Beautiful Confusion (New Adult Romance) Room 105 (15 page)

So much for not turning to mush.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“You’re staring,” I countered, envisioning how I looked with my pebbled nipples and shaved mound. Lori had convinced me to go smooth.

He smiled. “You’re staring, too.”

That was true. I was. I was looking at his penis and the sexy way it stretched toward his navel. “I’m new at this.”

“I’m experienced enough for both of us.” He spread my legs and put his mouth on me.

I nearly catapulted off the bed. Nothing had ever felt so soft or silky or right. He used his tongue in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I covered my hand with my mouth to keep from screaming. I was glad he knew what he was doing.

I lifted my hips, moving in time with his ministrations. I was behaving like a slut, practically rubbing myself in his face, but I didn’t care. Besides, he seemed to like it.

When the orgasm hit, shockwaves bolted through me like lightning, making me shake and shiver and jerk into spasms.

He skimmed his fingers down my climaxing body, pleased by what he’d done to me. But why wouldn’t he be? I’d just come like a cream pie.

When I stopped convulsing, he wiped his mouth against my stomach. I sank deeper into the pillow, struggling to recover.

He licked my navel, then moved up to my nipples, kissing each one. “Did you bring condoms?”

I nodded. His hair was tickling my over-stimulated skin. “They’re in my suitcase. I bought them at the drugstore yesterday. I didn’t know what kind to get, though. I just grabbed some at random.”

“That’s okay. I have my own. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t show up here unprepared. That wouldn’t have been very responsible of you.”

“I’m a good girl, Duncan. I dot my i’s and cross my t’s.”

“You’re not a good girl anymore.” He took my hand and pressed it against his erection.

He was leaking at the tip, and the fluid was warm and sticky against my fingers.

He pushed deeper into my hand. “See what you did to me?”

“Yes,” was all I could seem to manage.

He reached over and opened one of nightstand drawers and produced a condom. He put it on, and I clutched the sheet.

“Are you scared?” he asked.

I said, “No,” but actually I was getting a little nervous.

He got on top of me and nudged my legs apart. I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding them together. Apparently I was more afraid than I thought I was.

He inched his way inside, and I tightened my grip on the sheet. Already, it was beginning to hurt. When he went deeper, I bit the inside of my cheek. The condom he was using was lubricated, plus I was still damp from where he’d put his mouth, but none of that was helping.

“I’m hurting you,” he said.

“Just do it,” I told him. I wanted for him to move and for the pain to go away. “Do it hard and fast, like we agreed on.”

I kissed him, and he fucked me the way I’d asked to be fucked. I loved that he was inside me, even if it hurt.

Although the pain lessened, it never completely went away. An underlying ache remained the entire time. I watched him and his expression. He was balls-deep in pleasure, thrusting in and out.

I clawed his back, just to release my tension. He whispered incoherent carnalities in my ear, using the deliciously dirty words on the walls.

Duncan didn’t slow down until he came. He looked feral while he was coming, arching his torso and growling like a panther in the height of devouring its prey.

He rolled off me, and it was over. I was no longer a virgin. Neither of us said anything.

After he peeled off the condom, he threw it in the trashcan beside his bed.

He reached for me and brought my body next his. I snuggled in his arms, glad he remembered that I wanted to be held.

I closed my eyes and listened to the beat of his heart, a sound I knew all too well.

After a short while, I opened my eyes. Duncan and I turned sideways and looked at each other. Being in his arms was making me warm and gooey. I understood why Lori said it was so important.

He said, “Remember the night you made me promise that I would be your first? I got a little nervous about it, so when I got home, I Googled information about women and first-time sex.”

Fascinated by his admission, I asked, “What did you find out?”

“That sometimes it can be painful. That sometimes women bleed and sometimes they don’t. That it’s not always smooth sailing and rainbows and fairy tales. The advice to men was to take it slow and make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Thank you for caring enough to research it.” Now I knew why he’d tried to talk me into going slow. “But I’m glad it happened the way it did. I needed for it to be that way.”

