Something About a Hot Guy

by A. L. Jackson

  Was this really happening?

  My head nodded where it rested on the thunder of his heart, my admission locked in my throat, but my body shouting it from the rooftops.

  I felt it. Oh God, I felt it in a way I’d never felt anything else.

  “Say it,” he demanded, and he slowly turned me around, taking my face in the well of those big, big hands. Intense brown eyes stared down at me.

  Trapping me.

  Taking me.

  Owning me.

  “I want to hear you say it, Kenna. I don’t want there to be any mistake. Not about the way you feel, and not about the way I feel.”

  Anxiety fluttered and flapped, a buzz in my brain that wanted to take hold the way it always did, but this mattered too much. Was too important. The thing I’d wanted most. No chance was I letting my insecurities get in the way.

  “I . . . I’ve always wanted you, Kyle.” The words were a choppy wheeze, a confession that rose from my spirit and tumbled from my tongue. My tongue darted out to wet my dry lips, and I did my best to keep it together.

  To be honest.

  To tear away the layers that kept everything veiled and offer them to him.

  “The first time I saw you was the first time I felt butterflies, and those butterflies have never, ever gone away.”

  It’d been as if he’d inspired them to awaken, spread their wings, and leave their cocoons. I’d also been a little horrified of the reaction, thinking that funny feeling was something bad, and I should hide it.

  Right then, I didn’t feel like hiding.

  A tender smile that somehow still oozed of sex pulled across his lush mouth, his lips so full, his own tongue sweeping out as if his mouth were watering. “That makes me very, very happy to hear, cupcake.”

  There he went, calling me names again, although this name made me feel hot inside, something gooey and needy and wild twisting through my body and tightening into a ball of need.

  I bit down on my bottom lip to stop the blush, staring up at those brown eyes that were hypnotizing me.

  As if they had the power to turn me into someone different.

  Someone confident and pretty and brave.

  Or maybe it was even powerful enough to peel back the layers to expose what was waiting to be discovered underneath.

  “How so?” Was that almost a tease coming from my mouth?

  A grin spread across his gorgeous face, and he brushed his thumb across my lips. “Because now . . . now I’m going to kiss you like I’ve been wanting to do for years. And then I’m going to undress you so I can adore this gorgeous body. From there? It’s up to you.”

  My heart squeezed, a prisoner to his hand, all the love I’d felt for this man rising to the surface. Getting ready to make a break. But would he accept it? The significance of what I felt? For me, this went so much farther beyond the physical.

  But oh my God, did I want that, too.

  Cockiness deepened that grin, one eye arching as he looped a strong arm around my waist. “As long as you’re cool with that?”

  My throat felt achy and raw, wobbling with a need I hadn’t ever felt before. “I think I’m very, very cool with that.” Only, I was pretty sure I was the least bit cool I’d ever been, the words quaking as they trembled out.

  Nerves rattled, need racing, my limbs heavy and achy.

  He threaded his fingers through my hair, and my eyes dropped closed, and I luxuriated in the feel of a man touching me in a way that I’d never been touched.

  Tenderly and with reverence.

  And there was a part of me that wanted to shout out for him to wait. To explain that I’d never even been kissed, but his gaze struck me mute, stole the words from my mouth just as he was pressing his mouth to mine.

  Gently.

  Sweetly.

  As if he already got it.

  Understood me in a way no other person did.

  A tiny squeak of shock climbed my throat at the contact, sparks and delirium and joy. My hands shook, and I had no idea what to do with them, but I figured placing them against his rock-hard chest was a good start.

  His skin was warm and smooth and all kinds of solid underneath. I could die a happy girl right then, getting to experience this.

  The feel of this man beneath my palms. The feel of his heart thundering, the flexing and bowing of his muscles at my touch. All mixed up with the intoxicating feel of his lips moving over mine.

  A hand went to the back of my head, and he angled to the side, taking that mind-altering kiss deeper.

  Invading.

  Conquering all my fears.

  A gasp raked down my throat, and I was opening my mouth.

  A gush of desire flooded my body when he swept his tongue against mine.

  Soft and languid. Yet somehow those gentle strokes were a command.

  His mouth was the most delicious place I’d ever been. I wanted to stay there forever, and it was as if he knew because he was taking that kiss to a new level. His lips pressing and pulling and sucking, overwhelming in their pursuit of me, his tongue plundering and invading.

  Warmth flooded through my body, that waterfall hit with a flashflood, everything pouring over. Pounding, pounding, pounding.

  An empty, achiness blossomed in my belly, begging for him to take it away. To fill it up. To keep it forever.

  Shock rasped from my lungs when he suddenly hoisted me from my feet and propped me on the counter, and somehow my legs were parting, making him room.

  Instinct kicking in, all too eager to welcome him into the cove between my thighs. Another mortifying moan left me when he pressed the long, hard length of him to my center, his sleep pants thin and my shorts thinner, and oh my God, this feeling built inside of me.

  Built and built and built as he rubbed against me.

  Something so big and intense that I thought I was going to burst and die.

  “Kyle . . . oh . . . what.” My fingers sank into his shoulders, holding on for dear life because I wanted to live for this.

