0986388661 (R) (17 page)

“David,” she begs, her cheeks flushing pink. “Please.” She arches again, making her demands perfectly clear.

“Oh, I will. The Earth splitting in half couldn’t keep me away from you now.” I move my hand lower still, but not low enough to actually touch her where she wants to be touched. When she closes her eyes again, I stop. “Keep them open. Keep them on me. Listen to me.” Refocused now, she takes a deep breath. “Good girl.”

She sighs.

My hand moves.

She shudders.

Skimming lower still, I watch in amazement as I feel the goose bumps dot her skin.

With only a single finger, I circle her breast, making smaller and smaller circles until I’m unbearably close to the pointed, pink tip. Cupping the underside with my hand, my thumb grazes her nipple and her head lolls back. “On me, Grace.” Moving my hand away from her, I wait for her eyes to find mine again. “There we go.”

There’s fire in her blue eyes, ecstatic and piercing. With as soft a touch as I can manage, I roll her nipples between my fingers. “Oh, God,” she cries out, all while keeping her eyes on mine.

“That’s it, baby. Keep looking at me. Show me how you come apart.” Reluctantly, I move one arm back around her waist, pulling her closer to me. Trailing wet kisses down the center of her breasts, I can actually feel her breathing become more and more uneven. When I pull one tip into my mouth, kissing, licking, sucking it, she bucks wildly on top of me. Moving to the other, her body alternates between rigid and soft, hard and pliant.

“Fuck! You’re so sweet.” My lips tease at her nipple. Pulling her mouth down to mine, her mouth tastes just as sweet. Her tongue delves into my mouth, taking everything it wants, leaving nothing but passionate need in its wake. “I need to touch more of you.” When I run my nose along hers, she nods, granting me and my itchy fingertips the permission I so desperately need.

With a gentle smoothness, I roll us both to our sides, tossing the cushions from the back of the couch down to the floor behind us. “Much better.” Her body molds to mine, our legs entangled and arms wrapped around each other.

“David?” Her voice is uncertain, nervous.

“Shh, baby.” I try to calm her, soft touches roaming over her shoulder and down her arm. “Trust me?”

Without missing a beat, she nods, pressing her lips to mine. “More than I should,” she whispers before kissing me deeper.

“Good.” My fingers dance along the waistband of her shorts. Never in my life have I ever been more thankful for running shorts. With a little wiggle and some finesse from me, her shorts are crumpled in a ball at the foot of the couch. Her hand moves to her chest, covering up every inch I just had in my mouth. “What are you doing?”

“It’s too much. I feel so exposed.” There’s raw honesty and hidden pain in her voice. “Please.”

It’s enough to stop me in my tracks, ice flowing in my veins. “It’s okay baby. Shh. It’s okay.” After dropping a quick kiss to her nose, I pull us up so that we’re sitting side by side. Using both of her arms now, she’s trying to cover herself up. But she’s failing and I see the look of anguish on her face. Reaching behind my back, I pull my T-shirt over my head. “Here you go.” Keeping my eyes closed to give her the privacy she needs, I hand her the shirt.

“Thank you,” she mutters, her voice filling with shame.

“Come here,” I implore, pulling her into my arms. The back of the couch is hard with the cushions missing, but feeling her against me is all the comfort and warmth I need.

I only hope my body offers her the same feelings.

Pressing my lips to her temple, I comb my fingertips through her hair. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, why you pulled away, but if you want to, just know that I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, resting her head against my chest.

We sit like that for a few minutes and just as I’m about to suggest getting dinner and forgetting about everything, she speaks up.

“It was Blake.”

Her words slice through me, setting a raging fire to my anger and protectiveness.

“What?” I ask for clarification through a clenched jaw.

“My ex,” she clarifies the wrong point. I’ll never forget the asshole who laid his hands on her. And that was what I saw in public. Who the fuck knows what he did to her in private.

Straightening in my seat, I twist to face her. “I know who he is,” I ground out. “Tell me what he did. If he laid a hand on you . . .” My words trail off knowing it would probably do more damage than good to voice how I’d beat the shit out of him if I found out he hurt her.

“Not like that. It’s just . . . it was only once . . .”

“Once what, Grace?” My patience grows thin. The idea of driving over to his place and dragging him out to the curb by his collar is a very enticing one.

“It was the first time we were . . . uh . . . together.” Pausing, she evaluates my response. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes.” My answer is barely audible through my clenched jaw.

“I haven’t had a lot of boyfriends. Only one in high school that was somewhat serious, but we never . . . you know. There was only one other guy in college besides Blake. I wasn’t as interested in dating as most girls.” Discomfort and shame color her voice.

I nod, trying to keep my wits about me. But the fact that she feels ashamed for not having had too many boyfriends nearly breaks me.

“I tried to give him . . .” Her faces flushes red and her words stop.

“Grace, look at me.” She lifts her head. “You can tell me anything you want. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“I’ve never told anyone this, not even Jade.” After a deep breath, she straightens her shoulders, seemingly reinvigorated. “He laughed at me. Told me I did a shit job. Seemed disgusted that he’d have to teach me how to suck his dick properly.” Her eyes fall to her hands as they twist together in her lap. “Pretty much every time we did anything, he found a way to make me feel like I was doing something wrong. After a few times, I felt broken. Like something was wrong with me.”

I want to say,
That motherfucking asshole.

But I stifle my anger, choosing instead to focus on her courage. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” Lifting her chin with my finger, I search her face, wishing I could make the hurt in her eyes vanish. “You are beautiful and intelligent. You’re the funniest person I know. I’ve laughed more with you in the few times we’ve hung out than I have in a long time, Grace.” There’s a pleading tone in my voice. “Please believe me when I tell you, it was not you. Any guy who has to make a woman feel less than perfect, who has to blame her and laugh at her for a lousy time in bed, isn’t really a man. Did he ever make you happy? Was he ever there to take care of your needs?” Clearly confused by my question, her brow furrows, distorting her beautiful face in misunderstanding. “Did he ever make you come?”

