With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

by Jensen Kristyne

  “Theo, I . . . I’ve never—”

  “Brielle,” he whispers. His teeth nipping at a spot just below my ear. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

  Reaching his hand into the tub, Theo slips it under the water. His fingers skim the top of my knee, then smooth their way down my thigh. I gasp when a feeling rushes down my body to the spot between my thighs, the pressure building as a soft moan escapes my lips.

  I feel his lips brush the corner of my mouth, and I turn into the kiss. In anticipation, my back arches off the cool ceramic of the tub. His fingers slowly start to move around in quick circles against the spot where I’m most sensitive. I close my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. It's something I've never felt before.

  The building pressure knots somewhere deep within my stomach. I raise my hand, wanting to run my fingers along the ridges of his washboard abs when I graze a thin slip of tape.

  Parting my lips, I attempt to stop his assault. My conscious temporarily caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, as I debate whether or not this would be on the list of restricted activities while he recovers from his wounds.

  I tilt my head back on the tub, trying to steady my breathing as I look up and watch his eyes darken.

  “I can handle it, baby,” he says and presses a soft kiss against my lips. Once again, his ability to read my mind amazes me. “Do you trust me?” He smiles, his eyes holding my full attention.

  I nod, which I can tell pleases him. He brings his hand up to my chest, and gently teases the area between my breasts. But he doesn’t stay there long, as his hand disappears again under the water. He applies some pressure as he works his fingers in small circles. The rush of pleasure instantly builds once more. Without warning, he slips a finger inside of me. The initial shock startles me and causes me to moan.

  "Fuck. You're so tight."

  I feel my cheeks burn as I wonder if I’ve done something wrong, when his lips claim mine. His tongue dips down and sweeps over my bottom lip. I inhale a sharp breath, and in response, he nibbles it.

  “I love your lips.”

  “Really?” I moan into his mouth until he crashes his lips against mine.

  With his other hand, he skims my collarbone before he dips down and cups my breast. His fingers expertly tease my nipples while he pinches them. My senses are on overload, as I feel the muscles in my stomach clench.

  “Theo,” I call out to him. His finger moves in and out in a steady rhythm.

  I part my lips, ready to beg for mercy, but he stops me. His lips are against my own as his tongue pushes into my mouth. The pressure builds further, and I rock my hips into his hand, desperate for relief. I feel the warmth of his breath drag along my collarbone as he brushes his lips over my tender skin and then nips at it.

  "Tell me you want this, Brielle."

  “What?” I then moan when I feel his lips move up my neck.

  “Tell me. I want to hear you say you want this. That you want me.”

  “I want you.” I inhale a quick breath and hold it as I feel a tightening deep within my stomach. As if reading my thoughts, Theo's fingers pick up the pace, and I feel like I'm hovering at the edge of a cliff. "Theo. . ."

  "That's it, baby. Come for me."

  Those words are all it takes for me to lose myself. My legs start to shake as my vision goes white, and I press my eyes shut. My back arches off the cool surface of the tub. The sweet ascent of pleasure surges deep from my core.

  A small smile escapes my lips, and I open my eyes to find Theo watching me. He smiles in return and then presses his lips once more against my mouth before removing his hand.

  "Enjoy that?" he teases, raising his fingers to his lips and sucking them. "Fuck, I want to taste you."

  I giggle, not knowing what to say, but suddenly find myself wanting to return the favor. I cut my eyes to a certain area on his pajama pants and feel a wave of energy take over when I see the large bulge staring back at me. But there's something else that catches my eye too.

  It's then I notice the swatch of blood that's spreading along the corners of his bandages. William’s voice, dawdling on about being careful not to pop a stitch rings in my ears.

  "Theo, you're bleeding," I manage, my words still too breathy for my liking.

  "It's fine, baby."

  "But your doctor said. . ." My voice trails off as I sit up and take a closer look. My left hand gently holds his side as my right works to make sure he didn't tear anything. Slowly, I pull back the corners of his bandages but find the sutures are fully intact. "We need to change your bandages." I frown, looking up at him. The intensity of the moment we just shared together is deflated.

