When I hear his footfalls coming back down the stairs, I make a quick turn and lay the shirt over one of the chairs in the dining room. And then he’s marching right back into the room, a T-shirt in place of the button-up he’d been wearing.
“It doesn’t look like I’m trying very hard,” he says, looking down at the plain white T. “But my laundry is kind of backed up, and most of my nicer shirts are still wrinkled from the move.”
“No washer and dryer yet?” I slide back into the chair I’d been in before our interruption, and he sits back in his.
“Still need some of the plumbing for that repaired, so I’ve been hauling it back and forth to my parents.”
“I’m sure your mom likes that.”
“I don’t make her do my laundry, Kate,” he tells me with a lopsided grin.
I’d just wrapped some spaghetti around my fork, but I stop before I can bring it to my mouth, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it that way, but it wouldn’t be a big deal if she did… I mean, you’re a busy guy.”
He laughs. “I am, but I definitely wash my own underwear.”
I laugh too, so at ease around Garrett in a setting like this. It’s the eventual promise of further intimacy that tends to set me off balance.
“I could be here with you when the plumber comes,” I offer after we’ve settled down and I’ve taken a nice long drink to finish off my first glass of wine, the alcohol thankfully not going too much to my head.
“That’s not something I’d ask of you… to waste part of your day just waiting around for a plumber.”
“I don’t mind… really. I could ask questions that you might not have thought of. A house this old might just need everything redone.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. And you’re really sure you don’t mind?”
“It wouldn’t be a problem… not at all.”
“Okay—I appreciate it… a lot. I have someone coming over next Monday sometime between ten and two.” He shrugs at the four-hour window. “That work?”
“As far as I know. I’ll double check tonight, but I don’t think I’m scheduled for Forester’s, and I’m pretty sure Beth isn’t working at Pamela’s either. So, even if she has homework to catch up on, she can probably do without me.”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin after taking a big bite of pasta, he smiles. “I should tell you not to worry about it, but the truth is that I’d really like you here. I can pick you up and drop you off—whatever would be easiest.”
I’d just taken a bite of the crisp romaine drenched in vinaigrette, so it takes me a moment to get that down and respond. “Remember that I have the Volvo now—total freedom.”
He laughs. “Man, I remember when Paige used to drive that thing around. It’s been in your family for a long time.”
“It’s practically ancient, but it should last another ten years, or at least that’s what Mom tells me.”
“I’m sure it will.” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, then asks, “You haven’t said anything about my cooking. If it’s awful, you don’t have to be kind on my account.”
God, I’m terrible. I should have remembered to compliment him, and now I’m trying to think of just the right thing to say. There were small things I might have done differently, might not have let the garlic bread bake for so long or gone a little lighter on the dressing, but these weren’t things I’d really thought of until he’d asked my opinion. “It’s all delicious,” I tell him because it’s true. Something doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.
And maybe I don’t have to be perfect to be good either. Maybe Garrett can still love me even if I’m not whole, even if I can’t give him everything he might want. This is something I’d like to believe, and the idea of it fuels me with a hope that continues on through dinner and into cleaning up the dishes I absolutely insist on helping with. There’s something sexy about a man who does dishes, but of course I don’t tell Garrett this, just enjoy watching him scrub while I rinse. I don’t argue though when he says we should just let everything dry in the dish rack by the sink instead of speeding the process along with dishtowels.
“I’d like to show you the rest of the furniture,” he says, taking my hand that I’d just dried off.
“Upstairs?” I’d already seen all the first floor had to offer.
“If you’re okay with that?” He stops, turns and looks at me earnestly.
There’s nothing in the way he’s looking at me that tells me he expects me to do something I wouldn’t be okay with, but in that same look I can see he’s hopeful that I won’t be going upstairs to simply give my opinion on his furniture.
With a nod, I start walking again, nearly pulling him along and up the stairs.
They creak terribly, and my mind only briefly goes to that place where I consider if they should be torn out or salvaged and refurbished in some way. Having worked for HFU for two years, I don’t think I ever enter a house without thinking things like that. I’d even offered my ideas to Mom, Clark and Grandma about how they were remodeling my childhood home. But by the time we reach the second floor landing, my head is filled with only one thought… and one man… Garrett.
“I’ve only furnished the master for now,” he tells me, leading me into the large room with the fireplace that has been cleaned but not much else. The heavy dresser and mirror set, two nightstands and a king-sized bed are the nicest things in here. “I figure I’ll have to have them moved back out when we start the heavy stuff, but at least I have a bed I can sleep in for the interim.”
“And I don’t think anything will be falling through the floor,” I say, turning to the dresser and gliding a finger across the top, nervous and unsure of how you’re supposed to talk to a man in his bedroom. I tap my heeled shoes on the wood that will need a good sanding and staining but is otherwise in good shape.
“That’s right… you did say the floors were good after the inspection, didn’t you?” He walks toward me, the sound of his feet and the clean smell of his body spray getting ever closer before I see his reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
“What kind of stain do you think—” I’m cut off midsentence when he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls my body toward him, leaving me breathless… wordless.
