A Cosmic Kind of Love(73)

Unfortunately he bowed his head to unzip himself at the same time and our heads collided.

“Oof.” I stumbled back, clutching my head, and Chris laughed, reaching out to steady me.

“You okay?”

While I flushed with mortification at my clumsiness, he kissed my head, his lips trailing across my temple as he murmured, “Better?”

I nodded, but the head bump firmly spiraled me into a full-blown panic.

While I was always an overthinker when it came to first-time sex, the stakes had never been higher. I couldn’t be bad at sex with Chris.

“Let’s get rid of this thing finally.” His fingers curled under the hem of my sweater dress, and I braced myself, lifting my arms over my head so he could free me of it. My eyes slammed closed as the fabric brushed up over my face and cool air caused goose bumps to rise across my skin.

Would he think my tits were too small? They were average-sized boobs, but if Chris was a boob man, they might fall short of his expectations.

I tried to remember how big Darcy’s were.

Why was he at the bar with Darcy tonight?

He kissed me again, and I curled my fingers around his nape, trying to fall back into the kiss. I was almost there when his hands slid possessively down my back to grip my ass. He squeezed, groaning into my mouth. Even though I could feel how hard he was against the zipper of his jeans, all I could think about was what he’d think when he clapped eyes on my backside in the far-too-bright lights of his bedroom. Would he see the cellulite at the back of my thighs? Chris’s ass was rock-hard. Why hadn’t I been doing those daily squats my mom suggested when she saw me in a bikini last summer? Why?! I bet Darcy did daily squat thrusts.

Why was he at the bar with Darcy tonight?

Chris caressed my ass, his fingers tickling around my hips and up across my belly as he continued to kiss me. My stomach trembled as his fingers teased the waistline of my lace underwear just before dipping inside.

Oh my God, when was the last time I waxed? It was last week, right? That was fine. But what if Chris prefers a full bush to my landing strip? Worse, what if he likes it bare?

Suddenly he broke the kiss and pulled his hand from my underwear. I swayed against him, resting my palms on his shoulders to steady myself.

Hell, he was glowering at me.

That was not the expression of a man having a good time. Did I suck at kissing?

Chris surprised me by cupping my cheek in his warm palm. His voice was gruff as he asked, “Where are you right now?”

Perturbed, I answered immediately and a little indignantly. “I’m right here.”

He released me, his expression so far from happy, my heart nose-dived into my stomach as he stepped away from me. “You were here at first. In the living room when you kissed me. As soon as we got in here, you went somewhere else. If you’re not sure you want this after what I told you, I understand. We can stop.”

Flummoxed that he’d noticed my preoccupation (though unsurprised he cared), I crossed my arms over my waist to hide my half-nakedness. The first time (and often the second and third) with a guy was pretty much always like this. I was too riddled with insecurities and anxieties about making it good for him, I couldn’t enjoy it myself. Once I grew comfortable with the notion that my partner was at least reaching satisfaction, I could enjoy sex enough to orgasm when we fooled around, but I had never come when a guy was inside me. And no one I’d been with until this point had noticed or cared about my preoccupation.

It was worse with Chris because I’d never been with someone I wanted this much or felt so much for.

This is Chris.

Exactly.

This was Chris. “It’s not about that. I promise you, I’m not a grudge keeper. I do forgive you, and I appreciate that you told me the truth before we took this further.”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t relax,” I admitted.

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

I laughed humorlessly because wasn’t it obvious? “Because I’m always anxious about the first time with someone, and I’ve never wanted sex to go as well as I want this to go with you. I’ve already conked you on the head.” I gestured in irritation at his body. “And you look like a sports ad! I only found out what a squat thrust is last summer. Until that point, I was pretty sure it was some kind of fruit.”

Chris burst into laughter and choked on it at my mortified expression. His mouth trembled with renewed hilarity as he failed to talk through it.

Hurt, I reached for my clothes.

“No. Hallie.” He reached for me again, this time tugging my arms away from my body. “I’m not laughing at you. You’re just so funny and adorable and sexy, and it baffles me you don’t know these things already. I could not care less about a conk to the head, and I could not care less if you work out or not.”

“But . . .” I trailed off, realizing that admitting this was so unsexy. How could he think otherwise? A guy didn’t want to be with a woman who was insecure in bed, right? They wanted a confident woman who could rock their freaking world.

“But?”

“Nothing.” I moved into his body. “Let’s try again.”

Chris lifted his face away from my incoming kiss. “Hallie . . . talk to me.”

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me.

“This is me.” He took the words from my head as he nibbled on my earlobe. That hazy feeling simmered inside me. “You can tell me anything.”