  Theo sighs but doesn't argue. Rather, he stands and walks out into the bedroom. The muscles in his back tense as he moves to sit down on the bed. I turn to the sink and silently curse myself for leaving my towel so far away.

  Crap.

  I turn back to find Theo has his back to me. Hesitating a moment longer, I pull the plug and stand up slowly, waiting to see what he will do. After a few seconds, I hop out, and wrap a towel around myself. Then, I walk across the room to my purse and take out the small emergency kit the doctor gave me before we left.

  When I have it, I pad over to where Theo is sitting on the bed and close the distance between us. The look in his eyes is incredulous as I work to change his bandage.

  "You know, I could really get used to seeing you like this." A wry smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

  "Oh really? Like what?" I smile back, clipping the end of another line of tape.

  I’m thankful that I actually made a point to pay attention when the doctor explained how to do this—unlike Theo, who chased his antibiotics down with a straight shot of tequila.

  "Wet and touching me."

  chapter twenty-two

  THEO

  I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to look away. Damn it. This continuous torture of having her so close, and so wet, is fucking with my head. Did I really get away with touching her? I squint down and sneak a peek. Her blonde hair is wrapped in a fluffy bun, and her delicate fingers are skimming my burning skin.

  Jesus, the things I want to do to her. I feel my cock straining against my sweats, but all I want to do is dive between my girl's thighs and taste her. Fuck, I want that so damn bad. I've never minded the act of going down on a girl before, but I've never craved the possibility as much as I do with Brielle. And when I’m done, I want her to feel me—all of me—over and over again, until she's begging for release.

  Having noticed my tunnel vision, Brielle bats her eyes and looks up at me. Oh no. I know that face. I wet my lips. "Brielle, I'm fine." I choose to focus on those swollen lips of hers, imagining just how good they would feel wrapped around my cock. The chance to finally claim that feisty mouth is doing nothing to help stave off my need for more.

  I inhale a deep breath and lean back. I need to cool off. If I move too fast, I could scare Brielle away. Not that I could keep her—no matter how much I want to. The truth of the matter is, she’s safer away from me. Without me. Another reason why I’m pissed that Wes asked Becks to call her in the first place.And another reason why I didn’t object to Katrina coming instead. Brielle is too good to be buried under all my shit.

  In one swift movement, she decides to rip the final bandage off the rest of the way. The adhesive lining grips on to my skin, mercilessly. I watch the edge of the wound pull, causing the very bottom suture to stretch and tear. Before I can even blink, a thin line of blood trails down and drips along the white sheets.

  "Oh my God," Brielle gasps as she reaches for a dry washcloth and presses it to the wound. "I am so sorry. I thought it would help if I went faster. I—"

  "Brielle, it's fine." I reach out to reassure her. This constant need of hers, to worry over me, still catches me off guard. "It's just a little blood."

  I pull her close to me; the smell of her coconut shampoo encircles us. The feel of her hands on me are somehow turning my i
nsides out. I smile and press my lips to her forehead. Damn it, if this girl isn't my fucking weakness.

  "Should we call the doctor? Do you think he'll have to replace the stitch?" "Oh. My. God. He's going to regret sending me to come instead of Katrina, isn't he?"

  I press two fingers under her chin and tilt her head up. “I'm fine. It takes a lot more than a popped suture to hurt me.” I’m not lying when I tell her this. Even if it were a big deal, I’d rather bleed out than call William back.

  I saw it on Brielle’s face when William first arrived. She was impressed by him—and of him. It didn’t help that he couldn’t keep his fucking eyes to himself either. It took all I had not to throw his ass out. But if I did, I’d still be bleeding, sitting in my chair at the office and surrounded by a shit ton of people I care nothing about. At least William had the sense to suggestBrielle should be the one to come home with me. If he hadn’t, I would have gladly accepted more drugs.

  I lock eyes with Brielle, and she parts her lips. The better part of my mind scolds me in all the reasons that I should leave before allowing this to go any farther than it already has. But, greedily, I am unable to resist the urge to be closer to her, and I press my lips against hers.

