“It seems like that.”
We stay silent for a minute, absorbing the intensity of the situation.
“And we’re going to end up saying more than we should,” she guesses, sounding more severe with every word that she pronounces.
“Probably.”
Bree inhales deeply.
“You know, you aren’t like I thought you would be,” she confesses, breaking the ice after a brief moment of silence in which I almost considered that the conversation was over.
I’m wrong because this is only the beginning, the tip of an iceberg of topics that we need to discuss, but we prefer to keep hidden until we can’t do anything about it. For a moment, I consider what to say. I choose the truth because I like her too much. I need to be transparent with her.
“That’s because I’ve never been that kind of person that you thought I was.”
“I know that now.”
I swallow, a lump of insecurity forming in my throat.
“No, Bree. I mean that I was never the kind of person that you thought.” I take a deep breath before I explain. “You know why I always got pissed that you assumed stuff about me? Because that’s what everyone has done since I stepped on campus just because I share a surname with a powerful family. I’m not one of those McKinleys.”
I can appreciate the confusion in her face. She frowns and seems lost with my confession. Honestly, I think that I am too.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not part of a millionaire family. I’m from a small town in Florida. My mom is a hairdresser, and my dad is a mechanic. I study here because they offered me a full scholarship.”
Bree processes the information, staying quiet for a couple of minutes. I’m afraid that this will create an abyss between us. Mainly because she doesn’t utter a single word, her expression remains unbothered. I consider turning on the lamp and checking if she’s okay with what I said.
“Why lie?”
I shrug because I don’t know the answer to that. It’s not something that makes sense. In fact, it’s so dumb that I can’t consider it a lie. It’s just an omission of the truth, at least for a while, it was.
“In the beginning, I tried to explain people, but they always thought that I was humble. Eventually, it became exhausting, and I stopped explaining myself, letting them believe whatever they wanted. I stopped correcting them,” I answer, hoping that I’m as honest and transparent as I can be.
“Why didn’t you tell me since the beginning?”
“Because you always assumed the worst of me. I never thought that we would end up being this close,” I declare.
Bree stares at me. I wonder if she can watch my eyes if she adapted to the darkness enough to see that I’m honest. The only thing that she does is open her mouth as a wave of surprise courses her face.
“Wait, aren’t you supposed to maintain the scholarships with a good GPA?” I nod. “God, Stan, you need to pass the class.”
“I know.”
If I don’t, I’m out of the team, and without that, I can’t pay the tuition. Not even if I worked at a strip club.
“I’m sorry that I’m not a great study partner,” she mutters, sighing.
I scoff.
“You’re better than you think, Bree.” I lick my lips. “Besides, it’s my responsibility to fix this. I’ll find a solution.”
“You better. Florida is far from here, and I don’t think that I could visit you often.”
“You aren’t mad that I’m not who you thought I was?” I question.
Bree takes a hand to my face, caressing my cheek. Her fingers feel like heaven against my skin, and I close my eyes to enjoy her touch while it lasts.
“Of course not. I don’t care if you have money or not,” she expresses and removes her hand from my face, only to lower it to my chest, pressing it over my heat. “This is all that I care about. I know who you truly are, and you’re amazing, Stanley. The size of your bank account doesn’t appeal to me.”
If I had any doubts that I liked Bree, they’re gone. Where was this girl during the past three years? It would’ve been amazing to have her by my side since the beginning.
“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting against the urge to kiss her.
“I’m sorry that I ignored you these past couple of days,” Bree apologizes, and I can catch the sincerity in her words.
“It’s okay.”
“No, no, it’s not. You’ve been spectacular with me, and that was a bitchy move,” she manifests, sounding frustrated. “I was forcing myself to have an emotional evaluation.”
I’m not sure that I understand what that means. I don’t think that she will explain it to me because I don’t believe she’s ready for the whole feelings conversation. This is probably not the appropriate time to speak about what happened at the party and if it affects us for good. She had an overwhelming night; it’s okay if she doesn’t want to express how she truly feels about me.
However, I push my luck.
“Did you discover something important?” I ask, making use of the ounce of the midnight audacity.
I don’t know where this is going to lead, but I do know that I like her, and it would be pretty great if Bree liked me back. If she doesn’t, that’s fine too. But I need to know if I have a chance. I want a chance.
Bree doesn’t pronounce a single word, and the silence is unbearable. Maybe I ruined our moment with my question. Perhaps she doesn’t have feelings for me, and I misread the whole situation. I’m in the middle of an emotional crisis when Bree’s hand returns to my face, and the next thing that I can feel is her lips on top of mine, trapping my mouth in a kiss.
Chapter Eighteen
Kissing Stanley McKinley is in the top twenty of the best sensations in the world. No, definitely in the top ten. I can’t tell what made me have the impulse to do this, but I did it anyway, and I don’t regret it. The instant our lips meet, my mind shuts down and the thoughts created by my anxiety stop altogether. A tingle courses my body, making me tremble against his chest.
