My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) (17 page)

He walks around to the other end of the pool and takes the stairs slowly into the water. I stay where I am. He swims to me, the water parting against his chest. The sun creeps over the top of the gate and hits his back so that he takes my breath away. When he gets close to me I push off the wall and swim the rest of the way to him.

His arms encircle my waist under the water. He pulls me to him. “You really want this?” He presses his forehead against mine and his warm breath brushes across my lips, smelling strongly of my chocolate milkshake.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, falling into his dark gaze. He looks hungry and fearful, as if his desire is greater than his uncertainty. Why am I the only girl he’s uncertain with? “Shut up and kiss me.” Just once I want it to only be me and him. I want all of the other women to fade away and for his desires to be focused solely on me.

Under the water I encircle his waist with my legs. Kent smiles and then he gives me what I want, bringing his lips down on me roughly. I turn my head to the side and open my mouth for him, wanting his tongue inside of me again. I move my fingers to the back of his head, threading my fingers in his hair. His strong arms are under the water, wrapping me tightly against his body. He kisses me deeply, wanting me with every inch of his body. His tongue tastes like chocolate as it strokes mine, owning me.

This kiss is so different than our first one. That was primal and hormone-driven. This one is intense, coaxing a fire slowly, feeding the flames with our lips. It’s as if we both know what we want in this moment, which is so incredibly sexy I moan against his mouth. I wonder if it’s the alcohol making me so confident. I don’t think too hard about it when his hands start to inch higher. He moves one leg between mine to hold me up as he lets me go so his fingers can skim my waist and stomach.

I break our kiss to watch him grab my breasts in each hand. He squeezes me gently, cupping me fully in his large hands. The lace of my bra is like a teasing thing. He’s not really connecting with my flesh, but he’s touching just enough of my skin to drive me wild. He leans down and brings his mouth close to my breasts. Right before his lips close around my nipple he looks up into my eyes. And then he sucks on me through the lace. My reaction is involuntary. I arch in his arms and moan, tugging on the handful of his hair I still possess in my fist. My nipple hardens enticingly between his lips.

I want his mouth. I want his tongue. I want to feel him.

I grab his face and crush my lips to his.

Beneath the water his knee has inched perfectly between my legs. As our kiss deepens he moves it against me. My middle appreciates the contact. I break our kiss once more to look down. Our stomachs meet when I grind against his leg. I bite my lip as I pick up speed, pressing myself harder against him. The lace of my panties pulls in the water. The sensation of the warm liquid mixing with my own makes me shiver. I lean against him as this want, this strange desire-filled need moves through me. I want it fed now.

“Kent.” His name on my lips is unbearably hot to me.

He finds my mouth and kisses me so hard I forget about his leg for a second. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as we bob in and out of the water. His tongue feels so good in my mouth. It’s scorching and wet, sliding over my mine in a way that reminds me I have needs. I grind against him again, this time uncaring of anything but feeding this ache inside of me. It’s ravenous. And Kent is the most delicious thing around.

“Touch me, Kent.” He touches my bottom lip.

“Here?”

I laugh huskily and move against his leg. “No.”

His eyes are heavy-lidded and blazing. He touches my breasts again, gently tugging on my nipple through my bra. “Here?”

“Not exactly. You’re close though.”

His hand dips to the top of my panties. He slides it across the front of me and pushes his fingers over me through my panties. “Here?”

“Right there,” I exhale, moaning loudly as his fingers move against me. “But I want to feel you this time.”

“Trust me, Raina. You’re going to feel me.” And just like that my panties disappear.

I don’t know what happened to them. But they’re gone and Kent is pushing me against the edge of the pool. He takes my lips and kisses me hard, so hard I can’t feel anything but his lips and tongue. His fingers touch me under the water. The way he’s kissing me I can’t move my head away. I have to moan into his mouth. And I do. Deeply. No one has ever touched me like this.

