When We Met

by A. L. Jackson

  “What else can I do?” she asked cautiously.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” My eyes practically spun in the back of my head from her hands moving over my skin. “What you’re doing is . . . amazing.”

  Her fingers slipped beneath my T-shirt as they began kneading the muscles between my shoulder blades. “You want to tell me about it?”

  “N . . . No.” My voice stuttered as her hands journeyed down my spine to my waist.

  “Take this off,” she said in a soft and tentative voice. After I pulled my shirt over my head, she smoothed her warm fingers over my flesh, as if savoring it.

  Her hands traveled to my stomach and it quivered from her touch.

  I immediately felt hot and solid for her despite all the chaos going on in my life.

  “Blake,” she whispered. Her fingers skimmed up and down my chest and her nails lightly scratched my abdomen.

  My hard-on fought against the material of my jeans. “Damn, that feels incredible.”

  I just wanted to get lost in this girl.

  Her lips found my ear and I shivered from their closeness. “I only want to make you feel good,” she said as her teeth grazed my neck and then trailed down to my shoulder. I pumped out a heavy breath. She turned me on so damned much.

  When I felt her breasts flatten against my back and her hand brush over my erection, my arms flexed against the wall. I didn’t even try stopping her. Because hell, I wanted her to touch me.

  She unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, and without hesitation slid her delicate fingers inside. When her small but sure hand gripped me firmly, I groaned loudly.

  “Chloe. God,” I strained out. “I’ve imagined you doing this on so many nights.”

  Her hot lips began sucking on the back of my neck as her fingers worked me in the front.

  After so many days of pent-up sexual frustration from just being around her—smelling her, tasting her skin and lips—I was already close.

  I probably should have twisted to look at her, to kiss her sweet mouth. We weren’t even making eye contact, but somehow this felt so damned intimate. To have someone to lean on when everything in my life was going to shit.

  Besides, I knew her pretty well by now. Had I turned to face her, she might have balked. More than likely, not seeing my eyes, my expression, made her feel brave—and I didn’t want to ruin this. I needed her fingers on my skin, wanted it so damned badly.

  “Christ, I love feeling your hands on me.” My words spurred her on as she gripped tighter and stroked faster.

  “Let go,” Chloe mumbled, kissing between my shoulder blades. “Just let it all out.”

  And that was exactly what I did. I unleashed all of my frustration and sorrow. And I allowed my uninhibited passion for this girl to sweep me away into a mind-numbing orgasm.

  chapter eleven

  Blake

  When I came through the door carrying two coffees the following night, Chloe was lighting the last of dozens of tea lights she had spread across the room.

  It gave the space this magical, almost ethereal glow. She’d also laid down a plaid blanket and wicker basket in the center.

  “Wow, what’s all this?”

  “I thought we’d have a picnic tonight,” she said, biting her lip and looking incredibly sexy. “After we finish painting. It’ll be our reward.”

  “Sounds great.” Her actions were exceptionally sweet and considerate and I just wanted to pull her against me and kiss the hell out of her.

  There would be time for that later, but first we needed to finish applying the second coat to the runway. The street sale was at the end of this week.

  “How are things . . . at home?” she asked, her voice tentative.

  “Um, I . . .” I shook my head. I didn’t want my mood to permeate the night the way it did last time, but I guess I couldn’t help it—I was currently living under a dark cloud.

  “Please, Blake,” she said, her gaze searing into mine. “Talk to me.”

  Being with Chloe the previous night had somehow helped. Like I had someone to lean on and get lost with. Maybe it was okay to allow her to be my anchor. Just for right now.

  “Not much better,” I said truthfully. “Mom’s sponsor spent the day with her and got the treatment center involved. We have a family session in the morning to discuss the next steps to her sobriety.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sadness filtered through her eyes. “How’s your brother?”

  “After his game tonight, he begged me to stay over at his friend Matt’s house again,” I said, thinking about how I sat there, seething in those stands, because my mother wasn’t able to attend his game with me. She hadn’t been to a game all week. “I was about to say no, but his parents had walked over and told me it would be fine by them.”

  “You’re a great big brother.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “What’s new with you?”

  “You mean besides the fact that my mom got on my case about not attending an art and design fund-raiser last night?”

  My jaw went slack. She had been with me. Essentially taking care of me. “You ditched out on that last night?”

  “I did,” she said with a strong voice. “And it felt darn good.”

  Her grin was wide and open and I couldn’t help smiling right along with her. She was fighting her own kind of battle and I wanted to be a support for her as well.

  We left the second coat of paint to dry on the runway and then sat down on the blanket. She opened the basket near her knees and said, “I thought maybe we needed something strong tonight.”

  My eyebrows shot up as she pulled out a bottle of Baileys.

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  She shrugged. “I said I usually don’t. But this kinda tastes like chocolate and goes great with coffee.”

  “Where’d you get it from?”

  “My roommate Indy let me swipe it from her.”

  I grinned and opened our coffee lids while she changed the station on her iPod. A slow and soulful Adele song came on, and to my utter amazement, Chloe reached for my hands. “Let’s dance.”

