by Lia Riley
“But—”
“I got us a cabin, Captain.”
“A…wait…” Her head comes up. “We’re sleeping together?”
My heart quickens as we walk down the narrow corridor. I know what she’s really asking—sleeping together, or sleeping together?
Her breath’s unsteadiness rolls me like the ferry’s rocked by a storm, rather than docked at port.
How does she walk into the world every day, scared as hell, and not only survive, but also succeed, witty and cute as hell? All I do is sulk around with my black thoughts, replaying a life long lost. This cheeky American with the sad brown eyes has a warrior heart. And maybe it’s selfish, but I want to get as close to that, to her, as possible.
“Room two-two-six.” I tug the paper scrap from my pocket and recheck the details. “This is us, right here.” I open the door.
The cabin is tight, two twin beds. I set our bags on the small table beneath the porthole. Talia puts her hand on my shoulder and leans forward, peering at the shipping cranes and cargo vessels spreading along the bank of Port Phillip Bay. Her body carries a faint vanilla sweetness, the scent warm and reassuring.
I check myself against a mounting anticipation. This girl is like Christmas Eve. I want to open her so bad. Except I’m afraid—what if this moment doesn’t live up to whatever expectations we’ve set?
“Talia.” My command is quiet. So low, I’m unsure whether I’ll have to say it again. Which would lessen the impact. Finally, she turns.
Her gaze starts at my shoes and ends at my face. Her eyes are gentle, yet so sharp they flay my defenses and carve straight to my bones. “Are we going to the ship’s bow to reenact the Rose and Jack scene from Titanic?”
Sometimes I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about. But she looks adorable saying it.
“Come on.” She notes my blank stare. “Titanic? King of the World?”
“No.” I trace her jaw. She’s not a girl that I want to take from. She’s not a girl I ever want to let go.
Her pupils swallow up her irises. “What are we going to do?”
“What I wanted from the moment I saw you in that white dress on the corner of Lygon Street.”
The two furrowed lines between her brows make an appearance.
“Talia—stop, just feel, be here with me.”
“Why, why now, after all this time, do you want to do this?”
“Have sex with you?”
She jolts at the word.
Yes, I’m dodging, answering her questions with a question.
“Talia, no more thinking. Sometimes it’s better to just roll with this sort of thing.”
She gives me a half smile, her eyes questioning. “Okay.”
Wait—that was enough of an explanation to satisfy her? I’m not sure what I’m spouting off. All I know is that I made up my mind to go for it, for her, to take this all the way. Maybe I should hit the brakes, but I’m careening forward.
“I…God, I’m awkward,” she stutters. “I don’t know what to do next. How to start.”
“What do you want to do?” I’m fiercely curious. I have no idea what she’ll say next. With Talia it could be anything.
She watches me in silence, considering.
“Take off your shirt,” she says at last.
I don’t let myself smile, don’t want her to think I’m laughing.
I seize my T-shirt by the back of the neck and tear it off, tossing it over my shoulder.
Her face doesn’t change expression. She’s serious, all business.
“Shoes.”
I kick off my shoes. “Socks, too, I suppose.”
She gives a single nod. Her face is a mask, for once revealing no hint to her inner workings.
Fuck. Come on, Talia. I’m not made of stone.
She unhooks my belt with one finger and pops open my button. My flesh prickles. I’m hard before she tugs down my pants and boxers.
I close my eyes, chew the inside of my lower lip, and anticipate the feel of her hand closing over my shaft. Instead, nothing. I’m about to open my eyes when I feel the brush of her lips on my lids. She kisses one, than the other, the tip of my nose, and both my cheeks. She’s not touching me at all except with those few inches of her beautiful mouth. Her gentleness undoes me. She’s…she’s not using me. I’m no conquest, but something to cherish. I’ve had girls swallow me to the hilt and felt less than I do in this very second.
“Talia.” This is verging on too much. Her lips brush mine and I slide my hands to the flare of her hips.