With a movement almost too subtle to see, she shakes her head. “No,” she mutters, almost embarrassed.

“Well then, he’s the fool who should be laughed at. Because a real man would always take care of his woman first, make her feel like she’s the only person on the face of the planet who deserves his love and attention.” She nods, but there’s something in her face and body language letting me know she doesn’t truly believe me. Holding her face in my hands, I press a soft kiss to her quivering lips. “You’ll see. I’ll show you. Not tonight, but when the time is right, I’ll show you how beautiful your body is. How perfect you are as you come apart beneath me.”

Swallowing hard, she nods, a small smile cracking her lips. With another kiss to the corner of her mouth, I stand and gather her clothes. Shyly, she says “Thank you” when I place her bra and tank top back into her lap.

“Now, how about you go get dressed and we’ll finish these beers. Then we’ll get dinner and go out to make your copies for tomorrow. I want to get you to bed nice and early. Make sure you’re well-rested for your big day.”

Standing, she nods, still uncertain and shy. Taking a few steps to her, I pull her into my arms. With her back to my chest, I wrap my strong arms around her, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “You fit perfectly here,” I whisper into her auburn locks. “I’ll prove it to you. In more ways than just sex. I’ll make you see how I see you.”

Spinning in the circle of my embrace, she wraps her arms around my bare waist. My heart beats a frantic rhythm in my chest as her cheek presses against my skin. When she looks up at me, the pain that was in her eyes is no longer there. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“Shh.” I kiss away her concerns. “You didn’t. Not for one second.”

Smiling, she nods. Her hands move to my chest. Running her fingertips over my skin, she says, “You make everything seem different.”

“So do you.” And one final kiss seals our words in something that feels stronger than a vow.

Sitting in David’s car in the parking lot of Commack High School, a tsunami of nervousness rises in my stomach. The morning has passed by in a blur of commotion and now here I am, twenty minutes away from the interview that could result in the beginning of my career. My brain flips through some of the earliest memories of me wanting to be a teacher. Even though I was laughed at for giving a spelling test during a career project in seventh grade, I held fast to my dream.

And here I am.

Somehow I managed to shower, eat, get dressed, and pull together my materials. Oh, and breathe.

That last one is becoming more and more difficult as I stare at the face of the building. There are a few kids milling around the front entrance and there’s a palpable buzzing energy surrounding the place.

Twisting in his seat, David faces me. “You got this.” He drops a hand to my leg, offering a gentle squeeze of support.

He steps out of the car and walks around to my side, opening my door for me. “Such a gentleman.” Taking his hand, he helps me out of the car and I straighten my skirt. Thoughts of when my mom and I went shopping for this suit make me smile. Opting for something classic, with a touch of a modern flare, I feel confident and put-together. The slate grey jacket and pencil skirt with a tulip frill on the hem is the perfect combination of feminine and professional. A deep blue button-down blouse echoes the color of my eyes. Even though Jade dismissed the shoes as not nearly high enough, I can actually manage to walk in the three-inch heels. A definite plus if you hope not to fall on your ass in a room full of teenagers.

After pulling my briefcase from the back seat, David hands it to me. Standing in front of me, he rests his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “Good luck. Or break a leg. Whatever I’m supposed to say.” We share a laugh, but nervousness still washes over me. More in tune with me than I ever would have imagined, he picks up on the change. “Hey, we’ve walked through the whole lesson. It’s good. Really good. And what the hell do I know about English?” His casual and sweet smile reassures me.

“Thank you.”

“You got it. Now get in there and kick ass. I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

When I turn to walk toward the building, he slaps my ass. “What the . . . ? Did you really just do that?” I ask, astonished by the slight sting his strong hand left there.

“What? You’ve never been slapped on the ass for good luck before?” Leaning against the door of his car, his arms are crossed over his chest. A smug look spreads across his face and he smiles at me. “Oh, that must just be guys then.” He laughs.

Stepping back toward him, I poke a finger in his chest. “Not funny,” I scold, but can’t help from laughing myself.

Pinching his finger and thumb together in front of my face, he says, “It was a little funny.” Involuntarily, my eyes roll skyward and I laugh. “And now, see? You’re not nervous anymore.”

He brushes a soft hand over my cheek, pressing his lips in the wake of his touch. Whispering in my ear, he wishes me good luck one last time before I walk away.

From her perch at a desk in the main lobby, the hall monitor buzzes me in. I laugh a little noticing she barely lifts her eyes from the cross stitch she’s working on. Pulling her attention away from her project for a second, she checks my I.D. and then points me in the direction of the office I need.

Another secretary greets me, letting me know she’ll tell the principal I’m here. As I wait in the main office, I take note of the general atmosphere. Teachers walk in and out of the office with ease, checking their mailboxes as they carry on casual conversation with their colleagues. Students laugh in the halls as the classes change. Even though I’ve only been here for less than five minutes, it feels comfortable and personable.

“Ms. McCann,” a voice calls my attention away from the group of students standing in front of a locker out in the hall.

Standing, I extend a hand. “Mrs. Gallagher. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a lovely school.” I can’t exactly put my finger on her age, but if I had to guess, I’d say Mrs. Gallagher is somewhere in her mid-forties. Her blue eyes are bright and shining with enthusiasm. Wearing a black pant suit with a pink blouse, she looks every bit the professional, but the warmth and kindness in her face speaks to what I can tell is her kind nature.