by Julie Kriss
He flinched a little under my fingertips, the slightest wince. His shoulders didn’t soften. “Do not,” he said, his voice hoarse, “do not use that as an excuse. Not now. Not ever.”
An excuse for what? To pity him? To treat him differently? To leave?
No, he wouldn’t want excuses. God, the raw courage of him. I’d never seen anyone so fucking brave.
I put my hand over his where it cupped my breast. I found his other hand and put it on my other breast, my fingers over his. I leaned in and kissed him, brushing my mouth over his soft lips. “No excuses,” I said.
“Good,” he said. His shoulders eased just a little, and he leaned in and whispered in my ear, as if telling me a secret. “I can smell you.”
The breath exhaled out of me. He probably could smell me—I was only wearing a scrap of fabric, and I was wet. And the words made me wetter. My hands tightened over his. “Touch me,” I begged him.
“Lie down,” he said.
Reluctantly, I slid off his lap and onto the bed. I scooted over as he took a second to arrange himself, pulling his legs up onto the mattress. He did it quickly, almost gracefully, at ease with himself, and for a second the thought went through my head that I didn’t know exactly how this would happen. The position wouldn’t be the same as it was with other men. There might even be some improvisation. Because Andrew wasn’t like other men.
He was better.
I lay on my back, and then he was next to me, balanced on his hip, leaning over me. He braced himself on one gorgeous, muscled arm. He looked down at me, searching my face with his dark eyes.
“I’m not going to say it,” he said. “I’m not going to ask it.”
“Then don’t,” I said. I ran a hand down his chest, fascinated by the feel of it, the heat of his skin, the light whorls of hair. “We’ve done enough talking for a while, don’t you think?”
For the first time, the ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. Then he leaned down to me.
“You’re right,” he said. “No more talking.”
Twenty
Andrew
* * *
I was shaking.
Fucking shaking. I kept an iron grip on myself, trying not to let on. But I could feel the tremor in my muscles, the shaking urge in my hands. This was why I didn’t do this—because it was too much. Too hard.
I’d had plenty of sex before the accident, with plenty of girlfriends. Not one of them had contacted me afterward. Not one.
I shouldn’t be doing this. It was probably going to kill me.
And still I leaned in and kissed Tessa, feeling her sigh, tasting the sweet flavor of her mouth. Feeling how warm she was. Touch me, she’d said. The last thing I should be doing. The only thing I wanted to do.
I braced myself over her, lying on one hip and leaning in. I couldn’t do what I wanted, which was climb between her legs and fuck her, but it was only a momentary frustration. I wasn’t ready to be inside her yet anyway—that was too raw. Instead I ran my hands over her again, kissing her neck, testing the waters. Feeling what she liked, what made her sigh, what made her back arch. Feeling the contours of her amazing body. I hadn’t let myself miss this—the feeling of a woman under my hands. I hadn’t let myself think about it, because it was just one more thing that sent me into the dark.
But this wasn’t any woman. This was Tessa, her blonde hair against my pillow, her blue eyes hazy with want, her skin warm against mine. She was here. She’d told me her darkest secret, the one she never told anyone, the one that lodged inside her all the time like a shard of broken glass. I knew what that felt like.
I ran my hand over her breast, my thumb brushing the nipple, and listened to her inhale. I kept my hand moving down over her ribcage, the perfect flat plane of her stomach. Everyone got to see this body, but who touched it properly? The way it deserved to be touched? Tessa hadn’t let anyone touch her the right way in a long, long time—maybe ever. That much, I knew.
But she let me now. I stroked down past her belly button, then slid my fingers under the elastic of her panties. She let out a sigh and opened her long, gorgeous legs as I moved further down, pressing my fingers into her pussy.