“No,” she murmurs. “Don’t touch me. Not yet.”
I ball my hands into two fists. “A terrible idea, Captain.”
“Really?” She nibbles the side of my neck, down across my chest. “This is terrible?” Her clever tongue circles my nipple and when my moan comes, it’s pulled straight from my soul.
“I’ll so make you pay for this,” I rasp.
Her lips crook in the corners. “I’m kinda counting on it.”
She does something with her fingers on my stomach. My seduction plan’s unraveling; I’m losing control. And so much for my noble holding-back bullshit because I’m about to come quicker than a fourteen-year-old boy with a smuggled swimsuit catalog.
My balls tighten. Urgent pressure spreads from the base of my dick through my lower belly. Want. Her. Want. Her.
No, shit, summon restraint. I’m more turned on than I can ever remember being in my life. She skims my shaft. Not even with HER—with Adie—did I ever reach this point so fast.
Okay, mate. Cool the fuck down or you’re going to blow this moment—right into Talia’s hand.
I jerk my hips back and use the awkward second where she’s fumbling with empty air to seize her wrists.
She licks her lips. “Did you…was it…should I do something differen—”
I silence her with my mouth, drive through her insecurities with my tongue. I walk us toward one of the beds and my dick bores into her belly, helpfully leading the way. The problem with Talia is that even kissing her borders on too good. She makes these beautiful breathy sounds and when her thighs press mine, they’re quaking.
I drop my head to mouth her breast through her shirt and her gasps are replaced by a groan.
She tugs her hands free from my grasp when the back of her knees knock against the berth. I pull back and see her frantically trying to undo her pants. Her fingers tremble. The sight hits me in the dick like a hot wave of lust. I’m about to offer my assistance when she grinds down the zipper.
“Do you have a condom?” A single lock of hair falls across her forehead and she tosses her head.
“Yeah, hang on.” I step toward my discarded jeans and use the measure of distance to draw a deep breath. My wanting burns bright and clear, a flame that draws every ounce of oxygen from my lungs. I dig my wallet from my back pocket, pull out the condom, and tear the foil. The ripping sound makes me sad.
The first time. It never gets better.
This is the moment I’ve chased all year. The point where addictive lust peaks, the time when everything, for a few perfect seconds, gleams with possibility. A person can believe broken hearts can be snapped back together like Lego blocks in such a place. I love every girl in that white-hot flash. It’s in the seconds after, when the heat ebbs and reality sets in that I’m reminded love and lust are different.
And I become guilty. And ornery. But I do it again and again because I’m a junkie to those seconds before, the seconds of possibility.
I roll on the condom and squeeze the tip. I’m an asshole. I tried to resist Talia, I did. But it’s like trying to ignore a block of chocolate on the counter day after day. Eventually, you need a fucking taste. I drop between her legs. Bloody hell. She’s so wet, tangy and responsive. It breaks my heart a little because she’s giving me everything. And I’m going to take it like a greedy asshole.
She trembles, close to undone. I’m on the edge. This is about to tumble to a pitifully quick conclusion.
I jerk my head free and rise to my knees.
Her gaze levels on my dick. For a second, insecurity flickers…does she want me as bad as I want—
“Come here.” Her eyes are veiled.
“Sure?”
“I’m never sure about anything, Bran,” she whispers.
My heart plummets.
“But I know I need you inside me, now.”
Before she can change her mind, I crawl on top and brace her hips. My dick nudges against her center. This is it. I kiss her so hard our teeth knock. I’m sorry, I want to say as I push deeper. I’m sorry to do this. The tightness yields more tightness.
“Oh, whoa. Oh God.” She’s all wide-eyed wonder, her pretty face framed between my braced forearms. She looks all the way to the stalagmites of my ruined soul.
“Bran.”
I rock to distract her, but she doesn’t break her gaze. I angle my strokes to hit her where it’s good. If I’m going to do this, then I’m going to make her feel pleasure. I grind harder. Still, she keeps looking, and who the fuck knows what she sees.
