by Gina Kincade
So I wake early, planning the remaining days, trying to think of ways to avoid what almost happened last night. Jesus, that was close. My cock knew exactly where her opening was and had been doing everything to get inside, even though I thought Bone Ranger and I agreed not to do that sort of thing. Or maybe it was Steve who was being the dick last night. God, my puns are terrible.
Getting out of bed is difficult because Asha is tangled around me. I love sleeping now. Because I’m sleeping with her. Since I’ve been discharged, sleeping hasn’t been easy, but it is with her. It also helps that last night I had one of the best orgasms of my life, and I hadn’t even been inside her.
Showering, I’m trying to be super quiet. Dressing, the same. I scramble some eggs for her and make toast. I’m making her breakfast in bed because I’m going to pamper the hell out of her. I’ve been texting my sister, asking for suggestions to win Asha’s heart. It was because I added the heart part that Zoe said she’d actually help. She also texted something about it being time I settled down, which, oddly, didn’t freak me the fuck out. So thanks to my sister, I have a huge list of PG-rated things to do that might woo Asha. And I know the X-rated things too. I just…I don’t know if that will convince her that she’s mine. All mine.
I don’t have a tray, so I use a flat box to carry her plate and coffee, just the way she likes it, and orange juice. And I’m not going to let her touch me. I hope. I’ve got only three days to make her love me, and, yeah, I’m thinking of love because I’m damn near close already. How could I not? She’s hilarious. She’s patient. With me, especially. And she’s so smart and pretty and…her list is incredibly long. While my list isn’t.
I’ve got a lot of work to do in these next three days.
She’s stirring and mumbling something when I walk into the bedroom.
“What’s that, baby?”
“Why aren’t you here?” She sits up, looking adorably grumpy. “I don’t like waking up without you. Oh, but you made food.”
“Yeah. Do you like scrambled eggs with cheese? And unlike you, little practical joker, I’m not asking that to get hot sauce all over your plate. I’m really asking.”
Her mouth falls open a little, her brows do this thing where they arch up only at the center. “I love scrambled eggs with cheese.”
“Scoot over so I can sit with you.”
She does, propping pillows not behind herself but where I’m going to sit. She’s so fucking considerate. I sit on the covers, placing the box tray on her legs as she’s getting comfortable on her pillow and my headboard.
“This is a lot of scrambled eggs.”
“I’m eating too.” I scoot a little closer to her. She smells good in the morning. She smells like her—that floral sweet scent that makes Steve pay a little too much attention to her.
I clear my throat and take one of the forks. “I have the day all planned out.”
“Oh? Thank you for breakfast, by the way. This is so sweet of you.”
“Sure. With me, you’ll get breakfast in bed all the time.” I’m trying to sweeten the pot and it might be annoyingly obvious.
She slowly chews, looking at me as if I’m all new to her.
“What? The eggs bad?”
“They’re great! I just…can I ask you a personal question?”
“Yeah, you know you can.”
She blinks, like she doesn’t know that she can ask me for a kidney and I’d figure out a way to give it to her. I’d give her anything, and for some reason she doesn’t know it yet.
I’m not sure how to tell her all that without, you know, freaking her out, especially if she’s not ready to hear that sort of thing.
She sniffs and asks, “You—you—I pegged you as the kind of man who—how can I say it?”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Just say it.” I don’t know what she’s going to ask me, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Do you see yourself in the future?” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, you do. What I mean is…okay, I didn’t think you were the kind of man who would ever want to get married, settle down, things like that.”
That’s twice someone has mentioned settling down and, again, I’m not freaking the fuck out.
“I mean,” she’s stammering. “God, I’m shouldn’t have said that so bluntly, but I just—”
I take in a deep breath. Zoe said something about the way to a woman’s heart is through authenticity and honesty. Be vulnerable. God, if Zoe knew the things I already do for this woman in front of me. But I’m going to keep doing it because Asha will be mine.