She moaned aloud, closing her eyes and pressing her hips up into me. I let my forehead drop to her neck and concentrated, trying to do it right, trying not to come. She smelled like vanilla and woman-sweat and sex, like smoke from the bar where she’d worked her shift and the remains of the makeup she’d washed off after her shoot. She wasn’t a dream girl or an illusion. She was just Tessa, and in that moment the only thing I wanted was to make her come.
I stroked her, pushing my fingertips into her, then up through her slick folds to her clit. Her hands dug into my biceps and her hips moved, grinding into me. “Oh, God,” she said in a helpless voice.
I moved my fingers down again, into her, further this time. If Tessa had any inhibitions left, they were quickly disappearing. She gripped my arms harder—I was going to have marks—and ground herself onto my hand. “Andrew,” she gasped.
“I like torturing you,” I said against her skin.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t—Oh, fuck.”
I kept going, bringing my thumb into the mix, building her higher, higher. Watching her arch against my sheets, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her lashes against her cheeks.
When she came it spiraled out for a long time, moving through her body in waves as she cried out. My muscles were locked and stiff, my cock hard and hot against my belly, my breathing shallow. Tessa having an orgasm, brought on by me, was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Finally, she relaxed as my hand stilled. Her eyes opened and looked up at me. A smile touched her lips, sexy and powerful. “Your turn,” she said, and her hand moved into my boxers, her fingers curling around my cock.
I made a surprised, undignified grunt. My arm gave out and I dropped to the bed, closing my eyes as sensation washed over me. Tessa put a palm against my shoulder and pushed me to my back, and it was her turn to lean over me, her hand moving up and down me.
It felt so good I thought I was going to fucking die. But first, I would come. Embarrassingly fast. I pressed my hands to the mattress and tried not to let it happen.
But it was inevitable. She stroked her hand up to the head, then down again, with just the right amount of pressure. Tessa’s hand was stroking my cock, right now. My hips pushed up into her and my hands tangled into the sheets. Fuck, this was going to be fast.
“Jesus, Tessa, I’m going to come,” I managed, because it was polite to at least warn her.
“That’s the idea,” she said. Then she bent down, the ends of her hair trailing against my stomach, pushed down the waist of my boxers, and slid her hot, wet mouth over my cock.
I came. It was almost painful, and it was certainly humiliating. I could have practically drowned her. That’s how much of a fucking mess I was.
When I finished I ran my hands over my face, which was numb. I tried to breathe. One breath, and then another. My hands, I realized, were shaking. I had no way to stop it now.
I kept my eyes closed and felt Tessa kiss her way up my stomach, my chest. I couldn’t speak. My mind was blank. I couldn’t even form a single thought.
Tessa moved one of my hands away from my face and kissed my cheek. She didn’t need me to speak; she didn’t need me to do anything. She kissed down my cheek to my jawbone, up to my temple. She let her body relax against mine, pressed to my side. I took in a shuddering breath and tried to keep it together.
I opened my eyes as she rolled away from me. I thought she was going to get up, but she was only turning out the bedside lamp. She rolled back and lay against me again.
She fit against me so perfectly. My arm went around her, curling over her back. She lay her cheek against my shoulder.
We lay there without speaking, listening to each other breathe. We didn’t seem to need words. She was right; we’d done enough talking for a while.
After a long t
ime, I realized that we were lying in the dark, which I usually hated. But it didn’t seem so bad.
Then I realized Tessa was asleep.
I had only a minute to think about it before I was gone into oblivion.
Twenty-One
Tessa
* * *
I’ve always been a deep sleeper. When I’m out, I’m all the way out until I finally come back to consciousness. That must have been how Andrew got out of bed the next morning without me noticing.
It was early—just after seven, according to my phone, which was still in the pocket of my jeans on the floor. The rain had stopped in the night, the storm passing over. I pulled on my now-dry jeans and my T-shirt, ditching the bra, and crossed the hall to use the bathroom.
I felt…good. Really good. Rested and satisfied, though Andrew and I hadn’t done the full range of things we could possibly do. We hadn’t even started. And I still felt pretty freaking fantastic.
