Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  With one hand, he unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper down, skimming his hand into the front until they found the soft cotton of her panties. When she made a move to shimmy them down, he rose and tutted. “I told you that I’d take care of you. A foot, if you please.”

  She raised her right one, and he worked her black leather kick-ass boot off to reveal a dark blue sock covered with Superman emblems. The sight was like a kick in the gut. He raised his gaze to meet hers.

  “Comic books were easier to read. Less words, more pictures. I kept the stash you gave me as kids. I reread them so many times, I memorized them.” She shrugged. “The socks reminded me of you.”

  He peeled the sock off and reached for her other boot, not trusting himself to speak. She’d held onto him in her own way. Time had tested but not severed their connection. He laid a kiss on the arch as he peeled her matching sock off.

  He dropped her leg and grabbed the waistband of her jeans, pulling them off and tossing them aside. Her panties glowed white and very brief, hiding almost nothing from his greedy eyes. He reached for them as she raised her hips to help. She was naked, and he wished the storm away, wished the moon would light the curves and contours of her body.

  “Now you,” she said in a breathy voice.

  He wasn’t wearing shoes and made quick work of his jeans, kicking them aside. She inhaled sharply, her gaze on his boxer briefs. He was afraid to look down, but could feel his erection straining for release as if it had developed a brain. Or maybe his brain had migrated south.

  He joined her on the bed, stretching out next to her and gaining a small amount of relief in pressing himself against her hip. He needed to be inside of her, but even more, he was desperate to please her.

  She tried to turn toward him, but he pushed her flat, his hand splayed over her stomach. Letting his instincts guide him, he curled his hand around her hip and squeezed before slipping his fingers between her legs. Her hand strayed to the front of his underwear. He grabbed her wrist and pushed it over her head.

  “Do I need to tie you up?” Her lips parted on a quick inhale, but he couldn’t discern shock from arousal in the dimness. “I want you to lie here and let me touch you.”

  “What about you?”

  “We’ll worry about me later.” He nuzzled her breast before kissing his way across the softness. He sucked her pert nipple into his mouth, and she arched. Was she even aware how sexy and inflaming her whimpering moans were?

  He caressed down her belly, her legs spreading before he even reached her pubic bone. He slipped fingers through her wetness and groaned around her nipple, stifling a curse. The list of things he wanted to do to her was growing by the minute. He prayed this was the first of many nights.

  She grabbed both his arms, her nails digging into his skin. Her body was taut, ready to break, and he raised his head to watch her. Her orgasm rolled through her with the wildness of wind during a storm.

  Her hips bucked, and he pushed a finger inside of her, his erection throbbing in time with her body. Her head thrashed. The chant of his name was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. The adolescent part of his brain fist-pumped and cued the Superman theme. The moment was definitely theme-music worthy.

  Her body settled back against the mattress. He kept his hand between her legs. A satisfied humming came from her smiling lips. He leaned over and brushed his mouth across hers. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. She curled a hand through the hair at his nape and dabbed her tongue against his lips. He opened for her, and the abandon of her kiss settled an ache around his heart. All of the protections she kept in place like a force field had vanished.

  “I’d like to worry about you now.” She trailed a hand inside of his underwear, fingers brushing the sensitive tip of his erection.

  He stood and pushed his underwear off. Another gasp from her lips. Primal instincts blanked his mind of rational thought. He settled between her legs, braced his elbows on either side of her head, and swept his tongue into her mouth at the same time he entered her.

  Pushing up on his hands, he drove himself deeper inch by inch until he was buried inside of her. Her squirms only heightened his pleasure, but he grasped onto a thread of his civilized self. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. God, no. Please, Nash.” She rotated her hips, and he hissed a long, slow breath in and out through his teeth. He pushed to kneel between her legs and watched where they were joined, wishing again for more light.

  He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back inside of her. Being civilized and gentle was lost to him. He grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs farther apart and up, his hips pistoning. The thunder and pelting rain urged him on.

  He dropped an ankle, pressed a finger against her, and rubbed. He didn’t slow his pace, a sheen of sweat popping over his shoulders. His body begged for release.

  She cried out, her body pulsing. He thrust once more and let go. A mind-numbing pleasure rolled through him. His toes curled, and he fell over her, her body spread out, lax and supple and inviting. He ground his hips into her one more time, inciting moans from them both, before pulling out and rolling to his back next to her, his body weak and tingling. He couldn’t move.

  Best. Sex. Ever.

  * * *

  Without his body anchoring her, Tally’s mind pinged from past to present. Doubts threatened to swamp her even as her body hummed like she’d taken a shot of liquor. She’d had the best sex ever with her best friend.

  The boy whose sticky hand had held hers while they’d spent hours wading the river. The boy who had hugged her after her parents had died, imparting a measure of hope that she’d clung to for months. The boy who she’d thought had abandoned her but hadn’t.

  Her intentions had been to physically distance herself from Nash while attempting to salvage their friendship. Instead, she had done the complete opposite. The darkness was deep, the thunder receding and leaving a heavy rain in its wake.

