The Bride Test

by Helen Hoang

  It was time, but he hardly knew where to take things next. He’d always thought there’d be an inner voice telling him what to do. Humans had been mating for thousands of years. It came to them naturally, instinctively. But all Khai heard was his own breathing. He was going to fuck this up.

  Eyes steady on his, she bit her bottom lip and removed her panties with a subtle lift of her hips. She kept her legs pressed together, but the cloud of curls between her thighs caught his attention. He swallowed hard. She was naked, gloriously naked.

  “Come here,” she said.

  His body obeyed on its own, edging between her knees and covering her, lining them up just right. The lure of her lips was too much, and he kissed her with a touch of desperation. When he rolled his hips, his cock slid over her, and the tip lodged inside of her. Just the tip. He went flame hot everywhere, his back, the base of his skull, his scalp.

  This was happening. Him and Esme. Together.

  He kissed her deeper as he pushed in slowly. Each inch changed him, broke him down and put him back together again, until he finally seated himself inside her completely, and she threw her head back and moaned.

  For a moment, he was too overwhelmed to move. He’d pleased her. He’d never dreamed it would be so easy to satisfy a woman. He smoothed the hair away from her face, kissed her lips, awash in tenderness and new sensation. There was nothing like being inside Esme. She was tight, fitting him like they were custom-made for each other, hot, soft.

  When her hips lifted, pushing him in farther, pleasure sizzled through him, and those instincts he’d thought he didn’t have fired to life. He pulled out and thrust back into her with a harsh groan, out, in, faster. Holy fuck, sex was good. Sex was fantastic, ten thousand times better than jacking off in the shower, a million times, a billion.

  And he knew it was because he was with Esme. She made everything different. He was so glad she was his first.

  * * *

  • • •

  Esme bunched the blankets in her hands as she fought against the need to touch Khải. His face was drawn like he was in pain. She wanted to soothe him, and then she wanted to stroke him all over. He was magnificent, all powerful muscle and hard lines.

  It was good, so good, and even though he hadn’t once touched her where she needed, she was achingly close. She arched her back and writhed against him, trying to find the perfect angle, but her motions only enflamed him.

  His thrusts picked up speed and grew shallower, and his mouth fell open as he pushed in sharply and locked their hips together for the span of several heartbeats. Lungs heaving, he kissed her on the temple. Then he pulled out, climbed off the bed, and disappeared into the bathroom.

  She sagged against the bed in disbelief. That was it? Surely, he had to be coming back soon. Her sex ached for him to return and finish what he’d begun.

  The shower started.

  She sat upright and stared at the door to the bathroom as her skin went cold. He was really done. He’d enjoyed himself, and now he was showering her off. It hadn’t even been a minute since he’d finished. Her lips were still wet from his kisses.

  Tears threatened, but she choked them back. She didn’t know how long she sat there staring at the bathroom door. It could have been hours or seconds, but she eventually jumped off his bed, gathered her things, and plopped them on the floor in her room. After she perched on the couch, she wrapped her arms around herself tight. She’d wanted to be with him, and now she had. Her curiosity was satisfied. She’d told him she didn’t expect anything, and that was what he’d given her. Nothing.

  Hurt and anger spiraled through her. She focused on the anger.

  When the shower turned off, she marched into the bathroom. He looked up in the middle of toweling himself. After an awkward second, he lifted the towel from his thigh and dried his hair, exposing his beautiful naked body. Defined muscle in his arms that bunched as he rubbed at his head, broad shoulders, firm belly, that part of him, strong legs. Everything perfect to her eyes, but not meant for her. He grinned at her, the kind with dimples, but the smile faded when she stared at him stonily.

  She plodded into the shower stall and stabbed at the buttons. What was wrong with her that his smile still melted her? She had no self-respect at all. When she scrubbed between her legs, her sensitive flesh throbbed with need. He’d kissed and touched her until she was wild for him and then abandoned her. Again.

  He would always be leaving her. Because she wasn’t what he wanted. She’d known this, but she’d thrown herself at him anyway.

  Foolish, foolish girl.

  As the water washed over her and heat sank into her skin, she swore everything stopped here. No more. No more secret hoping, no more seducing, no more caring about him. She was done. She wasn’t rich, classy, or smart, but she wasn’t something you could use once and toss away. She had value. You couldn’t see it in the clothes she wore or the abbreviations after her name or hear it in the way she spoke, but she felt it, even if she didn’t entirely understand where it came from. It pounded inside her chest, big and strong and bright. She deserved better than this.

  Strengthened by the force of her conviction, she turned the water off, yanked a fresh towel to her chest, and stepped out of the shower.

  Khải paused in the middle of brushing his teeth and turned around to look at her, letting his gaze sweep over her bare skin. It was impossible not to notice he was hard again, and her treacherous body warmed in response. Foolish, foolish body.

  She stalked past him and shut herself in her room without a word. If she tried speaking, she’d either cry or yell at him. After stepping into another pair of white panties and putting on her sleeping clothes, she shook out her blankets and made her bed on the couch. No more bed sharing.

