Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours. Since I left your apartment yesterday,” he mutters against my lips.

  With my mouth delightfully occupied, I run my hands through his tousled hair, raking my nails along his scalp. He nips at my bottom lip and then abruptly swings me up into his arms. I let out a shriek of surprise, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he carries me down the hall, his mouth still glued to mine.

  It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. This is one of the things he loved to do; carry me to his room and lay me on his bed. I’d found the whole thing incredibly romantic, especially the part where he’d strip me naked and have his way with me.

  In his bedroom, it’s déjà vu as he lowers me onto his bed and comes down on top of me, pinning my arms above my head. I make a helpless sound in my throat. I need to touch him and not having my hands free to do that is nothing short of torture. It’s sheer agony as he continues to subject me to his deep and drugging kisses that leave me light-headed and all my erogenous zones on fire.

  Graham lifts his head and stares down, his eyes slitted and glazed with want. “Take off your clothes.” His command is gruff, barely audible as he releases my hands and moves off of me.

  This is new and a little disturbing, him insisting I take off my clothes. It used to be something he enjoyed doing. Something he loved.

  “You do it.”

  He shakes his head and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take care of mine and you do yours.”

  Pushing myself up on my elbows, I watch as he yanks his t-shirt over his head. Distraction comes in the form of chiseled pecs, ripped abs, and a dark-blond happy trail that’s always been able to make me happy. The involuntary clenching of my sex is the telltale sign of what the sight of him bare-chested does to me. My panties are going to be soaked before he’s naked.

  After dropping his t-shirt on the floor, he stares pointedly at my sweater and jeans and asks, “What’s taking you so long?”

  “Why won’t you undress me?” There’s something strange in his refusal. I can feel it in my bones.

  His fingers pause on the fly of his jeans, my question appearing to douse him like a cold bucket of water. The smolder in his eyes rapidly loses heat.

  Tell me. I wish I could will the truth from him.

  His expression shutters and his jaw tightens. “Get up,” he states brusquely.

  I bolt into a sitting position, alarmed at the abrupt change in his mood. “What’s wrong? If you want me to undress, I’ll undress.” I hastily remove my sweater, whipping it over my head.

  “Put your clothes back on,” he says, bending to pick his t-shirt off the floor. Motionless, I watch as he pulls it on.

  What is going on? Why is he acting like this?

  My mind swirls in confusion. It can’t be because I asked him to take my clothes off. That wouldn’t make sense. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?” My voice catches in my throat.

  Graham’s gaze briefly lowers to my breasts encased in my new powder-blue, demi-cup bra. He works his jaw. “Emily, would you please put your jumper back on.”

  Jumper? It takes me a second to realize he means my sweater. I do as he instructs but I’m determined to get to the bottom of what just happened.

  “Are you going to tell me what is going on? Why all of a sudden you’re acting this way?” I ask softly.

  With a glance at me, he quickly looks away, running a hand through his hair. Several more seconds elapse before he directs his attention back at me but still he says nothing.

  “Graham, talk to me,” I plead.

  He releases an audible breath. “Did you ever once consider that I might have pressured you into having sex with me? I came on pretty strong, and the first time, I wasn’t gentle.”

  Oh dear God. I scramble to my knees and place my hands on his chest. “Graham, you have to know that I wanted you just as much. Probably more.” I can hear the panicked desperation in my voice. “You didn’t do anything—anything I didn’t want you to. I mean the only reason I didn’t have sex with you on our first date was because I was afraid you’d think I was easy. But I wanted to. You have no idea how much.”

  The intensity of his stare has my stomach twisting itself into knots. His heart beats strong and sure beneath my fingers while mine pounds wildly with uncertainty.

  “Sometimes I can’t help thinking that I should have known. I should have known you were younger than you said you were. I should have picked up on the signs.”

  Feeling increasingly desperate and distressed, I run my hands over his stiff shoulders and down his arms until I reach warm bare skin. “What signs? There were no signs. I was tall and I’d been modeling for years. I didn’t look my age. Do you know how many times people thought I was in my early twenties when I was barely a teenager? All the time. I’d usually correct them because it was the quickest way to get rid of older guys. But with you, I wanted to be older, so I lied when you asked me if I was in college.”

  When he starts shaking his head, I’m filled with a renewed sense of urgency.

  “Remember, I was the one who spoke to you first,” I remind him.

  “I remember not being able to keep my eyes off you,” he says, his expression softening.

  His admission eases the tension in my body. “I think you caught me eye fucking you.” I still don’t know how I’d kept the drool in my mouth. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him when I’d spotted him walking towards me on Fifth Ave, and I’d been giddy that I’d managed to capture his attention. The connection between us had been instant and explosive.

  He laughs gruffly, remembering the moment.

  I sink back down onto the bed, tugging him with me as I wind my hands around his neck and stare into his eyes. “None of this was your fault, and I hate that what I did caused you to question yourself. Second guess your judgment.”

  “I should have—”

  “No,” I interject before he can finish. “You did what I wanted you to. You acted based on the things I told you, and you had no reason not to believe me. None.”

