by Cassie Mae
“You’re welcome.” Best two bucks I’ve ever spent.
“Maybe you can help me christen it.” A blush covers her cheeks and my face warms, too. Her eyes dart to the sponge on her hip and she fiddles with the tag. I can’t even think about rubbing that thing over her body, down her neck, in between her shoulder blades, the small of her back . . . suddenly that frog doesn’t look so creepy anymore.
I rub my hand over my neck, my pulse beating so hard I feel it jump against my palm. “Walk with me?”
She flicks her gaze to mine and holds it as she slips off her sandals. “Not too close to the water.” Her smile gets hidden by the snow cone as she brings it to her lips, and instead of holding her hand, since they’re full, I wrap an arm around her waist, twisting my thumb around her belt loop.
We walk across the boardwalk, and Em gets stopped by a few people. She’s good at introducing me as her “sexy new boyfriend” to her girlfriends, and she makes sure to squeeze tight against my side when we run into her guy friends. I breathe deep between each meeting, wishing I was a more interesting person, but I’m not good with crowds. And my brain keeps repeating what Em said about her sponge, and I keep thinking about how I want her, but I’m terrified. And just when I’m wishing I’d popped a Xanax before heading out, Em stops us about twenty feet away from the shoreline and stands in front of me, offering the last bite of her cone.
“No thanks.”
“You sure? Yellow is yummy.”
I roll my eyes and feel my heart rate slow. “I’m sure. I like watching you eat it.”
“Oh really?” She dips a finger in the center of the paper and wipes it all over her mouth. I laugh and lean forward, kissing the ice that dribbles off her chin.
“I knew I’d get you to laugh,” she says. “Why are you being so quiet?”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not with me. Is something on your mind?”
I tighten my hold on her belt loops to keep me steady. Her phone pokes out from her front pocket, but it stays silent. Maybe she turned it all the way off. She hasn’t reached for it once—hasn’t touched her pocket or fiddled with the phone case. I take in a deep breath, recalling what Dr. Shuman said about overcoming anxiety, facing what I’m afraid of, and how Em’s always been good at saying the right things . . . when she’s paying attention.
And she’s paying attention now.
“You remember a couple of nights ago we talked about what scares us?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Well . . .” I force my voice out through the frog in my throat. “I-I think it’s time we face our fears.”
Her eyebrows lift and she shakes her head. “I’m not going in that water. You can forget it.”
I tug her toward me and she shoves the empty snow cone cup into my pocket, then grabs my arms.
“Eric, don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“I know what you’re thinking and I . . . I . . .” Her fingernails press into my skin, and her eyes and mouth open wide as she shakes her head again. “I can’t.”
Something about her fear forces mine back. It balances my breathing, and I don’t even have to concentrate on methods or heart rates or anything, really, as I smooth my hands over her ass, grip her legs, and hoist her onto my waist.
“Please don’t throw me in,” she says, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I give her backside a tiny squeeze, and she lets out a whimper I’m not sure is pleasure or pain, but she tucks her face into my neck before I can interpret her expression.
“I’m not going to throw you in.”
“You said this was about facing fears. You can understand my hesitance to believe you.”
I spread my fingers over the curve of her ass where it meets her legs, and swallow hard when my pinky hits her overheated skin. “My fear, Em. Not yours.”
It takes her a minute, but her chest relaxes, and she leans back in my arms. “Why are you afraid of me?”
It’s a good question, and my mind tries to come up with the best explanation. Nearly everything about her scares me, but it excites me too. I can’t put my finger on it, and I don’t even notice my labored breathing until she sets a hand on my cheek and traces her thumbnail over my bottom lip.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Emmy.”
Her neck runs crimson. “And that’s scary?”
“Yeah. It’s no secret that I’m not the best-looking guy.”
“Shut up. Yes you ar—”
“But you’ve always been that girl. You’re beautiful, and funny, and talented, and stubborn, and crazy, and loud, and everyone likes you, wants to be around you. You’re my best friend, and I want you.” I take a deep breath and count. After five seconds I let it out. “But I don’t feel worthy of taking you.”
She lets out a gorgeous, uneven laugh. “I want you to take me. Seriously, I’m dying for it.”
I smile. “That helps, I think . . .”
“Are you nervous?” Her hand drops to my shoulder. “Because I’d be your first?”
“Yes and no.” I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t scare the hell out of me that I not only feel incompetent in this area, but also have to live up to or surpass whatever she’s experienced before. But when we take that step . . . I want it to be permanent. And that’s what scares me the most.
I adjust her on my hips, sweat sticking between my palms and her legs. “I’m more nervous because I want to be your last.”
“I want that, too.” She bites back her smile and tucks her face into the crook of my neck again. “Are you scared right now?”
I nod. “I-I have a hard time adjusting to new things. And this, the way we are together—physically, is still new.”
“I get that. Sometimes I wonder if I’m learning all about you again, because we see each other differently. But then I remember that I’ve always seen you this way.”
“What way?”
