Page 8 of Yours

“Are you studying economics?” I ask, sipping from my beer.

“Business. They have a night program for small business owners.”

“Wow, good for you,” I say. “Do you like it?” I ask. “I mean, being in school?”

He shrugs. “It’s relevant, which helps, but I’m not very good at sitting still.”

A get a flush of heat at what this thought does to me. I’m back to the way he kissed me, touched me. He must see this reaction because he pauses.

“I want you to sleep with me,” I blurt before he can say anything.

His eyes darken, transforming his whole face into something aggressive, almost predatory. But then it’s gone, as if he’s forced it away.

“I just…want to get it over with,” I say, practically begging. “Please.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he says, though his face has gone tense.

“You thought it was a good enough idea two nights ago,” I say. Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow.

He gives me a look. “That was different,” he says, grimacing. “I thought…you know…we could have a little fun.”

“You mean taking my virginity won’t be fun?” I’m not trying to tease him—I’m genuinely interested in what he’ll say.

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, as if he’s banishing an image from his mind. “Fun doesn’t quite describe it.” He sighs, his gorgeous chest expanding, stretching the muscles I’m longing to touch. “It’s just that, your first…should be with someone…gentle.”

“Do what you want to me,” I say, feeling bold. I have to show him that I’m not afraid, that I’m not that shy little girl he thinks I am. I force the words from my childhood out of my head:slut, whore, tease. So what if I have desires? Doesn’t everyone? Wanting to be with Brian, giving myself to him fully doesn’t make me a slut. At least that’s what I’m telling myself right now.

He steps forward, and I can feel the blood pulsing in his veins, how hard he’s working to restrain himself, and this sends a shiver through my core. He trails a finger across my lower lip, drinking me in with his dangerous eyes, then drops his finger down, slowly, moving down my chest, over my left breast, gliding over the peak which is now so hard it aches. He pauses at the waistband of my leggings.

“You sure about this, Darcy?”

“Yes,” I pant. I so want to touch him but I’m afraid if I move the spell will be broken and he’ll pull away.

“Off,” he commands of my sweatshirt.

Dutifully, I peel it off and let it drop to the floor. Beneath it, I’m wearing a camisole with a built-in bra. It’s really too small for my ample mounds, but I hadn’t planned on showing it to anyone.Nice try, a voice in my head says.You’re a naughty girl who wanted this from the minute you left the house.

He glides both hands up my waist until he’s cupping both of my breasts. The pleasure of him stroking my nipples through the fabric makes it hard to breathe.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” he asks.

“Yes,” I breathe.

His eyebrows arch but I see his jaw harden. “Did you like it?” he growls. Being touched and kissed here is usually the highlight of making out for me—the minute the guy goes south, everything else goes south too.

“Yes,” I reply, too embarrassed to tell him all this.

“How about here?” he asks, sliding his hand down to between my legs.

My skin ignites with a hot flush. “A few times,” I reply, feeling so exposed to be admitting my deepest secrets to him.

“Anyone ever make you come?” he asks, swirling against my sex. I wonder if he can feel how wet I’m getting through the fabric.

I shake my head.

Finally, a gleam of satisfaction enters his eyes. It’s as if I’m some challenge and he’s just accepted. “That changes tonight,” he says.

I bite my lip. I realize that I’ve been wasting my time with prep-school boys. This is what I’ve needed. Him. His touch, his voice. Commanding me, teaching me what I like.

---