  As she pushed her legs under the covers, a knock sounded on her door, and Khải stepped into the room, wearing a fresh pair of boxers.

  He rubbed at his neck as he took in the blankets on the couch. “You’re not sleeping . . . in my room? Like usual?”

  “The couch is fine.”

  His brow wrinkled, but after a while, he nodded. “All right, then. Good night.” Flashing a shadow of a smile at her, he shut the door, and his footsteps receded as he returned to his room.

  She punched her pillow before she pulled it out from under her cheek and hugged it next to her body like it was a person. She didn’t need to sleep with him. Her anger would keep her company.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The first thing Khai saw the next morning was the empty other half of his bed. No Esme, not even a wrinkle on the blankets. Was it normal to want space from someone after you had sex with them? He didn’t understand it, especially when she had nightmares when she slept alone, but he didn’t know what to do other than leave her be.

  He sat up, put his feet to the floor, and speared his fingers through his short hair. He’d slept like the dead—great sex probably did that—but everything felt off today. The walls were too gray, the room too dingy, his bed too big. Even his carpet looked extra ugly around his bare feet, and its softness wasn’t enough to make up for its offensiveness.

  Hoping routine would set things straight, he went about his regular Sunday morning tasks. He got ready, choked down a protein bar, and lifted weights, but Esme never left her room. He knew because he watched for her the entire time.

  After he showered, he found her sitting on the couch reading a textbook as a cartoon movie played on the TV. He got his laptop and joined her on the couch, thinking to work while she studied, but as soon as he sat down, she got up and disappeared into her room.

  What the hell was going on? Was she sick of him now that they’d had sex? He wasn’t sick of her. If anything, he wanted her more, not less. Frowning, he left his computer on the couch and went after her. Outside her door, he took a bracing breath, opened his hands wide to stretch them out, and knocked.

 
The door swung open shortly after that, and Esme faced him. She wore her yellow Em yêu anh yêu em shirt over knee-length shorts and had her hair in a sloppy ponytail with a pencil over her ear. She was so beautiful she made his chest hurt.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

  Her lips thinned as she stared at him.

  “Why are you acting this way?” He wanted her back to the way she used to be.

  She tipped her chin up, looking mutinously stubborn, and the perverse desire to kiss her rose. He almost acted on it, but she looked likely to bite him. Except then her eyes went glassy and her breaths quickened. “I do what I want.”

  “Are you hungry? I can—”

  “No, thanks.” She shut the door in his face.

  He stared at the door for a good minute. What in the world was going on? Had he . . . done something wrong? He couldn’t think of anything. There’d been the sex, which was amazing, and afterward, he’d showered right away so he didn’t smear his sweat all over her. That had taken monumental effort since he’d felt like someone had shot him with a hippopotamus tranquilizer. What was it? He wished he understood people.

  But he knew someone who did. Because he was an ideal human.

  He grabbed his keys and let himself out of the house. It took forty-five minutes to get to Quan’s neighborhood in San Francisco, and then fifteen more minutes to find street parking. When he finally hit the buzzer outside the condominium building, there was no answer.

  He tried it again.

  Still nothing.

  One more time with feeling.

  More nothing.

  Grumbling to himself, he got his phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother.

  Quan picked up on the first ring. “Yo, wassup?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

  “I’m outside your building.”

  “Whoa, what? Is something wrong? Wait, I’m coming. Hold on a second.” A softer female voice murmured something in the background, and he said, “It’s my brother. Be right back.” The call disconnected.

  Khai kicked at a spot of dirt on the concrete as he waited. It sounded like he wasn’t the only one who’d had an eventful night. He didn’t think Quan’s date would be ignoring and avoiding him all day, though.

  The front door swung open, revealing Quan in nothing but tattoos and an old pair of jeans. “Hey.”

  For a moment, Khai was so distracted by Quan’s tattoos he forgot why he’d come. “When did you get those new ones? Do you have plans for that bare patch?”

  Quan scratched at the swirling calligraphy on his right side that melded with the Japanese-style art on his left. “Gonna leave it blank. Too much of a good thing and all.”

  “You don’t think you already crossed the ‘too much’ line?” Khai asked.

  “Shut up, you. My ass is still bare. Come on in.”

  Khai entered the building, and they rode up the elevator together.

  “So what is it?” Quan asked as the numbers on the digital display climbed. “You never visit me.”

  Khai stretched his fingers out again before relaxing them. “I had sex last night. With Esme.”

  A giant smirk stretched over his brother’s mouth. “Your first time, right?”

  Khai nodded curtly. He’d never told anyone he was a virgin, but of course Quan, with all his excellent people intuition, had known.

  “Good job, little brother.” Quan held a fist out, and Khai bumped it with his own out of pure habit. Then he felt ridiculous.

  “You don’t mind? I know you said you were interested, and I—”

  “No, I don’t mind,” Quan said with a small laugh. “You’re my brother. I’ll always pick you first. Plus, I like her for you. I’m glad you went for it.”