Kent slides his finger up and over me, down and up, making a path as his lips kiss me mercilessly. I kiss him in between my desperate moans. His fingers cease their torture as he searches for something. When he finds my clitoris I give up on all coherent thought. It’s like in the bathroom all over again. I am feeling, moaning, and want. I’m not even a person anymore. His mouth won’t let me go. The sensation of his tongue in my mouth while his fingers rub my sensitive clitoris is causing something extravagant to build inside of me.

I almost cry when his fingers leave me. But my almost-tears dry up the moment he teases my entrance with his fingertips. Cupping me in his hand, he then slides his fingers inside of me slowly. No one has ever been where he is. I have no words for the feeling. All I can do is let the sensation of his fingers filling me take over.

“You’re so tight,” he moans, letting my mouth go. “Why are you so tight?”

I don’t expect he wants an answer. I couldn’t give him one even if he wanted it. His fingers push into me more, causing all of the muscles south of my naval to constrict and tremble. Now that my mouth is free I moan unhindered. I feel unappreciative suddenly. I want more. More. I move my hips in a way that makes his fingers slide in deeper. He gets the point. He pushes me against the pool’s edge once more and increases the speed of his possession. His mouth is on me again, creating a heady cocktail of pleasure in my brain. His fingers move so deeply I feel him stretching me in a way I’ve never been stretched before. It hurts slightly, but it feels so good the pain does too.

“Come for me, Raina. I want to watch you come again.”

His command is my undoing.

“Come all over my fingers.” He presses his forehead against mine. “Open your eyes. I want to see you.”

I give him what he wants, meeting his dark, filthy gaze. “This feels so good.”

“I’m going to make this tight pussy come,” he promises. “Why are you so tight?”

His fingers suddenly hit a special spot I didn’t even know I had. My back bows as pleasure, so stark and brand new, so consuming and beautiful, sucks me under. I am not myself, but someone I didn’t know I could be. I am sexy, confident, and feeling things I didn’t know I could feel. I fall against him as my orgasm rips me apart. It has claws and teeth and it’s tearing me in two.

But I want more. So much more. I find his mouth and attack him when I can function again. The effects of my pleasure stop briefly, giving me enough insight to realize something.

Kent isn’t kissing me back. He slowly pulls his fingers out of me. I close my eyes at the sensation, a small shiver rippling through me like something forgotten but remembered all the same. I rest against him, wrapping my legs around him under the water. He lets me rest, rubbing my back as I come down from trying to reach the sun.

When I’m me again I peek at him.

He pushes my back against the pool’s edge, pressing his erection against me. There is no material in the way except for his boxers. The feeling of him so close does it for me. I reach for his boxers and attempt to pull them off.

He prevents me. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why are you so tight?” He sounds accusing now.

I don’t understand. A blush spreads across me. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, Rain. The fact you have to ask is making me think something. You don’t want me to think this. Why are you so tight?”

In that moment he’s looking at me suspiciously and I know he knows. “Kent.”

He grabs my chin and forces my eyes to meet his. “Are you a virgin?”

I try and look away but he won’t let me. “I’ve never had actual sex. But we kind of did something close, right?”

He drops my chin and closes his eyes. He releases my body. I immediately start to sink. His eyes snap open. Fury resides in them. “Are you fucking with me? You’re a virgin?”

I nod hesitantly. “I don’t understand why you’re mad.”

“Look at me and look at you. Why wouldn’t that make me mad? We hooked up. Twice!” he roars, making me flinch. “I was about to have sex with you. With a virgin!”

My orgasm still has me, and I’m still drunk, and his anger is so unexpected. I bite back tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I shrug, wringing my hands together on top of the water. “Where are my panties?”

“Forget about your panties. Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

“It was none of your business!”

“Is it my business now?”

I’m trying so hard not to cry. The separation between my moods is messing with my head. A second ago I never felt anything better, and now I’ve never felt anything worse than having Kent berate me after making me fall apart. “I’m drunk.”

“Oh, what the fuck!” He lifts himself out of the water, gathers his clothes, and then leaves me alone in the pool area.

