Isn't She Lovely (24 page)

There’s a startled little breath from the door, and then she moves again, this time toward me. The door closes behind her, and I will her to lock it.

She does.

The room is silent except for her soft footsteps as she approaches the bed. She stops by the side of the bed, and I’m really wishing I brought some water up to my room because my throat is completely dry.

I rack my brain for something to say—the
right
thing to say—but I don’t want to fuck this up, so instead I stay silent, lifting the covers up several inches, inviting her in. My heart is pounding, and she’s close enough now that I can just make out the glow of her eyes, the shape of
her face.

For one crushing moment I think I’ve misunderstood. That she’s here to tell me to fuck off, or to say good-bye, or to say something else that will feel like it’s putting my heart through a meat grinder.

Then she’s slipping beneath the blanket, and all I can think is,
Thank God
.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, loving the way she curls into my arms even as I reach for her.

She burrows closer, her nose against my bare chest. My boxers aren’t doing much to protect her from the fact that I’m
really
digging the tiny-ass shorts and tank top that are her pajamas.

Then she speaks.

“Caleb wrote back.”

She says it so softly that at first I’m not even sure I’ve heard her correctly. I’m careful not to let my body tense, keeping my touch easy, even as I know how important this is for her. For both of us.

“Yeah?” I ask.

I can hear her swallow. “He, um … we didn’t …”

Stephanie dips her head as her voice breaks off, and I hear a sniffle a second before I feel the moistness against my chest, and I’m torn between wanting to kill this Caleb because he’s a fucker who made her cry and wanting to kiss the tears away.

She tells me the story in soft whispers. Her voice is steady, but she’s more or less quoting his email word for word, so she’s clearly read the damn thing at least a dozen times. That tells me how much it matters.

“How do you feel?” I ask when she’s finished.

She gives a little sigh, and then she shifts so that her palm’s against my chest. Her touch is tentative, and there’s nothing overtly sexual about it, but I suck in a breath all the same at her touch.

Knock it off, Ethan. This isn’t about sex
.

“I feel relieved, I think. And a little surprised. I guess I just always assumed … I mean, when you wake up naked in your boyfriend’s bed, you’re kind of inclined to believe the worst. All this time I’ve been blaming him, and I guess now … well, I blame myself too. He tried to explain. I can’t tell you how many times he called. Even came over …”

I hook a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “Stephanie. This is not your fault. Absolutely no part of it.”

She holds my gaze for several seconds before she very slowly nods. “Okay.”

I don’t release her chin. “I hate that any of it happened to you, and I’m not going to give you any bullshit about a silver lining, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad that that your first time
will be separate from that horrible night.”

Her eyes widen a little, and I hurry to correct her impression. “For your sake, I mean. I didn’t mean, you know … I don’t expect that your first time will be
now
.…”

Her hand moves from my chest to my lips, her fingers very lightly tracing the outline of my mouth. Even though I fully intend to be simply a comforting friend tonight, I can’t help flicking the pads of her fingers with my tongue, watching as her eyes close and her breath goes shallow just from that tiny contact.

I know the feeling, sweetheart
.

I stay perfectly still, waiting for her to make the next move, and when she opens her eyes again, they’re burning hot, and my heart starts to thud with anticipation, even as I’m terrified that I’m misinterpreting.

She wiggles upward until our faces are even and slowly moves her head toward mine until our lips are a fraction of an inch apart. Every fiber of my being wants to roll her onto her back and kiss her senseless, but this is her moment. Her night. She had the choice taken away from her once. I won’t let that happen again. It’s the reason I wanted her to get closure. I want her to know what she’s offering me. To make that choice intentionally. Purposefully.

And I want to be the guy who helps her heal.

But I don’t want to be
just
that guy. If I’m totally honest, I want her to choose me because she cares, not just because I’m the first guy who’s offered to help get rid of her ghosts.

