Scott came through her bedroom door. He grabbed the phone out of her hand, and then slammed it down when he realized no one was there. He sat down and pulled her to him. She was already trembling.
“He was here! He was here! He said I left my purse in my car, and I did. He put it on the doorstep. He said ‘sweet dreams, Sarah.’”
Scott got up. He stalked through her small apartment, until the door slammed with enough force to cause structural damage.
“It’s there.” He barely spared her a glance as he said it. His face was tight with rage. He picked up her phone and called the police. She got out of bed and followed him into the living room. They waited while the two uniformed officers looked over her door jamb, bagged her purse for evidence, and asked her several times to repeat what happened. They promised to contact her with any results, and another squad car would watch over her place the rest of the night.
Sarah was freezing and trembling inside. It was middle of the night, and she felt boneless with exhaustion and trauma. Why was this happening? What did this guy want?
Scott let the police officers out, and then shut and bolted the door after them. He turned. She felt him studying her. He walked over, grabbed her hands and dragged her back to bed.
“I can’t sleep. There’s no way.”
“There’s nothing else we can do tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going to do something I promise you that. But now? Go to sleep.”
“I can’t. He’ll call. He’s out there. He’s been here tonight. He was less than twenty feet from you.”
“Me? You’re worried about me?”
“I’m terrified for you. For me. Being here.”
Scott took the phone off the hook. He peeled her covers back and nearly pushed her into them, before he slid in the opposite side. “Just shut up, Sarah and pretend you have a line of pillows between us if that makes it easier for you. You’re fucking terrified, and so am I. But the police are watching you here, so we’re staying here tonight. And you’re in no shape for anything. So lie back and for once let me just be in control. Let me worry for you.”
It was the easiest thing anyone had ever asked of her. She lay back and moved under the covers to try and warm her chilled skin. In doing so her legs brushed his. Jeans and all. The light from her lamp still flooded her room. She finally leaned over and clicked it off. He was silent for a few minutes.
“Why did you call me tonight? I thought you were furious at me.”
“There was no one else but you to call. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t answered, or hadn’t come.”
“I almost ignored your call. I thought you were calling to chew me out some more. But I don’t seem to be able to ignore you no matter how ticked off I am at you.”
Her entire body stiffened in disdain. “I don’t chew you out.”
He laughed quietly. “Yeah, you do. All the time. But I come back for more each time.”
She waited a beat and then asked, “Where were you when I called?”
“Way home from work. I worked some overtime. Nothing sinister, no woman even. I do take a break every now and then. You know you shaved about a decade off my life tonight. Your voice, it was, well God, I didn’t think I’d find you there. I lived several kinds of nightmares during those five minutes.”
She shivered thinking of it. “I did too.”
They fell silent. Their bodies close but not touching. She could feel his body heat emanating off him, close to her, but just out of grasp. She wanted to feel him, not just a whisper of him. He shifted and bent his leg, as he turned his chest. He took up the entire length of her bed. She inched her leg carefully, silently at snail-like pace so maybe he wouldn’t notice she’d done it on purpose. Until she was just touching his calf.
“You cold?”
She jumped when his voice filled her dark, silent room after she’d stealthily scooted closer.
“What?”
“Are you cold? Your feet feel like ice cubes.”
“I can’t shake it.”
He shifted closer. His legs closing over her bare feet, sandwiching them between his calves. He brought his arm around her, pulled her so that the distance between their chests shortened. There seemed nothing overtly sexual about his sudden hold. She, however, felt just that. Her insides suddenly felt hot, almost enough to take the chill off her extremities. Her arms were stuck between them. She was unsure if he wanted her to touch him back.
Then he quit moving, and relaxed holding her. Her heart was suddenly beating hard, her skin warming, and her head full of thoughts, of him, of yearning. She relished the feel of him, his hold on her, and his hands on her back.
She fell asleep in his embrace, but she woke up at some point, still close to him, with his arms around her. His deep, even breathing indicated he was sound asleep.