I came out of the bathroom and heard sounds from the other room in the hall. I’d peeked into this room before and knew it was a workout room. Andrew was doing his morning workout.
He was on his back on a weight bench, doing chest presses. I stood in the doorway and watched for a minute, not wanting to startle him.
He was wearing a black tee and gray sweatpants. His arms and chest flexed, his dark eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple and into his hair.
He put the weight down on its rack and sat up, looking at me over his shoulder. His expression was careful, unreadable. “Morning,” he said.
And I felt it—that little trickle of excitement, like champagne bubbles moving through my blood. The feeling of being with a guy I liked. Of being the focus of his attention, of having nothing else to look at but him. “Morning,” I said.
He swiveled on the bench, moving his legs off and putting his feet on the ground. I was getting used to it now, how Andrew arranged himself. It wasn’t weird or clumsy; it was just how he moved. I walked to the bench and sat next to him.
This was the moment when it might be awkward. I’d told him my rawest secret last night, and I knew his. We hadn’t talked about it. We would, eventually, and it would be a dark conversation. We both had unresolved shit, and Andrew was convinced I was going to dump him. We’d had sort-of sex, we’d slept together, and we were both in uncharted territory. I should be fumbling around, making excuses and leaving. Instead I looked at him and thought, Damn, girl, you got that. Get it again.
“I have to go to work,” I said, like a dope.
“Yeah,” Andrew said. He scratched his chin slowly, his fingers rasping over his beard. He wasn’t awkward either. He wasn’t defensive or throwing quips at me. This was thoughtful Andrew, his face relaxed, his eyes focused on the wall as the super-intelligent thoughts went around in his head. I looked at his fingers and thought of how they’d touched me last night, how they’d made me come.
He’d had a lot of women, once upon a time. I saw that now. I could see the twenty-three-year old who had all the women he wanted.
But none of those women were here now. I got him all to myself.
“You’re going to the photo shoot?” he asked, glancing at me.
I didn’t want to think about taking my clothes off in front of a lot of people, but I said, “Yeah. It’s the last day. Then I’m working a shift at Miller’s.”
He nodded. “You hungry?”
“I can’t eat right before a shoot. I’ll get coffee on the way. I’m going home to shower and change.”
“Okay.”
“I’m coming over later. After my shift.”
He looked at me again, his eyes catching mine. Something flickered in his, and he said, “You sure?”
It was the one and only time he’d ask me, I knew. He was giving me an out. “I’m sure,” I said.
He dropped his hand, still looking thoughtful. “Sex with me is going to be different,” he said frankly.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean, I don’t really know how it goes. I’m pretty sure I can make it good, but I’ll have to figure a few things out. You need to be patient. It won’t be like you’re used to with other guys.”
I couldn’t help it. “You mean you’ll call me afterward?” I said.
Andrew sighed, but he looked amused.
“Okay, seriously,” I said. I reached out and put my hand on his arm, close to his wrist, wanting to feel his skin against mine. “Does sex with you involve your cock inside me?”
His face went still. “Tessa.”
“Because I haven’t had that yet and honestly, I’m pretty interested.”
“Tessa.”
I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “See you later.”
When the door closed behind me, I was smiling.
Twenty-Two
Andrew
* * *
Nick and I were sitting in my living room, Nick on the sofa, me at my computer. Nick’s dog, a ridiculous chihuahua named Scout, was on the sofa next to Nick, lying on her back, hoping he—or anyone—would rub her belly. Yes, my big, tough brother had a chihuahua, and he was actually attached to her. It was a long story.
Nick was jotting ideas down on a notepad. I was using my tablet to draw a panel for the latest Lightning Man comic.
“Okay, so he’s saved Judy Gravity from the underworld,” Nick said. “What next? They need to take on another mission.”