  We did a toast with our Baileys-laced coffees and then I pulled her into my arms as we swayed to the moody song.

  Her skin was soft, she smelled like strawberries, and I felt all the tension unraveling in my chest at having her nearer. I wasn’t sure how I was going to walk away from her after this week, and maybe I didn’t have to.

  Maybe if I got things squared away with my mom again, I could ask her out on a real date.

  But for now, I just wanted to be next to her. In this moment.

  I looked into the dark blue depths of her eyes. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For . . . being here for me, the last couple of nights.”

  “No problem. I . . . look forward to being here . . . with you.”

  I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers in a heated kiss, showing her just how much I liked it, too. Within a couple of minutes our kisses became more insistent, our tongues tangling frantically as our bodies overheated.

  Next our shirts came off and our bodies were molded together, chest to stomach to hips, and I was beyond turned on. I wanted to strip off the rest of our clothes so that I could feel all of her smooth skin next to mine.

  “Blake,” she whispered. “It’s been a long time, but I want . . . I need . . .”

  My stomach tightened in anticipation. “What?”

  “I want to be with you . . . tonight.”

  My breath caught in the back of my throat because I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be with her, connect with her, in that way.

  I cupped her face and then deepened the kiss, my body flattening against hers more urgently. I kneeled down on the blanket and tugged her with me.

  I nibbled her ear and then along her neck, making my way to her breasts. She arched up against me as I pulled one of her nipples into my mouth and then gave the other side the same attention.

  “Pleas
e,” she urged, grasping me through the front of my jeans.

  “Oh God, Chloe,” I rasped out. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” My mouth captured hers in a bruising kiss and we continued grinding up against each other. In another minute, both of our jeans were off and I could barely catch my breath. She was so gorgeous—kneeling there completely naked, her skin soft and glistening in the dim light.

  Our hands were roaming everywhere—in hair, over chests and backsides, between legs, working each other into a panting and reckless frenzy.

  She was so wet and I was so damned ready my hard-on was straining against her stomach. It’d been so long since I felt so connected to someone that I was desperate to be inside her. But I needed her to be sure.

  “Now, Blake, please,” she mumbled, while kissing my neck and gripping me in her fingers.

  I reached for my wallet and pulled out the condom I’d always kept there, just in case.

  I slid it over my very hard erection and then nudged her back on the blanket. I took my time kissing her soft lips, all the while looking deeply into her eyes. “You’re so damned pretty, Chloe.”

  I positioned my head at her entrance and she shivered from the contact. I entered her partway and then paused, hissing through my teeth. She was so tight and wet and warm.

  It felt incredible being inside her, so I wanted to take my sweet time.

  I noticed her trembling lips and her flushed cheeks. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she strangled out. “I’m perfect. This is perfect. Please, I want you.”

  I slid in farther, inch by inch, and she cried out as I filled her completely.

  As soon as she became adjusted to the feel of me inside her, I began moving in and out at a solid pace, keeping eye contact with her. Everything in this moment felt so right, so amazingly fucking flawless. I didn’t want it to end.

  I could feel her climax building slowly—her skin pulsing, her warm center squeezing more tightly—as I reached my thumb down to roll over her swollen nub.

  She yelled out my name, trembling and grasping at my hair, and I stilled myself to watch her get her release, before pumping into her more firmly to chase my own.

  We stayed wrapped in the blanket for a long time afterward, just gazing into each other’s eyes—talking, laughing, and stealing kisses. It was one of the most unforgettable nights of my life.

  chapter twelve

  Chloe

  Today was the day of the Made in the Arbor street fair and I had gotten an early start to prep for the long hours. I hadn’t seen Blake in a few days and was basically going out of my mind.

  We’d never exchanged phone numbers, just always shown up at the space to work together. I figured his disappearing act had something to do with his mom, because of what he’d shared that last night we were together.

  I squashed down the notion that he didn’t return because of me—that I’d given him what he’d wanted and he was done. Or maybe it didn’t live up to the fantasy he’d said he had of me. I wasn’t very skilled in that department, but he certainly made me feel like I’d been.

  No matter how busy I made myself, I couldn’t get him out of my head—how his skin smelled like fresh linen or the way his lips fit so perfectly against mine.

  Jaclyn seemed more than impressed with what we had accomplished at her other store. She said that it would be a shame to take it down and that she knew the sale would be a hit. She began officially calling the new space Fibers, which matched nicely with Threads.

  I couldn’t help telling Jaclyn that I was concerned about Blake and that I hoped he was okay. I was sure she could see my feelings for him in my eyes, in the emotions I was trying desperately to rein in. It must have been obvious how close we’d grown over these past few weeks.

  That was probably the reason why, despite her extreme privacy, she had given me a hint that his family was indeed in full-on crisis mode again. I stopped short of asking for his number—I figured when he was ready he might reach out to me. Every time the bell above the shop door jingled open, I prayed he’d step through it, but it never happened.

