Falling Into Us (20 page)

Becca came out just as the song was ending, and I clicked the radio off. She hopped into the cab and closed the door behind her, letting in a cold blast of frozen air. It was a bitterly cold day, the sky clear blue, the sun distant and watery, the air so still and so cold each breath hurt. She smiled at me, and I was struck by how beautiful she was. Her hair was loose, a white knit cap pulled low on her head, a stark contrast to her tan skin and blue-black hair. She had on a black pea coat that came to mid-thigh, and a pair of tight gray yoga pants.
 

“Ready?” I asked.

She gave me a small nod and reached for my hand. I twined our fingers together, hers icy from the walk from house to vehicle. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Where’d you tell your dad we were going?”

“Great Lakes Crossing.”

“So should we go there first?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I do actually have a few things I want to get.” She gave me a cryptic smile.

When we got the mall, we strolled around for a while, chatting and browsing, but then we passed a store and Becca split away from me, telling me to meet her at the food court in half an hour. I knew she was up to something, but I went along with it, spending most of the time in the athletics store. I ended up with a new pair of cross trainers for the spring, and was waiting by Aunt Annie’s with five minutes to spare. She showed up with a wide grin on her face but no shopping bag.

“Didn’t get anything?” I asked.

She shrugged. “No, I did.”

I frowned. “What was it, then?”

She wrapped her arm around my waist, fitting herself against me. “You’ll see. You’ll like it…I hope.” When my confused look didn’t go away, she just smirked at me. “Here’s a hint: I’m wearing it.”

I started to get an inkling then. I gulped a little, wondering how I could ever have mistaken Becca for shy.

“What are you grinning about?” she asked as we drove to the hotel where I’d rented a room.

“Just that I used to think you were shy.”

She laughed. “I
am
shy, just not with you.”

“So…what color?”

She ducked her head, and her cheeks darkened a little. “Not telling. You’ll have to find out.”

We reached the hotel after a short drive, but we sat in the car in tense silence before getting out.

Becca wasn’t looking at me, scratching at her knee intently.
 

“I don’t want you to think…” I sighed and started over. “I mean, we don’t have to do this now. We can go back to the mall, or a movie. Or just home.”

She shook her head but still didn’t meet my eyes. “No, I want to. I’m just…nervous.”

I expelled a breath of relief. “Me, too, Beck. Me, too.”

“Do you think that means we’re not ready?” she asked, finally lifting her dark eyes to mine.

I shook my head. “I think we’d be nervous no matter how long we waited. I think it’d be weird if we weren’t nervous.”

She nodded. “Let’s go in. We’ll just…take it one step at a time.”

I got out and circled around to open her door while she was still unbuckling. She took my hand, cold fingers slipping neatly into my palm. Her teeth were white as she smiled at me, a private, brilliant, beautiful smile just for me. The concierge, a dour older man, gave us a hard, disapproving stare as we strolled past him to the elevators. We stood outside room 425, the keycard held in my suddenly sweating and slightly shaking hand, my eyes on hers, asking her silently if she still wanted this. She leaned into me, her arm going around my waist, low, her hand on my hipbone.

I slid the card into the lock and pulled it out, shoving the door open when the green light flashed. The room was dark, shadowed by the drawn curtains, a gleaming crack of light showing. I fumbled in the darkness, finding a switch and illuminating the room. A single bed, king-sized and enormous, took up most of the room; I’d splurged on a fairly nice hotel and an upgraded room.
 

I turned around from switching on the light to find Becca peeling her coat off, revealing a tight white V-neck T-shirt that clung to her curves, the “V” dipping low enough to show me a mouthwatering glimpse of her cleavage. Yoga pants, tight T-shirt? Oh, god. She noticed my gaze raking over her body and gave me a surprisingly shy smile, then turned around, posing for me. She clenched her gluteus muscles, the yoga pants clinging like a second skin to her generous hips and ass, and all I wanted to do was run my hands over her. I stifled the urge for about six seconds before remembering why we were there, alone in a hotel room on a Saturday evening.
 

I crossed the space between us to stand a few inches away from Becca. She started to turn around, but I stopped her with gentle hands on her shoulders. She turned her head to watch me, her chin on her shoulder. I slid my palms down her sides, feeling her breath catch as I carved my hands along the bell-curve of her hips, then slid them around to cup her backside. She released her breath, her eyes sliding shut briefly.