I think time stops around us, although if it’s still moving, I don’t care. The only thing that has my complete attention is the kiss, the way his warm lips press against mine. I wait for a reaction, for him to pull away or to pull me closer. Anything that hints that I didn’t mistake our conversation and that he wants me too.
One.
Two.
Three kisses.
Three short kisses that try out the field, waiting for the moment to be mutual. Stanley stays paralyzed during the first two. It’s only on the third one where he moves, cupping my face with his hands and leans, claiming my mouth. His lips move over mine, hungry and yearning for me, turning the kiss intense and passionate. He traps my bottom lip with his teeth, biting it gently. The tip of his tongue swipes over the area, soothing the ache.
A shiver runs down my spine, small electric waves shooting up my system as I kiss him back with the same longing he’s putting into it. His kiss turns my legs into jelly, and everything around us is a blur that can’t keep me on high alert. I don’t care either. I just want to keep kissing him until there’s no air in my lungs, and my skin is on fire.
A pool of excitement and lust form in my belly, making me quiver with anticipation. I pass a leg over him and straddle his lap without breaking the kiss. I slide a hand over his chest, looking for more contact to obtain more of what he’s willing to give me. The warmth of his body trespasses the fabric of his shirt.
He tears our lips apart for a second, and his eyes focus on me. Surprise shines on his orbs, his mouth slightly open as if he was waiting to see if this is happening.
I can’t believe it either.
Two days ago, I was suffocating with the fact that I didn’t know how to feel about him. Hell, I even doubted our friendship. Was it ever just that? However, everything that happened tonight made me realize that Stanley isn’t just a friend. He’s the person that I first think of when something happens to me. He’s the one that jum
ps into my head when I have good news, or I want to hang out with someone.
This night was the final nail in my evaluation.
I’m willing to risk my friendship with Stanley if it means that we have a chance of being together.
“Bree,” he whispers, and I wait for him to say something else, but he just kisses me again. Stanley deepens it, sliding his tongue into my mouth.
I gasp eagerly.
His hands abandon my face, going to my back, descending to my thighs. He entertains himself, caressing the naked skin, and goosebumps travel up and down my body. The shirt has rolled up my hips, the black fabric almost revealing my underwear. His fingers explore the hem of my panties, teasing me. My system is on flames, burning with the force of a thousand fires.
The temperature of the room has risen considerably, and it’s thanks to us.
“Stanley,” I pronounce in a weak whisper, my voice thick with desire.
He spreads kisses all over my neck, focusing on tempting the sensitive skin. A moan escapes from my lips, making me sound like a wanton woman, but I have no excuses. I need him, his touch and his kisses. I can feel my cheeks burning, my blood boiling, and wanting to explode. I know that he’s in the same condition because I can feel his hardness pressed against my center. A shiver hits my body, and I can’t help but roll my hips on his boner, seeking some kind of relief.
“Fuck, Bree,” Stanley mutters, his hands grabbing my ass, but he doesn’t stop my movements. He guides me, encouraging me to keep rolling my hips in a way that satisfies us both. We’re in a situation where we’ve stopped thinking. The pleasure is the only thing that matters. “Fuck.”
I agree with him, but I’m speechless from the heat. It feels so good. I crave more, and I need more. My body acts on its own when my hands grab the hem of his shirt, wanting to touch his warm skin. I want to know how it feels when his muscles tighten under my fingers, exploring zones that I haven’t seen of him.
“No,” he says, and grabs my hands, stopping me.
Stanley holds my hands, and I frown, confused.
“Why?” I ask, and that’s when I realize how raspy my voice is.
I’m agitated, breathing erratically.
“We need to stop.”
“What?” I’m not sure that I heard him right.
Stanley gulps, looking like he hates himself for saying that. Why did he say it then?
“I want this, Bree. I truly do, but we’re not doing it today,” he tells me and kisses my shoulder, letting go of my hands.
I’m confused, turned on, and frustrated. It feels like I got hit by a brick. I don’t want to pressure him, but he admitted that he wants this too. Why would he stop this? I want to know his reasons.
“Why? I’m more than willing,” I complain, my sexual frustration governing my body.
He lets out a long and excruciating sigh.
“Because you had one hell of a night.”
“And this could make it better,” I comment, rolling my eyes.
He shakes his head.
“Maybe. Or you could be consenting this because you’re emotionally overwhelmed,” he states.
Who the hell raised him? I let out a groan because it’s unbelievable. His golden personality is showing in the most inappropriate moment. When is he going to stop being a gentleman? Because now would be a great time to leave behind his shining armor and give in to what our bodies want.
“Seriously?” Stan nods, and I can’t hold back the whimper that abandons me. “What kind of unbreakable control do you have?”
Stanley chuckles.
“A moralist one, apparently,” he replies, and I don’t know if it’s a joke or not.
I scoff, abandoning his lap to settle on my side of the bed. I understand his point, I do. He wants to be sure that I’m not doing this to relieve the emotional distress of being mugged, but I treat both incidents as separate ones. Yes, I had a horrible night with an event that scared me to death. The memory makes my hands shake. However, it’s not the reason why I kissed him. It was the last push that I needed to accept the truth.
