Terminal 19

by L. R. Olson

  “Oh god,” I whisper, rolling to my stomach and pressing my face into my pillow. Why do Scandinavian people have to be so open about sex? Does nothing embarrass them? “Was I that bad?”

  He laughs, a deep rumble I can feel in his chest. “No. Absolutely not. But you know… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Why did he have to notice? I hide my face again. Who knew it would be this embarrassing? “Yes, I’m okay.”

  He rolls me over, forcing me to confront the situation and meet his gaze. I’m not used to such intimacy. I feel awkward and intrigued all at once. His hair is mussed, the ends curled from the shower, or maybe from my fingers. When Christian is dressed like a model he’s hot, but this Christian, a man who is scruffy and naked, is downright sexy.

  “You should’ve told me.”

  “Why? So you could have bought me a cake? We could have celebrated?” I definitely do not like where this conversation is going. I trail my fingers down his chest, lower… I don’t miss the way he sucks in a sharp breath. The way his cock jumps to attention, pressing against my thighs. “If I’d told you, then you might have left.”

  “No…” He frowns, grabbing my hand right before I reach him. I’m trying to change the subject and he knows it. “Maybe.”

  Of course he feels guilty. I finally meet his gaze. “Hey, it was my choice.”

  He sighs and leans down to kiss me. “Alright. I can’t argue with that.”

  I don’t want to have some embarrassing conversation about my virginity. There are more important things to focus on. Like him. As we kiss, I can feel his erection lengthening against my thighs.

  His hands move over me. Hell, I would sell my soul if he promised to keep touching me. He has magic fingers. A caress that sends my senses spinning. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of his touch. But it’s too soon to have sex again…isn’t it? I should have researched better, asked questions, bought a book.

  He pulls away, his breath as harsh as mine. A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, and I give into temptation and brush it back, my fingertips lingering on his cheekbone. He’s braced atop his left elbow, as his right hand slowly trails up my thigh. He’s going to touch me now. There. I try not to stiffen up as I wonder if I’ll be sore.

  But he’s not looking at me, and doesn’t notice my reluctance. His gaze is following his hand as it travels farther, and farther. When his fingers brush the light nest of hair shielding me, I have to bite my lower lip to keep from gasping with excitement.

  He meets my gaze. I want to hate him for teasing, but I can’t hate him. Not ever. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine. As his tongue thrusts between my lips, his finger slides between my folds and enters my body. I groan against his mouth, mostly in pleasure, only slightly in pain.

  He’s good. Too good. He knows exactly how to touch a woman, while I feel like a complete novice when it comes to men. Needing to anchor myself, I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck. It’s only one night, right? I might as well enjoy it.

  His tongue wraps around mine, and any lingering pain fades. Forgotten. He kisses me with a gentleness that makes my chest feel tight. That aching need flares. My body remembers. Remembers every caress, every thrust, every movement. He’s awoken something inside of me that has been dormant, waiting, and it won’t be satisfied. How can he do so much with only one kiss?

  “You feel so damn good,” he growls in that lovely, sophisticated accent.

  I want to touch him too. Want to wrap my fingers around his velvety, steel cock. To explore and caress until he’s moaning, begging. I want to be in control of him, like he controls me. Before I can reach for him, he pulls away, and starts to travel down my body.

  His lips press to the valley between my breasts. Lower to my belly. He’s trailing kisses down…down…and I know where he’s going. I might have been a virgin, but I’m not an idiot. I stiffen, unsure how to react. Do I want him to do this? But I want to know…I want to understand what it’s like…no regrets.

  He parts my thighs with his hands. I take in a deep breath and force myself to relax. I want this. I want to experience it all. Okay, maybe not everything. His warm breath brushes against my thighs right before he slides his tongue through my folds. I gasp more from surprise than pleasure.

  He licks once, twice. Just when I’m wondering why people like this oral sex thing, he brushes his tongue against my clit. A shock of pleasure bursts through me. I groan, arching my back. Oh god, he knows what he’s doing. He knows. I grip the sheets, staring hard at the ceiling as he screws me with his tongue. I’m not sure how I feel. It’s strange, and way too intimate, and…hell, I’m going to come again.

