My mom is pretty open-minded, to say the least.
Maybe too open-minded, seeing as what happened seven years ago.
“I don’t know, because it’s fun, maybe?!”
“Just be careful and don’t drink too much.”
“I told you, I’m not going to drink – ”
“And don’t drink and drive.”
“I’m in the dorm, Mom! I’m not driving anywhere!”
“And use a condom.”
“I’m with Kevin, Mom!” I hissed, and glanced down the hall at my room.
The door was still shut.
Why did I do that?
There was no reason to do that…
“Okay, no judgment – just be safe.”
“Goodbye, Mom!”
And then I hung up in exasperation.
Looking back, I know she was just looking out for me. And she actually gave me great advice.
But having your mom tell you if you cheat on your boyfriend, to use a condom?
Jesus.
Considering what she had done when I was twelve, the advice was excruciating to hear.
What was even more excruciating was my fear that ‘like mother, like daughter’ wasn’t just a saying.
63
I walked over to my dorm room and tried the knob. Still locked.
“Hold on,” Derek said from inside.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the surprise ready.”
“What kind of surprise takes five minutes?”
“You’ll find out.”
“You better not be getting naked in there.”
“Do you want me to get naked?” he asked, laughing.
I pictured him naked on the other side of the door, his muscles rippling under his olive skin, and what he would look like below his waist –
“NO,” I said vehemently.
“Okay, then, I need to put my pants back on, hold on a sec,” he joked.
A little flutter of heat and electricity stirred between my legs.
“That’s not funny.”
“Yeah it is. Hold on…”
Click.
“Okay, you can come in now.”
I turned the knob and opened the door.
The lights were off. Though the venetian blinds were shut, late-afternoon light still glowed in the window – but the room was dim enough for the candles to be dazzling.
Lots and lots of candles. Probably twenty of them, those little tea candle lights. They sat in clusters on the window ledge, on Shanna’s bare desk, and in a couple of places on the floor.
In the middle of the room was a quilted blanket laid out on the floor. Beside that was a picnic basket, the big wicker kind. And sitting on the blanket were two plates with knives and forks and spoons and linen napkins, and little plastic tubs from a supermarket deli. There was a bottle of red wine, too, and crystal wine glasses.
And a tiny white vase with a single red rose sticking out of it.
Derek stood there behind the picnic basket, looking a little shy – like he wasn’t sure I was going to like it or not.
My hands flew to my mouth.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, and my eyes welled up.
“Is it okay?” he asked. “I just… I wanted to do something special for you, since it might be… the last time I ever see you.”
I felt like I was going to cry.
All I could do was nod. I took my hands away from my mouth so he could see I was smiling, and then he relaxed.
“Okay,” he grinned, and walked past me and shut the door.
Then he put his hand on the small of my back, and an electric thrill of pleasure ran through my entire body.
“Have a seat,” he said.
64
I sat across from him as he cut the foil off the wine bottle with one of those combination knives/corkscrews.
“How’d you get all this stuff up here?” I asked.
“Ryan. He snuck the picnic basket up here when he disappeared.”
“Ahhhh.” I looked around at the plates and silverware and glasses. It was pretty damn nice for a picnic basket. I probably would have gone with plastic plates and cutlery. “Did you buy this?”
“No, it’s Ryan’s parents’. He kind of borrowed it for me.”
“Kind of?”
“Ahh, they never use it.”
Derek pulled out the cork, then poured us each a glass. He clinked his against mine.
“To you… and to your brilliant future as a world-famous journalist.”
“And to your brilliant future as a world-famous rock star.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, and we both took a sip.
I had only tasted wine at a wedding before, and I was expecting not to like it – but I did. It was a lot sweeter and mellower than the sour stuff at my cousin’s reception, and a hundred times better than the crappy beer I’d had at the few parties I’d gone to in high school and college.
“You like it?” he asked apprehensively.
“Yeah. It’s really good. How the hell did you get it? Do you have a fake ID or something?”
“Yeah, I do, but, uhhh…” He grinned. “Ryan stole it for me from his parents’ wine collection. I told him to get something awesome.”
“OH MY GOD!” I cried out. “You’re going to get him in so much trouble!”
“I’ll make it up to him.”
“Derek…”
“Chill out, he was happy to do it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dinner and wine, compliments of the Miller family.”
“Hey – just the wine and picnic basket,” he said defensively. “I bought everything else myself.”
I suppressed a smile. “Okay. What did you get?”
There was a fancy salad made with greens and tangerine slices, and herbed potatoes, and chicken stuffed with artichokes and cheese. I warmed up the chicken and potatoes in the microwave – the one appliance I had brought from home, and the only one left in the room – and we ate and sipped wine and talked.
For dessert there was a big, thick slice of double chocolate cake. We shared it off the same plate, laughing and battling with spoons for the last bits of frosting. I would have given it to him if he asked, and I’m sure he would have given it to me – but the rivalry was more fun.