  The anger, the hurt, the betrayal, I’d understood him feeling those things, but his guilt is both surprising and painful. It never occurred to me that he’d find a way to blame himself for what I’d done.

  “I can’t help feeling that I missed something.”

  My heart aches. The regret in his voice makes me want to shake my sixteen-year-old self silly. Better yet, go back and warn her about the serious consequences of these kinds of lies. How they can destroy people’s lives. I want to tell her not to be so goddamn selfish.

  “Graham, you have to believe me when I say there were no signs. I had a brother who’d finished college and another in his second year, so I knew exactly what to say to convince you that I was a sophomore.”

  I loosen my hold around his neck, my hands resting once again on his shoulders as I uncurl my legs from underneath me.

  “We don’t have to do this now,” I say, motioning between us. “We can take this slow—if you want.” I don’t want. All I want to do is push him onto his back, straddle him and ride him hard. Free him of the guilt that’s long festered inside of him. But this isn’t about me, this is about Graham, and if he’s not comfortable with us getting physical again, I’ll have to respect that.

  In the silence that follows, he regards me, his gaze unwavering. Finally he asks, “Take what slow? What are we doing here, Em?”

  For an instant, my mind goes blank. I don’t know. I’d rather he tell me that way I can adjust my expectations to coincide with his because I’m up for whatever he’s willing to give.

  “Getting to know each other again?” I pose the question tentatively.

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what we’re doing? Or what you want.”

  On a deep breath, he tips his head back, the cords in his neck pronounced. I’m soon mesmerized by the smo
oth undulation of his Adam’s apple. I never thought a neck could be sexy until Graham.

  After contemplating the ceiling for a few moments, his gaze returns to mine. “I just got out of a relationship.”

  “I’m not picking out China patterns, Graham,” I joke, in an attempt to put him at ease.

  His mouth quirks, amusement lighting his eyes. “There’s something here, though. Something between us that hasn’t gone away.”

  I lower my hands to his chest. “Like I said, we can take this slow. And we’ll have sex when you’re comfortable.”

  He nods. “That’s probably a good idea. Give me some time to get my shit together.”

  A part of me—okay more than just a part of me—hoped he wouldn’t take me up on my offer. I’d rather he have said, I don’t want to go slow with you. I want you too much.

  I push aside my disappointment. “Okay. And Graham, I am so so sorry for what I did. I don’t know that you’ll ever realize how much. I hope you believe me when I say that you’ve never done anything to me that I didn’t want.”

  His laugh is dry and humorless. “That’s the thing about statutory rape though, Em. Consent doesn’t matter.”

  Tears prick my eyes. The sting of that particular truth hurts like a bitch.

  My voice is hoarse when I clear my airway enough to respond. “You had no reason to believe I couldn’t give consent, and that’s something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life.”

  After a pause and another long look at me, he leans over and presses a kiss against my forehead before rising from the bed. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I stand and straighten my clothes as he buttons his jeans. Given everything that’s happened, it’s probably inappropriate for me to be checking him out. My only excuse is that I can’t help myself. He’s a beautiful man with a beautiful body and the combination is downright irresistible.

  “Are you mad?” I ask as we exit the bedroom and walk to the front. Does he want me to leave? Is he showing me out?

  He peers down at me. “At you? No. At myself for not having my head on straight before we had sex? Yeah, maybe a little.”

  We come to a stop at the end of the hall. “Does that mean you regret yesterday?” I ask, unsure I want to know the answer.

  Graham takes his time responding. “I probably should but I don’t. And maybe that’s the problem I’ve always had with you. Knowing what I should feel and what I do feel.”

  The sound of the apartment door opening kills the moment, pulling my attention in that direction. A dark-haired guy walks in and halts upon seeing me. I can only assume this is Graham’s best friend and roommate Blake. Clad in black khakis and a cream and olive-striped shirt under a black jacket, he’s much better-looking than I expected. Dark scruff shadows his jaw and his eyes are a beautiful, chocolate brown.

  His gaze goes from me to Graham, his expression conveying just the tiniest bit of surprise. “Hey,” he says with a jerk of his chin.

  Graham immediately steps forward. “Hey. I didn’t expect you home until later.”

  His roommate’s gaze shifts to me again, this time assessing. “Apparently,” he remarks, his tone bone dry.

  “Right.” Graham gestures toward me. “Blake, this Emily. Emily, this is my flatmate.”

  I offer him a warm smile. “Hi.”

  “It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the infamous Emily,” he says, acknowledging me with a cool nod.

  As cryptic and perhaps backhanded as greetings go, this one tops the list. I strain to maintain my smile. “I hope not that infamous.”

  “Don’t be a fucking wanker,” Graham bites out, glaring at his friend.

  I’m not fluent in British slang but I know what that means. Don’t be a jerk.

  Blake’s feigned look of contriteness doesn’t fool me one bit. He doesn’t like me, which means one more barrier to overcome.

  “It wasn’t meant as an insult,” he replies, seemingly unruffled by his friend’s anger. And then in a show of courtesy, he walks over to me, his hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Emily.”

  I’m wary as his hand engulfs mine. Warm, dry hands are preferable and his fit the bill.