Her kiss is soft and sweet, and I let her take charge of the kiss. I let her hands move where they want, and they’re everywhere, running over my shoulders, up my pecs. We both groan a little when her fingers brush the waistband of my boxers, and she yanks her hands back as though she’s been burned.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, fighting for control, refusing to rush her.

Cupping her face with my hands, I use my lips to play with hers, keeping it light and teasing. Letting her know that I could spend all night kissing her. Just kissing her.

But she’s making it hard, squirming against me, her hands resuming a wandering that I don’t dare reciprocate. I’m not about to be the asshole who insists she find out if she’s still a virgin and then takes that virginity from her the very night she finds out. She means too much to me.

But then I feel her hot fingers on my wrist, and she’s tugging my hand downward until she slowly, deliberately rests my hand over her full breast.

“Stephanie, I don’t—”

She stops me with a kiss. “Make love to me. Please.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stephanie

He’s going to turn me away. Ethan pulls back slightly, his hand already moving from my breast where I blatantly made him touch me.

My face flames.

He’s rejecting me.

The first and only time I want to sleep with a guy, and he’s not interested.

“You don’t want me.” I don’t mean to say it, but there it is.

He freezes, his fingers plowing into my hair. “God, Stephanie. Of course I want you.”

“Then why—”

“You haven’t had any time to think about this. You just got a bomb of an email like an hour ago. You’ll hate yourself if your first time—your real first time—is with someone who …”

His voice breaks off, and I have to know, even though I dread the answer. “With someone who …?”

Will be gone in the morning?

Who only wants to sleep with you as part of the game?

Who may or may not look at you twice when you go back to being your real self?

I hear him breathing, and he doesn’t respond for several seconds. “I care about you, Stephanie.”

My heart thuds. “But then why …?”

“Because it won’t just be about sex. If you’re looking to get rid of your V-card on the easiest target, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Which is it, Ethan? You won’t sleep with me because you’re concerned I’m making a rash decision, or you won’t sleep with me because you’re afraid I’m using you for your rich-boy body?”

He lets out a little laugh. “God, I don’t know. The first one. Maybe both. I just—”

“I’m not using you,” I blurt out. “You think it was easy to come in here? But I just got something major handed back to me, Ethan. Now it’s my choice to make. And I choose you.”

He tips his head down, his forehead resting on mine. “Why?” The question is hoarse. Desperate. Needing.

I lay my hand along his jaw. “Because I care about you too.”

He closes his eyes, but only for a heartbeat, because then his mouth is on mine again, and there’s nothing teasing or soft about it, and I know I’ve won.

As our kisses grow more frantic and more heated, he shifts, leaning toward me just slightly, giving me time and space to freak out, but I don’t. I wrap my arms around his back, my fingers playing over the muscles there as I let him roll me beneath him.

Our hands are more adventurous now, looking to give pleasure rather than simply explore, and he captures my cry with his lips as his hand finds my breast, his palm circling, putting the perfect amount of pressure on my nipple.

All of my writhing has made my tank ride up to my rib cage, and he slips his hand beneath it, moving slowly, as though I might freak out.

I don’t.

His lips are all over me, sucking and teasing, and I can do little more than hold his head to me, even though I want more. So much more.

His face moves up to mine as his hand moves downward, his fingers finding my warmth even through the fabric of my silk shorts.

“Is this okay?”

All I can do is moan.

“You can stop me at any time.”

“Ethan.” I sink my teeth into his lower lip. “Shut. Up.”

I feel him smile, and then his hand moves gently between my legs. He rubs me there until my thighs fall apart, and then he slides a hand beneath the shorts, beneath my panties, exploring the wet heat of me. I hear soft mewling noises from somewhere, and am humiliated to realize that they’re my own.

Ethan kisses away my embarrassment even as he eases my shorts and underwear down over my butt, pulling them slowly down my legs until I’m able to kick them away.

I’m naked underneath Ethan Price, and nothing has ever felt so right or so perfect.