“As my best friend.” She tilts her face up. “I just get to kiss you now.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch when she plants her lips on mine. Her grip tightens on my shoulders, and mine on her ass. I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t, because my mouth is busy, and I don’t want it to take a break. I can feel the world tilting and my brain starts going on about the people around us, that maybe my hands aren’t in the right place, and when I’m not focusing on Em anymore, I know I need a second . . . just a second, then I’ll be okay.
I break the kiss, and my head drops down onto her shoulder. I’m ashamed I had to stop before we really got started, and I know her patience is only going to last so long.
She lets out a sigh, and damn it, I’m so pissed at myself I loosen my hold on her legs to set her down, but she clenches them around me tight. Her hand slides down to my chest and she presses her palm against my heart.
“Will you carry me to the water?”
“What?” I move my head up and her eyes refuse to meet mine.
“Don’t drop me in, or let me touch it or anything. Just . . . take me out there?”
“You sure?”
She nods, then hugs me tight around the neck. I adjust her body again so that it’s more comfortable to walk, and I walk the twenty feet to the water.
She’s shaking, and taking the same calming breaths I do when I need them. I give her a light squeeze to warn her before taking the first step into the water.
It’s warm tonight. So warm and refreshing I could soak myself in it. The ocean cures my nerves, but I can tell by the pounding of her pulse it doubles hers.
“You want me to move back out?”
“No.”
“Em, you’re shaking.”
“So were you ten seconds ago.” Her nails dig into my shoulders and she presses her forehead to my neck. “But you seem okay now.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“You’ll hold on to me, right?”
“Of course.”
“Even though touching me like this . . . sc
ares you?”
I shake my head, about to walk straight back out of the water. “You don’t need to prove anything. It’s my own thing I gotta deal with.”
She gives me a look that shuts me right up. “Just keep hold of me.” She wiggles on my waist, and I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but her softness presses up against my hardness, and now we’re both back to shaking.
“Em . . .”
“Don’t drop me.”
I gulp, and try to will my erection to calm the hell down, but it doesn’t listen. Her heart’s pounding against mine, and we’re both clinging to each other, not moving a damn muscle.
“A-are you okay?” she asks after what seems like an eternity. Even though Em’s a light girl, my muscles are at their breaking point.
“I . . . I think so.”
“Just one more thing, then you can put me down—on the sand.”
She pulls back and I’m expecting a kiss, but I don’t get one. Her bottom half shifts and rubs against me in a way that extracts a groan from my throat. And I don’t feel ready to run. I want her to do that again.
And again and again.
She’s holding her breath. One of her legs strokes mine as it straightens toward the water. Her eyes focus on the ocean, and mine focus on her as I feel her toe plunge into the water near my ankle.
It’s there for less than a second, and she yanks on me so hard I have to really grab ass to keep her from falling in.
“I did it!” she squeals, and I laugh on our way back to the beach, and then I drop her feet in the sand. Her face is flushed and sort of glossy with sweat, but her smile is so wide and so sexy as she hops up and down. “I can’t believe I did that, oh my gosh, that was—”
I grab her and tug her toward my mouth, kissing her hard, long. We’re both still smiling between breaths, and with each swipe of my tongue on hers, I mentally tell her thank you for what she just did, not only for her . . . but for me.
Chapter 19
Emilia Johnson
about an hour ago
Happy Fourth of July everyone!
27 people like this
***
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I hate today
Mia2—
I think I need a vacation. I know most people go to Florida to get away, but I don’t know how you handle the humid shit . . . how do people survive down here?
Anyway, happy Fourth of July. I’ll be sitting at home doing absolutely nothing. Maybe get shitfaced.
Sorry for the gloomy mood. Today was supposed to be my second anniversary with Mia. I know blowing stuff up will probably help, but eh . . . I’m just not feeling it today.
YOU have fun watching all the fireworks though. I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.
—Scott
* * *
I feel blah today. Like super-high up, super-down low sort of mood swings. I miss Dad. Fireworks are his favorite. He texted me this morning before I went to work, telling me to play my firework game with Eric tonight, and I plan on it, so that makes me happy. So yeah . . . it’s been an up-and-down kind of day.
Then I get an email from Scott, and I want to feel bad for him, and I want to help somehow, but I also feel like I can’t get sucked into another conversation that will take hours and hours because I want to be with Eric tonight.
My boyfriend.
I need to be with my boyfriend, damn it! It’s been a couple weeks of us doing the same thing. He’s romantic or funny or cute and I want him so much I just attack. He pulls back and I pull out my phone. Then we both get pissed at each other, apologize without really explaining why we’re both acting like that, and fall asleep together. It’s been a stupid cycle I wish could stop. So I’m going to try to stop at least my part of it.
But if I ignore Scott, I feel like that’s totally douchey. He is a friend-type person. I’ll just type a quick email and log off. No computer, no phone . . . no Kindle, no Facebook or Twitter or whatever. None of that! I will be with Eric and that’s it. He’ll have my full attention.
Hey. Sorry today is a sucky day for you. Do what I do when I’m in a crappy mood . . . read lots of romance novels, eat whipped cream from the can, and drink so much you end up dancing around naked with one of your pillows.
