by C. M. Owens
Since the music is still playing, I decide I’m not interrupting anything and open the door.
I realize too late I should have knocked, because this is his private space I’ve just thoughtlessly invaded.
My entire body freezes again. He’s only in his boxers, eyes closed as he lies on his bed with his hands behind his head. Words get forgotten, along with my reason for bursting in without knocking, as I stare like an idiot.
“Hey,” he says, causing my eyes to snap up as he leans over and cuts the music off, using his phone. “Everything okay?” he asks.
Oh, yeah. That’s why I’m in here.
Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and prepare to ease into the gentle confrontation necessary to move forward. “You’re mad at me about something,” I state cautiously. “But I don’t know what I did wrong, and—”
“I’m not even a little bit mad at you, Britt,” he interrupts, gaze hesitating on my legs.
Feeling slightly less certain that he’s angry now, my thoughts abruptly jump back to the fact he’s only wearing his boxers.
“I am, however, irritated at myself, because I’m making a simple situation very messy without any benefits,” he goes on…but I don’t comprehend his meaning. At all.
He’s being purposely vague.
He steps directly in front of me, and his arms move to the wall as he slowly and casually cages me in. My head falls back so I can meet his eyes as he stares down at me with a look I can’t decipher.
“Ask me for something else,” he says softly, confusing me as he presses his body even closer.
My gaze lingers on his lips. My attention is once again snagged by that hoop in his lip, even as I try to focus on the situation at hand.
“I don’t understand you’re meaning,” I tell him very distractedly, still staring at his lips.
He smirks. “Ask for something else. I can’t be the asshole who took your virginity and gave you nothing else in return. But I also don’t want it in your head that I rejected you based on your standard of rejection.”
Blinking, I look up, confused. Maybe it’s the phrasing he’s taking personally.
Just as I open my mouth, he says, “So help me, Britt, if you start pointing out that it was a rejection, I’m going to make a really big mistake. So ask for something else. I swear I won’t reject it.”
I heave out a very frustrated breath. Surely he’d be confusing to anyone and not just me.
My eyes flick to his lips again, and I consider it. In all actuality, I only have one goal. But…
“I want to know what it feels like to kiss you when you’re wearing that,” I say before I can think about it too much, my finger lifting to run across the hoop.
A groan sounds in the back of his throat, and that’s all the warning I get before his lips are suddenly on mine. It’s so startling that I don’t even close my eyes for the first second of it.
By second number two, my eyes are closed and the ‘mush’ term finally makes sense.
My entire body feels like it’s trying to go limp.
His arms come around me as his tongue teases the seam of my lips before delicately destroying the rest of my ability to think.
Why am I moaning? It’s too soon for moaning. And uniquely embarrassing.
My entire body feels like it needs to be closer, so I practically start climbing him, kissing him harder as control seems to flee from my grasp. His hands slide up, moving under my shirt, but not too far.
Another groan comes from him, and I know I whimper when he breaks the kiss that I wasn’t ready to end this time.
“Fuck, why are you wearing pants?” he asks on a strained sound.
“Why aren’t you?” I volley, just as his lips come back down on mine, swallowing the sounds that follow.
His grip on me tightens, and he turns me, backing me up until I feel the bed behind me. My fingers thread through his hair, and I can’t stop myself from trying to pull him closer once again, even though I don’t know how much closer we could possibly get.
He puts me down and immediately opens the button of my jeans. I don’t stop him from pushing them down. In fact, I help him out, wiggling, kicking, and doing all I can to get free.
As soon as I kick them aside, he lifts me again, and we crash to the bed. Immediately settling himself between my thighs with no preamble, and kissing me as his thin boxers compete with my indecently thin panties.
There’s a familiar pressure building as his body rocks against mine, and I try to catch my breath and kiss him harder all at the same time.
My mouth opens in a gasp, because it’s like a tiny ripple of explosions flutter across my body with phantom butterfly wings. My hips arch in response, rubbing against him, finding such a more satisfying friction than anything I’ve ever manufactured.
It takes me a long moment to blink out of the surprise at what just happened.
He groans into my mouth, his hips thrusting with just the right amount of pressure. It causes me to break the kiss so I can suck in some much needed air. All the sensations are almost too much, because I’ve kissed before…but never quite so…insatiably.
My hands are all over him, greedily raking in even more sensations when he makes another sound that seems to just excite my entire body all over again.
I ignore the nicety about friends not straddling other friends’ legs, because I’m desperate for more friction. His hands move up, jerking my underwear down hard on one side. He moves to mirror the action on the other side, and I freeze as I push against his chest.
The room goes silent, aside from both of our heavy breaths.
His hand stilled the second I panicked, and he remains bent over me. We both stay silent for a minute, calming, even as I try to wrap my head around the fact I just stopped for no reason at all.
And I can’t make myself continue this very second, even though I really, really want to. I wish he’d just work me through it instead of stopping just as abruptly.
His lips brush up the column of my throat as he slowly tugs my underwear back up with a gentler touch than he jerked them down.