It’s not until he’s removing his boxers that practicality sneaks through my sexual haze. “Wait!”

He exhales sharply through his nose, but he moves himself off me entirely, his gaze concerned.

“Protection,” I say, mortified that I didn’t think of it before, though I’ve never needed to.

There’s a little flash of relief in his eyes, and he brushes a kiss over my shoulder. “Lucky for you, I happen to be a dude past the age of puberty. We like to be prepared at all times in case we get lucky with a sexy film student.”

I smile a little, rubbing my hands over his chest, noting the way he sucks in a breath when I touch his flat nipples. “You think I’m sexy.”

His eyes roam my face, and his gaze grows soft. “You’re definitely sexy.”

He’s not kidding about having protection handy, as it takes him a half second of digging through a nightstand drawer before he’s rolling the condom on.

It occurs to me that I should be terrified, but I’ve never been so turned on or so certain of anything in my life.

“Last chance,” he whispers in my ear, settling above me.

I pull his lips down to mine in response, and he moves a palm between my thighs, parting them before positioning himself.

There’s a pinch at first. Not pain, just tight, and I automatically tense against the pressure.

“Relax as much as you can,” he says, his lips on my neck.

I do, trusting him, and he slides into me slowly, each of us groaning. I know when he’s all the way in, because I feel full and satisfied.

So this is it
.

That wasn’t it.

Because then he braces his hands on either side of my head and begins to move, his eyes never leaving my face. There’s still a remnant of that tightness, but not enough to stop my hips from lifting to meet his slow thrusts.

For some reason I always assumed that it would be over in a couple of minutes, but it’s deliciously prolonged until we’re both moving faster and faster, and I’m so close but don’t know how to reach for it.

Ethan’s hand slides down my body, and his fingers do something wonderful, touching me in just the right spot, and in a matter of seconds I have to slap my hand over my face to keep from crying out as everything explodes.

Ethan gives a muffled curse, and for the first and only time that evening he forgets to be gentle, his body slamming into mine before he jerks once, twice, and I know everything’s exploded for him too. And I love it.

After, he slowly rolls me onto my side, pulling my back against his chest as he wraps an arm around my waist.

“I should get back to my room,” I say finally, partially because it’s true, and partially because I don’t know what else to say in the awkward aftermath of something so amazing.

“Had I known what you had in mind, I could have come to you,” he says against my hair. “Saved you the walk of shame.”

“Is it bad that I almost hope to run into your mother? Just to see her face?”

His hand moves slightly and he pinches my butt. “Don’t even think about it. It’ll be funny for about a half second, but I guarantee the memory won’t be so humorous the next time you see her at Sunday dinner.”

It takes my brain a second to register what he’s said, and my heart gives a little jump of happiness, even if I wonder if he’s just speaking hypothetically.

“Is there going to be another Sunday dinner?” I ask, keeping my voice as light as I can for such an important a question.

Ethan moves, lifting slightly so he can rest his head on his hand while the other moves from my waist to the curve of my cheek.

“Stephanie—”

I turn slightly so I can see his face, my heart melting a little when I do. He’s nervous.

“The timing of this is all wrong,” he says, “because we just—
you
know—but I swear to God I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow, even before I knew we’d—”

“Consummate?” I say with a cheeky grin.

But he doesn’t grin back, his face serious. Hopeful. “I know we agreed that this would only last until school started again, and I know you’re planning to move into the dorms and all that, but …”

“But?” I whisper.

His eyes are on my lips. “But we make pretty good roommates. And even better lovers. And I was thinking … I was wondering … if you want to … I was
hoping
that you might, you know … stay.”

I feel something warm and comforting uncurling in my stomach, moving slowly up my chest, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt it that it takes me a second to name what I’m feeling.

I’m happy. Ethan makes me happy.

It’s crazy. And it’s fast. Jordan will flip. My dad will have a heart attack.
His
parents will probably call the freaking police.