  Forever and ever.

  I beat back the insecurities that this was a one-time thing. The worry that maybe he thought hooking up with me might be easy. Convenient since we were staying in the same house.

  Even if it was, I knew I’d willingly give up anything to get to experience this with him.

  All my firsts.

  My trust given to him.

  Praying even if he left me it wouldn’t break me in the end.

  “I’ve got you, sweet girl. Don’t worry.” He was kissing me madly, his tongue devouring, the man taking the kiss down my chin and across my jaw, riding down my trembling throat.

  He fed on it, his breaths coming shorter and shorter, as if maybe he wanted this as badly as me. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you. I get it. I get it now.”

  I could feel the frown pulling to my brow, but I tried to ignore it, the ripple of unease that billowed through my senses.

  “You’re so brave. So brave.”

  The confusion sharpened, and I tried to get lost in the feel of his hands that were slipping under my sweatshirt, firm and fierce and possessive. My hands curled in his hair as he kissed across my exposed collarbone, his chin nudging the fabric farther and farther down until he was licking across my breast that ached, wanting more of him.

  But his words screamed in my mind.

  “Brave? Why would say that?”

  Why did he go from teasing me last night to pushing it this morning? My thoughts raced, knocking me out of the passion, something yucky riding in to take its place.

  “Who you are makes you brave. The fact you’re scared and anxious and go through all that bullshit you don’t deserve, and still you survive. That you continue to try to make the world a better place even after it’s been so cruel to you.”

  His words were sweet, but they gave me pause, made me question. Made fear and hurt and rejection come barreling in.

  Every insecurity I ever had flared. The feeling that no one would really ever s
ee me for me.

  Awareness sank to the pit of my stomach.

  Dousing the fire.

  My attention locked on my computer that still sat in the same place as it had last night. But I was certain it sat opened a fraction wider.

  Horror and embarrassment and anger jumped into my veins, a disorder of hurt that sped and thrashed and crushed.

  It raced to fill every cell with a sort of anguish I’d never experienced before. I was gasping, my sight fading, my heart feeling like it might rupture from the blow.

  Kyle seemed to sense it. He edged back in a flash, that gorgeous face twisted in confusion and worry and lust, the man watching me with concern.

  The air between us throbbed, thick and dense and deep.

  Binding us together and somehow pushing us apart.

  “Tell me why you’re saying that,” I pleaded, already knowing what he would say.

  “I . . . I—” He hesitated, averting his gaze, and I just knew.

  I just knew.

  Humiliation stampeded through my spirit.

  Devastating. Crushing. Cutting me in two.

  “Tell me you didn’t.”

  He roughed a hand through his hair, and finally he returned that intense gaze to me. “I . . . I’m sorry. I just caught a glimpse . . .”

  A glimpse.

  It sounded to me as if he knew a whole lot more.

  As if he’d pried and overstepped.

  Disrespected my privacy.

  Betrayed the trust I’d been so willing to give.

  The only thing I’d ever wanted was for him to want me for me.

  Tears broke free, and I started to squirm, struggling to get out of his hold, needing get away from him before I fully lost it.

  He cinched down on my sides to keep me from running. “Kenna, please listen, it wasn’t—”

  A sob left me, cutting him off. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it. Don’t give me some stupid excuse. I . . . I don’t even want to hear it. Can’t hear it. Please, let me go.”

  “Please,” Kyle begged, struggling to draw me closer. “You don’t understand. Please, just listen.”

  I shoved his chest. “Kyle, let me go!” I screamed, verging on hysterical, this feeling that he was doing this to appease some childhood fantasy of mine making me sick.

  Nausea swirled through my guts and climbed up my throat.

  I was so stupid.

  So stupid.

  I could feel a panic attack coming on.

  The kind that overwhelmed and brought me to my knees and would take days to recover from.

  Shamed laughter rolled out. Who was I kidding? This was going to take a lifetime to recover from. Did anyone simply recover from their first love?

  He staggered back a foot, his chest heaving, his skin lit in a golden sheen of sweat.

  God, how had I ever been fool enough to think that was really meant for me?

  I slipped off the counter, my body aching and shaking with my need for him. It only felt like another slap to the face.

  I tried to sidestep him, to get away, and I was loosing another gasp when he snatched me by the wrist.

  Fire raced up my arm, the man flames, my destruction, and the tears ran faster.

  “Kenna, please, listen to me. I’m so sorry. Let me explain.”

  I jerked my arm out of his hold, chest heaving with sobs, my face a mess of snot and tears and shame. “What did you want to explain to me, Kyle? That you feel sorry for me? For the pathetic virgin who’s never been kissed?”

  Head shaking, I backed away. “Believe me, I don’t want your pity.”

  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was remorse streaking through his expression.

  Unable to stand there looking at him for a second longer, I whirled around and ran for my room, slamming shut the door and locking it. I went right for the closet, barely able to see through the sheets of torment falling down my face as I pulled the suitcase from the top shelf.

  I threw it onto the bed and started ripping clothes from the hangers.

  I had to get out of there.

  Flee.

  Because I should have known better.