“I love your ass. Especially in yoga pants,” I murmured.

Her brown-black eyes flicked up to mine. “I know. That’s why I wore these. I had to kind of sneak past my father before he saw how tight they are.”

My hands explored the taut, supple curves of her ass, down her thighs, up her hips. I grew a little daring and slid my middle finger up the crease where the stretchy fabric clung between her cheeks. She gasped when I did that, so I did it again, letting my finger drive a little deeper, until she pulled away with a breathy laugh.

She stepped away from me and turned around, sliding her knit cap off her head and shaking her curls. “Sit down on the bed, Jason.” Her voice held an odd note of command, and I couldn’t help but obey.

“Don’t interrupt, and don’t laugh,” she said. “I want to do this for you, but I know I’m going to feel silly.”

“Do what?” I kicked off my ADIDAS cross trainers, and then peeled away my socks.

She tilted her head back, eyes closing, hands pushing up through her springy mass of hair. “This.” She let her hair fall and slid her hands down her waist, much as I’d done, and then crossed her hands in front of her body to grip the hem of her shirt.

I swallowed hard, and felt the blood rush out of my brain to pool in other areas of my body. Noticeably so, I was sure.

And then, oh, lord god, she glanced at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and slowly peeled her shirt upward. When she reached the underside of her breasts, she paused, drawing out the moment. She wasn’t dancing, wasn’t trying to do a striptease, she was just being…naturally sexy. Giving me a show. And oh, god, what a show. I could see her hands trembling on the hem of her shirt; I could see her knees shaking, just a little.
 

She tugged the shirt up farther, and the white fabric was so tight against her skin that her breasts were drawn up and pressed against her chest, only to fall free with a luxurious bounce. I hardened even further at that bounce. I stopped breathing once I registered what she was wearing. It was strapless and pink with black lace curling around the bottom edge, the cups split apart between her breasts, her tan flesh barely contained. I struggled to swallow past the lump in my throat, to breathe at all at the sight of Becca in nothing but a bra and yoga pants. She stood with her hands at her sides, taking long pulls of air, each breath swelling her breasts even larger. I couldn’t help but adjust myself, and her eyes followed my hands.
 

“Want to see the rest?” she asked.

I nodded. “Y-yes.”

She smirked at me. “Now who’s the one stuttering?”

“Me. God, Becca. What are you trying to do to me?” I meant it as a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway.

“I’m trying to turn you on.” She pivoted on her heel, presenting me with a fine view of her ass and her back with the slight sway inward, the strap of the bra dimpling her supple skin.
 

“All you have to do to turn me on is be you,” I said. “I’m turned on every time you so much as take a breath. This? What you’re doing? You’re killing me. I’m going to explode. You’re too fucking sexy for me to be able to take it.”

“Well, I’m not done yet.” She ran her hands over the curve of her backside, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her yoga pants. “Do you want to see the panties I got to go with it?”

“God, do I ever.”

“You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”
 

I almost didn’t recognize this Becca. She was…confident, sexy, alluring…nothing at all like the girl I’d first met. I wondered, briefly, if she was overcompensating for her nerves, her fears, her doubts. I knew I should question why she was doing this, taking off her clothes for me like this, but I didn’t. I felt like a bit of tool for not saying anything, but I just…I couldn’t bear to stop her.

She faced away from me, head turned to watch my reaction. She slowly slid her yoga pants down to her knees, although the pants were so tight it was more like peeling herself out of them. My zipper got even more strained at the sight greeting me underneath the pants: they were cut so that the back hem sliced across the middle of her ass cheeks, disappearing between her thighs. They had black lace at the top and bottom, with vertical pink and white stripes in between.
 

I couldn’t take it anymore. She was standing in front of me in nothing but a bra and panties, facing away, still and watching me. I rose off the bed, shaking all over, unable to believe I was so lucky. I stood behind her, strangling on my own breath, mouth dry.
 

“Jesus, Becca.” I barely heard myself, but I knew she did. “You…you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she ducked her head. “Thank you, Jason.” She turned in place and pressed up against me, lifting her lips to mine. “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

She nodded, unzipping the leather jacket I’d forgotten I was still wearing. “I want to see you, too.” Becca spun us in place so I was facing the bed, then backed up and sat down, crossing her legs demurely, her hands folded on top of her thighs.
 