If that doesn’t work, I’ve thrown cupcakes against the wall. The “splat!” makes me giggle.
You’ll have a big mess in the morning though. Just a warning. ;)
Happy Fourth! No grumpies!
—Mia2
Okay . . . That. Is. It. I’ve done my part, now it’s time to put it away for the day.
But I could check my Facebook real quick before Eric gets home so I don’t feel tempted to check it while we’re . . . no! Dammit, Mia!
I speed click to the sleep button and slam the lid down. That in itself was an accomplishment. I want to pat myself on the back. After I slide the laptop under the bed and sit upright, I totally do. And I’m smiling like a big dork.
I did it.
Bing!
Ah shit, my phone. I forgot about the email notifications. Scott must’ve responded. I don’t want an unopened email on my cell, because I’m sure Eric would freak if he sees it. This whole Scott thing is innocent, but I know it’d put him in a sour mood.
I’ll just read it, then turn off the phone.
For some stupid reason, I make sure my door is closed before opening the email.
Ha! You made me feel better already. Not sure if I know many romance novels though. Any suggestions?
I blow out a sigh and slide to the floor. I clack back and forth on my phone for another hour, cursing myself for being so weak, and vow I’ll do better tomorrow.
A tap comes at my door, and I fumble around with my cell till it’s on silent and secure in my pocket. I’m in the middle of drafting another email, but I’ll do it in the bathroom later or something.
Oh my gosh. What is happening to me?
“Uh, come in.”
The knob twists and Eric pokes his gorgeous head in. “Honey, I’m home.”
I push off the floor and into his arms. I want him to wipe away this person I’ve become. He’s so good at it.
“Hmm . . .” He walks us into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound makes my stomach twist and flutter. “I was going to take you out for fireworks,” he says into my neck, hands running over my hips and down my butt. Ever since that day at the beach, he’s had a hard time keeping his hands off it, but I’m totally okay with that. He grips my cheeks as he presses our bodies closer together, and we both let out quiet laughter. “But I think I want to stay in. Just for a little bit.”
Or a lotta bit. I grip his shoulders and jump on his waist. He stumbles back, but the door catches us. I kiss him hard, wiggling as much as I can so he keeps his hands on my ass. I want him to touch me everywhere. I want him to want me as much as Scott wants his Mia. It’s not as if I know all the details of Scott and Mia’s relationship, but he shows so much passion toward her, even after a year, that I assume things were hot. I want that for me and Eric.
And shit, I’m thinking things I shouldn’t when I’m with him. I need to stop thinking . . . stop comparing. Just stop.
I try to tell him with my body what I want. I want him to press against me. I want his hands under my shirt. I want his tongue and teeth on my neck, then lower. I want it all. And he should not be afraid of that because we both want it all.
I move against him, but he keeps me back. It frustrates the hell out of me, and I wish his hair was longer so I could yank it. Instead I bite, I lick, I suck every part of his lips and mouth. He growls, finally responding to my aggression. But it’s still . . . not enough.
He’s holding back. I sneak a peek at his face—his pained and concentrated expression tells me he won’t let go. Why the hell will he not let go? I whimper into his mouth, pulling back enough to say, “Eric . . . please.”
“Em . . .” he grunts, struggl
ing to pry me from his hips, “we have to go slower. I need to go slower.”
“Why?” I know he said he needed slow, but my ego needs to hear why he still wants slow. I’m on the verge of tears because he says it’s him, but what if it’s really me? Every other relationship on the planet seems to go faster than this.
He kisses me lightly, and I know it’s to reassure me, but it pisses me off.
“Will you just trust me?” he whispers against my lips. “And remember that it’s damn near as painful for me as it is for you.”
“Doubtful.”
He smiles, and it makes me feel maybe, sort of, kind of, a teensy bit better. But I’m still ramped up to the max, and if he wants to keep going slow, he better take me out in public right now.
“Emmy,” he says, tucking my face into his hard chest. He smells like Tide, and it’s the smell and the warmth of him that causes my lips to curve up in the dorkiest of smiles. I’m frustrated, but it feels good here. “I have to go slow, because too fast and I’ll lose control. I’ll freak out. I’ll run. I can’t do that to you.”
He’ll run? Just the words cause my grip to tighten on his shirt. If he thinks I’ll get pregnant, and he’s not ready for that, I should let him know I’m covered for the birth-control thing and ease his mind. But I don’t want to bring it up now, especially since we haven’t talked about protection, or exactly what sex means to either of us.
Maybe he’s right, and we need to take things at this freakish turtle’s pace if we want to make this last. And boy, I want to make this last and last and last.
“Okay.”
“Is that a real okay, or an okay that means you’re humoring me?”
I hug him tighter. “It’s real.”
He squeezes back. “Okay.”
We hold each other, following his rules and going slow. But as I breathe him in, and he rocks me, I don’t mind going slow anymore. It really does feel okay. Right. At least, right for us.
I wonder if this is how real life couples fall in love. You know, if love is the direction I’m heading.