That Time When We…
Paisley Grove
Not in a million years will my parents ever let me live as posh as Hercules does. They don’t want me to become spoiled by having too much money and luxury at my disposal.
“When your brain finishes developing, we’ll let you have more,” my dad once said. He also said that’ll be when I’m at least twenty-six.
However, Hercules resides in a high-rise apartment with a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the harbor. He’s also a college student with a private entrance to his place. And speaking of bachelor pad—the furniture is white with clean lines. A large white lambskin rug rests in front of a modern steel-paneled fireplace. White marble statues are placed on top of black onyx pillars. The atmosphere definitely feels like a sex trap. Max’s first penthouse in the city had similar decor. I wonder if I had my brother all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as chaste as I thought he was.
I’m standing between the large kitchen and living room, hugging myself. I feel like a stray wet cat in the middle of a lonely road, wondering,What next?A confusing battle is taking place between my body and brain. Should I stay or go?
When we entered his apartment, Hercules teetered over to a half-empty bottle of vodka on the counter. He didn’t bother with a glass. He guzzled most of it from the bottle and then winced at the burn.
He seems nothing like the guy who saved me from a vicious fate. Despite the preview in the back of his car, I'm no longer sure I want to be with him in a sexual way. He looks so pathetic. And I'm not the kind of girl who fucks for kicks. I want to be made love to by the mighty Hercules Valentine and not the sad, sullen guy who’s drinking his blues away. Frankly, it took Boyles seven months to convince me to sleep with him. To get me to that point, he did a lot of wining and dining. He brought me flowers at least twice a week. Now that I think about it, Dandi would often roll her eyes at the bouquets or make a comment about how desperate Boyles must be to do that. On most days, he would show up outside my classroom to walk me back to the dorm. He gave me no indication that he would pull away after we had sex. At least Hercules warned me how he would go away after he got what he wanted. Boyles led me on, the asshole.
“I know how this must look,” Hercules says.
He’s studying me. I must appear conflicted. I didn’t know how expressive my face could look until Eden made a comment about it.
“Do you often drink a lot?” I ask.
“No.” He snorts a chuckle. “That’s probably why I’m such a fucking mess.” He sets the vodka bottle on top of the counter. “I don’t even like this shit.” He makes a face as if whatever he’s tasting is sour. “You don’t have to stay, though.”
I stare into his eyes, trying to figure out if he really wants me to go. However, I like that we’re engaging in a conversation. Talking to him still feels as easy as it did on our last day of high school.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
His shoulders tense up. “A lot.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t. But I would like it if you stayed.”
I nervously bite my bottom lip. “For sex?”
He’s walking in my direction. Am I breathing? Can I move an inch as he now stands in front of me?
“Yes,” he breathes, and I can feel the lust oozing out of his pores.
I stare into his eyes, unable to speak. I can’t deny this urge that’s coursing through me. Hercules and I are connected in an inexplicable way. His face is moving toward mine. His lips collect my bottom lip, which was trapped between my teeth. It experiences the silky warmth and wetness of a tongue until I open my mouth and completely let him in.
The longer we kiss, the more desperate our breathing grows. My pussy has never wept so fervently for a boy to be inside me. My need is primitive—it’s animalistic.
We’re dancing a sensual tango, and we’re each other’s perfect partner. My jacket hits the floor as his mouth leaves moist trails on both sides of my neck. Hercules lifts the hem of my shirt. My arms float upward, and our mouths only separate to allow the material to rise between us.
I whimper softly when I taste his probing tongue again. It’s as if that second time apart lasted far too long. Hercules’s strong hands lift me by my waist. My feet float off the marble, and I wrap my legs around his narrow torso. His fingers stroke, grip, and caress my buttocks, my waist, my back. They cup my face. I entwine my fingers in his hair. He’s carrying me somewhere as our kiss deepens. Then his mouth finds my neck. I sip temperate air as I pitch my head back to feel his lips, tongue, and teeth on my skin. He works all three so well. They’re like sections of a chorus, the altos, sopranos, and tenors singing in happy harmony.
We arrive in a room. It’s spacious, adultlike. He lays me on the bed, and my back is against a comfortable mattress. I kick one of my shoes off. Hercules pulls the other off and throws it to the ground. At no point do we lose eye contact. I want him. I don’t care that he doesn’t want me to be his girlfriend. But if he asked, I’d say yes.
Or maybe not. I can’t be his girlfriend. I’m a Grove, and the Valentines are our enemies. That truth is branded in my mind.
“You okay?” he asks, breathing heavily.
I just realize that my eyes have grown wide, and I stiffen, thinking about the line I’m crossing here. Max would be pissed if he knew where I was. My father would be even more upset about it.
But then I look at his chest. It’s as if he’s been chiseled out of marble by the hands of a master. I look at his face—perfect in every way. He’s out of his pants even though his underwear is on, his briefs containing a remarkable package.What if I tell him the truth?
“Um, Hercules…” I start.