She’s still struggling and apologizing but I stop her by saying, “You know, for a long time I never thought I’d marry. When I was a kid, even when I was first in the Army, I didn’t want to get married.”
“Were you—and you don’t have to answer this—were you with a lot of women? You know what? On second thought, I don’t want to know. I do, but—”
“Asha, let me just say that I didn’t take myself very seriously so I didn’t take anything else, including women. Now, with you, I’m ashamed of my past.”
She pushes the box tray to the side so she can turn to me and put her hands on mine. “No, I don’t want you to be. Never be ashamed of your past. That feels really shitty.”
I smile. “I like it when you swear.”
She shrugs. “Seemed like the most applicable word.”
I nod. “I didn’t think about marriage. And when Zoe got pregnant, that really freaked me out, I hate to admit. I put even more distance between myself and any woman, any kind of committed relationship.”
She nods and looks like I’ve confirmed something for her. But I’m not fucking done. That’s not the end of my story. So, I’m going to tell her something that might make me vulnerable enough to get choked up, which will fucking kill me to have her see me like that, but so be it.
“But then I became friends with Adam. Adam Bernstein, a kid from Boston. A really nice guy who wanted to be my friend. With him, everything changed. I started to think that I could get married. I could be…normal.”
Something about what I said seems to have shocked her. Her eyes are huge and round, and her lips are a little lax, making me want to kiss them. But I have to steer clear of them while she’s on my bed. No more fooling around and almost having sex. Not without her heart involved.
“I figured,” I continue, “if a normal guy like Adam could be my friend, me, the kid from Indiana who stole shit, who kind of loathed his own grandmother and who the fuck does that?”
“A kid who had a good reason to, Ian. There’s nothing wrong with your feelings. What your grandmother did—excuse me if this sounds disrespectful—is fucked up.”
I smile. God, she’s fierce. Love that about her.
“Anyway, Adam was—”
“Was?”
“Adam died. Afghanistan. Died in my arms.”
She had the sheet covering her nude little body—we slept naked last night, and I’m surprised I didn’t try to have sex with her. But I’m also really proud that I didn’t. Now, though, she’s lunging for me, flinging her arms around my neck, sitting on my lap and holding me close.
“I’m so, so sorry, Ian.”
I’m still holding my fork, but I embrace her, feeling her silky skin against my hands that makes me itch to touch more and more of her. If Adam knew telling his story would get her to react like this—embracing me without a thought about her naked body, he’d be real happy for me. I wish he was here so I could tell him I’m, as of a couple months ago, no longer a male slut as he called me. And I’m falling in love. For the first time. Hell, probably the only time in my life, I’m falling.
So hard.
She pulls away enough to look up at me, but all I see are her breasts, her little belly, and dark pubic hair. With a strength I never knew before, I lift her off me, settle her under the covers, where the sheet can cover her gorgeous breasts and everything else, and put the box tray back on her.
She probably th
inks I’m being stoic, but I’m trying to control my raging hard on. I’m trying to think. What was I talking about?
Adam.
“So, ah, thanks.” I smile, trying to regain my mind. “And, yeah, after making friends with him I thought I could do all the normal things other people do. Marriage. Stuff like that. If I wanted to.”
She nods and looks down at the eggs that neither of us are touching now. “Marriage is...I don’t know how I…you know the Cheyenne were matrilocal—women held many rights within marriage. The kids were hers. If she wanted to divorce her husband, she could just kick his stuff out and that was that.”
“You want to kick my stuff out?” I hold my breath, even if I am just teasing.
She smiles as she looks up at me. “Nah. You made me scrambled eggs with cheese.”
“Whew.” My heart, crazy organ, beats a little faster.
She chuckles. But then her smile dims. She holds the sheet closer to her chest. “What do I have to do—what do I have to do to get you to give me oral sex?”
Nothing. Not a damned thing, baby.
That’s what Steve’s shouting.
But I, thank god, have a tiny bit of reasoning in my head. “You have to go on an all-day trip with me.”