  “That feels good, so good,” I mutter.

  The area between my thighs tightens, throbbing. I bend my knees, my toes digging into the mattress. My entire body is flushed hot, burning from the inside out. As he cups my ass and lifts me toward his mouth, I’m panting like I’ve just run a marathon. His tongue presses farther into me. In, out, sweeping across that sensitive spot.

  A jolt of pleasure explodes, bursting into wave after wave of pure orgasmic bliss. Even as I’m floating back to earth I realize that this orgasm is different. Not deep within, but more on the surface. How very strange. Sated and drugged with pleasure, I stare stupidly up at the ceiling. Who knew there were different kinds of orgasms?

  Christian crawls up me and presses his lips to mine, a quick kiss that tastes like sex. I’m trembling and spent and feeling better than I’ve ever felt before. I’m going to sleep so very well tonight…when he leaves. I slide him a glance. When is he going to leave?

  “Did you enjoy it?” he asks with a grin.

  “Don’t beg for compliments.”

  But I’m grinning too. He knows very well I enjoyed it. Sex is pretty amazing with a guy who knows what he’s doing, who cares about pleasing his partner as much as himself. I wonder why I’ve waited this long. But then I realize why…because with any other person, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have felt this wonderful, this free.

  I’m older now. I’m more mature. More sure of myself. If I’d done this with Matt I would have been naïve. Wandering, fumbling hands. Two people too young and inexperienced for sex.

  He leans closer, his lips brushing my neck. “There’s more. So much more.”

  His words send a thrill of delight shivering through me. Even as I’m tempted to ask what kind of more…I realize more means more than a one-night stand. More means I’ll have to see him again. We’ll have to sleep together again.

  His hand slides down my waist, tickling the sensitive skin. I jerk, gasping. He pauses, a grin on his face. “You’re ticklish?”

  “Don’t,” I warn.

  Of course he ignores me, and straddles my hips, his fingers tickling my sides. I laugh, wiggling underneath him, desperate to escape. And even as I’m trying to escape his touch, my hips are lifting, pressing against his growing erection. “Stop!”

  He leans down and his hot mouth is on mine. Then lower, to my neck. I groan, closing my eyes. Lower still…he presses his mouth to my right breast, and then my left. That aching heat is working its way through my body, pooling in the pit of my stomach. I’m into this. Totally into this. Yes, I could so have another orgasm. Then, suddenly…he stops.

  “What’s this?”

  Startled, I open my eyes. His gaze is focused on the area below my collarbone. His thumb brushes the port scar where my chemo was pumped. Frantic, I push his hand away. “Stupid accident. Nothing. Christian…I think we should wait. I mean we just…”

  “Okay.” He flashes me his brilliant smile. Before I can prepare, he presses his lips to my scar then rolls off the bed. “Any food in the refrigerator?”

  Relieved, I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Thank god he doesn’t push things or pry much. “Leftover Chinese.”

  He pulls on his jeans, leaving them hanging low on his hips. I can’t help but devour his six-pack. “Delicious. Want some?”
>
  Content, I snuggle into the covers, watching him dress. He holds no embarrassment over his body and he shouldn’t. He’s stunning. “Sure.”

  He pulls the t-shirt over his head. It’s still damp and clings to his broad shoulders. “Hey, how would you feel about going to an event dinner with me tomorrow night? For charity.”

  A million thoughts race through my mind. What kind of dinner? What charity? Why me? I shrug, feeling uncertain and confused. Do I have anything to wear? This isn’t feeling like a one-night stand. Yet, as I mentally form the words of rejection, I’m surprised when I agree. “I guess. Sure.”

  With a grin, he leans down and kisses me. “Good. Will make it more bearable with you by my side.”

  He moves to the door only to pause. “Oh, and my dad will be there.”

