Authors: Linda Grimes
“You’re not adapting anything away now, I notice.” Boy, did I notice.
“Doesn’t always work. Sometimes I have to recite the multiplication table in my head. Got up to the elevens once—you were looking particularly fine that day.”
“How about now?” I asked, running my hand lightly along his chest, enjoying my newfound womanly power over him.
“Now? I don’t think even the twelves would help.” He kissed me again, his tongue lingering beneath my upper lip, before pulling himself away with another groan. “God, your mouth—I get dizzy just thinking about your mouth. Do you know I had my very first wet”—he paused briefly before continuing—“spontaneous nocturnal emission while dreaming about you eating a pickle?”
I laughed again, harder, which somehow had the effect of making the things Billy was doing feel even better. “I know what a wet dream is, Billy. But a pickle?” I gasped.
“Honest to God. We were eleven or twelve—you were knobby-kneed and covered with freckles, but Lord, your mouth—” He sighed heavily, almost more of a pant. “Your mouth did not belong on a child. Mostly I could ignore it, especially since you used to run to your brothers and tell on me if I looked at you cross-eyed—”
“I did not!”
“You did. You were a total brat. You’d stick your tongue out at me from behind their backs while they threatened to pound me if I didn’t leave you alone. Sometimes I hated you—until the day I saw you sucking the juice off that pickle.” Another heavy sigh. “Gave me a whole new perspective on females. And pickles. After that, I never really minded when you stuck your tongue out at me. In fact, I used to try to get you to do it.”
“What do you mean ‘used to’? When did you stop?”
He nibbled my lower lip. “If I pull your hair, will you stick it out for me right now? Pretty please?” And then he did give a tug, a gentle one, where he already had his hand buried.
I yelped, though not from pain. But good as it felt, it occurred to me I should give something in return. I stilled his hand and tried to push him onto his back.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to make your boyhood dream come true. Shall I see if there’s a pickle in the fridge, or can you come up with a handy substitute?”
He made a sound deep in his chest but didn’t lie back for me. “Wonderful as that sounds—and you can’t come close to imagining how wonderful that is—no. Not now.”
“Why not? Afraid I’ll bite you?” I pulled the sheet slowly across his midsection, enjoying the look of desperation that came over him, even while I was a teensy bit relieved I wouldn’t have to demonstrate my inexperience with the act he was refusing. What if there was some trick to it I didn’t know about? A shrunken part of my ego didn’t want to compare unfavorably to all those actresses and supermodels he’d dated. I bet
they
knew all the tricks.
“Nope,” he said, and had me out of my panties before I could protest. “Afraid I’ll disgrace myself in two seconds flat and ruin my chances of ever getting you back into bed with me again.” I got a brief glimpse of him
—yowza!
—before he pulled my legs apart and settled himself between them again. “Besides, it goes against my gentlemanly inclinations. Ladies first.”
Embarrassment spread through me, heating my cheeks, but I couldn’t find the wherewithal to make an adjustment. I was too busy panicking, comparing myself to the supermodels with their perfect supermodel, um, southern regions. I’m pretty sure my southern region is just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill southern region, more Myrtle Beach than, say, the French Riviera. So I was going to have to tell Billy I wasn’t ready for this level of intimacy, to
please
stop—
Or maybe I should wait a minute. Seemed rude to interrupt.
Okay, two minutes. Tops.
Oh, hell. This was Billy; he probably wouldn’t listen anyway. He
never
listened to me, I thought, inwardly thanking whatever pagan god is in charge of sex. I was going to have to build an altar to it. (I squirmed.) Light some incense. (I wiggled.) Maybe make a small sacrifice. (I gasped.)
Gawd!
Holy. Freaking.
Cow
. My whole body trembled. I was still shaking when his head popped up into view. There was a gleam in his eye, and a flash of white teeth between those indented, midnight-shadowed cheeks.
The moment seemed to call for comment, so I said, in between gulps of air, “That was, uh, very gentlemanly of you.”
“Gentlemanly? That’s all you have to say after the best orgasm of your life?”
