Page 30 of The Breakup

My breath hitched. “Oh.” I tried to think of something to say. I was such a good flirt generally speaking and good at receiving compliments. But I had dated guys who were respectful, sweet, charming. Well, at least they had pretended to be. Christian was so raw. He didn’t hide his lust. He let me see the full force of his desire. The hot, pulsing blaze of passion. It left me speechless and wet. At least my body knew what to do even if my brain didn’t.

I decided to treat the moment like a photo shoot for social media. Hand on hip, body slightly turned, one knee bent. Christian growled. It was an actual growl. He looked like he wanted to eat me. My face flamed, but damn it, I felt sexy. Appreciated. “Should I turn around in a circle?” I asked, finding my flirt. I used my hand to rake through my hair and shake it out over my shoulders.

“Only if you want to.”

I was just wearing a basic white lace thong and a strapless bra. My overnight bag had the slutty lingerie I had bought for the wedding night to tease and entice. But even though this was more functional than seductive I felt sexy. Not beautiful. Sexy. That was a fun and refreshing feeling. So I pivoted on my heels, making sure I followed through with my head over the shoulder. I laughed a little, because I felt so free.

Christian came toward me. Stalking me, really. I’d never seen that kind of an expression on a man’s face. It was so dominant, so base, so feral. I should have been scared, but it was actually arousing. My nipples hardened under my bra, goosebumps ran over my mostly bare skin. I had thought he would be gentle, coaxing me to a new sexual understanding.

Instead he put a hand under my butt and hauled me against him. We collided with a hard smack, then suddenly I was up in the air, head and hair coming forward over his shoulder. I was too startled to do anything other than gasp. Everything I had was rubbing against all of his hardness as he walked across the room. My chest was pressed into his shoulder, my clit brushing over his belt buckle. I even liked his arm under my ass. Crazy, just absolutely bizarre that I would enjoy being manhandled. It made me blush, which made my whole body warm. Especially there. A hot ache had settled deep into my pussy and I didn’t even know what to think or to do with that. I couldn’t believe I was even thinking of my vagina as a pussy. I never felt wild enough or in tune with it enough to use that term.

Then I was falling backward before I could have any further thoughts. I let out a shriek as I sailed through the air, scared. But I landed almost immediately with a soft thump on a mattress. I was splayed on the bed in the corner. I took a deep breath, my heart racing as I stared up at him. Christian moved over on top of me, but kept his weight off me. His arms were propped on either side of my chest and he bent down and kissed me.

Maybe I had dreamed that I had been kissed before. Maybe I had thought that’s what I’d been doing, but compared to this I had been wasting my time. Christian kissed me like there was nothing else in the entire world but this moment, my lips, and our hot breathing. It could have felt orchestrated, choreographed, too smooth. The kiss of a man who kissed a lot of women. But it wasn’t that. It was wild, uncontrolled, aggressive.

Like he wanted me so much nothing could stop him.

By nature, I’m a worrier. It’s because of my expectation of perfection. Of an idealized version of reality. Perpetual rose-colored glasses, yes. But a worrier too, fixing this and that and tweaking and posing and planning. I didn’t know how to let go. How to get swept away by passion. Sweaty, dirty sex.

And it wasn’t going to happen now either and Christian knew it.

Sure, I kissed him back, and yes, it felt good. But I was anxious and he was experienced enough to sense it. He pulled back and smiled at me. “Why don’t you throw some clothes on and I’ll show you around the camp.”

I was disappointed with myself by how relieved that made me. “You don’t want to do this?” I asked, then inwardly winced. That sounded so pathetic.

“Oh, I do,” he assured me. He brushed a hand over my bra, then tapped the front of my lace panties, causing me to jerk. “This and the blinged-out heels? This isn’t you and me. We’re something else, but not this.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I thought every guy liked a woman in heels.”

Christian slid his hand down my thigh and calf, drawing goosebumps from me. He flipped off the heel of one shoe and removed it. “If you’re going to wear heels in bed for me, I want to pick them out.”

So he didn’t actually like that they were my bridal heels. Interesting. He wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended. Maybe he needed a minute removed from all this wedding business too. Not on the same level as me, but something that was our space, not the remnants of Bradley and me. He threw the shoe over his shoulder. “What’s in your little bag you brought? Something you can wear on a hike?”

“A hike?” I shivered when he removed my other Louboutin. “Do I look like a girl who goes hiking? I didn’t pack workout clothes.”

He snorted and went back on his knees. “I didn’t say a workout. Maybe I should rephrase that as something you can wear on a walk. Does that sound better? Less ominous?”

I nodded and reached my hand out so he could help me off the bed. “I sweat in a controlled environment. Pilates and hot yoga.”

“What the fuck is hot yoga?” Christian eyed me dubiously. He went over to the kitchen table and grabbed my overnight bag. He brought it to me and I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“What do you mean, what is it? It’s yoga. In a hot room. A hundred and five degrees. It releases toxins.”

He snorted. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

I took the bag from him. “Don’t make fun of me. It’s true. It’s also how I have long and lean muscles. I work really hard at it.”

“And I’m very grateful for that.”

He stood there watching me as I dug out a regular bra and panties and my sundress. “Do you mind?” I asked, ready to unhook my bra.

“I don’t mind.”

I smacked him with the bra I was holding. “You know what I mean. Turn around.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Bella. You are almost completely naked. What difference does it make?”

“Almost is the key word. I’m shy.” It was true. Or maybe modest was a better word. A bikini all day long was fine. But I was not one to free the nipple. More power to those girls, but that was not me.

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