  Before I can respond, he’s gone. I bolt upright, clutching the blanket to my chest. His dad? I hear him rustling around in the refrigerator. I’m going to meet his dad? His freaking dad? With a groan, I fall back onto the bed.

  Simple. We were supposed to keep things simple.

  But everything just got way, way complicated.

  Chapter 9

  Go to a fancy dinner

  Be snubbed by fancy people

  It’s been two weeks since I arrived in Denmark. Fourteen days since I met Christian. Tomorrow I’m supposed to head to Norway’s capital. Say goodbye to the friends I’ve made. Say goodbye to him. But that was the plan all along…to leave. That was what I wanted. No strings attached. Right? So why do I feel so miserable?

  He’s talking but I barely hear the words. I’ve marked so many amazing experiences off my list. I’ve traveled. I’ve made friends. I lost my virginity. Why can’t I be happy with that? Why, as the taxi pulls up to the museum, do I keep looking at Christian as if I want to memorize every detail of his face? Hold close every memory? Why does my heart pound so furiously that I can barely hear the taxi driver and Christian speak?

  Christian pays and steps outside. Damn, why did I pick someone nice? Someone so attractive? That was where I went wrong. I should have chosen someone normal, someone forgettable. As I’m getting out, he reaches for my hand, helping me. Such a gentleman. I almost hate him for it.

  I’m determined to set aside my worries and enjoy tonight, because this will be the last time I see him. Last time. And I’m not going to even think about the ache in my chest. The way I missed him when he went home to change this morning. The way I dreamt about his touch last night, even as he slept next to me.

  “Have I mentioned you look adorable?” He whispers close to my ear as we move up the sidewalk. “Sorry…I mean sexy.”

  I grin, unable to help myself. The black dress I’m wearing was fifty bucks on Amazon. It’s simple, but fortunately well made…and fits perfectly. The sleeves are capped and the skirt flares out at my waist in an almost 1950s type of style. I’ve also got a simple pearl necklace my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I actually feel smart, pretty.

  “So, what is this place?”

  “A museum.”

  “Really?” I say sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have guessed by the fancy façade and the statues guarding the door.”

  “Ok, smartass.”

  I squeeze his hand in apology and decide to change the subject before he asks me why I’m in such a pissy mood. “I like statues. There’s something intriguing about them. When it’s a good artist, it’s like he or she has captured a person’s essence, their soul, frozen in time.”

  “Like your photos,” he says, pleasing me.

  He releases my hand and rests his palm against my lower back. The heat of his touch burns through my dress. In a way it feels almost more possessive than holding hands. It’s like he’s leading me, branding me.

  “However, the only thing I find intriguing about tonight is you.”

  I shake my head. “Do you ever stop, or is the charm constantly on?”

  “Do you ever accept a compliment?”

  “Fair enough.” We step inside. It’s a charity event, and apparently tickets were purchased months ago, which makes me wonder…who would he have brought if I hadn’t said yes? “So tell me the truth, did you have plans to take another woman?”

  He laughs. That hair that was tousled this morning from my fingers is now combed neatly into place. He looks like a damn GQ model. “No. My father picked up two tickets, with no prompting from me. To be honest, I wasn’t going to show.”

  We move up a set of wide, shallow steps. Others are hovering around outside, some are headed through the doors. I look fine enough with my hair twisted up, my ballet flats and my black dress. But as I take in the other attendees I realize I’m a bit underdressed. A tad…plain.

  One evening, Hope, one evening, I tell myself. I can last one evening.

  Besides, I don’t really care if I’m not in designer clothes because Christian is wearing a dark, three piece suit with a blue tie that matches his eyes and he looks hot. Really hot. The crisp white undershirt molds to his muscled chest, his jacket shows off his wide shoulders, and the entire ensemble makes him look taller, sexier than any other man here. I’m not sure which I like better, Christian in a suit, or Christian naked.

  “Ready?”

  I nod. His hand is warm and steady against my back. It makes me feel like I belong amongst these obviously entitled, wealthy people. Or at least belong to him. But no…this is not wealthy. I take in the designer dresses, the large jewels…and have the startling realization that I’m surrounded by millionaires.