“You see, Valkyrie Princess,” he says softly next to my ear, “you think you’re ready, but I know you’re not. I’ve known it since the first night you stopped me—well, I’ve known it since I learned you’re not gay.”
I huff out a sound, even as I try to suck in air and not feel irrationally embarrassed about the current situation at hand.
His lips brush over my throat again, and I shiver, but still can’t seem to get my body to cooperate with what I know I want to do.
“You think you want something cold and detached,” he goes on softly. “Something easy and painless, because you’re determined to avoid pain for the rest of your life.”
Cutting my eyes away, I stare at his shoulder, idly wishing the answers to this puzzle were inked on his skin instead of the tribal signs.
“But trusting someone with something you’re scared about, something that is now so built up so much in your head from the suspense that you’re terrified it’s going to be much worse than it really is? That takes emotion. Trust doesn’t come easily. Or emotionlessly.”
He leans up, using my chin to turn my face back to face his. In this moment, despite all my reading and preparation, I feel naïve.
“If you really didn’t want to be a virgin, you wouldn’t still be a virgin,” he adds, as though he’s summing everything up for me.
Feeling heat rise up my neck, I confess, “I’m scared.”
I feel him grinning against my cheek when he bends to press a kiss there—a chaste kiss, unlike the more consuming one we shared earlier.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he tells me.
I feel coached. I feel doubly like a novice. Worst of all, in this moment, I feel utterly inferior.
And if I’m being completely honest, I sort of hate it.
“It’s an irrational, unfounded fear that is preventing me from doing what I want, so it’s not okay to be sca
red,” I tell him as I gently shove at his chest, prompting him to move, as I continue to avert his eyes.
He mutters something under his breath, but moves, allowing me to stand up. Jerking my shirt down so that it hits mid-thigh the way it’s supposed to, I quickly exit his room and head toward mine.
That’s not exactly the conversation I was planning to have.
Maybe it was being caught off guard that led to my panic. Or maybe it’s just Base who makes me panic.
Or maybe my hymen is doomed to stay frozen in its current state.
Dildo penetration for hymen breaking is really controversial on the message boards, and too many horror stories have been relayed.
I suppose I could take on water sports. Girls have altered their hymen on accident that way. It’s not ideal, and I could end up—
“Britt,” Base groans from behind me, jogging to catch up.
Gently, he tugs at my elbow, and with more reluctance than I care to question, I turn to face him, staring at his…chest.
Nope. Can’t look him in the eyes. It feels like a physical impossibility. Embarrassment can have a crippling effect.
Idly, I notice he took the time to pull on some track pants. I almost want to thank him.
“Let’s not make it weird, okay?” he asks, his tone seemingly amused.
I’m not amused, so I really hope I’m reading that tone wrong. Which is a high probability.
His finger comes under my chin, forcing my head up, as he grins down at me. He definitely looks amused.
“How about you show me your game that you’re so into,” he suggests.
And people call me random.
“Okay,” is all I say as I do a quick about-face and march into my room.
He follows me, and I pull up Land of the Lost Lore on my laptop just to give him a quick virtual tour for no freaking reason.
Getting settled onto the bed, I deliberately place the laptop between us, giving the game my complete focus as I start showing him around the world.
“This is Valhalla,” I explain. “Only those with Valkyrie status can enter, unless a princess or queen allows you limited visitation.”
“What’s over there?” he asks, gesturing to a dark forest on the corner.
“It’s Eden. I need to climb three more levels before I can enter,” I tell him. “Taking on quests and new squires helps me achieve more level points.”
As if summoned, a message box pops up from an unknown squire, since I’m not wearing my headset and have the audio feed disabled for this showing.
Quickly, I respond that I already have three squires, and another message appears.
“Oh,” I say to myself when THEmanintraining explains he’s actually Sean—Maverick’s stepbrother. So I add him to my registry of squires.
“Who is Sean Young?” Base asks, leaning over me like he can learn more if he’s closer to the screen.
Before I can answer, another message box pops up, but this squire is one I know immediately.
We still on for tomorrow? I forgot I still don’t have your number.
Quickly, I type in my number on the message box, and reply with, yes to tomorrow.
“Is that Level-One?” Base growls.
“It shows you he’s a squire right beside the user name,” I point out, literally. My index finger almost touches the screen as I point to the squire box. “All squires are on level one.”
He scrubs a hand over his face before exhaling harshly.
“You’re still going with him tomorrow?” he asks incredulously.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, sincerely confused by how irritated he seems.
“We just kissed,” he says as though it’s obvious.
I bristle, certain he’s not implying what I think he is.
“Tommy and I are friends,” I remind him. “And I’m not sure what a kiss has to do with anything, considering you kissed another girl right after you kissed me the last time.”
Oh. So this is why people insist on being petty. It’s sort of…empowering, in a very immature, brash sort of way.
But for the first time since I admitted I was scared, I meet his eyes on my own, and he’s unquestionably glaring at me.
“She sucked on my fucking nose. I did not kiss her. But you’re willingly going on a date tomorrow, after we just had a very intense, intimate moment, and without a doubt he’s going to be all over you,” he says, his voice getting a little louder.