He was right about that, but I wasn’t going to admit it. His ego was big enough. Instead I went with a dignified, “Thank you. It was nice.” His face fell, just a little. I coughed and added, “Very.”
He cracked up. When he was done laughing, he dropped his lips to my belly and blew, doubling me over. I grabbed his head. He pulled away and crawled forward until his face was level with mine, kissing me until I was breathless once he got there.
“You are the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. Better than ice cream. In fact”—he flicked his tongue between my lips—“I believe I’ll have seconds.”
“Wait—isn’t it your turn? I mean, I’ve already, you know…”
“Yeah, I know. I was there. But that was a puny little girly-gasm,” he said dismissively. “It takes at least three of those to equal a great big guy-gasm.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault women can’t manage the same kind of robust response men can.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Simple biology.”
“I’ll have you know my orgasm was
huge
! It was at
least
a nine on the Richter scale. You could only hope to have one like it in your
dreams
.”
His smile kept getting bigger and bigger, until I realized what I’d handed him and petered out, blushing madly.
“I know,” he said with an infuriating wink. And then he ducked back under the sheet.
“What are you doing? I admitted it was great. You don’t have to prove—”
“Quiet, you. I’m going for a ten.”
“But aren’t we going to … you know?”
“All in good time,” he said, his voice muffled.
A short while later I lay in his arms, staring into his beautiful deep blue eyes, dazed, while his hands moved gently up and down my back. I thought he’d look smug, but he didn’t. He looked happy. And I felt guilty.
“I’m sorry. You used me up. I’ve got nothing left for you,” I said with a heartfelt sigh. I hated to leave him high and dry, but I was limp.
He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth while his hands kept moving, branching out, finding places I’d never dreamed were erogenous zones. I moaned. Maybe I could find a
little
energy.
In fact, maybe I’d just take a little trip to
his
southern region—
he
certainly wasn’t limp—and see what happened. My hand surrounded him. This time
he
yelped. He rolled away from me, reached for the jeans draped across a chair by the bed, dug into a pocket and came out with a foil packet, which he held out to me. “Want to help?” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Eek. “Sure.” I fumbled with the packet, trying to think of what the teacher had done with the banana on birth control day in health class back in high school. Honestly? I had tried not to watch. At least I knew not to unroll it right away.
I reached for him, hesitating as I tried to figure out which side of the rolled-up disk should be faceup. My fingers trembled. (Only a little. And it was the damn condom’s fault! Why did it have to look the same on both sides?)
“Problem?” he asked.
“Um … no. I just … if you could maybe…”
Shit!
Why hadn’t I ever Googled this?
Billy took my hand, caressing the back of it gently with his thumb. “Ciel? That guy in college … it never happened, did it?”
My shoulders sagged. As far as Billy knew, I’d lost my virtue my junior year to a cad who’d wooed me and dumped me. That’s the story I planted in my diary, and I had good reason to know he’d read it, which was embarrassing enough, but not as mortifying as still being a virgin postcollege.
“It mostly happened,” I said, my voice small.
“Mostly?”
“Well, he got it on—he had his back turned, so I couldn’t see how he did it—and then he started to … but then, before he could … well, he kind of let loose a little early. I think he was embarrassed. He left, and I never even saw him in class after that.”
Billy took the condom from me, leaned over and gave me a light kiss, then turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“I think maybe we should give this a little more time,” he said.
“No! I don’t want more time!” I said, feeling panicky all of a sudden. “If you stop, I’ll…”
What, feel like a fool? Be doomed to half-virginity for the rest of my life, because I would never have the nerve to risk half-sex again?
“Just don’t stop. Please?”
“Look, Ciel, I rushed you into this. I may have been a little … overly persuasive. But I’m not an asshole, okay?”
I grabbed him and pulled him back to me. “Billy, listen to me. I
want
you.” Then I kissed him for all I was worth, tore away from his mouth, and whispered, fiercely, “Put the damn condom on.
Now.
”
He didn’t argue with me. Once he was poised and ready to follow through, he paused. “Do you want to borrow a little something from one of your nonvirgin auras? So it doesn’t sting?”
“No! Then it wouldn’t count. It wouldn’t be
me.