“I think… I think I’m really glad you came up here,” he whispers into my ear, his hardness pressing into my backside.
“Oh… Garrett.” I close my eyes and just feel. I try to let go of every hang-up I’ve ever felt in being this close to a man, try to relax in his arms even though my body is tensing in the best way possible at his touch.
“You feel so good, Kate.” He keeps on holding me, his chin resting on my shoulder, not making any moves to push his hands to places I’m yearning for but afraid to ask him to move them to.
“And you…” I get out. But I don’t know what else to say or how to describe everything I’m thinking about Garrett, everything that just feels so right but can’t be summed up into proper wording. It’s just about feeling, so many feelings.
He doesn’t ask me to finish, doesn’t push for compliments, just keeps holding me and gently kissing my neck. I keep waiting for him to do something more, a sizzling sensation strumming its way up the entire length of my body, a sense of yearning and need, of breathlessness and a fluttering in my chest. It’s something I’d never come close to feeling in the same way with Shawn.
“Do you… do you want to have sex?” I finally ask, taking hold of Garrett’s hands and holding mine over them.
“Yes,” he says quickly, loosening his grip on me, then gently nudging me until I’m facing him, facing his brown eyes that are so beautiful and full of the same desperate need I feel inside. “I mean… if that’s okay. You sure you want to?”
I’m afraid of what his level of disappointment would be if I were to say no, but I have every intention of going through with this, terrified or not. “I do, Garrett.”
There is a smile somewhere in that wanting expression of his, and then his lips a
re on mine, his hands wrapped around me again, this time settling on my ass. I fall into the kiss, part my lips for him and allow him to explore me with his tongue while the sizzle continues.
We’ve never been this wrapped up in one another before, partly because I’m not stopping him, because I’m letting go of my fears and replacing them with a physical want that is so strong that it takes over my mind, pushing me to feel only pleasure. And I do, learning quickly to embrace my primal instincts. Wanting to feel his flesh, I tug at the hem of his T-shirt and push my hands beneath the fabric, his toned stomach warm against my palms. And then I’m sliding my fingers back down, bunching the fabric of his shirt and moving it up his torso until it catches beneath his shoulders. It’s only then that we reluctantly stop kissing. In a quick, almost reflexive movement, he crosses his arms, tugs the corners of his shirt bottom and pulls it up and over his head. In an instant, his arms are around me again, his lips on mine, and my hands free to glide up and down his torso.
We could go on kissing all night, and there is that timid part of me that still breaks through, a part that wishes kissing is all we’d do. But there is the other part of me that is beyond ready to do more, that has been waiting forever for the right man and the right time, the moment when I could finally become a woman, not by age or accomplishment, but sexually.
The latter appears to be our trajectory as Garrett slides his hands down to the bottom of my dress, halfway down my thighs, and begins pulling it up the way I’d pulled up his shirt. My body tingles at his touch, my core yearning for him, and so I don’t oppose him, don’t try to stop him from completely removing my dress until I’m standing in my sling-back heels and powder-blue bra and panty set and nothing more.
“Look at you,” Garrett says in a low growl, our lips parted and his eyes going from the tip of my heels, up my long legs, over my midsection, to my breasts and finally up to my face and my eyes. “You’re more beautiful than I’d imagined,” he tells me, going for his belt and loosening it.
I step back from him and toward the bed, so many emotions and feelings running through me all at once that moving to the bed seems like the best thing. When the backs of my thighs hit the mattress, I slide my hands down and lift myself up and onto it.
He licks his lips and swallows hard, then puts a finger up as if to say he needs a moment, to hold on. And then he turns and goes into the closet, pulls out a suitcase and begins rummaging through it. I’m at a bit of a loss and am starting to feel a chill on the bed all alone.
“Aha!” he says triumphantly, turning back to me and standing, a condom packet clenched between his fingers.
The condom is a tangible symbol of what’s about to happen, and with my heart beating as fast as it is, there’s no turning back now. I slip my heels off easily enough, and they clang to the floor. And then I’m pushing my body up the bed and toward the headboard as he moves closer to me, standing at the edge of the mattress, unbuttoning his pants and then pulling them off in one swift movement. And then he’s up and on the bed, shoeless, sockless, the only stitch of clothing on him being a pair of boxer briefs that barely contain the raging hard-on underneath.
“Garrett… I…” I swallow, my throat dry, my nerves bundling up into a feeling in the pit of my stomach, nerves of fear.
He stops, his eyes darkening just the slightest amount. But I can tell the shadow is caused by concern and not anger. “Are you still okay with this?”
I am, and I’m not. It’s easy to see how well endowed he is under his boxers, and I’m not sure just now if I’d ever used a dilator that big or with that much length. Maybe he’d run out of room and notice something different. It worries me.
“Kate?” He slides up the bed, sits so that he’s turned to me, and drags his fingers through my hair. “We don’t have to if you aren’t ready.”
“No… I am!” I take his other hand and hold it tight. “It’s just that… well… it’s just that I’m a virgin.” It’s not a lie, but it isn’t the entire truth, but it will probably be enough to explain my nerves to him.