“Not that it should matter, but I have no intentions of kissing Tommy. As I stated, we’re just friends.”
He points between us. “So are we, and we still kissed,” he says, then darts to his feet, and storms out like he’s genuinely angry.
At me.
Like I’ve somehow betrayed him.
Which makes no sense, since Base has assured me we can’t be together, and has now proven I’m not even as ready as I thought I was.
Closing my laptop, I go after him, feeling my own ire steadily rising with each step of progress I make. By the time I reach his door, I’m reeling in my own emotions that could just cause this situation to escalate.
I open my mouth to say something practical, smart, and logical, but he’s already back down to his boxers and staring at his ceiling while lying on his bed. Why is his body so distracting?
His eyes dart to mine, narrowing on me.
“We’re not friends! Friends don’t straddle other friends’ legs!” I shout, having no idea why that’s the particular line that shoots through my lips like a poisonous dart.
At his confused expression, I turn and dart out.
This time, he doesn’t follow.
Chapter 19
BRITT
“So your cousins and brother are like really rich, I assume,” Tommy murmurs as he steps out of the car with me, his eyes taking in Dane’s massive home.
I’ve let him do most of the talking, while I silently prepared a series of questions that have been driving me insane. I need the women.
“Yes,” I state flatly as we walk around the side, heading to the back yard.
“I guess there will be fancy champagne and stuff then, right?” he asks, putting his hand at the small of my back.
I have no idea why that seems too personal and invasive, but I still wriggle away from his touch.
“No champagne,” I tell him distractedly. “There’s a two-beer maximum today since all the kids will be here.”
“Kids?” he groans.
Relief fills me when I see Harley. Before we can reach her, we’re intercepted by Dane, Maverick, and Corbin.
“Who’s this?” Corbin asks, seeming genuinely intrigued.
Forcing a smile to hide my impatience, I gesture to Tommy. “Tommy is a squire.”
All their eyebrows go up.
“In real life, I work at a surfboard shop and play a little guitar,” he tells them with a smile, putting his hand out to shake theirs.
But the word guitar has me back to struggling with my impatience to get to Harley.
“Guitar?” Maverick asks, sounding impressed. “Girls dig the guitar players.”
Tommy just grins.
I stand here impatiently.
Dane offers Tommy a beer that Tommy takes.
“Did you drive here?” Dane asks Tommy as he sips the beer.
Tommy nods, making an ahhh sound as he lowers the beer.
It’s all rather dull at the moment, and I’m tapping my foot as I try to remain in place.
“So how do you know Britt?” Maverick asks him, eyeing Tommy’s beer in his hand.
“I told you; he’s a squire,” I remind them.
“Squire?” Dane asks, sounding so confused.
“Land of the Lost Lore,” Tommy says, clearing his throat as he looks around.
I’m sure he’s constipated, but it almost looks like shame is what he’s hiding.
I have no idea what he has to be ashamed of. So that means his bowels must be blocked.
“Oh, you’re referring to the
game Britt and Harley love,” Corbin finally surmises, even as his grin grows and his eyes narrow on Tommy. “Gotcha.”
“It’s just for fun. I don’t take it as seriously as some people do,” Tommy goes on.
I frown at him, my impatience forgotten. “It’s a community of like-minded individuals who role play in escapism. It’s okay to take it seriously. I made it to Valkyrie princess in record time, and I’m learning to make my own costumes.”
He clears his throat again, shrugging as he gives the guys a smile. “Like I said, I don’t take it as seriously as some people do.”
Corbin pats my shoulder. “If Britt takes it seriously, then so do we. Maybe we should check it out and see if we can get involved.”
They continue to stare at Tommy.
“Oh, I mean I could take it seriously, if I had more time,” Tommy says, confusing me.
I’m quite confused enough at the moment. I don’t need this added to it.
I start tapping my foot again.
“Need to be somewhere, Britt?” Maverick asks, his eyes on my quick-tapping foot.
“I need to talk to Harley.”
“Then go on,” Dane says, winking at me. “We’ll show Tommy around. See what he thinks of the house and stuff.”
Relieved that I can have some privacy, I thank him, and leave Tommy behind as I hurry to Harley, who is fortunately in the middle of most of the other girls.
Surely one of them can explain Base Masters to me. And my predicament.
“Twenty minutes,” Rain is saying as she puts a twenty on the table.
“Thirty minutes. He looks like a trier,” Ruby says as she throws a twenty down as well.
“He looks clueless enough to make it thirty-five minutes at least,” Harley says, putting her own money onto the pile.
“Nope,” Ash says, holding her daughter to her as she puts money in. “Twenty-three minutes and not a minute longer.”
“I think you’re all overestimating him. I say fifteen minutes. Tops. Maverick had that look in his eye…” Salem lets her sentence trail off as she tosses her own money down.
I’ve seen them do this before, and have wondered why, but I’m still reluctant to ask before I’ve drawn my own conclusions just to see how close I am. However, this is the first time I’ve been close to the growing money pile.