It was also a way of dealing with the sexual tension in the air.
The light was gone by the time we ran out of wine. I leaned back against my bed, buzzed and happy in the glow of the candlelight. Derek lay on the floor across from me, his long, muscular frame stretched out and his head propped up on his hand.
God, he was hot.
“Did you like dinner?” he asked.
“It was great,” I sighed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“I feel bad, though…”
“Why?”
“That must’ve cost you a ton of money.”
A ton of money for a guy who lived in Crack Central, anyway.
He shrugged. “It was worth it.”
“Derek…”
“Hey, I wanted to do something nice for you, okay? Just say ‘thank you.’”
“…thank you. It was wonderful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I sat there, my face flushed, my insides warm…
…and not just from the alcohol.
“What now?” I asked, and yawned. Damn wine.
“Looks like somebody needs a nap.”
“Mmm… maybe just a little one…”
“You don’t drink much, do you?”
“Mmm… no,” I said, shaking my head. Then I narrowed my eyes and said in a mock-disapproving voice, “You probably planned on that, didn’t you?”
“No, not at all,” he said as he shook his head ‘yes.’
I giggled again… and then slowly grew somber. “Look… about last night…”
His eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”
“…we can’t do that again.”
“I thought it was amazin
g,” he said softly.
“It…”
It was, it was, OH MY GOD it was amazing. But…
“…I have a boyfriend,” I whispered.
He nodded his head. “I know.”
“Well… that’s why we can’t do that again.”
He didn’t say anything.
“It wouldn’t be… right…” I said, and stifled a yawn.
“Why don’t we get into bed?” he suggested.
His words sent a sexual charge of syrupy sweet desire from my belly down below.
“W-what?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Relax,” he grinned, “we’re just going to let you take a nap, that’s all.”
“…oh…”
I didn’t mean to sound as disappointed as I probably did.
“…no kissing, though…” I slurred.
“No kissing,” he promised.
“…and no… funny stuff…”
“I can’t be funny?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, no funny stuff.”
“…just a nap… right?...”
“Just a nap.”
“…okay…”
Riiiiiight.
65
I stood up gracelessly, plopped down on the bed, and removed my shoes and socks.
He moved the dishes over to Shanna’s side and put up the picnic basket.
“…wow… a guy who makes me dinner, and cleans up…” I giggled as I stretched out on top of the covers.
“Damn straight.”
He started blowing out the tea lights.
“…no… leave them… they’re pretty…”
“Okay,” he agreed, but moved the ones on the floor over to the window ledge. Then he kicked off his clunky boots, pulled off his socks, and laid down next to me on the bed.
The weight of his body next to mine sent another jolt through my lower extremities.
“Turn over on your side,” he commanded me gently. “I want to spoon you.”
“…oh…” I said, catching my breath. “…okay… but no forking…”
He frowned. “Forking?”
“…joke… sounds like…” and I silently mouthed ‘fucking.’
He burst out laughing. “Okay – no ‘forking.’”
“…okay…”
I turned over onto my side and he snuggled up against me.
Sweet baby Jesus.
As soon as I felt him against me, I was wide awake, and I wasn’t going to sleep.
His body felt hard and firm against mine. His legs pressed against the back of my thighs… his pelvis against my rear end… his firm, muscular chest against my back. He draped one arm across me and pulled me in close to him, pressing me against him. I crossed my arms over my chest in an ‘X’ – otherwise his muscular forearm would have been resting against my breasts. His breath tickled across my neck, and I could feel heat radiating off his body like a furnace.
GOD I wanted him so bad.
And it only got worse as the moments ticked by.
I listened to his breathing, slow and steady, right behind me. And as it caressed my neck, the spark between my legs just kept getting warmer and warmer.
I stared at the wall, my eyes wide open.
It was hard to think. The wine and the sheer physical presence of him was overwhelming any thoughts in my head.
I just wanted him, that was all.
And then… I felt it.
A soft pressure against my ass… growing… getting harder…
Bigger…
Thicker…
“I can feel that,” I announced, my voice clear but a little unsteady.
He chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, and pulled his pelvis back so that the pressure was gone.
Damn it, I shouldn’t have said anything…
I lay like that for about 30 seconds, and then I blurted out, “I just said I could feel it, I didn’t say you had to move it.”
He laughed again, and pressed his pelvis against me.
Ohhhhhh God.
I could feel it against me, straining through his jeans and against my ass.
I was so wet.
And then he started to touch me.
Just my arm at first… brushing across my skin… just barely grazing the fine, blonde hairs on my forearm.
His fingertips traced up all the way to my wrist… and then over the back of my hand… and up my fingers… and then began to trail slowly, softly, maddeningly back down.
Some people are ticklish and don’t like being touched that softly.
I’m a little ticklish, too… but I love being touched like that.
I swallowed hard, my mouth watering as he kept stroking me… slowly… moving up to my elbow, then trailing up my arm… touching just under the sleeve of my t-shirt… and then tracing back down.