She gently, hesitantly, inched her hand toward his chest, which was warm in his T-shirt. She laid her hand flat on his rib cage, feeling his heart beating under her palm. Why did he feel so good? Smell so good? Everything about him, perfect or flawed, seemed suddenly just right. Just what she always wanted.
She inched her hand down his rib cage, to the hemline of his shirt. She put her hand over his stomach. Her palm came in contact with his warm flesh. His stomach clenched at her touch. Still, he didn’t move. She rested her hand there for several long moments, before she trailed her finger tips upwards, toward his heart.
“You don’t want to do that.”
She jumped when his voice filled the room, his tone quiet.
Why not? Why didn’t she? Why did he care? He slept with anyone and everyone who was mildly attractive that crossed his path. She was lonely and scared. She could have died or been hurt tonight, and his warmth, his vitality, his body, his presence, felt better than anything. So, why didn’t she want to do this?
“You went through a lot tonight. You’re vulnerable. I’m here. It’s not what you want.”
What did she want? She didn’t really know. She never intended to be feeling him up, or seducing him. But…here she was doing just that. How did he know what she wanted when she didn’t even know?
“You’ve never wanted me, have you?” she whispered into the dark room.
He sighed; his rib cage raised and lowered under her hand. “I’ve wanted you. But it’s not a good idea. For you or me.”
“Why isn’t it?” Why was Mindy a good idea and she, someone he genuinely liked, even cared about, wasn’t?
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because you know me. You know who and what I am. You know where this will get you with me. I don’t want it to be that way with us.”
“There is no us.”
“There is,” he said quietly. She didn’t understand. Wasn’t it normal under these circumstances of mutual attraction, mutual liking and being in the same bed, to want to touch each other?
She moved her hand, slowly, extracting it from under his shirt, her misjudgment of him, of his interest in her, suddenly an excruciating embarrassment. They lay there again, side by side, neither moving, hardly breathing it seemed. The apartment was deathly silent. He was so sure not to touch her, almost solicitous in his efforts at keeping her an arm’s length away, even now, nearly entwined in her bed, and he didn’t have any interest in her.
In sex with her
. Why? And why was she so hurt? So disappointed? She’d never even kissed Scott.
And then, suddenly, he turned toward her. He shifted his long frame near her. His hands moved from her back to her waist and pulled her nearly flush with his body. He was against her legs, hot and turned on. She was so startled by the contact, by what it meant, that she nearly gasped out loud.
He moved his head and suddenly his lips found hers. He settled his full lips over hers in a brush of damp hotness, first her upper lip, and then her lower lip, until his tongue ran over her lips, and into her mouth. He kissed her and kissed her until she was pliant next to him, boneless to the incessant push and pull of his tongue and lips, hot and moist, warm and smooth. His hand came up, and brushed through her hair, down her skull until his hand came around holding her chin, anchoring her head, and her mouth for his. Her hands clung to his shoulders.
He kissed her for so long her mind finally emptied of thoughts, of any confusion of what this was, what this meant, and where this was going. Finally, she was there in this moment. And nothing before or after this mattered. To say he was good at kissing, that they were good together was like saying the sky was big and blue. A complete understatement. He was an expert at kissing, from the hard pressure of his lips to the nearly soft tugs at her lips, to his tongue in her mouth. It was an art form Sarah had never known a kiss could be. He created feelings that were streaming through her blood as if he was the first one to ever show her what a kiss was.
He finally drew back, ran his hands down her rib cage, over her stomach toward the hem of her shirt. He pulled on it, yanking it over her head. His hands ran back down the length of her, his thumbs skimming over her nipples. At the slight, quick contact she groaned in a longing suddenly so sharp, so strong it was almost painful.
She was so pathetically small, both in breast and chest width she didn’t even remotely fill up his large hands. He turned his head back toward her, found her lips, and kissed her again. And again. She found the hem of his T-shirt and tugged at it. He broke away from her again, and sat up enough to pull his shirt off, throwing it off forgotten. He came back alongside her as she ran her hands over his bare back, reveling in the smooth feel of him, the warmth of his skin, and the smell of him surrounding her.