We go on, riding the build, and this feels so fucking right that maybe I should stop, throw out another bullshit excuse to pull back because I’m never going to regain this moment of possibility.
Instead, I drive faster, my greedy body starved for more. She lets out a raw groan, beyond inhibitions. She’s going over and I’d be an ass not to take her all the way. Frustration rips a louder growl propelled from deep within my own ribs. The hell if I’ll fail her. I thumb her clit and her lips part, but no sound comes.
This instant is exquisite. Don’t want it to ever end.
I kiss Talia again, this time full, wet, and openmouthed, and she starts falling. Powerful waves clamp my shaft, dragging me with her.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
God.
Talia.
Holy fucking shit.
“Bran?”
I blink. That’s my name, right? I blink again. Talia is beneath me, brows knit in concern.
“Bran, I’m serious, are you okay?”
Am I? Am I okay?
“You blacked out for a second or something. You’ve been staring but not…you know…seeing.”
Oh, I saw you, Talia.
I start to laugh from relief, from sheer disbelief, and her features wilt.
“You can’t laugh when you’re still inside me.”
Shit, she looks hurt.
I shake my head before kissing her forehead. “I’m not laughing at you. Really. It’s just that—”
“You better make this good.”
“Such is life,” I whisper, rolling onto my hip, careful to keep inside her. I can’t bear to sever the connection. Not yet. I clasp her tight against my chest.
“Such is life?” she echoes, her eyes a question.
There’s nothing more to say. All I can do is be here, with her, in this place of quiet touch and soft kisses. If someone looked inside my skull, all they’d see would be blue sky, clouds, and courage.
I’d never have believed it. For the first time in a year, I had sex and not only did regret fail to materialize, but I also exploded into an alternate universe populated by unicorns and fucking butterflies. Whatever just happened was good—better than good—a revelation. And I want to do it again. With her. Only her.
After a few more seconds, I slide free with a pang. Roll off the condom. There’s a whole box in my backpack—now it doesn’t seem like enough.
She crawls under the blanket and hikes the sheet to her chin. “Bran, sorry, but you keep looking at me strangely.”
Is sex with Talia always going to be like this? Or was this a one-off fluke, an outlier?
I’m a scientist at heart. The only way to make new discoveries is to test the hypothesis—repeatedly.
Chapter Twenty
Talia
Must. Stop,” Bran mumbles even as he pushes back inside me.
“Just. One. More. Time,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes. I wonder if maybe this is the proverbial straw, that this fourth time will break the camel’s back, or at least my va-jay-jay. Possibly there is too much of a good thing and this is a twentysomething version of gorging on Halloween candy. Nothing good can come of it.
He rocks against me and I don’t care if this is the sexual equivalent of devouring twelve candy bars in a sitting. His hand dips between my legs, his circling fingers matching his rhythm, and I cry out. Maybe I’ll regret this in the morning. Go down in a sugar-rush ball of flames.
But maybe, just maybe, it’ll be awesome.
Afterward, we lay in stillness. I haven’t cuddled much with guys, but whenever I had, I always liked the cozy protective feeling spooning provides. With Bran, we sleep nose to nose, holding hands. Somehow that’s even more intimate and makes me feel like we’re two children in a fairy tale. Like Hansel and Gretel while the big bad witch, or in our case, world, lurks beyond our cage.
Except we’re not brother and sister, so I’ll keep that creepy analogy to myself.
The next thing I know, it’s morning. Did last night really happen? Things we did, Jesus, how we moved—I’m going to keep my eyes closed a little longer.
The way he breathes, I don’t know him well enough to decipher if that’s sleep breathing or if he’s awake. He says nothing. Finally I can’t take the suspense and peek out one eye.
“Hey, you.” Bran’s grin is as goofy as my answering smile feels.
Maybe I’m not alone in this. Maybe he feels the same way as me. Like a wrecking ball punched a perfect hole in my chest.