The hand that is tangled in my hair stops moving. “Really?”
I nod sheepishly, embarrassed to be twenty years old and still having to claim virgin status.
“I find that hard to believe… I mean… crap… look at you?”
“I don’t have a mirror,” I say, pushing out a smile.
He brings his hand down and caresses my cheek, gripping tight to me with his other. “Just trust me, Kate. You’re gorgeous, and I’d be honored to be your first.”
Getting at least that basic truth out allows me to relax, allows me to feel all those wonderful things again, to pull Garrett toward me until we’re kissing, and I’m filled with so much warmth and desire for this man that I don’t think there’s any going back.
My bra comes off first, Garrett expertly unclasping it after pulling my body up to his and then pressing his warm chest again my breasts, making my nipples pucker and yearn. Once he’s laid me down, his lips on my nipples, he tugs at the fabric of my panties and pulls them down, over my thighs and the length of my legs until I easily kick them off from around my ankles.
I’m completely at his mercy, my body bared to him while my soul remains shrouded in secret.
When he pulls his lips away from my breasts, the wetness of his saliva still on my skin, I take the moment to grab at the waistband of his boxers, so ready, nearly on fire with yearning.
He smiles, then takes over, turning his body to pull his boxers off, his erection springing to full attention.
“Do you want to put it on?” he asks me of the condom he’d placed on the nightstand and now picks up again.
“Sure…” I say, actually a little unsure but wanting to try, anxious to feel his girth between my fingers.
With a smile, he rips the packet open and hands it over to me. This is something I know how to do at least, something I’d learned in health class long ago, though the banana we’d used has nothing on Garrett.
I sit up while Garrett lays on his side, gently caressing my side and thigh while I place the lubricated condom on his tip and begin to unravel it over his generous size.
He groans with pleasure as I push it up his full length and then grips my ass. “I want to be inside of you so bad, Kate.”
“Then do it,” I beckon, sliding back onto the bed, lying on my back. I’m more excited than terrified, willing to risk something going wrong for the possible payoff.
Gently, he pushes my thighs apart and then positions his body over mine, taking hold of his hardness and sliding it up and down the outer parts of my anatomy.
“Uhhhh…” I cry out, biting my lower lip, the pressure of him against that part of me nearly enough to trigger an orgasm. It would probably be okay if he just stayed there, but after a few more passes, he pushes at my entrance. I cry out again, both thrilled and pained as he bears down harder.
“I’ll go slow…” he whispers, his voice faltering into a groan when he pushes past my resistance and gains entrance.
I grab hold of his shoulders and clench my teeth as he moves deeper. And then I close my eyes, not wanting him to see any physical hurt my eyes might betray, wanting to be sure he goes onward regardless.
And yes, there is more stretching and more pain, his breath hot on me, his lips dangling just above mine.
“You’re so tight,” he tells me, but he says it likes it’s a good thing, a great thing even. “Am I hurting you?”
I shake my head. “Is it all in?” I ask, daring to open my eyes.
A crooked grin crosses his face. “Barely just the tip.”
That doesn’t seem possible. I already feel torn apart, my body clenching while I’m trying to make it seem like this is the best thing in the world. “Oh,” I manage before my voice makes some sort of chirping sound, and he goes on to push deeper. “Ohhhh…” I add on, the slide of his member causing me to spasm in what becomes my first really pleasurable sensation.
“I don’t want to hurt you, K
ate,” he tells me after a gentle kiss.
“You won’t,” I assure him. “Just do it… just go all the way.” It’s better to get it over with, to be brave and not shy away.
He nods, then moves his wet lips to my neck, and I focus on that, on how it makes me tingle, how when his hands move all over my body and make my nerves light up, make me shiver with pleasure. And then, just as I’d asked, he plunges into my depth.
I have to bite my lips to keep from screaming, have to forcibly relax my legs that are now wrapped around his ass like a vice grip. It hurts… it hurts so bad, like he’d just torn me open, and maybe he has. But the idea of a man finally being fully lodged inside of me is more powerful than the pain. And when he pulls back, and pushes in again, over and over, I’m sure he must not notice anything different other than the tightness, that the dilators I’d used might not have been thick enough, but they’d had enough length to fully accommodate him. And it makes me feel normal, just like any other girl having sex with a guy.
This sense of normalcy allows me to feel everything, to accept the pain and the hurt while also getting to what lies beneath, to the weightless sensation that might be both emotional and physical, the kind where whatever worries you have about yourself and the world are forgotten. And then there is the sensation that is only physical, the one where the core of my body tightens and then releases, the one that makes me orgasm in a thunderous wave before I think Garrett is even close to his own.
“I love you,” he tells me after he’s surely felt the vibrations of my release, his fingers back in my hair, his lips on mine.
Love.
I. Love. You.
He’s said it, and I’m just as ready.
“I love you too,” I return.
He moves his hips against mine in a rhythmic motion, rooting himself inside of me. The motion speeds and then slows when he arches and groans, releasing his once pent up desires.
Unbroken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 4) Page 15