“I’m sorry it hurt.”

“At least I didn’t bleed.”

“Not bleeding didn’t make it any less painful. I still hurt you.”

“What you did with your mouth didn’t hurt. That was amazing.”

“Yeah, it was cool.” He kissed me, then whispered, “I’m going to do that to you all the time.”

I shivered my delight. “You are?”

“Definitely.”

“You really do like sex, don’t you?”

“Damn straight. But what guy doesn’t?”

I wasn’t an expert on the subject, but I doubted most guys would’ve researched it the way he did. “I should have been the one to look stuff up so I was more prepared for what to expect. Mostly all I did was buy a sexy outfit to seduce you.”

“You really blew me away, showing up here like you did.”

“That was the idea.”

“It worked, that’s for sure. You seduced the hell out of me.”

“I was so scared that you were going to turn me down. That you would think it was too soon.”

“I tried to make that argument, remember?” He played with one of the barrettes in my hair, re-clipping it when it came loose. “If this wasn’t your first time, I’d be doing it to you again right now.”

I nearly melted from the way he looked at me. “If I wasn’t so sore I would let you.”

He was still toying with my barrettes, treating them as if they might fly away.

We both went silent until I said, “I feel connected to butterflies.” I proceeded to tell him about the Vanessa species, the Painted Ladies and Cosmopolitans, and how I’d learned about them in a book Carol had given me when I was a child. “I just mentioned it to Carol before I came here tonight, but she didn’t remember giving it to me.”

“Do you still have it?”

I shook my head. “It’s been gone a long time.”

“I wish you still had it. I’d love to read the book that inspired you to feel like a butterfly.” He delved back into my hair. “Can I have one of these?”

My pulse fluttered. He was asking for a barrette. I nodded, and he removed the one that was nearest to my face.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“Just think of you when I see it.”

Could he be any more amazing? “I kept the rose you gave me.”

“Then we’re both sentimental, I guess.” He studied the barrette. “I know some legends about butterflies.”

“What kinds of legends?”

“All kinds. Some of them are nice stories and some of them are sad. It started with something Jack told me when he first took me in. We were at a park, picking through a trashcan for food that was discarded from a kid’s birthday party. We figured it must have been a girl because the paper plates had butterflies on them. Then, while we were scooping cake off those plates, he goes into this tale about how it used to be illegal in Ireland to kill a butterfly because they believed it was the soul of a dead child.”

I winced. “He said that? And during the aftermath of a kid’s party?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know whether to believe him because he used to say lots of weird stuff that wasn’t true. But it turned out he was right.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I looked it up at the library after he told me. There are variations of the story, but what he said came up in the folklore. Turns out, there are lots of death stories like that, with the souls of adults and children, not just in Ireland, but all over the world.”

Death wasn’t one of my favorite topics, but I didn’t stop him from continuing.

He said, “In Mexico, some of the people from Aztec origins have similar beliefs. Only there, it’s associated with Monarch butterflies because of how they migrate during the Day of the Dead celebration. When the Monarchs arrive, they come in such masses that you can hear the flapping of their wings. But according to legend, it’s the lost souls of dead children returning to their ancestral home.”

“That gives me chills.”

“Me, too. But I like learning about different myths.”

“Did you go the library a lot when you were on the streets?”

“All the time. I’ve always loved books. Remember the one I told you about with the Native star lore? I first saw it at the library when I was with Jack. Then, about month ago, I came across it online and bought a copy.”

“Do you know any Native butterfly legends?”

“Sure. Those are some of the nice stories. The Blackfoot tribe believed that dreams were brought to them by butterflies. A Blackfoot woman would even embroider a butterfly on a small piece of buckskin and tie it into her child’s hair when she wanted it to sleep. She would sing a lullaby, too, asking the butterfly to fly around the child.”

“That is nice.” Especially since I’d worn them in my hair to sleep at his house.

