How to Fail at Flirting(21)
“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways I could make you smile. God, you have a great smile.” He thrust his fingers faster, treating and tormenting the spot deep inside me.
I held my breath. Lost in sensation, I clutched Jake’s shoulder. Don’t stop.
“Jake, please,” I whimpered before kissing him hard, our lips and tongues clashing, willing him to keep going. In seconds, I cried out, an orgasm rushing through my body like a wave crashing to shore after building to a lofty crest. I floundered to clutch the sheets as I thrashed and then trembled.
His fingers slowed, his palm gently pressing against me, and my body convulsed as I felt his smile against my neck.
Let someone else bring me to orgasm. Check. Check. Check.
My breath was shaky, the tremors of pleasure still echoing.
His eyes met mine, and the look that passed between us reinforced for me how different this was than any other experience, and the feeling left my head spinning. It hadn’t been just sexual; he’d released some valve on human connection I’d long felt was rusted shut.
“You’re shaking,” he said, sliding the back of his other hand over the side of my face, brushing strands of hair away. “Are you okay?”
Something in the gentle way he touched me combined with the overwhelming desire I had to be closer to him—to have every inch of our bodies connected—made tears well in my eyes, one falling down my cheek.
“Did I . . . hurt you?” he asked, concern coloring his face, and he brushed the tear away with his thumb.
I shook my head, embarrassment heating my skin. “No. God, no!” This was so many miles away from hurting, but another tear fell. What is wrong with me? “I just wasn’t ready for it to be that . . . good. That intense. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
His gaze wandered over my face, his thumbs sweeping away more tears.
“I’m sorry. How embarrassing,” I said, trying to cover my eyes.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, voice dipping in volume. “You said it’s been a long time. We’ll only do what you want, what you’re ready for.”
Though his arousal was imposing between us, he dragged my hand, not to his pants, but to his lips, planting tiny kisses down the side of my thumb at the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist, stopping me from hiding my face.
* * *
An hour later, we lay facing each other on the bed, our breathing steady and even. A blanket of contentment settled over me after coming undone in his arms a second time and bringing him to an eruptive climax with my hands. Without taking things all the way, the connection between us was undeniable. He seemed to intuit that I needed time to jump in, more than I had realized, but I hadn’t felt rushed or self-conscious. My tinges of self-doubt, that he must be bored or think me childish, were always met with more sweet kisses, electrifying touches, or achingly slow caresses.
Jake trailed his finger over the shell of my ear, pushing a strand of hair off my face. I loved his touch against my skin, grazing so gently one moment and erotically the next. I’d never felt so drawn to someone.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I whispered.
“Are you collecting all my secrets?” he asked, sleepily. I nodded, and he stretched one arm up above his head, his eyes raised to the ceiling as he thought about a response. As he stretched, I admired how his stomach tapered into a V.
“Doesn’t have to be a secret.” I searched his face, taking in the lines and shadows. This was incredible, but I had to remind myself that this was not my real life.
“I’ve been successful in my career, made a lot of money, and I love what I do. I was able to strike out and start my own business recently. It’s scary and exciting, but sometimes, it all feels a little . . . empty.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you worked in that you make a lot of money. You already got into my pants.” I slid a hand down his arm.
Our clothes had come off slowly. My bra and skirt were somewhere across the room near his pants, and I had no idea where he’d tossed my underwear. We lay together naked.
“You weren’t wearing any.” He swatted my bare bottom lightly. “Anyway, I don’t think you’re the kind of woman who would be interested in men because of money. You’re too . . . good.”
“I don’t think anything we just did is in the good girl’s handbook.”
“Agree to disagree,” he chuckled, stroking my hip.
“Anyway, you said it feels empty. How do you mean?”
“I work long hours and come home to an empty place. I don’t even have a cat. I worry I’ve missed a step along the way.”
“Yeah?”
“It gets lonely, is all. I always pictured my life with someone, really with them, you know? Like having a real partner, a family, all of that.”
I bit my tongue. Even after everything we’d just done, this conversation felt too intimate.
In that moment, I also wanted to confess everything. How I was lonely, too, and why I’d been closed off for so long. I wanted to tell him about being scared I was broken, because no one’s touch had ever done the things that his had. That I knew exactly what he meant when he talked about feeling empty, and how scared I was of not having my job as a refuge. I opened my mouth, but I held back. He’s not a stranger anymore, but he might as well be.