to overwhelm me.
I can’t take any more.
Blake’s hot breath, his mouth, his tongue, all working on that little piece of me that holds the key, a key he soon turns. A blinding climax of the sort I’ve only dreamed of burns through me, obliterating any trace of librarian in the process.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!
I grip the workbench in a desperate attempt to anchor myself, to stop myself from splintering into a million pieces. I don’t succeed with my very essence flying beyond the mere confines of my body.
I’m whole, taking up as much space as nature intended. Complete, replete, and satisfied as I’ve never been before.
My body is still tingling with the remains of the climax when I once again become aware of my surroundings, any lingering wantonness soon replaced by shame.
This isn’t me. Giving myself over to a guy in the stock room of my parents’ shop? What was I thinking? That’s right, I wasn’t.
Okay, so it’s not as if Blake is a stranger. I’ve known him for most of my life.
I also know he’s not interested in anything long term. He’ll be gone the moment the surf carnival is over, leaving me to deal with his departure, the ultimate rejection.
I’m so focused on preparing myself for heartache that it takes a moment to make sense of what he’s saying.
I’m torn. I’m as keen as he is to go upstairs so we can take this further. But, and it’s a bigbut, if I’m this vulnerable after what just happened, how will I be after I’ve given myself to Blake completely?
In my heart, I know it will be special, if only for me. No one has ever broken down my reserve like he just did. And just like that, the little voice inside my head reminds me of the last time I’d made out with a guy in my old room upstairs.
I try silencing it, but it refuses to shut up. Its chirpy reminders of what a debacle it had been in my final year of high school, when I’d dared to sneak Grady Simmons in.
Memories of all that sweat and unsuccessful fumbling, and there’s nothing I can do about my shudder of revulsion.
Next to me, Blake straightens. A quick peek and I see the smile that’s been evident all day is gone. His emotions shuttered, he makes short work of doing up the buttons on his shirt, already distancing himself from me.
How could I have been so stupid? A guy like Blake was never going to be serious about a girl like me.
BLAKE
While I wait on Chloe’s response to my suggestion that we head upstairs, I admire the beauty of the woman laid out before me. Damn it, but I can’t wait to bury myself in her slick folds, to be closer to her than just now.
I’m working my way through some of the fun we’ll get up to when I catch something in her eyes that doesn’t bode well. When this is followed by what looks to me to be a shudder of revulsion, any thoughts of lovemaking flee.
Hah, I was delusional. There was never a chance a girl as classy as Chloe was going all the way with a surf rat like me. It would appear I haven’t learned my lesson after all.
And damn if the rejection doesn’t hurt as much now as it did when I’d tried for a chick out of my league back at high school.
Hell, it might even hurt more, especially when Chloe had been so responsive. We’d be good together, I’m sure of it. What the hell was it about women that they needed a guy to have a steady job and all the trappings that went with it?
I guess Chloe is as shallow as the rest of them?
I waste no time buttoning up my shirt. I need to get out of here and deal with the erection that’s still there despite my being turned down. The gentleman in me is screaming to help Chloe get back down off the workbench so she can sort herself. The fifteen-year-old boy in me needs to get the hell out of there and go lick his wounds.
I’m even more cut up when I see that her earlier revulsion has been replaced by what I suspect is shame. Is that shame for letting me do what I did, or that it’s happened on her dad’s workbench?
I can also see when the sense that this is over settles on her. She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the workbench before lowering herself slowly to the ground. There’s no doubt she’s having trouble standing, but I can’t bring myself to help her. I’m holding on by a thread as it is.
If she doesn’t want me in her life, I’m gone. If I’m careful, I can stay out of her way for the rest of my time in town. Then I remember that blasted fin I need. I’ve got two choices. Ask her about it now, or go to Wrights.
Neither option feels good to me, but if I want to take out one of the top prizes, I can’t do that with a smashed fin. I’ve never been so low in all my life.
Unable to face Chloe when I ask, I turn away, as if giving her some sense of privacy as she gets her clothes sorted out. “So, about that fin for my board?”
The sharp intake of breath from behind me and I know I’m right royally screwed, both with Chloe and the competition.