She moves the box tray yet again, turning to me, her eyes big and begging. “But can you do that first and then we go on the trip?”
Steve’s screaming all sorts of things, a lot more excited than he should be. But I manage to say, “Nope. Now, eat your eggs and take a shower. We have a lot of driving to do.”
She sighs disappointedly, which turns me on even more. But I am going to win her. If it’s the last thing I do, she will be mine.
Asha
Ryder carried me to bed last night because I basically fell asleep on him after a day of hiking around the Medicine Bow National Forest. I’m not sure how I did, considering being on a motorcycle should have made me cautious enough to stay awake. But, nope. I was asleep by the time we got home, kind of aware he was carrying me inside, and putting me in bed.
I just called Ryder’s apartment home.
That can’t be good.
Or is it?
Yesterday, I basically realized that all my assumptions about him weren’t true. He is the settling-down kind of guy. But could he with me?
Do I want that?
Yeah, I realize. I think I do.
My sister adores him. I doubt my folks will, but they only want good Cheyenne boys for Lona and me. And obviously Lona isn’t adhering to that with her really pale Goth girl, Bit. I think my parents would be a lot more welcoming of Ryder, even if he does have a lot of scars and tattoos. He has the right anatomy, I’m sorry to say. God, I hate thinking that way, and it makes me realize that I’m going to have several talks with my parents to make sure they accept Bit and Lona.
I wonder if Hon has met a nice girl. I wonder if he will.
My sister’s talk from the day before yesterday rings through my mind as I’m groggily waking up, secure in Ryder’s heavy arms. Maybe I should call Hon. Maybe I should force him to tell me why the hell he stays away from me. But I can’t help but feel betrayed by him. When I needed him the most, he was gone. Nowhere to be found. I mean, I remember the police and my sister saying how it was thanks to my brother that Anthony was caught at all, but then Hon just vanished from my life. He wasn’t even there when the trial began, except when he was called to be a witness. But he wouldn’t look at me. Not once.
He tore my heart in two that day and the following days when he wouldn’t accept my calls.
Why should I be the one to call him? It’s his fucking turn. He should call me.
Now, in this lazy morning, Ryder squeezes me, laying a leg on mine, enveloping me completely. “When did you wake up?” His voice is deep and groggy and eases away my hurt.
You know what’s crazy? I think Ian would help all my internal wounds even if I told him about them. He’s not just a distraction. He’s so much more. He’s…healing me. God, Megan, would love him.
“Not that long ago.” I turn in his hold, snuggling even closer. “I was planning to brush my teeth and then attack you.”
He kisses the top of my head, nestling against my hair. “Attack me?”
“Yeah, buddy. You didn’t perform your end of the bargain yesterday.”
He chuckles. “You fell asleep on me. I couldn’t.”
I swallow, a serious thought crossing my mind. I don’t want it here. But it is. Because Ryder wouldn’t think about touching me while I was asleep.
It wasn’t until I was sexually assaulted that I realized how that kind of attack is so prevalent it’s even in the movies. There’s one where a guy puts to bed a drunk girl, or maybe she’s just sleeping, and there’s an angel on his shoulder and a demon on the other, talking about having sex with her while she’s incapacitated and not able to give consent. It’s supposed to be funny but I’m not sure how it is. The man in that movie is considered a saint because he chooses not to rape the girl. Wow. Just wow. That’s a good man? A man who chooses not to rape? But the impulse was still there?
So a man like Ryder, someone who really is a saint because he doesn’t have an impulse like that, is the kind of man I want…well, I want him for more than just taking away my virginity. I want to be the girl he thinks about settling down with. Maybe it’s too soon to think like that. But I want to be, at least, the girl he’s thinking about getting into a committed relationship with.
So how can I implant myself into his heart?
With food, right? That’s the saying—the way to a man’s heart is with food.
Which means I’m so screwed. I can cook spaghetti. From the can.
Shit.
I have to talk to Lona, see if she has any ideas.