Besides, I’ve been riding horses and bicycles practically my whole life. There shouldn’t be anything left to make it sting.”
He smoothed the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead. “All right, sweetheart. Okay.” He started moving slowly. Kissing me deeply, he put one hand between us and settled his fingers right back on the magic spot. Amazingly resilient, that little piece of flesh. It sprang back to life in seconds, and the gentle rocking of Billy’s hips pushing against his hand as he pressed farther into me sent me spinning again.
“You too,” I gasped, grabbing his butt and pulling him all the way in. He tensed, and I felt his release right down to my core.
Minutes later, he rolled off me, groaning. “My God,” he said. “Am I still alive?”
I snuggled against him, grinning into his chest, ridiculously happy he was as affected by it as I was. And, of course, thrilled I was no longer a half-virgin.
Chapter 14
After a few minutes of gentle caresses and quiet endearments, Billy excused himself and went to the restroom. He came back sans condom and carrying a damp washcloth.
“Okay, let’s have a look,” he said matter-of-factly.
Fighting a blush, I clamped my legs together under the sheet and stammered, “N-no, I’m all right.”
“Let me make sure I didn’t hurt you.” He tugged on the cover.
“You didn’t. I’m fine,” I said, clinging to the yellow cotton jersey.
“Come on. It was your first time. A warm cloth is soothing.”
“Fine. I can do it.”
He pretended to hand me the washcloth, and snatched the sheet away when I let go to take it. Then he casually pinned down my torso, his back to me, while he pried my knees apart. “For Pete’s sake, Ciel, I just had my face buried here. What do you think you’re hiding from me?”
He had a point. I relaxed and allowed him to get on with it. He was very gentle.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder with an impish grin. “You will live to be naughty again.”
“Oh, hush. We’re two consenting adults. That’s hardly naughty.”
He tossed the washcloth onto the floor, scooted back up to the head of the bed, and took me into his arms. “Come on,
cuz
. It’s a little bit naughty. I mean, we
are
related—after all, what does blood really matter? Family is family—”
I tried to push away from him, but he held on tight.
“—and in your brother’s bed to boot. Now,
that’s
kind of pervy, don’t you think?”
I slugged him. Hard. He kept grinning, and tightened his hold.
“Yeah,” he continued. “I’d say that makes it downright unwholesome.”
“You … you … I can’t think of anything bad enough to call you! You said it wasn’t pervy, you
said
it was okay—”
He laughed, keeping me clamped to his chest while repeating, “
Kidding.
I was only kidding. It’s not perverted, I promise.” Eventually, I heard him.
“Jesus, Ciel,” he said when I stopped trying to kill him. “You are so easy to rile. I was afraid you might turn into a mushy little wuss after we made love. Glad I was wrong.”
“Huh,” I said, tucked against his shoulder but still grumpy. “It’s plain to see
you
haven’t changed.”
He lifted my chin and looked at me, his face gone soft and serious. “Do you want me to? Because I can, if you do. And I will, for you.”
I sighed and kissed him lightly, defeated once more by the Doyle eyes. “No. Don’t change. Don’t ever change.”
The sound of clapping startled us both. I think I jumped a foot off the bed.
Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, was James’s gorgeous friend, he of the Sharpie marker incident. A smile played a dirty little game on his lips.
“Bravo. How touching. But I didn’t expect James to have houseguests—what fun! Got room in there for one more?”
I yanked the sheet up past my shoulders, shocked into speechlessness. Billy recovered faster. Leaning casually back against the headboard, he hugged me closer with one arm while he draped the other over his head. “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage. You would be…?”
“Devon.”
“Devon Spencer?” Billy asked, drawing the name from some inner file. Pretty Boy nodded. “Well, Devon Spencer, isn’t that just the sort of thing that got you into trouble with James in the first place?”
Pretty Boy—Devon—shrugged, all lazy grace and androgynous charm. “But in this case I could tell him honestly his bed was the only place I played.”
Anger brought back my voice. This pathetic twerp thought he could cheat on my brother? “How long have you been standing there? And how did you get in?” I said, volume low, venom high. Devon didn’t notice my tone, or else he didn’t care.