Instead of You (13 page)

   His hands gripped my hips, pulling me down onto him, the sensation rocketing through my body and causing a moan to slip from my mouth into his.  Suddenly, wherever his hands touched was aflame, and I wanted him to burn me everywhere.  I wanted the flames to lick my skin, the heat to eat me up, I wanted him to light me on fire and then smother the inferno, only to start all over again.

   Another whimper broke free from me and it was as if something inside of Hayes that had been tightly wound, snapped.  One arm wrapped tightly around my waist, the other hand cradled my neck, and the next instant I was being picked up then laid back down on the couch.

   This was new. 
Lying
with Hayes.  Having his body leveled entirely along mine, having his weight press down on me, holding me in place; it was intoxicating.  My knees instinctively fell to the sides, allowing him even closer to the core of me, and there was no pretense about it.  I wanted the most private and sacred parts of me as close to him as possible, to feel all of him, to be as open to him as I possibly could be.  It was a new feeling, a new revelation, to
want
someone that way.  To want to be close to him, to give him unadulterated access.  It’s not something I’d offered to anyone else.  Ever.

   Our bodies took over.

   His lips were still pressed against mine, but they wandered down my neck, over my shoulder, against my collarbone, only to return.  His hands roamed over my clothed body, trembling fingers smoothing over my stomach, my arms, my breasts, my hips.  Every part of my body he touched completely ignited.

   Then he ground his hips into mine and whatever I thought I knew about chemistry, about combustion, was thrown away.  There simply wasn’t anything that existed before this.  Before Hayes and his body touching mine, his body making mine feel so entirely electric. 

   I’d had an orgasm before, but the few times it had occurred I’d been alone.  What was happening on that couch was more than I’d ever felt before.  More frantic.  More needy.  More
full
.  Every part of me was brimming with emotions and sensations I couldn’t process before a new wave hit me.  With every grind of his hips, every pass of his lips, every sweep of his tongue, I was closer and closer to the edge of a cliff I knew would kill me to fall from.  It was the biggest internal battle of my life.  I wanted him to continue, feeling as though if he stopped touching me, stopped pressing all the hardness against me, I’d cease to exist.  But I also knew if I didn’t stop him, I was going to come in a wildly unrestrained way I’d never experienced, and that was enough to make me stop him.

   All it took was the palms of my hands against his chest with the slightest of pressure and he lifted off me, panting.

   “I’m sorry,” I said immediately, realizing I was embarrassed that I’d let it get that far, that I’d brought him to that point then pushed him away.

   “What?”  His voice was full of confusion.  “What are you apologizing for?”  His face was far enough away from mine that I could see his eyebrows pulling together, watch his hair puff out every time he exhaled, still winded.  I opened my mouth to provide an answer, but I couldn’t find the words.  I was too embarrassed.  “Hey,” he said, bringing one of his hands to my cheek. “If you tell me to stop, I’m going to stop.  Every time.  It doesn’t matter why, and it doesn’t matter when.  You tell me to stop, you push me away, I’ll
always
respect that.”

   His eyes were sparkling with sincerity, and I felt even dumber.

   “I’m sorry” was the only thing I could say back, this time apologizing for not having an answer for why I was apologizing.

   “Babe, stop it.”

   If I hadn’t already been burning up, he’d have noticed the flush to my cheeks at the nickname.

   “Tell me what’s going on in there,” he said, nodding toward my head, still hovering above me.  I got the feeling he wasn’t planning on going anywhere, or letting the issue drop, before I answered him.

   “Um,” I stammered, trying to find the least embarrassing way to explain my situation.  “It’s just never felt… or I mean… never been that, uh,
intense
before,” I said, and cringed as soon as the words left my mouth.

   “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”  His question wasn’t to tease or patronize me; he asked the question with so much earnestness, it nearly made me cry.

   “I think I have, just, uh, not with anyone else around.”  He nodded at my response.  “It was just overwhelming, and your mom’s upstairs, and I just….”