Wrecking balls for everyone!
“Hey.” We beam at each other until the speaker blares, ordering us to disembark. There’s not much to repack, but the trip down to the car takes a while because we keep pausing to kiss.
Bran drives the Kingswood off the ferry. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“What do you feel like, a coffee?”
“For sure, and a cinnamon roll. Maybe make that two.”
He gapes at me.
“Serious. I could murder some baked goods right now.”
“Right-o, to the bakery it is.” He checks his phone. “There’s a place ahead, here on the left.” He parks in front of a shop setting up for the morning.
I unbuckle my seat belt and he sets his hand on my thigh. “No. Stay here, let me get breakfast for you.”
“But—”
“I want to.” He chucks me under the chin. “This is my modern-day chance to hunt you a water buffalo.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
He returns a few minutes later, clasping white bags and two cups of coffee.
“That looks so unhealthy,” I say, peering at the cream cheese frosting.
“Should I go somewhere else?”
“Nuh-uh.” I’m already biting in, closing my eyes with pleasure. “It’s like a party in my mouth.”
His laughter joins with mine and we finish eating our huge breakfast in easy silence, watching cars outside the dashboard window drive around the roundabout. I can’t believe my luck. Because this is luck, plain and dumb. Bran and I…something passed between us last night. It wasn’t just sex. Well, it was sex—hot, hot sex—don’t get me wrong. But it was more than that. I now get what it means when someone says sex changes everything. What happened between us wasn’t insert part A into part B. It was like our bodies held this intense conversation.
It felt instinctive. It felt natural. And above all it felt real. Like the realest I’ve been in my entire life.
“Let me get that.” Bran leans over to take my garbage and I touch his elbow.
He gives me a quizzical look.
“Hey.”
“Hey?”
“I’m really glad I came with you.” Even now, even after last night, his wicked grin makes me blush. “I meant to Tasmania, sex fiend.”
“Oh, I’m the fiend, am I?” His cat eyes trail down my rumpled clothes with deliberate slowness. I could be in one
of those X-ray imagers at the airport where the TSA employees can see straight through my clothes. “I seem to remember a certain someone saying, ‘More, please.’”
“Hey!” I grab his hand. “You make me sound like a character in a Dickens novel.”
“Captain, if there were a character like you in a Dickens novel, I’d be a literature scholar.”
I draw his fingertip into my mouth. Bran’s eyes intensify as he watches me sucking him. A nervous humming begins in the back of my brain. Why is this happening—this thing—between Bran and I? We’ve hung out with each other for months now, but we still barely know each other, and besides, he’s withholding key information. Even now, he’s failed to mention he was engaged. That he almost married someone. Married. I mean, I can’t even choose my favorite song, let alone a career path, let alone committing myself forever to a person.
Bran.
My mind weighs the word, uncertain whether to file it as a prayer or a pain.
His nose is a tiny bit too big. His eyes are a little widely spaced. His bottom lip is fuller than the top. Each feature on a whole isn’t perfect. But combine them together and his hotness is striking in a singular way, that is him and him alone. And when his restless energy stills, when his eyes drop their surly, protective shield, yeah…I can see why a girl would say yes to a forever with this guy.
I instinctively sense that I could delay until I was thirty or whenever it’s more socially normal to meet “the one” and still be waiting for a guy like Bran. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime person.
Hold up.
I blink, realizing with a stomach jolt that I’m pondering marriage in a parked car while sucking a guy’s finger.
Dude, get a grip.
No telling what Bran’s thinking, but it’s odd he let me zone out for so long. His eyes look a little unfocused, like maybe he’d been lost in his own thoughts. Well, whatever that weird moment was, it’s over.
Bran tugs his hand back and I nip his skin before his finger leaves my mouth.
“Cheeky.” He smiles, but it’s a little off. He doesn’t look annoyed, or sad, or bored. Pensive. That’s the word I’d choose if I had to decipher. “I’m going to take care of the rubbish and we’ll get under way.”