  She’d had sex before. Even what she’d considered pretty great sex. But she’d never been made love to, and for the first time, she realized there was a difference. Sex had never involved more than nerve endings firing. Pleasure. Physical release. Satisfaction.

  The door they had thrown open required her to lay out her vulnerabilities and trust him. Required her surrender. She’d handed him the power to wound her. A power she’d kept close for too many years to relinquish after one bout of sex. The flash of insight was as potent and damaging as a lightning strike.

  Panic washed through her. Part of her wanted to curl into his side, let his hands cast her worries aside as easily as he had her clothes, but her fears had come home to roost. She needed to be alone and work out what this night meant.

  The longer she lay, the louder the primal part of her yelled. The air became oppressive, and her breathing grew shallow. She sat up, swung her legs off the bed, and reached around for her clothes. Panties first. Her bra was too complicated for her shaking hands.

  “I’m assuming this means no spooning?” His voice reverberated in the room like distant thunder.

  She startled and looked over her shoulder as she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt. He’d propped his head up on his hand and pulled the sheet over his hips, the white line stark against his solid, tanned chest. Her ability to see in the dark was nearly her undoing. Her fingers itched to pull the sheet away. She turned her back to him.

  “Look, Nash, this was”—fun, amazing, heart-rending—“a mistake. Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m not the cuddling type.” Tears stung her eyes, but her voice was thankfully granite hard. She pulled her boots on, sans socks, and stood, casting a reluctant glance from the corner of her eye.

  “I don’t want you to go.” His tone was testing, and like every other test in her life, she would fail.

  “I gotta go.” This time her voice cracked, and before he could make a move, she ran the same route as she had the first morning. Rain blurred her eyes and chilled her body. She slid into her car. A strange
disappointment bled through the panic.

  She was seriously screwed up if she expected—wanted—him to chase after her. Like he was the one with something to prove. The tears came even before she turned off his street, mingling with the rainwater dripping from her hair. It was an ugly cry, her nose running and her face splotching.

  The state line seemed to represent more than a change in towns or states, it seemed a representation of her life. Nash was so close, yet they were separated by their experiences. Somewhere along the way, their paths had diverged.

  She parked and walked to her apartment, her head down as she trudged up her stairs. All her worries and thoughts were on the man she’d left behind.

  “Whose bed have you crawled from?”

  Heath’s voice startled her. Her keys skittered down two steps. He stepped from the deep shadows of an opposite doorway. Rain poured out of the leaf-clogged gutters like curtains leaving them cocooned from the outside world. She felt trapped.

  “What are you doing here? Seriously, you are crossing into creepy stalker territory and it doesn’t suit you.”

  “I want to talk to you. Let’s go inside. You look cold.” His eyebrows rose, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. She glanced down and crossed her arms over her chest, muttering a curse. How had she ever found his obnoxious half smile attractive? It was calculated and without a hint of real happiness. Not like Nash’s easy grins.

  “There’s nothing left to say.” She made a move, but he stepped in front of her.

  A teeth-baring grimace replaced the half smile. “I want another chance with you. I’ll do whatever, be whatever you need me to be.” His tone and expression offset the words.

  A couple of months ago, she might have given him another shot out of loneliness or weakness or straight-up stupidity. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—change for her, any more than she could change for Nash.

  “I’ve moved on and so should you.” She backed up a few paces to retrieve her keys off the steps.

  A figure emerged from the sheet of rain holding her keys and shaking his head like a dog. Nash. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed his thick University of Edinburgh sweatshirt and pulled him to her like she was picking teams on the playground.

  With a sense of calm, he handed her the keys, removed his glasses, and proceeded to dry them on the edge of his shirt, his gaze shifting between her and Heath the entire time.

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Heath gestured toward Nash but otherwise ignored him.

  “Why are you acting like the two of us together is preposterous?” Nash’s voice took on a slightly foreign lilt.

  Tally looked heavenward.

  “I could fucking break you in two right here.”

  “Do you always settle disputes by beating the crap out of someone?”

  “It’s worked for me so far.” Heath stepped forward, stretching his neck in the universal signal for a beat down.

  “How about we take it to the ring?”

  Heath froze a second before rusty laughter burst out. “Are you serious?”

  Nash shrugged. “Why not?”

  “This is ridiculous. You two are not fighting over me.” She grabbed one of Nash’s biceps. It was rock hard, his entire body strung taut even though his voice had stayed nonchalant.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Heath’s sly half grin was back. “But I won’t hold it against you if chicken out. I remember what a pussy you were in school.” He disappeared through the sheet of rain.

  “Are you insane? Heath hates you.” Her emotional state deteriorated further. Now in addition to feeling like her heart was being sheared in two, she was overwhelmed with worry and anger.

  “He’s not my favorite person either.” Nash stared toward the stairs.

  She attempted to feed the key into the lock, but between the rain and her shakes, it slipped time and again. He came up behind her, wrapped his hand around hers, and pushed the key home. She made no move to twist the knob, their hands still joined.

  His body was warm behind her, solid and comforting. “Why do you think what we did was a mistake? And, don’t give me a bullshit answer.” His breath wafted over her ear, inciting shivers.