  “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s almost as if I know you,” he says, his expression deadpan. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Umph. I swallow hard. His friend is the master of barely veiled insults. It’s probably a good time to make myself scarce.

  “Actually, I was just leaving,” I say, turning to Graham.

  Graham’s eyes are narrowed almost down to a squint, his jaw tight as he continues to glare at his friend. He finally tears his gaze from Blake and looks at me. “I’ll walk you down to your car.”

  “Hey, thanks again for last night. I owe you one,” Blake says, addressing Graham.

  Color stains high on Graham’s cheekbones as his eyes flash a warning. I can’t help but note my ex looks decidedly uncomfortable.

  “Right.” Graham’s reply resembles a growl.

  It’s clear he wants the subject dropped but now my interest is well and truly piqued. What is he hiding? What was he up to last night? This might be my only chance to find out, so I take it. “I hope everything’s okay,” I say to Blake.

  He raises his hands defensively. “Look, he didn’t tell me about you or I wouldn’t have asked him to take Jess out. But I’m sure he explained that.”

  I blanche, the news landing like a punch to the gut. It literally knocks the breath out of me. I peer up at Graham. Livid doesn’t adequately describe the look on his face.

  “Fuck you, Richards.”

  Blake’s expression instantly hardens, growing ice-cold. This isn’t a guy people want to cross. “What did you do? Lie to her like she did to you? It’s like you never learn.”

  My face flames up as shame and embarrassment take hold. I want to crawl into a deep, dark hole and never emerge.

  Graham takes a threatening step toward him and I instinctively latch onto his arm, his muscles hard and tense beneath my grip as I do my best to restrain him.

  “No, Graham.” My tone is more a plea than a demand.

  “Mind your own bloody business,” Graham snarls.

  Blake looks like he wants to say more—a whole litany of things—but then changes his mind, shaking his head in disgust. “You know what, do what the fuck you want. It’s your life. Just don’t say shit to me when things go all to hell.” And then with a furious look in my direction, he turns and marches down the hall towards the bedrooms.

  The second I hear a door slam close, I turn back to Graham, who’s rubbing his hand over his face.

  “You were out on a date last night?” I do nothing to hide the hurt in my voice.

  Graham sighs. “Come on, grab your jacket and we’ll talk while I walk you to your car.”

  We take the elevator to the lobby in silence. I don’t want to push him but by the time we’re outside and heading to my car, I can’t tolerate another second of it.

  “Are you going to answer me or not?”

  “It wasn’t a date. Not my date, anyway. Blake is doing business with her dad and he asked Blake to take her out. Something about her being depressed about breaking up with her boyfriend and needing some cheering up. At the last minute, he got called away and he needed me to fill in for him. Apparently, she’d jumped through all kind of hoops to clear her schedule for the date. He couldn’t cancel at the last minute, and he wasn’t about to stand her up so he called me. And I went because I owe him. He was my first telephone call when I was arrested. His father was the one who got me in touch with a lawyer. He got this apartment and encouraged me to come back and finish my degree. Like I said, I owe him.”

  I hitch my purse strap higher up on my shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about it when I asked?”

  He halts at the front of the car and we face each other. “I don’t know. Probably because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I didn’t want you to think that I was datin
g other women after we’d slept together, and I knew that’s not what it was.”

  That I can feel good and miserable all at once must be a talent I’ve managed to perfect after all these years. Usually, it was one or the other.

  “So you didn’t sleep with her?”

  He stares at me aghast. “God, no!”

  “Did you kiss her?”

  A small smile flickers across his face as he enfolds me in his arms. “Not even on the cheek. I shook her hand when I met her and touched her back when I helped her into the taxi at the end of the night. She was a very sweet woman, but we spent the night talking about her cheating ex-boyfriend, and how men can’t be trusted. Besides my accent, which fascinated her, she wasn’t interested in me.”

  I huff a laugh and wrap my arms around his waist. “I don’t believe that for a minute.” What sane, single woman wouldn’t want to be with him? None that I know of.

  He grins, all white teeth and charm. “I’m not as irresistible as you think.”

  That I doubt.

  “So you called in to work to take a strange woman to dinner?” I’m still not wholly comfortable with that.

  “I did it to help out a friend,” he counters. And then he frowns and mutters, “Former friend.”

  “He’s still your friend. Your best friend, remember? Don’t be mad at him because of what happened upstairs. It’s not like I haven’t given him ample reason not to like me.”

  Graham’s mouth tightens.

  “He only knows the worst things about me. Why would he like me? You didn’t like me up until two nights ago,” I teasingly remind him.

  Graham begrudgingly concedes my point with a barely discernible nod. “But he didn’t have to be rude or bring up the date in front of you.”

  “He’s trying to protect you.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t need protecting,” he grumbles.

  I smile, encouraged that he feels that way. “So does that mean you don’t want us dating other people?” I ask, thinking about what he said about feeling guilty about going out on a date with another woman.

  He keeps me in suspense for a few seconds and then a smile spreads across his face. “I guess that’s what I’m saying. Unless you want us to see other people?”