But she said she thought Ian was already falling for me. Wouldn’t it be great if she was right?
I hug him even tighter while I’m rolling on top of his warm, almost hot body then over to the edge of the bed, flinging myself off. He snags me by the huge t-shirt I’m wearing. I’m sure it’s one of his, and I don’t remember getting into it, but under it I still have my bra on. And panties. Which is another reason why I like Ryder so much, he didn’t even take my bra off, probably worried I’d think him a pervert. But sleeping in my bra, well, waking up with that thing still on, strangling me, has me almost crazy with the need to take it off and breathe. That, and I have to use the toilet.
I turn and giggle and try to get away from his firm hold.
“Where ya goin’?” He’s not wearing anything on top, and I’m distracted by his body. His gorgeous chest and stomach, those muscular bricks for his abs that I’ve touched. I’ve made him come. I did that. I was sitting on him, my nipples rubbing against this chest as I came too.
“I have to pee and brush my teeth.” I giggle. “You really don’t want me to breathe on you right now.”
He lets me go and laughs. “I wouldn’t mind.”
I turn and race toward his bathroom. “You’re crazy.”
As I close the door, I could have sworn he whispered, “Crazy for you.” Or was that my imagination taking over? Would a guy like Ryder say something like that? I mean, I judged him terribly wrong. Or maybe not all that wrong. I think he was a bit of a womanizer before me, but now…Can a womanizer stop being a womanizer? Isn’t that magical thinking that a lot of women have? Like they think if they’re good enough then he’ll stop cheating or ogling other women’s breasts?
Or maybe Ian was a little sexual before I met him, but he just wasn’t ready for a commitment. Until now.
God, I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I thought I’d be fine to have casual sex, get rid of my pesky virginity, and move on with my life. Finally be a normal girl. And maybe I am more of a normal girl than I’d imagined, because I’m trying to create an imaginary relationship between Ryder and me.
As I take off my bra, cupping myself because it feels so freaking good to be free from that confinement, I wonder just how much I’m going to
be hurt at the end of this. Ryder’s said some amazing things about wanting to be normal too, thinking about marriage. And when I talked about Cheyenne marriages, I thought him so cute to ask if I was going to kick his stuff out. But I don’t feel like I have any kind of power to have him stay with me, stick with me after he’s helped with my V-card.
I hurry with the other things I need to do in the bathroom, wondering if I’ll have a totally broken heart. Maybe I can convince him to have sex with me now. And then, when he moves on to the next woman, I won’t be as hurt as I might be if we keep dragging this out. I mean, I’m sleeping with him. I’m constantly with him. And I haven’t gotten annoyed with him once. It’s like an instant relationship that’s not. That’s probably why I’m getting so attached. Which I’ve got to stop.
So, yeah, I think as I spit out my toothpaste and wash up, I’m going to figure out a way to have sex with Ryder. Today.
In the bathroom, after I wash away some white foam from the corner of my mouth, I glance at myself. How can I seduce Ryder into having sex with me? I mean, he keeps wanting things from me—like meeting my sister, taking me on day trips—that are making it so I get further and further attached to him. I like him so much now I’m already hurting when I think how things will end between us. Doesn’t he understand what he’s asking for is tearing me up?
No, because he’s not going to get torn up afterwards. He’s a pro at this, and this is my first time.
I’ve never felt like Ryder used his experience against me. I’ve always felt like he was with me, having as much fun as me. But not now.
I feel like I aged a couple decades in his bathroom, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
Maybe I should call off the deal. I mean, would it be that bad to die a virgin? There are worse things in this world. And maybe I have placed too much emphasis on being “normal.” What’s that anyway?
Is getting rid of my virginity more important than my heart?
No.
Obviously.
But would I lose my heart if I kept playing this game with him?
Or have I already lost it?
I have no idea how to face him after my spiraling-downward thinking, but I know I have to. I’ve been in the bathroom, staring at myself for way too long. I kept thinking I’d find some kind of answer within my eyes, but now I just feel goofy.