before his lips brushed over mine, so gently that I shivered.
Did this man have to take everything in measured steps? I was dying a slow erotic death.
He positioned his body over mine. “I love your eyes. They remind me of a rainstorm.”
My hands rested on his chest and I moved them up to his hair. It was silky-smooth, and I closed my
fists around the velvety strands.
Then the soft pillows of his lips hummed in concert against mine.
When his tongue slipped between my lips, I whimpered. He explored my mouth slow and careful,
and all the nerve endings in my body began to pulse against him.
He reached into my hair, tightening his hold and deepening the kiss.
His tongue lapped against mine like his life depended on it. Something that sounded like a growl
emerged from the back of his throat and sent another heat wave ripping through me.
Bennett was kissing the shit out of me and I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care because if this is
what kissing him felt like, I could get my fill of oxygen later.
He pulled my lower lip into his mouth, and then my top lip, taking his time sucking each one as my
fingers dug deeper into his neck.
His hands never traveled south even though I would have welcomed them. All of his focus was on
my lips. And then on my neck. And then on my ear. His hot breath making my toes curl.
This man knew how to kiss. He shifted again and the entire length of him covered me. I felt every place on his body that
touched mine—his chest, his stomach, his pelvis. Bennett claimed a patch of skin at the base of my
throat and drew it into his mouth hungrily. The ache between my legs intensified and I tilted my hips
against his.
His tongue slid back inside my mouth, wet, deep, and forceful. Like he was starving and I was his
last meal. I fought to keep my breaths steady. They were as reckless as my thundering heart rate.
An eternity passed before Bennett took a breath, but I immediately grieved the loss of his tongue.
My lips were swollen and my face stung from his stubble, but I’d welcome him back in a heartbeat. No
questions asked.
He looked into my eyes for a long, silent moment before kissing the hell out of me again. His
mouth captured mine in a desperate, frenzied, heated rush. I was jumping off a cliff, sinking, drowning,
and couldn’t have cared less about being saved as long as he kept kissing me.
I was aroused, flying sky-high, and could barely take anymore. I wanted this man, if he’d have me.
He pulled me on top of him, and I could feel his hard-on bumping against the thin material of my
underwear. He was hot and throbbing and I was panting and desperate from need.
I traced my hand down his stomach to the top of his shorts, and he shuddered out a breath.
He latched on to my hand to stop me. “Avery, I don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“The same thing you’re doing to me,” I said between heavy breaths. “Bennett, I want you.”
His whole body stiffened. And then he moved from under me. “I . . . I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” My voice had raised an octave. “Why the hell did you come over,
Bennett?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He placed his head in his hands. “You’re the sexiest
woman I’ve ever met.”
This man was the personification of sexy, so Bennett thinking the same about me was mind
bending. A shiver of gratitude raced through me, only to vanish, like that vivid moment when a snowflake lands on your fingertip, pure and whole, the second before it dissolves.
“What’s the problem, then?”
“Avery.” He reached for his shirt on the floor. “I’m . . . waiting.”
“Obviously,” I said. “Waiting for what?”
“For the right girl,” he said, sitting up.
So he did think I was some kind of whore. A sexy whore, at that.
I balled my fists and considered using them on him. “Oh I get it, I’m nice to sleep next to and grope
on the dance floor . . .”
I didn’t know what I was getting so uptight about. He had clearly explained to me that he wanted a
commitment. And I had made it clear I wasn’t girlfriend material—so why did it upset me that he didn’t
think so, either?
“No! You don’t understand, Avery,” he said. “I want you. Damn it, I want you like I’ve never
wanted anyone before.”
“But . . . ?”
“But . . .” The look in Bennett’s eyes was resigned, dutiful even. “I’m a virgin, Avery.”
I slumped forward as if I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. “What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t need a definition,” he said, rushing his fingers through his hair.
I stared at him for what seemed like hours, thoughts ticking through my brain. A slide show of our
time together. The party, the sleepovers, the dance floor.
“Go ahead, get it out,” he said, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve heard it all.”
I shook my head, not sure what he wanted.
His voice went up a register to sound distinctly female. “Maybe I’ll be the one to break you,
Bennett . . .”
Hadn’t I tried to break him? My pulse pitched at that realization.
“Or how about this one—I’d rather be with someone who knows what they’re doing.” That last girly imitation made me sit all the way up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said, looking crushed and angry all at once.
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “This is like breaking headline news for some women, including me.”
“Obviously.” He pulled his shirt over his head and then brought it down over his smooth chest.
“I guess I just want to understand.” I fisted the sheet in my hand. “Can you explain it to me?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do I really have to?”
“No, you don’t; I’m sorry.” I averted my eyes, feeling like an idiot. “You have the right to your own
privacy. That was stupid.”