  Should have known that dream I was having was really a nightmare.

  Because girls like me?

  We didn’t get guys like Kyle Love.

  And for the first time in my life, I wondered if I actually wanted him, anyway.

  Four

  Kyle

  God damn it.

  My hands went to my hair, panic gripping me in a steel fist, heart racing from being taken from one extreme to the other.

  Spirit rocketing high and then the hope of finally having her crushed into the ground.

  The taste of her still danced on my tongue, every inch of my body hard to the point of painful, lust and need knotting up my stomach.

  But it was the expression that had been written on her face, the misery and shame that had clouded those gorgeous features, that felt like knife wound to the gut.

  I’d fucked up.

  Right out of the gate.

  Hurt her.

  And hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I sucked in a shattered breath, trying to calm the riot raging inside me, trying to give her a minute to calm down so we could have a conversation.

  That was until I heard the distinct sound of hangers banging in the closet, the girl trying to subdue the sobs that were coming from her mouth.

  Brutal agony.

  Hell no.

  I wasn’t going to give up on this girl without a fight.

  I flew around and rushed for her room.

  Could feel the disturbance radiating from within, blasting through the closed door, so strong I didn’t know how it wasn’t busting from the hinges.

  I pounded on the wood, friction coming from the other side, a storm descending over the two of us.

  I could feel it.

  Fierce and unrelenting. Something that had built for so many years, desperate to break free, demolished in one stupid mistake.

  But it was my mistake.

  I should have known the way this would make her feel. The way it’d make her question. Especially after everything I’d read last night, her heart and soul bared in those words, so private and sweet and heartbreaking that it’d only made me love her more.

  “Go away!” she shouted, but it was a tremble of agitation, the words filled with her fears.

  “No, Kenna. We need to talk.”

  “There isn’t anything to talk about.”

  Refusal filled my tone. “Oh, there is plenty to talk about. You and I have been running on unfinished business since we were kids. I’m not going to pretend what just happened didn’t. We’re going to discuss this.”

  Bitter, pained laughter echoed through the separation. “What? Talk about your pity? How you want the best for me? Tell me you’re happy to do me the favor? No, thank you.”

  Frustrated, I dropped my forehead to the door, and I could feel her frantic movements on the other side, a turbulent rampage.

  “Open up,” I all but growled.

  No response.

  I smacked my palm against the wood. “Open the fucking door, Kenna.”

  I was going to tell her how I felt, and I was going to do it to her face. So there would be no mistake.

  Faster than I could process, the door whipped open, and I stumbled back, caught off guard by how fucking beautiful she was. Struck by the pain rolling from her in waves. Hit by the realization that this girl needed to be carefully adored.

  Not because she needed sympathy or pity.

  But because she deserved to be loved in the best of ways.

  “Fine, there, the door is open. Are you happy?” She was doing her best to sound firm, the girl fighting her way through her torment as she thundered by, pulling a large suitcase behind her.

  I whirled around, bolting after her.

  I was right at her said when I grated, “Not even close.”

  She sque
ezed her eyes for a beat, like she didn’t want to look at me or acknowledge me or even hear what I had to say. She just carved an enraged path for the front door.

  “You can’t leave like this, Kenna. This is your home, and you’re pissed, and we need to talk this out.”

  She flipped her head around, heartbreak roiling in those brown, sincere eyes. “I can leave, Kyle. I can leave because you don’t own me. Oh, you almost did, but you don’t.”

  Grief twisted through every line of her stunning face when she said it.

  I had the staggering urge to reach out and wipe it away.

  Hold all her hurt.

  Be responsible for all her smiles.

  Make her the fucking happiest woman who ever lived.

  I just had to convince her I meant it with all of me first.

  She flung the front door open and started out into the hall.

  I was right on her heels as she raced down the hallway.

  “You’re right, I don’t own you, Kenna. I don’t fucking own you, but you own me.” My confession was grit, scraping like razors as they raked up my throat as I scrambled to stay right behind her.

  She stumbled in her haste, her shoulders riding up in surprise, but she kept going.

  So did I.

  I wasn’t about to give up.

  “You own me, Kenna. Do you fucking hear me? This wasn’t some pity bullshit. And yeah, I messed up. Messed up bad. I never should have looked at your computer. There is no excuse.”

  She spun around, almost tripping, and shit, I had to stop myself from darting for her to keep her from falling. Wanting to protect her.

  Regaining her balance, she took an aggressive step in my direction.

  Hurt shook through her voice. “You looked at my personal things. Invaded my privacy. You broke my trust before I even gave it to you. I didn’t give you permission to see those things. And I get it . . . I’m pathetic, right? Hopeless?”

  She gestured at herself with both hands, the motion full of disgust.

  I started to reject that assertion, to tell her I didn’t see her as pathetic for a second, but she held up a hand.

  “At least, that’s the way I’ve felt in the past. But I don’t anymore, Kyle. Yeah, there are things I struggle with that I wished I didn’t have to. I wish I could go to work like everyone else and not have to fear a panic attack, and I wish I could go on a date without stumbling all over myself and making myself a fool, and I wish that you wouldn’t look at me with pity.”