He brought his hand from her back around her side, and to her small breast. Really, all she had was little flesh and almost flat nipples. It embarrassed her to the point she was almost ready to stop his touch. He probably had just figured out she padded her bra substantially during the course of her normal life.
He ran his hand over one nipple, his palm flat and rough over her. He moved his hand over one breast and then the other. She drew in a breath at the sharp contact. He bent his head and kissed her again. He was kissing her jaw, down her neck until he came to her breasts. He took one hard nipple into his mouth and she gasped with the exquisite feel of his hot, wet mouth over her. He tugged and licked just right, so perfectly that she nearly cried out in pleasure. First one and then the other. He was so thorough she squirmed in helpless abandon under him.
He finally moved his hand down her stomach, to the waist band of her cotton pajama pants. He gently moved them, over her hips, down her legs, easily depositing them out of the way so that she was finally naked. He lifted his head up off her, his eyes suddenly piercing her, his gaze on hers. She didn’t know what it meant. The look was so intense, so soul searching, so God, so much, she had to look away. It was as if he was seeing through her, more intimately than undressing her or touching her. As if he was suddenly in her head, in her heart, and seeing everything about her.
What did he want from her? Whatever it was she was willing to give it.
He touched her, that quickly, that boldly. His fingers were inside her, his gaze was on her face. Her eyes widened with surprise, with the nearly embarrassing amount of pleasure he gave her with just a whisper movement of his fingers. She closed her eyes when he kept watching her. He had hardly touched her before she was writhing in pleasure, with her arms clenched around his neck.
He shook her off. She hardly noticed until he leaned over her and suddenly his tongue had replaced his fingers. She was so surprised she gasped out loud, and bit her tongue as the sudden pleasure that shot into her gut. He was too quick. He went from one nearly orgasmic thing to the next. She was shaking. She was sweating. She was shivering. And finally she came in such a quick, hot, intense orgasm she didn’t realize it was happening until she was crying out loud. She, who never cried out, never moaned, never had really felt an orgasm this intensely, this thoroughly, this incredibly.
He shifted so he was back next to her, his arms coming around her. She turned toward him, moving her hands restlessly along his back, down over his still jean clad butt. She began to pull at them. He pushed her hands away. Confused, still reeling from her own release, she glanced up with a frown.
“No. It’s enough.”
What? Her mind asked but her mouth couldn’t find the words. What was this? He wanted to stop?
Now
?
“Do you have condoms?”
What? Her mind still couldn’t find focus through the sexual haze covering her.
“Don’t you?” she countered
“I came from work, not exactly planning on this, here with you. I don’t keep condoms in my truck.”
“Oh.” The significance of what he was saying sank in. “Oh. Then we can’t—”
“No.”
“I could—”
“You could. But not tonight.”
She flopped back down on her pillow. Why did he have to be so understanding too? So wonderful? So kind? No pressure. No innuendoes. Just Scott being as good and decent as she always witnessed him being, except when it came to sex. That is until now, now he was doing everything right.
He pulled her toward him, still embracing her and not pushing her away as if he was done and ready for sleep. She rested her head on his shoulder completely puzzled by what had happened. And what it meant to them. To her. Why had he started this if he knew they would stop? She didn’t understand anything.
She turned into him, kissing his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Confused by him, drawn to him, completely captivated by him. He didn’t stop her mild caresses. “You didn’t have to do anything with me.”
“Wanting to isn’t what has stopped me with you.”
“What has?”
“Everything that makes this a big deal to you, and nothing to me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He sighed and shut his eyes. “It really is nothing, Sarah.”
She peeked up at him, at his shut eyes. Why didn’t he look her in the eye when he said that? “It doesn’t have to be nothing.”
“You don’t have any illusions about me, do you?”
She hesitated, her heart sinking. “Shouldn’t I? Believe the best of you? I see the best in you, why wouldn’t I?”