  I was lost working at Fibers without him. There hadn’t been much left to do except attend to last-minute touches to prep for opening day, but in each corner I looked, he was there. From the filament strands wound around the pipes, the curtains that hung in the windows, to the shelves and the runway he’d built by hand, his presence was everywhere. I was lonely for him as I’d never been for any other guy.

  Mom would’ve had a field day with that one. As it was, she’d been frustrated with me for being distant these past few weeks. I told her I was busy with the project and classes and felt bummed that I couldn’t confide in her about Blake—so I had my roommates to thank for trying to lift my spirits these past few days.

  My mother had arrived to the sale early and was mingling with the other shop owners and Chamber of Commerce Committee members outside. She was poised and perfect and I’d always admired her natural charisma when it came to interacting with others. I usually had to work harder at it.

  I’d admit it had felt good to see her utter astonishment about what I’d created, when she first stepped inside the store. And when she told me it looked incredible, my chest ballooned with pride.

  She seemed hesitant around me today, though, as if we were navigating new territory together. One that didn’t include her knowing or commandeering every single facet of my life.

  The fashion show was taking place at noon, when the street would be the most crowded from lunchtime traffic. Jaclyn was thrilled with my runway idea and I was able to secure some models from the School of Design. Jaclyn had called in all of her seasonal part-time help to work the sale, so there were more than enough hands to assist both inside and outside the shop.

  Before I knew it, the morning had flown by and the models were showing up and heading to the back room to get instructions from the other classmates I’d roped into helping out with the show.

  I’d been busy securing the edges of the runway with netting, but then I moved behind the desk to grab my notebook, which contained a running list of the day’s activities. I reached for my thin Sharpie to cross off the tasks I’d accomplished, and I noticed it lying uncapped on the counter.

  I mentally scolded the person who had been so careless until I saw a yellow sticky note—fresh from my pack—sitting atop my pad. Words were scrawled across in red marker, and when I read them my chest constricted, my breaths faltering.

  I’ve missed you.

  I gazed toward the sidewalk, looking for the one person I’d hoped had written that note. But the street was only riddled with customers picking through the sales racks.

  I lifted the notebook and paged through my event notes with shaky fingers. As I flipped the sheet over, I found another sticky note.

  I’m sorry I’ve been gone. Things have been a mess at home. But I thought of you every minute of every day.

  My bottom lip trembled in relief. I nearly burst into tears at his revelation.

  But where in the hell was he now?

  I felt something bulky on the next page and found yet another note.

  I keep hoping you miss me just as much and that somehow—despite your very detailed life plans—we can make this work. Please say YES.

  I closed my eyes as my chest practically burst open with emotion. I wanted so badly to make it work, and I’d only realized it at just that very moment. That what I’d been feeling so desperately these past few days was the yearning to be with him.

  All the time.

  Maybe Blake was outside waiting for the show to begin. I needed to find him immediately afterward. I hugged the notebook to my chest and heard Jaclyn’s voice ring out.

  “Are we on schedule?” she said from the rear of the store. “The models and dressers need more direction back here.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, swallowing thickly. “It’s almost showtime.”

  When I passed by her, I could’ve sworn I s
aw a glint in her eye.

  The back room was bordering on chaos and I seized one moment to take a fortifying breath before stepping into the middle of the floor.

  Despite my initial panic, I was feeling calmer in the center of this storm—thanks in part to Blake, for opening my eyes and daring me to see what was hidden inside myself.

  “There you are,” Julie, one of my volunteer assistants, said. “I just wanted to double-check the order with you. Seems there’s been another change.” A model had bailed on us yesterday, but I was able to delete his number from the lineup.

  “What kind of change?” The model in front of me was struggling with her shoe, so I bent down to help her adjust the strap. “I didn’t approve of anything.”

  That was when I heard his voice. Low and throaty and raw. “Chloe.”

  My head snapped up painfully as my heart battered in my chest.

  Blake was as gorgeous as ever in his relaxed jeans with freshly washed hair.

  His blue eyes bored into mine. “Can you tell me what I’ll be wearing?”

  I straightened on shaky knees and brushed off my skirt. “What do you mean?”

  “Aunt Jaclyn called,” he said. “She said you were down a male model and could use some help today.”

  I scanned through the crowd in the back of the room and found Jaclyn, gathering some prize baskets for the sale. When her eyes met mine, she winked.

  My gaze darted to the number ten rack that we had pushed to the side last night. The clothing I had pulled to dress that model still hung there and I pumped out a breath. I could definitely make this work.

  As soon as the initial shock of seeing Blake wore off, I went into action mode. “Fit him in at the end of the lineup,” I threw over my shoulder to Julie. “Amanda can dress number three, but I’m dressing number ten.”

  I led Blake to the tenth rack and pulled it from against the back wall.

  “I was going to skip this number, but since you’re here . . . ,” I said, grinning like an idiot now. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”

  He didn’t even bat an eyelash as he tugged his shirt over his head and then pushed his pants down so that he now faced me in his gray boxer briefs. Yep, he’d certainly done this modeling thing before. Hot damn.