“No Avery, I’m the stupid one,” he huffed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I want to know you,
I crave being around you. But you’ve made it clear you don’t do relationships.”
“And you’ve made it clear that you do. So I’m to blame as well.” I wanted to tell him I hungered
after him, too, that I felt the exact same way—but the very thought of sharing that was terrifying and
would have blurred the lines even further.
“Look, I’ve been taking care of my mom and sisters for as long as I can remember. My mom was a
teenager when she had me, and we had to live with my aunt for a while,” he said, explaining himself
after all. And I didn’t want him to stop talking, so I kept my mouth shut. “My mother’s been in so many
crappy relationships. Men treated her like garbage.”
“Same with my mom,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
“And what a great role model she turned out to be, because my sister got pregnant at sixteen, too.”
He was up and pacing at this point. “I swore to myself I would never have casual sex and knock a girl
up. I’ve always worked odd jobs to help Mom pay the bills. No way in hell was I going to support my
own kid, too.”
“But don’t you think that’s extreme?” I asked. He rolled his eyes, like he’d heard that one before,
too. Probably from the hordes of girls that wanted him so badly. But still, I tried making my point.
“There’s plenty of good birth control out there, and lots of people are having
sex and not getting pregnant.”
“Like you?” he said before a look of regret shot through his eyes. “Damn it. I’m sorry, that was
uncalled for. Guess I’m feeling defensive.”
“I deserved that,” I said. “And for the record, I don’t always have sex. But I’m not ashamed of
wanting it sometimes, either.”
“I hate that you saying that makes me jealous.” He stared at me, distress in his eyes. “Shit, this is so
messed up.”
A guy jealous over me was a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to.
“But it’s more than all of that, Avery,” he said. “I saw how casual guys were with my mother, how
they threw around the word love to get what they wanted, when I knew it was all a bunch of bullshit.”
I nodded, knowing full well what he meant. I’d seen it plenty in my house, too.
“I want something real,” he whispered. “And I’m willing to wait for it.”
My throat closed up at his words.
“Are you . . . waiting for marriage?”
“No.” He looked me dead in the eye. “I’m just waiting for love.”
Those words rocked me hard. He sounded so honest and sincere and brave.
“Have you never been in love before?” I asked.
I had, once only. Gavin and I were sixteen and about to make love for the first time. And then Tim
ruined it for me. For us. Like a big dark shadow that turned our love into fear, and eventually hatred.
If I could have a redo of my first time, I’d take it in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t be so scared, so
distrustful. Maybe then Gavin wouldn’t have been so shitty to me after all was said and done.
“I thought I was in love once, but then I realized how very wrong I was,” he said. “So I don’t plan
on making that mistake again.”
Here was a guy who actually valued women. And he had to meet someone like me.
“Believe it or not, Bennett,” I said. “I respect you so much more now.” “Is that all you feel for me—respect?” he asked, inching toward me. “Because the way you were
kissing me . . .”
He wanted something from me that I couldn’t give him. Not now. Not ever.
Man, this was tough. I wanted him, bad. But there was no way in hell I could have him. Not when
our goals were so vastly different. So why did the idea of walking away slice somewhere deep inside my
core?
He was just another guy. A hot and deep and irresistible guy. Who happened to be a virgin. And
happened to live in my building, where I’d be forced to run into him all the time. Fuck my life.
“I feel . . . horny,” I said. He shook his head and his jaw ticked. “I’m sorry you have to be attracted
to someone like me. I can’t be that girl for you, Bennett.”
His eyes drilled a hole through me, trying to reach inside and grasp on to something. “You can’t, or
you won’t?” I shut my eyes tight against the truth. “Both.”
Chapter Eight
“He’s a virgin?” Ella screeched. I ducked my head from probing eyes.
Rachel, Ella, and I were back at the campus coffee shop in a cushioned corner booth in between
classes.
Rachel was a business major, and after Bennett’s declaration that one day in the laundry room that
my field of study should have been something more cutthroat, I couldn’t help thinking it was the perfect
major for her.
Ella was a psychology major, and she liked to use her mumbo jumbo terms on me, saying that I
was repressing my feelings about Tim and projecting them onto men everywhere.
“Holy crap!” Rachel said. “You realize how messed up it sounds that he just happens to be attracted
to a bitch-ass like you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Geez, thanks a lot, dickhead.” I may have acted nonchalant, but I wanted to
pound her one. Was it really that farfetched of an idea?
“She didn’t mean it that way,” Ella said, giving Rachel big eyes. “You’re a lot of things, Avery. A
lot of wonderful things—for a bitch-ass.”
“But you are definitely emotionally unavailable,” Rachel said, smoothing her hair behind her ears.