I was drawing the underworld scene. Lightning Man was lifting a giant fiery boulder, looking for Judy beneath it. “Judy?” he called in the dialogue box. “Judy!”
“I called the venue for the comic convention,” Nick said. “They say it’s wheelchair accessible.”
“No,” I said.
We’d been over this once already. A big comic convention was coming to Detroit, a few hours’ drive away. They’d contacted us and asked if we wanted to come—speak on a panel, meet readers, sign copies of Lightning Man.
Leave my house. Stay in a hotel. Talk to people. No.
“The hotel is accessible, too,” Nick said.
I didn’t look up from my drawing. “No.”
“Too bad, dirtbag. You’re going.”
This was my brother’s version of a pep talk. No wonder I was in therapy. “How would we get to Detroit?” I asked.
“How do you think? I’ll drive.”
I put my pen down and pressed the pad of my thumb into my eye socket, where a headache was suddenly starting. Driving was bad for me—very bad. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car made me think of the accident. Short trips to and from the hospital were hard enough; a few hours on the highway sounded like a nightmare. “You go without me,” I said.
Nick patted Scout, who wiggled idiotically in happiness. “No way, asshat. We both go. It’s an opportunity.”
“No, it’s a hellish dystopia.”
Nick made a sound between a sigh and a growl. “For fuck’s sake.”
I thought about Tessa, how she’d looked this morning. Tousled and relaxed and beautiful, wearing last night’s clothes. I calmed down a little, and the headache didn’t throb as hard. I took a breath and looked at the panel I was drawing. “Judy!” Lightning Man was shouting.
I picked up the tablet pen and started filling in the hot coals and flames of the underworld. “I don’t think Lightning Man and Judy Gravity should go on a mission,” I said. “I think they should go on a date.”
Nick picked up his notepad. “Judy isn’t Lightning Man’s girlfriend.”
I drew Lightning Man’s tortured expression as he looked for her. “You know, I think she is.”
Nick put down his pad again and looked at me, ignoring Scout, who gazed at him worshipfully. I kept drawing.
“What?” I said finally, my eyes on the screen.
“You got laid,” Nick said.
“I did not.” Technically true. If you followed a very narrow definition of “laid.”
“Fucking hell,” Nick said. “You think I don’t know w
hat Laid Andrew looks like? I saw him enough times.”
“Laid Andrew has no comment,” I said, filling in Lightning Man’s costume. “Neither does Un-Laid Andrew.”
“I want to meet this woman,” Nick said. “Tessa.”
“Are you going to ask if she has honorable intentions toward me?”
“Can you be fucking serious for a minute? This is important.”
I lowered my pen and turned to look at him. He was sitting up on the sofa, scowling at me.
“You don’t think I’m serious?” I said.
“You don’t know this woman,” Nick said. “She just showed up. She could be anyone.”
“Is it your mission to annoy the shit out of me today?” I asked him. “First I have to take a two-hour drive on the highway, and now any woman who likes me is up to something.”
“I didn’t say that.”
The headache was starting again. Nick and I liked to insult each other, but we didn’t fight like this. We usually just sat here, making up stupid stories for comics. That was what we’d done for seven years.
And then Nick had found Evie. And he got married. And now there was Tessa. Everything was fucking changing.
I’d had enough change in my life already. Way too much. Change made everything worse.
“You know what?” I said to Nick. “You’re right. Don’t worry about Tessa. I don’t know how long she’s going to be around.”
“What does that mean?”
I raised my eyebrows. “It means it’s a short-term relationship. You used to be pretty familiar with those.”
He scowled harder.
“We’re not getting married and having babies,” I said. “She’ll bail out after a while. In the meantime, I’m thirty fucking years old and the accident didn’t lower my IQ, so relax.”
Nick opened his mouth, probably to argue some more, but there was a knock on my front door. I checked the security feed. It was Evie. She’d left us to run some errands while we worked, and now she was back. I let her in.