I refuse to feel bad for being responsible. Being a virgin isn’t a bad thing. It’s the complete opposite. It’s doing what was right for me and Kent Nicholson will not make me feel bad for it.

I do, however, feel bad for my panties. They’re floating at the other end of the pool. I swim over and grab them, holding them in front of me to cover as much of myself with the ripped pink lace as possible as I walk to my clothes. I put my shorts on, followed by my shirt, and grab my shoes on my way out.

I walk, my wet hair dripping down my back, around the complex to the apartment. Kent’s in the shower when I stumble in. Steam seeps under the door and drifts into the hall. I imagine him naked and what’s left of my panties reminds me we left things so unfinished. A rush of the overwhelming desire I felt for him makes my knees week.

Now I feel bad.

Kent doesn’t do nice. He held back in the bathroom for me. He didn’t pity me. He was trying to save me from the couch. All of his efforts ended up with me in the pool and his hand between my legs anyway.

I close my bedroom door and lock it, grabbing a towel off the floor to dry my hair. But the action is difficult and I’m suddenly so tired. I’m still shitfaced. I fall onto my bed and curl up soaking wet in the cocoon of my blankets, having a brief flash of Kent’s eyes as I fell apart. He’d looked like he was falling apart with me.

When I wake up, I smile for some reason. Stretching, I mewl contentedly into my sheets, which alerts me to the fact that I’m still in my work clothes and my hair is damp. My bed is soaked. My pink lace panties are on the floor in shreds.

I wasn’t dreaming. I hooked up with Kent in the swimming pool.

I cover my face with my hands and groan.
Way to go you, horny hag.

My skin is on fire. I am nothing but embarrassment and contrition, stinking of whiskey and chlorine. I’m filthy. I roll out of bed and grab a clean towel. When I poke my head out into the hall Kent’s bedroom door is closed. So is James’s. I tiptoe into the bathroom and hope I don’t wake Kent up.

Now that I’m sober I can think more clearly. All too clearly. I’m disgusted with myself. I notice as I get into the shower the bathroom has been cleaned of Kent’s debacle the other night. I take my apricot soap and squeeze it all over my body, as if washing him off of me will somehow erase what happened between us. But I feel tender between my legs and I know nothing can erase what happened this morning. I can feel his eyes, damaging and acidic, through the wall. I put my back to him and wash the chlorine out of my hair.

I could blame this morning on my alcohol consumption. Instead I take full responsibility. Because I did it. I wanted it. This wasn’t a random guy or an accident. This wasn’t an unfamiliar man I met at a party and hooked up with. This was Kent Nicholson, a man who I was undeniably attracted to. Now that particular revelation has been set free, I force myself to think of what to say to him. I have to say something. A simple “I’m sorry” will not suffice.

Too many thoughts bombard me, problems begging to be solved. I don’t have a solution to any of them. Part of me doesn’t even want to face him anymore. How can I after this morning? After I tricked him. He thought he was getting something from me. He gave me something. He took me higher than no other man ever has. All I gave him was a lie. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t. I’m not couch material. I want more than a couch. I want a bed made of cotton and sheets made of silk. I am worth more than a sofa stained from his previous women.

Do I even want more, and if I do can Kent even give it to me?

Considering more makes my stomach sick. I don’t want more. It’s what my father couldn’t give my mother. She wanted him and he constantly showed her she shouldn’t, yet he sucked her down the entire way. Kent has shown me so much already. What else do I need?

I shut off the water, wrap myself protectively in my towel, and grab my toothbrush, scrubbing the inside of my mouth and washing away the tastes of last night. Memories of Kent’s tongue in my mouth come flashing back to me. The feeling of him massaging me, working me toward my end. Kent took me so high. When I emerge from the bathroom, his door is open and I can hear someone banging around in the kitchen. I duck into my room and get dressed, choosing comfy clothes after an uncomfortable night. After I’m dressed I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s almost three in the afternoon. I can’t sleep anymore. Even if I wanted to my bed is soaked.