I couldn’t and didn’t try to stop staring at her, soaking in her beauty. I’d never known a girl could be so beautiful. I mean, yeah, I’d seen shit on TV and movies, I’d flipped through Victoria’s Secret catalogues. But that had nothing at all on the reality of my girlfriend in real life, real flesh for me to touch, to kiss, to hold.
 

I was nowhere near as confident as Becca seemed to be. I had no idea how to take off my clothes for her and look cool doing it. I would sure as hell try my best, though.

*
 
*
 
*

Becca

I sat perched on the edge of the bed, fear, embarrassment, worry, and excitement shivering through me. I had no idea how Jason didn’t see that I was shaking from head to foot. I couldn’t believe I was here doing this. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that, just stripped out of my clothes like a harlot. I felt so stupid doing it, like a poser, an ugly girl trying too hard to be a sexy woman. My knees had knocked together the entire time, and my hands had shaken so bad I’d been almost unable to get my shirt over my own head. I’d actually gotten it stuck on my breasts, which were turned into giant balloons by this bra I’d bought at Victoria’s Secret and put on in the mall bathroom, stuffing my old bra and panties in my purse. I think Jason appreciated the way my tits had bounced when I’d finally been able to get the shirt over them, though.
 

Each breath was shaky, my skin tingling, hot and then cold. Jason stood in front of me, wearing a pair of faded, tight-fitting jeans and a black long-sleeve henley shirt, the buttons undone to show a sliver of bronze skin. I let myself stare at him, waiting for him to take his clothes off.

God, the boy was hot. I’d always had a crush on him, and now it was turning into all-out true love, and he was sexier than he’d ever been, just standing there with his weight slightly to one side, his biceps straining the fabric of his sleeves, his shoulders broad and strong. His eyes raked over me, chips of green set deep in his chiseled face. I watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat, watched his powerful hands curl into loose fists and release. He was barefoot, and I remembered reading in some novel that there was nothing sexier than a man barefoot in blue jeans. Seeing Jason in that moment, I had to agree.

He finally summoned a smile and tore his eyes away from my assets to meet my gaze. I lifted an eyebrow in a
get on with it
smirk that I didn’t entirely feel. I was acting to cover my fear. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this, but I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t back out now. Well, no, that wasn’t true. I
could
back out. Jason would be totally understanding—he’d take me anywhere I wanted to go without complaining if I said I wasn’t ready. The problem was, I
wanted
to be ready. I wanted this with him; I just couldn’t seem to rid myself of the shakes, of my fear that I’d do something wrong, that someone would find out, that I’d messed up my birth control and I’d get pregnant…

Then Jason grabbed his shirt by the hem and lifted it up, stretching his abs taut as he peeled the shirt away in one smooth motion. I licked my lips at the sight of him. Yes, I actually licked my lips. He was a god, it seemed to me, an ancient Grecian athlete, blond and hard-muscled and perfect. He stood shirtless in blue jeans, a rim of cotton elastic peeking over the waistline of his pants. I had my legs crossed, and I had to press my thighs tighter together to keep from lunging off the couch and wrapping my legs around him. Desire raged, at war with the ever-present fear.
 

He reached slowly down and flicked open his jeans, then stopped.
 

“Flex for me,” I whispered. “Show me your muscles.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Flex? Like a bodybuilder?” He acted like that was the most absurd notion he’d ever heard, but he wasn’t me, looking at him.
 

Even at rest he was glorious, just standing with one hand in his pocket, the other reaching behind his head to scratch the back of his opposite shoulder. His arms were long and thick, biceps bulging and lined with veins, but his chest and stomach were my favorite places. He had broad, heavy pectoral muscles that bulged out from his chest, a fine line chiseled between them, pointing down to the rippling wonderland of his abs. He didn’t have the ultra-defined kind of abs that Kyle did. Jason’s stomach was hard, and definitely ripped, just toned in a different way than Kyle’s. Not that I was trying to compare the two, but more as a matter of differentiation. I’d seen both boys shirtless before on numerous occasions, swimming at the beach in the summer, after football practice…Kyle had the honed definition look that I thought of as “cut,” whereas Jason’s build was more heavy muscle, thicker, harder, less defined but with more bulk.