   “You don’t have to give me a reason, Kenz.  I’m glad you gave an explanation as to how you were feeling, I want to know those things about you, but you never have to explain why you want to slow down or stop.”  He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips.  I appreciated his understanding, but the soft kiss only made me miss the hungry ones I’d put a stop to.

   “Okay,” I whispered.

   “Can you stay for a while and just watch a movie with me?”

   “Yeah.”

   He pressed another small kiss to my lips, then rolled to the side, squishing himself between me and the back of the couch, his front to my back.  He reached for the remote, switched on the TV, then draped his arm over my waist. I relaxed into him, not caring what he picked to watch, just content to be cocooned by his warmth and let my body come down from the new high I’d found with him.

Chapter Twelve

Hayes

   I startled awake to the sound of my phone alarm, but I was instantly aware that I wasn’t in my bed.  I was also instantly aware of McKenzie’s body against mine, the slow rise and fall of her shoulders with her breath, the soft sounds of sleep coming from her.  I moved slowly, reaching over her to grab my phone from the table, and couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

   I’d spent an entire night holding McKenzie Harris.  Only in my wildest and most sadistic dreams had I allowed myself the privilege of thinking about what I never imagined was possible.  And then I was gifted with the pleasure of something so breathtaking—watching McKenzie Harris slowly wake.  She stretched, a low moan escaping her as her arms stretched awake.  Her eyes fluttered, slowly opening, and after a short moment, they met mine.

   I was propped up on an elbow, looking down on her in all her messy-haired-but-impossibly-beautiful glory. 

  
Fucking gorgeous.

   “Morning,” I said, lifting my hand to her shoulder and running it down her arm.

   “Morning,” she responded, obviously confused.

   “We fell asleep.”

   “Oh.”

   “C’mere,” I said as I rolled her toward me.  When she was facing me, her arms crossed between us, I pushed her crazy hair out of her face and kissed her.  Nothing crazy, just the simple good-morning kiss I never thought I’d be able to give her.  The joy of being able to kiss her was only surmounted by the fact that she kissed me back.  When she pulled away she wore a sleepy, dreamy look on her face that left me feeling proud.

   “What time is it?” she rasped.

   “Six thirty.”

   “Six thirty?” she exclaimed, shooting off the couch like a rocket.  “My parents are awake already.  They’re going to wonder where the hell I am.”  She ran around the living room searching for her shoes then grabbed her phone, which I assumed was dead by the look on her face when she tried to turn it on.

   “Didn’t you tell them where you were?”

   “Well, yeah, but what am I supposed to say?  ‘Sorry, I fell asleep on the couch with my new boyfriend after he nearly had me coming harder than I ever have’?  They’ll take that really well.”

   “I’m your boyfriend?”  My question made her stop in her tracks, a newly panicked look coming over her face.  “And that would have been the hardest you
ever
came?”  The second question made the panic retreat while irritation stole over the sexy features of her face.

   “Hayes, stop it.  I’m being serious.”

   “So, seriously, I’m your boyfriend?”  I’d never needed the title like I did with McKenzie.  I was unused to feeling vulnerable with girls.  I was never in a situation where the girl had the upper hand, never put myself in that position.  But with McKenzie, I’d give her just about anything, including my ego, if she could provide just a little bit of reassurance.

   She must have sensed my insecurity.  She walked back over to the couch, straddled my lap, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pressed her face into my neck.  I heard her inhale then felt her body melt into mine.  I held her close, trying to enjoy the moment before it was over, before I had to let her go again for another day of pretending I wasn’t acutely tuned in to her every move.  When she pulled away her hands moved to cradle my face.

   “Are you worried about whatever’s going on between us?”

   I shrugged.  “I’m not worried, per se.  It just didn’t sound horrible when you called me your boyfriend.”

   “And you think boyfriend is an appropriate title?” The side of her mouth quirked up.

   “What would you recommend?”  I smoothed my hand down her back, then let it continue over the curve of her ass.

   “Hmmm,” she played, tapping a finger against her lips.  “How about ‘Hot Guy I Let Kiss Me’?”