  In a matter of seconds, I have her straddling me. Her legs are squeezing against the outside of my thighs as she rocks her hips against my cock.

  "Fuck, Brielle," I groan and reach around to cup her ass. "If I knew how much you liked playing doctor, I would have suggested it a long time ago."

  Running her fingers through my hair, she gently tugs a fistful, forcing my head back. She shifts her weight and rocks up on her knees. Those full fucking lips are teasing their way up my neck, until I can't wait any longer. I pull her down to me and groan against her lips.

  I press my hands against her back and try to mold her body against my own. Fuck, I want this girl. Bad.

  "Can I . . . um. . ." Fuck, this is awkward. "Can I take off your towel?" I ask, fully prepared to get a stern "hell no" and a slap to the face.

  If she were any other chick, I'd rip the damn thing off, fuck her, then move on with my life. But this isn't just a random ass girl; it's Brielle. I’d rather face rejection, than ever push her into doing something she isn’t ready for.

  I can see the hesitation building behind her eyes, but she surprises me, yet again, when she leans back and nods.

  Holy fuck! I almost jump. How the hell did I manage to get so lucky? I stumble in disbelief, but before she has the chance to change her mind, I reach for the knotted towel, covering her swollen breasts, and tug it free. My cock grows a full inch as my eyes greedily devour the length of her perfect fucking body.

  I half choke, my mind temporarily seizing, when, for the life of me, I can't understand why Brielle would be interested in me at all. I feel like I've been given a gift that I didn't deserve. The girl of my dreams is finally within reach.

  "Can I do something to you?" she asks. The gentle tone of her voice makes me want to do even more dirty things to her, as I lean forward and brush my lips against hers.

  "Can I ask you a question first?" I hear myself say, not realizing until after I’ve said it, that I said anything at all.

  Jesus. Don't do it, Theo, my conscience pleads. That son of a bitch I often tune out, for whatever reason, is deciding to ruin this moment for me.

  "Of course." She smiles and sits back on her thighs.

  Oh, fuck. . . fuck. . . fuck. . . fuck, I silently repeat, trying not to think about how close I am to being able to roll her over and taste her.

  I lick my lips.

  "Um, w-why did you come here?"

  "What? What do you mean?" she asks, crinkling her nose in that cute way she always does when someone asks her a question that surprises her.

  She tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms to cover her chest. Shit. I can already see it—that invisible wall building back up behind her eyes. Nice going, conscious. All you had to do was shut the hell up. But no. Damn it. Why do I feel this undeniable urge to protect this girl, even from myself?

  "I know, you know what I'm talking about, Brielle," I reluctantly answer. My tone treads the harsh line of open honesty and makes me sound like a complete dick. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. "After everything that happened with Mason, why don’t you hate me too?”

  She immediately drops her hands to her side and rocks off my lap. I watch her fold the towel around her petite frame, then sit back down on the far edge of the bed. The distance between us hurts more than any knife wound could.

  "Stop." Her voice weak.

  I can’t help wondering if she’s about to cry.

  "Stop what?"

  "Why?"

  I take in a deep breath. "Why what, Brielle? Talk to me."

  "Why are you trying to ruin this? You always do this." I can hear the constant break in her voice, and I know that if I keep pushing, she's going to fall apart. "I thought you wanted this . . . I thought you wanted me."

  "The fuck? Of course I do! I've wanted to be with you since the first time we met— that day I saw you floating on that damn flamingo inner tube in the pool. This isn't easy for me. I mean, fuck. I lo—" I pause, choosing not to finish that train of thought. Instead, I take the safe route. I decide to tell her the truth. A different truth. "It’s just, I don't deserve you. I wasn’t good for you then, and I sure as hell am not good for you now."

  Brielle laughs, but I know better than to think she’s finding any humor in what I say. No, she’s pissed. Worse. She’s fuming. "You're unbelievable." She turns to leave, but her feet barely have the chance to brush the floor before I reach out with my bad arm and grasp her waist.