“Another tribe believed that if you captured a butterfly and whispered your wish to it, the butterfly would fly your wish to the heavens and it would come true.”

I felt captured right now, taken by him. “What else?”

“Let’s see. Oh, the Zuni believed that butterflies could predict the type of summer they would have. Dark butterflies indicated stormy weather and yellow ones predicted sunshine. White had a couple of different meanings.”

“There’s no mention of pink ones?”

“No.” He met my gaze. “There’s nothing about that.”

We smiled at each other, and he kissed me, marvelously sweet and slow. I held him close, wondering how I was ever going to live without him.

Live without him?

He wasn’t going to die, I reminded myself. He’d assured me that he was going to get shit-faced drunk on his twenty-first birthday, not be pushing up daisies.

When we separated I said, “If you ever give me flowers again, make sure they aren’t daisies.” I didn’t want a bouquet that made me think of him dying.

“What?” He furrowed his brow.

“I just don’t want daisies, okay?”

“Okay.” He was still frowning, as if he were trying to figure me out.

I’d gone from butterflies to flowers within the blink of a kiss, but he should be used to me not making sense, considering what he knew about my illness.

Before the moment turned stilted, I changed the subject. “I’m going to text Lori and tell her that everything went okay, just in case she’s wondering how I am.”

I sat up and realized my phone was in my purse, all the way across the room near the front door. I wished I had a robe. I felt funny about getting out of bed in the buff. I couldn’t wrap the top sheet around me like they do in the movies. It was bunched beneath Duncan.

I took the plunge and walked across the loft. I could feel him watching me. I hoped I didn’t look as self-conscious as I felt.

I returned to bed, sat cross-legged on the mattress and contacted Lori. I typed out,
He went for it
.
It was awesome
.
Details later.

She replied right away, with a slew of x’s and o’s. She’d obviously been waiting to hear from me. I sent hugs and kisses back.

Duncan didn’t ask what we were saying to each other. I set my phone down, and he reached for me.

“Little butterfly,” he said. “We should take a shower together in the morning. I want to play under the spigot with you.”

I nestled back into his arms. He must have liked watching me walk across the floor. He was being sexual again.

Feeling like a butterfly, like a girl who could make his sensual wishes come true, my heart fluttered against his. He always had a way of making everything all right.

I smiled at him, excited about what tomorrow would bring.

***

It brought heat and hunger, with water spraying over us like rain. I imagined that we were outdoors, kissing and touching beneath the sky. We took turns washing each other. I lathered his entire body, every muscle, ridge, and plane. He was so tall and dark and stunning, he could have been the god of thunder. I watched rivulets of soapy water run down his stomach and into his navel. I caressed him between his legs. I made him big and hard. I kept stroking him, wanting to make him come. Unskilled as I was, I craved that kind of power.

He covered my hand with his and showed me how deep and fast he liked it. Once I got the rhythm, he removed his hand from mine, letting me do it by myself.

It didn’t take long for it to happen. He pressed me against the wall and kissed me with lust-clamoring passion. I stroked him harder, and he spilled into my hand.

It was wonderfully, sinfully intimate. I waited a beat before I washed it away.

Duncan staggered as if he were stoned. I’d given him a sexual high. That made it even better.

He ducked under the water in what I assumed was an attempt to sober up and get back in the game. He wasn’t done messing around. He was going to make me come, too.

He dropped to his knees, and I sucked in my breath. He was going to repeat last night’s performance, but he’d already told me how often he intended to do it.

I looked down at him, consumed with his beauty. I played with his hair, twining my fingers around the saturated strands.

His mouth was warm and slick. He focused on that one special place.

I rocked forward. I could get addicted to this. To him, I thought. Already he was becoming my drug of choice.

A kaleidoscope swirled before my eyes, like a rainbow on an erotic horizon. I felt as if I was hallucinating. Maybe I was. Maybe the colors weren’t real. But Duncan certainly was.

He was flesh and blood and bone. As real as the water that poured over us. As real as the wicked warmth of his tongue.