   I gave her ass a sharp slap.

   “Ow,” she said, laughing, but forcing an insulted expression across her face.  Her face softened and she leaned forward, kissing me gently, then whispering, “I have to go, boyfriend.”

   “See you in class.”

   “Yes, Mr. Wallace,” she said, just before she winked at me.

   She climbed off me, smiled, and walked out the door.

   Thirty minutes later, after I’d reluctantly showered and washed away the scent of Kenzie’s shampoo or perfume that had bonded itself to my skin overnight, I quietly opened my mother’s bedroom door.  I hadn’t heard anything from her since the night before, and that was unusual. 

   She was still in bed and I could tell by the rhythmic way her chest was moving up and down she was still asleep.  I let out a relieved sigh, thankful she’d gotten a full night’s rest for the first time in weeks.

   I debated with myself about whether or not to wake her, to see if she needed anything before I left, but eventually decided to let her sleep.  I could call her on my lunch break.

   All week I’d been nervous at the high school, worried that somehow everything would come crumbling down around McKenzie and me.  I was afraid to even be in the same room with her, let alone stop and talk to her in the hallway.  I didn’t trust myself to not reach out and touch her, or look at her in such a way that everyone around us would see how I really felt.  But as I drove to the school that morning, I almost felt invincible. 

   After holding McKenzie all night, everything else seemed like cake.  Bring on the world; I was ready.

   I spent my days at the high school observing Mr. White and working on the final project I would turn in to my advisors to obtain my master’s degree.  I also worked on curriculum and lesson planning.  I’d been in the same high school for the first two terms of the year, working closely with a teacher who taught me a lot and gave me a lot of support, and I’d had time to create lesson plans that fit in to his plans for the class.  But once I took over Mr. White’s class, I had to start over again from scratch, and fast.

   I was there to teach, but I was also there to learn, so I observed Mr. White whenever I could, and hoped, as the term progressed, I could reach out to some other teachers in the building to ask if I could observe their classes as well.

   That day, Mr. White was exceptionally distracted.  He seemed scatterbrained and ill prepared for the day.  I had learned early on it wasn’t unusual for teachers to be running around at the last minute to prepare for class—they weren’t allotted nearly enough time to do the jobs expected of them.  So, when he asked me midway through third period to make copies of the test for the next class, I gladly agreed.  I owed a lot to Mr. White, and I definitely wasn’t above making copies.

   I walked down the quiet hallway of the high school I thought I’d left far behind me.  I hadn’t had a terrible high school experience, but once I left town I realized there was so much more outside of my world I had yet to experience.  That was part of the reason I liked studying history—in the grand scale of things, very little history had happened here.  The real stories were all set somewhere far away, somewhere I’d never been, and I grabbed on to those stories hoping one day I’d care about something deeply enough to fight for it as so many had in the past.  There’d always been that little voice in the back of my mind reminding me that Kenzie was that one thing, the one thing I’d go to war for, the only thing I’d fight to the death for.

   I turned down another empty hallway; only the sound of my footsteps and the soft murmuring of voices behind doors could be heard.  Until McKenzie turned down the same hallway.

   She was at the far end, walking toward me.  She was looking down, watching her feet, unaware of me for a moment, until her head tilted up and her eyes met mine.  Her hair was down, bouncing gently with each step as she reached up and tucked some behind an ear.  The shy smile that bloomed on her face was both adorable and sexy. 

   I was suddenly jealous of every lucky bastard who got to see this image every day; all the eighteen-year-old punks who got to look at her and take their fill.  She was stunning and she had no idea.

   She walked toward me and it might as well have been in slow motion.  The way her hips swayed, the way her eyes dipped as she tucked her hair behind her ear, the slow emersion of her teeth behind her smile—I could have watched it a million times.

   The closer she got to me, the pinker her cheeks became.  We didn’t say anything to each other, couldn’t risk it, but just as she passed me I reached out my finger to trail it across the back of her hand.  I felt more in just that one run of my skin along hers than I had in any of the encounters I’d had with women in the last four years.