My eyebrows drew together. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“I’m not denying that,” Rachel said, laughing. She was busy making eyes at a prospect across the
café. She was in constant player mode. I paled in comparison to her antics. She had something to prove,
and I had something to . . . avoid. Ella grabbed my hands. “Do you have feelings for this guy?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I said. Then I saw the look on Rachel’s face. The one that said that our
solidarity would be ruined if I said yes. “Of course not. Other than lust.”
“Okay, pretend Rachel’s not here and your slut-o-meters are not in mutual heat,” Ella said, shooting
daggers at our other friend. “You are so feeling something. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Does it really matter?” I huffed. “I’m a train wreck. You’ve said so yourself.”
“As a joke, yes. You’re so not,” Ella squeezed my hand. “You just think you are, asshead.”
“She kind of is.” Rachel snickered with those disgustingly perfect pouty lips.
Rachel’s story was different than mine. She’d been in a five-year relationship with her first love.
They got engaged and she joined him at an out-of-state college, then she realized that she just wasn’t
ready for the ’burbs and marriage. She broke it off with him and moved back home to attend the local
university.
We met Rachel at a party last year. The same drunk guy was trying to hook up with both of us—
together, I might add—and instead of Rachel’s claws coming out, as might be the case with other girls,
we laughed it up and decided to play a little prank.
Rachel was decidedly more evil than I was. She got the guy naked and horny as hell in one of the
frat bedrooms. Then she hid his clothes instead of coming to find me, which was what she told him
she’d be doing. He was ready for a ménage à trois and what he got was a limp dick and a bunch of jocks
razzing him.
Rachel admitted to blazing through all the men she hadn’t been able to have for the last five years.
Ella thought she was still in love with her ex-boyfriend, but she’d never admit it. I assumed she just
needed a break to grow up a little and figure things out. She wasn’t into talking about feelings, so we
kept things light—when it came to discussing her life, at least. But she was funny as hell and great for
comic relief.
“Besides, how totally cool would it be to bed a virgin?” Rachel’s eyes gleamed with something I recognized—the hunt. “Teach him what to do. He’d be like an eager puppy, wanting to please the hell
out of you.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve already been with a virgin,” I said. “Gavin, my boyfriend in high
school?”
“Yeah, but that was different. You both were virgins. Neither one of you knew what the hell you
were doing.”
“How did I end up friends with the two of you?” Ella rolled her eyes. “You’re both full of shit, no
matter how many boys you mess around with.”
Ella was always telling us how we were both just running away from our own hearts. More of her
psychology bullshit.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, taking a huge breath. “That boy knows how to kiss—he’s no virgin
in the tongue department.”
“That’s a damn good sign,” Rachel said, high-fiving me. “Wear that boy’s defenses down.”
As I imagined Bennett’s tongue tangling with mine, a heat wave broke out over my skin. I also
entertained thoughts of what might have happened had we not had to stop the other night.
I was bummed that I wouldn’t be feeling those lips, those strong arms, or that sinful body of his
again. It was more than that, but I’d never come clean to Rachel. To anybody, really. But I also enjoyed
Bennett, the person—his sense of humor, his taste in music and movies, that look in his eyes when he
described his art.
But that still didn’t change the fact that we wanted different things, despite wanting each other.
***
Bennett and I hadn’t seen each other in a few days, and I missed him. But I was moving on with my life.
And I was sure he was, too. Maybe he’d call that girl he had been seeing and give it another chance. I
thrust those jealous thoughts out of my head. Besides, I was getting together with Rob tonight. I knew it might be reckless considering what had
happened last time—how unfulfilling it’d been—but now that I’d had some distance from Bennett and
his amazing lips, maybe I could see Rob in a new light. Which would really be the old light. I did used
to think he was cute and sexy. Plus he’d never given me any reason to dislike him. He wasn’t into
relationships, either, so really, the arrangement was perfect.
As soon as my apartment door shut behind Rob, he was ready for action. He dug the foil wrapper
out of his pocket and was already slipping off his shoes. His lips instantly found mine, and my legs
easily slid around his waist. He carried me to my bed, and even though I didn’t feel scorching-hot for
him, I prayed he could meet my needs tonight.
Sex with Rob was always quick—no words and no foreplay.
But I couldn’t help wishing for the build-up, the smoldering burn that I’d had with Bennett the
other night.
“Rob, wait,” I said, scooting away as soon as my back hit the bed. “Give me a minute.”
I shut my eyes and winced. I wasn’t feeling it for Rob tonight. And I didn’t think I could pretend
again. “I changed my mind. I just can’t tonight.”
“What?” He stared at me with his fingers frozen on his zipper. “Why’d I come all the way over
here, then?”
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