  "Answer the question, Brielle. We can't avoid this forever." I roll my eyes, feeling her try—and fail—to break away from me. The pain from holding on to her courses through my side, but I bite it back because I need to know.

  "What do you want me to say, Theo? That I've felt guilty every day for what happened that night? That I wish you hadn't pushed me out of the way?" she shoots back defensively, but I expected that.

  Brielle is too selfless of a person to not assume that this, in some way, is all her fault—that she was the reason Mason's killer chose to fire that gun—when in reality, that couldn't be further from the truth. She presses her hands firmly against my chest and holds them there. The intensity of her emerald eyes burn until I relinquish my hold on her.

  "I want you to admit that this . . . will never work." I motion between the two of us. My heart thrums loudly in my ears as I hold my breath and wait for her to say something.

  "I know." She sighs. The tears she’s been holding back now slip down the sides of her cheeks, one after the other. "It's all just too confusing. I loved you, Theo. Really loved you. But then Mason was killed by that crazy, drug dealer at the bar, and everything changed so fast." She bites her lip. "You just left. And I was hurt for a lot of reasons but never because I blamed you. You didn't pull the trigger. I was there. You tried to stop it."

  "No, but Luca is right." I finally let out the breath I've been holding for what now seems like an eternity, not willing to accept her answer. With a gentle hand, I wipe away her tears. My thumb lingers a second longer, brushing over the top of her bottom lip. "It was because of me and because of my feelings for you that blinded me from the danger of the situation."

  I stare back at her as seconds quickly turn into minutes, and I wonder if it shouldn't be me who breaks the silence first. On second thought, no. I better not. I know that if I do there's a very good chance I might slip up and ask another question, which has been eating away at me ever since the first night I saw her: Does she have feelings for Luca?

  This is the same question that nearly knocked me over, again, tonight, and the night of the bonfire—a hit worse than an unexpected kick to the gut during any match I've faced at K.O.

  "I don't love him," she offers as if having read my mind. I stare openly at her, trying to understand why she so willingly brought it up.
"I know you, Theo." She does it again. She reads my fucking mind. "I saw you watching us in the parking lot. I know you heard him."

  "Oh," I say as Luca's words echo in the back of mind. "So then . . . you finally kissed him because you, what? Really care about him as a friend?"

  Brielle reaches out and playfully swats at my chest. "He kissed me, you jerk!" She smiles, but it fades almost as quickly as it appears. "It was earlier this summer. I told him I didn’t want to force any feelings, when there are none, but Luca’s told me before that he thinks it’s just because I’m scared."

  “Scared? What would you be scared of?” I feel a slight twinge of excitement as I wait for her to respond.

  “Because I’ve never opened up with a guy like that. At least, not since . . . you.” She hesitates, looking down at my chest before lifting her hands to cover her face. “And because I’m still relatively new to a lot of things.”

  Jesus.

  "You’re a virgin?"

  I watch her tilt her head to the side. The corner of her mouth slowly pull into a sly grin. "Would that be a problem if I am?" she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Does it make me an ass if I say it would be easier if she wasn’t? Because, at least if she weren’t, I wouldn’t feel like I was completely corrupting her. In a perfect world, I’d like to think I would be someone deserving of her. But I’m not.

  "Theo?" she calls my name, leaning forward to gently push me to lie back on the bed. Her fingers softly graze the tender skin around my wounds.

  "I don't know whether it's a good sign that the bleeding has stopped or if I should start to worry." She looks at me with concern.

  I press my lips together to keep from grinning like a fucking idiot when I say, "Maybe it's just been diverted elsewhere for now."

  "Theo Wescott, you've got enough going on to be thinking of that anytime soon."

  I shake my head. "Eh. . . I heal fast."

  Brielle drops her head and stares at her hands. Her eyes glint up at me every so often as I watch her debate on how to respond. It’s a damned sight to see. Brielle has always been beautiful, but somehow over these past five years, she's graduated to so much more than that. Beautiful almost seems too simple. I shut my eyes and pause, trying not to slap myself across the face.