  Khai filled his chest with a big breath, relieved he hadn’t ruined anything with his brother through his indecisiveness but also strangely proud Esme had chosen him over Quan. If Khai were a woman, he’d pick Quan, no competition. “She’s acting weird now, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “You mean like she’s getting clingy and you want her to stop? That happens sometimes. You gotta let them down gently. What I do is—”

  “No, it’s not that.” He wouldn’t mind clinging. That would be better than what was going on right now. “I think she’s mad at me, but I can’t figure out what’s wrong. She won’t tell me.”

  Quan’s eyebrows rose. “When did she start acting weird?”

  “I think . . .” He looked to the side as he searched his memories. “I think right after we, uh, after the sex.”

  Quan’s eyebrows rose even farther before his expression went blank. “Maybe that’s it, then. Did she, you know, did she like it?”

  “Yeah, that part was easy.”

  “Really,” Quan said in a dry tone. “Your first time out the gate.”

  “Yeah.”

  Quan gave Khai a skeptical look. “What are you, the King Midas of Orgasms? I’ve been perfecting my craft since eighth grade, and sometimes I still don’t know what I’m doing down there. Women are complicated.”

  “What craft? It’s sex. You put bodies together, and shit happens. It’s like the nature channel.” He did bad on the emotional front, but he’d gotten this part right, dammit.

  “I’m pretty sure we’ve figured out the problem,” Quan said.

  Khai shoved his hands into his pockets. “Tell me, then.” He was ninety-nine percent certain Quan was wrong.

  “How do you know she came?”

  The elevator dinged, and as they walked down a narrow hallway toward Quan’s place, Khai cleared his throat. “She made sounds. Those kinds of sounds.” Really good sounds.

  “Anything else?” Quan stopped at his door and turned the key in the lock.

  “What else is there?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, come in and sit down.” Quan opened the door to his bachelor pad.

  Khai stepped inside carefully, half convinced he’d find sperm on the walls, but it was mostly neat. There was definitely no sperm. That he could see. If you analyzed the black leather couches closely, who knew what you’d find. He didn’t take his shoes off before he followed Quan to his kitchen.

  “Have a seat. I need to fix my hangover.” Quan puttered around his modern kitchen, breaking eggs into a blender and adding orange juice. Once he’d blended the mixture to a froth, he poured it into an old giant Slurpee cup and joined Khai at the kitchen table. “Want some?” He held it out toward Khai.

  Khai grimaced. “No, thanks. Don’t you have Advil?”

  “Nah, ran out.” Quan chugged half of his concoction, set the cup down, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, back to the sex. My guess is she didn’t orgasm.”

  “What are the symptoms for orgasm?”

  Quan burst out laughing and drank more of his orange hangover cure. “Only you would talk about orgasming like it was a sickness.”

  Khai drummed his fingers on the table. “Can you just get on with it?”

  “Okay, okay, okay.” Quan took a deep breath before he chuckled, shook his head, and scratched at the morning scruff on his jaw. “First, she—wait, wouldn’t it be awesome if Michael were here? He’s a pro at this shit. I know, let’s call him.”

  “What? No. Can’t you just tell me?”

  Quan waved his fingers toward Khai’s pockets. “Get your phone out and call him. He can verify what I say, so you can stop looking at me like I’m cheating off someone’s test answers.”

  “You call him.”

  “He won’t pick up if I call him. It’s Saturday and not even eight yet. If you call him, he’ll think it’s an emergency. You never call anyone.”

  Rolling his eyes, Khai fished his phone out, dialed his cousin, and hit the speaker button. There was no way in hell he was doing all the talking alone.

  Michael
picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, Khai, how’s it going?”

  Khai held the phone toward his brother, and Quan said, “Michael, we need your expertise. It’s about orgasms.”

  “What the hell? Are you kidding me?” A frustrated sound crackled through the speaker. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “We’re not kidding,” Khai said quickly.

  There was a long pause before Michael said, “What did you want to know?”

  Khai took and released a tight breath before asking, “How do you know when a woman is orgasming? What are the sym—signs?”

  “Wow, okay. Orgasms. Um . . .” He cleared his throat. “There are lots of signs, but not every woman is the same. Generally, she’ll . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Why is this so hard?” He laughed a little.

  “Fine, since you’re mature as a nine-year-old, I’ll start,” Quan said. “Sounds are really misleading. Half the time when you have a noisy woman, she’s a faker, and she wants the sex to be over because she’s not digging it. It’s better to watch her body. When a woman is about to come, she tenses up, and her hips rise. Her skin flushes. And when the orgasm hits, she convulses hard and fast. Her whole body might shake. If you’re paying attention, you’ll feel it on your cock or your fingers or your tongue, whatever you’ve got going on. It’s fucking awesome.”

  After another long pause, Michael said, “What he said.”

  An uncomfortable feeling crawled over Khai’s skin as he stared at the phone and then his brother’s face. “I don’t know if she did all that. I was distracted by how good it felt.”

  “Were you inside her?” Quan asked.

  “Well, yeah. That’s how you have sex,” Khai said. They taught that in fifth-grade health class.

  Quan gave him an impatient look. “Did you touch her clit at all?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh hell,” Michael said.

  Quan smacked his palm to his forehead. “Her clitoris. It’s where you stimulate her to make her come.”