“You’re touching me,” I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.
“You said no kissing,” he whispered back. “You didn’t say no touching.”
I began to breathe harder as his fingers caressed the bare skin of my other arm.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Tell him yes, tell him to stop, say you have a –
“…no,” I whispered.
He paused, and then he backed his body away from mine.
What are you doing?! I was thinking, disappointed beyond belief –
But his hand took hold of my shoulder and pulled me onto my back.
He was still lying on his side, though, looking down at me.
I stared up at him, but the green of his eyes was lost in the shadows.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
I swallowed hard again… then closed them.
His fingertips began to touch me again… this time the side of my neck, gentle as a breeze, making me shiver. He slowly caressed me all the way up to my left ear… then ran his fingers so gently across my earlobe, stroking it… then moving down the curve of my jaw… down the front of my neck, to the exposed skin at my collar…
Then the pressure from his hand disappeared. I was wondering what happened when I felt him lift up the edge of my shirt –
“No,” I whispered, and caught his hand.
“Relax,” he said. “I won’t go far.”
My lower lip trembled as I stared at him, at his kind smile… and I took away my hand.
He pulled up my shirt to the base of my bra. Then he began to stroke my stomach… my waist… my hip…
His fingertips disappeared just slightly beneath the edge of my jeans… and then his palm pressed warm and firm against my skin, the pressure increasing the tiniest amount.
I heard someone moaning.
I realized it was me.
That didn’t stop me, though.
Or him.
The pressure from his hand disappeared again and reappeared at my shirt collar… but this time he traced his fingertip down over the cloth, down my sternum… and then slowly drifted over to my right breast, hesitating, waiting to see what I would do.
I knew I should stop him…
…but I didn’t.
I wanted him to keep going too badly to say anything.
His fingertip continued to trace over the fabric of my shirt. Because I was wearing a bra, he had to press the tiniest bit harder, but I could feel the pressure as he circled the curve of my breast, slowly getting closer to my nipple… then finding the little hard bud beneath and stroking it, a tiny bit harder, with a tiny bit more pressure, until it was hard and swollen and aching beneath his touch.
I was moaning louder.
He leaned in and put his lips against my ear, and breathed sooo softly, his lips grazing my skin, caressing me.
I was going wild inside by now, but I couldn’t show it. I just lay there, moaning, as his breath sighed in my ear, and his lips nibbled softly at my earlobe, and his fingers…
Oh God, his fingers.
They began to drift over my jeans, the friction vibrating through the cloth and tickling my ski
n. I felt his fingertips move between my legs, over the seam of my jeans, a light pressure whispering across my clit.
I didn’t consciously do it, but my legs relaxed, and I spread them farther apart.
His fingers trailed down lower, the tiny vibrations of his fingers against cloth transferring to my skin, making me flare even hotter, making me even wetter.
And then I felt his fingers at the top of my jeans… and the gentle pop of the button… and the slow zzzzzz of the zipper.
I opened my eyes. My chest was heaving now, my breathing labored, my heart hammering in my chest.
He paused, waiting for me to say something.
I didn’t.
His fingers slid softly down my belly, under the edge of my underwear, caressing their way through my hair down there… and then the tip of his finger found my wetness.
I gasped.
He was still breathing softly, his lips caressing the folds of my ear, his tongue gently licking my earlobe…
His finger dabbed my wetness and used it to barely, barely touch my clit, using the lightest pressure imaginable as he circled around it, then over it, the slightest caress, sending shivers of pleasure through me from head to toe.
Oh God, I felt like I was going to die.
His fingertip kept circling, caressing, so wet, so soft, the tiniest bit of pressure, over and over and over and over –
– and then he leaned across my body and kissed me.
Not hard. He kissed me the way he’d been breathing in my ear: no more than a whisper of a touch, his lips barely meeting mine… soft… caressing me with his wetness…
Just like his finger circled me, wet, stroking me, wetter, soft but gradually increasing, my clit throbbing so sweetly and my muscles contracting in tiny spasms every twelve seconds, then every ten, then every eight, getting closer and closer together as the shudders got more and more intense.
I opened my mouth the tiniest bit and he slipped gently between my lips. Our tongues touched, wet, sliding against each other, soft but more insistent, just like his finger as it began speeding up, gradually, the pressure increasing, circling me, stroking me, firmer, more pressure, and the tiny contractions were getting bigger and more powerful and more rapid and more intense and I opened my mouth to him completely and moaned as he entered me fully with his tongue. His fingertip, now drenched, moved faster and firmer and sweeter and harder and suddenly I was coming and I clutched at him, arching my hips against his hand, crying out into his mouth, feeling the waves rolling through me so powerfully that I couldn’t think, contractions on top of each other, pleasure and bliss and ecstasy and I cried out again and again, and then I was gasping and settling back down, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, I was too sensitive, so I put my hand on his and he stopped.
Rock Me Hard (The Rock Star's Seduction) Page 17