  Which makes me wonder again about Christian. How rich is he?

  I take in a deep breath and release it. It doesn’t matter how rich Christian is, because I’m leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow, I have to remind myself. After tomorrow I’ll never see him again. We move inside the museum. There’s a large foyer with rooms full of statues in a variety of poses on either side of the entry.

  My mom would love this place. I love this place, and wish I would’ve brought my camera. In the center of the museum is a rotunda full of plants. Christian rests his hand on my lower back again and leads me toward the atrium. Tables full of champagne and fancy little hors d’oeuvres are placed on silver trays.

  We pause in front of a small table. “Champagne?”

  “Last time I drank alcohol it didn’t go over so well. I’ll stick with water.”

  He hands me a glass of water that’s in an elegant flute. Even though I showered this morning, I swear I can still smell his scent on me. I sip, and barely hold in my grimace. It’s sparkling, of course. Gross. But I keep the glass just to have something to hold onto, as we make our way down into the rotunda of plants.

  Large palm trees. Oleander. Humidity. It’s like I’m back in Florida instead of Denmark. It’s crowded, so crowded we have to say excuse me more than once. And more than one person stops Christian to shake his hand, say something in Danish, before he manages to pull away and continue on.

  I breathe deeply. Focus. I need to focus. The scent of earthy plants and perfume hangs heavy in the air. I can’t ignore the fact that my chest feels tight, the floor unsteady, but is it because of memories of last night, because of my illness, or do I feel nervous at the thought of meeting his father?

  I peek at Christian through my lashes as we move through the rotunda. I’m not the only one who is acting oddly, Christian has been quieter than normal. Things have changed between us. I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t deny that I noticed a difference the moment we woke this morning.

  “Here,” Christian says, leading me to a little alcove by a large palm.

  His arm slides around my waist and he draws me close. I’m steady against his solid body and my unease fades a bit. We’re half-hidden, but there are still plenty of people who can see us. He doesn’t seem to care and leans down to press his lips to mine.

  “Did I thank you for coming to this?”

  He has such a smooth, sexy voice, I can’t help but shiver. “It’s not that bad.”

  At least not
now while he’s holding me.

  His hand is traveling down, down my back, just above my ass. Fortunately the plants hide us. “You’ve barely met anyone. Give it time and you’ll despise it as much as I do.”

  His hand moves slightly lower. A heated wave of delight is working its way through me. Just a touch, and I melt. Images of last night flash through my mind. The way he kissed me all over, everywhere. His fingers roaming my body, touching my most intimate places. My anxiety is gone and in its place an entirely new sense of worry. I want him. I want him too much. This isn’t good.

  “You make it sound super fun,” I say.

  I woke up with him still in my bed this morning. Strange indeed, yet, I can’t deny that it was actually nice to have his warm, strong body holding me. He’d gotten up, kissed me goodbye, said he’d come over later to pick me up. We’ve barely even discussed the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow. We seem to both be avoiding reality.

  He sips his champagne. “Oh it is fun. We can play, who has most recently had plastic surgery. Or, who is cheating on whom. Which offspring isn’t living up to their parent’s expectations?”

  I have the distinct feeling he’s talking about his own parents. He has only said kind words about his mother, which means it’s his father he can’t please. I hate the man even before I’ve met him. How could anyone not adore Christian?

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be.” He presses closer, his hard form molded to my side as his hand slides down, over the curve of my ass. That spot between my leg tingles, heats, throbs. My body remembers last night. Remembers every little detail. “I’d just rather spend the night with you. Alone.”

  I can’t deny his words make me pleased. “Me too. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t go back to my place…or yours.”

  Considering he shares an apartment with other guys, I prefer my place. But the silence stretches and he doesn’t answer. I bite my lower lip, wishing I hadn’t been so bold. We’ve only hooked up once. He’s a guy, isn’t he eager to jump into bed again? Maybe he wasn’t just my one-night stand, maybe I was his one-night stand. Why does that thought bother me?