  Her superficial excuses crumbled. Their differences in education, his worldliness and her lack thereof, his ease with himself and her shame didn’t matter. Not really.

  “I’m scared.” Her whispered words wavered. The past days and especially her decision to sleep with Nash clarified the heart of her fear. Nash had been right. Her dyslexia was an excuse to not take chances, to keep people at arm’s length, to avoid letting anyone glimpse her insecurities. But, her true fear was something else entirely.

  “Of what?”

  “You’ll hurt me.”

  “How am I going to hurt you?” Each one of his questions peeled back another layer of protection, uncovering a raw wound.

  “You’ll leave. Like everyone else.” When the truth emerged, horror warred with relief, but there was no retreat. He had caged her in.

  “Your parents?”

  A tear streaked down her face. Please God, not now. She tried to quell the urge with a deep breath, but her lungs shuddered the air in and out, giving her away.

  “Your brother?”

  She nodded once. No matter that she understood the reasons, even sympathized, she couldn’t shake the resentment that had taken hold when Cade had left Cottonbloom to make a life away from her and Sawyer. After depending on her big brother for so long, she’d felt abandoned and alone.

  “And me too, I suppose.”

  She didn’t speak, knowing the answer wasn’t fair. The night she’d walked away from his aunt’s house thinking he didn’t want to be her friend anymore had left an indelible mark even the truth couldn’t erase.

  He turned her hand around the knob and the door opened. The blast of AC was uncomfortable on her rain-soaked, wrung-out body. He forced her inside like he was herding sheep. His heat left her. She half-expected to hear him leave, but the lock clicked and the chain rattled. His arms came around her again, his chin stubble rasping over her temple.

  “What if sex screws up our friendship? What if you end up hating me? Or I end up hating you?” One question stumbled over the next.

  “What if this ends up being the best relationship either of us has ever had?”

  It was already the best relationship she’d ever had. There was nowhere to go but down.

  “Was the sex not good for you?” he asked with a faint echo of her own insecurities.

  A bloom of heat came over her chest, and she hoped steam wasn’t rising from her clothes. “It was amazing, and you know it. But you can’t tell me if Harvard or Yale or some prestigious school in Europe offered you a job, you wouldn’t take it and run.”

  “First off, I haven’t even gotten tenure at Cottonbloom College. Second, I wouldn’t abandon everything here to chase a job. I wouldn’t abandon you.” His arms tightened.

  A warmth that had nothing to do with his body pressed into hers calmed her internal turmoil. “Are you sure?”

  “Woman. You have to learn to trust me. Just a little. Can we see where this goes?”

  “I guess.”

  “Wow. That was pathetic, but I’ll take it. Why don’t you take a shower and warm up?” He dropped his arms and tapped her backside a couple of times to get her moving.

  She stopped halfway across the den and turned around. Neither one of them had turned a light on.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” His words were a battering ram to her defenses.

  She took her time in the shower. A sense of safety and contentment she’d hadn’t experienced since before her parents died relaxed her. She’d assumed relationships were built on conflict and leaving and loneliness because that’s what her recent experience had taught her. Perhaps she had to cast back to before, when her life had been as close to perfect as she could remember.

  As she dried her hair with the towel wrapped around her torso, she closed her eyes. Her happiest
childhood memories were populated by her family … and Nash. Always Nash. What would happen to her memories of him if things soured between them? Would they be ruined?

  With her hair mostly dry, she slipped out of the bathroom into her bedroom. It was empty and the door closed. With shaking hands, she pulled on panties and a T-shirt, ready to rip the door open, her breathing too quick. She pressed an ear against the thin, cheap wood, the murmur of a TV coming from the den.

  Two deep breaths calmed the irrational panic, and she stepped out. He’d taken his sweatshirt off and draped it over one of her kitchen chairs. She traced the red letters across the gray front with a finger. University of Edinburgh. She wanted to believe in him, in the possibilities that stretched into the future.

  He was sprawled on her couch asleep, one arm thrown over his head, his face pressed into a red decorative pillow, a tassel mixing with his hair. His plain white T-shirt had a few damp splotches, his biceps and shoulders stretching the seams to the ripping point. The hem rode an inch up over his jeans, his stomach taut. It looked at least two sizes too small.

  How could he look sexy and adorable at the same time? She grabbed his hands in hers and tugged, her destination her bed. He let out a sleepy grunt, but opened his eyes and stood up.

  “Come on, Professor, let’s go.” She backed to her room, and he followed like a sleepwalker. He allowed her to undress him, first peeling his shirt over his head. Her fingers shook as she worked his jeans open. Disappointment bounced her stomach when the opened fly revealed a pair of dark green boxer briefs.

  Even unaroused, the bulge in his underwear had her staring and swallowing past a lump. She finished tugging his jeans down before she could get distracted. He kicked them off and collapsed in her bed, pulling her down with him. She ended up facing him, pressed together from chest to knees.

  He didn’t move for a few minutes, but then his hand moved up under her T-shirt to caress the bare skin of her back.

  “Please don’t fight Heath,” she whispered into the darkness.