“Don’t get mad,” he pleads.
His begging tone makes my irritation decrease quickly. It’s not like I can be mad at him for taking care of me and respecting me. Stan genuinely cares about me and is concerned about my safety.
“I’m not mad,” I tell him in a softer tone. “I’m frustrated.”
Stanley gifts me one of his smiles.
“Why so frustrated?” His voice is deep and hoarse, causing me to shiver. I have to clench my legs together because the vibrations travel directly to my sex.
“Stan, if we’re not going to do this, then don’t make those questions.”
The bastard laughs about my situation.
I’m suffering from a severe case of blue vagina. The only thing that relieves me is that he’s going through the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but his eyes say otherwise. “I’m frustrated too.”
“May I remind you who stopped this?” I question, arching an eyebrow.
Stanley leads a hand to my face, caressing my cheek ever so slightly. I close my eyes, absorbing the feeling. His finger is rougher than mine, but I don’t mind. I enjoy the roughness of his skin because it’s probably the only tough side he has. Stan is possibly the sweetest guy I’ve met in my life.
“I like you, Bree,” he confesses in a whisper. “I don’t want this to be something that you do because you’re emotionally vulnerable. I don’t want to be something that you regret. The last time that we got too close, you avoided me for a week.”
I swallow the knot forming on my throat.
First, I process his confession, confirming something that everyone kept telling me that it was happening. I chose to be blind, but I can’t ignore it when he says it to my face. Stanley wears his feelings on his sleeve, and he’s not afraid of bearing his soul for me. There’s no place for misunderstandings. He’s straightforward and explicit.
I can’t help but wonder why he’s not afraid. I’ve been scared of what I feel for him. I’ve always been terrified of my feelings because I’m not good at expressing my thoughts or how I think. I’m an impulsive person. I go with what feels good and right.
I know that everything feels right with him, but I’m still afraid.
Having feelings for someone in a romantic way means that I need to get used to something that will last in a temporary world. I’m not skeptical about the fact that longtime relationships exist. My parents are proof of it—they were high school sweethearts. I’ve seen they’re real, and I’ve witnessed it. I’ve just never been able to experiment with something that lasted. I’ve dated guys before, had crushes and romantic experiences, but they never seem to last.
Stanley’s personality promises to build an everlasting relationship. However, I can’t deny my feelings. I can’t act as if I didn’t like him because I do.
“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he adds.
I shake my head.
“You didn’t,” I assure him. “I was thinking. I didn’t want to answer by impulse and then screw up. I don’t want to mess this up.”
“What was your first instinct?” Stanley interrogates.
“That I like you,” I confess.
He tries to fight against a smile, but it’s helpless because the corners of his lips curve anyway.
“Then?”
I sigh.
“I’m not good at handling my feelings. I’ve postponed this for a week, Stan. I always leave for another moment how I feel. Is that normal?” My voice ends up being small and quiet.
“I’m sure that I like you because you’re not normal, Bree.”
A shaky laugh escapes me.
“Incredible.”
“I realized that I truly liked you when you were talking to me about how much you adore The Addams’ Family. Trust me, I know that you’re not normal, and I like you nonetheless.”
My blood boils, concentrating on my face. I can feel it
burning as shame spreads in my body.
“God, Stan.”
“It’s the truth,” he assures, caressing my chin with his thumb, and I giggle.
“I realized that I liked you when I found myself in a dark street, alone and disoriented, and you were the only one on my mind.”
I’m able to hear him sigh as he wraps me with his arms, hugging me tightly. Stanley kisses my forehead, and I smile, enjoying this moment, his warmth and his smell. Everything clouds my senses.
“Are you really okay with what happened?” he asks.
Am I? It’s something that I haven’t given time to settle in.
“I still haven’t processed that it happened. It was so fast,” I reply, honesty decorating my words. “I’m just grateful that it wasn’t a bigger thing. Under the circumstances, I was lucky. I know that it sounds messed up, but I’m grateful that he just punched me and left. Is that okay?”
“It’s okay. I think you’re handling this like a pro, Bree,” mumbles. “You’re strong.”
“You’re complimenting me a lot tonight,” I mutter, and he stays silent, his arms wrapped around me. As the minutes pass by, I can feel time getting slower. We’re not trying to sleep, but he’s not making conversation either, and it’s killing me. “This was some kind of deep talk, huh.”
His laugh is contagious.
I kiss him once again, moving my lips in a calm and lazy rhythm. I have all the time in the world to do this.
“We’re not going there tonight,” he warns.
“Okay, we’ll have sex another day,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But we can kiss, right?”
Stanley rubs his nose on mine before catching my lips in a kiss. He doesn’t allow the make-out session to go any further. It never turns passionate and desperate, and he doesn’t put his hands all over me, a detail that surprises me. He has a control made of titanium because, by the time that he stops kissing me, I’m panting and wanting to do more than that. However, I respect his decision of not wanting to take things there.
“This is going to be hell,” he groans.
I smile and bite my bottom lips, knowing that he’s affected as I am by our kisses.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 17