Lost in Us (29 page)

I find his lips before I find the courage. Smooth and warm and waiting for me. They are slightly open. Inviting. I take my time to enjoy them, my eyes still closed. I kiss the upper lip first, pulling at it slightly with my teeth. He groans against my mouth, making the skin on my entire body tingle. Still, he doesn't touch me. I move to his lower lip, and when I finish torturing it, when I finally kiss him—he touches me, putting one palm on the small of my back.

And then he breaks off the kiss.

Inches away from him, I stare into his eyes. They are so dark, they seem black rather than blue.

"Are you sure about this, Serena?"

"I'm trembling like a leaf; I'd say I'm pretty damn sure," I joke, my voice weak.

James bites his lip, his other hand tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand is shaking. "I know you want me. But I don't want you to do something you might regret tomorrow."

"I won't."

"Or change your mind."

"That won't happen either."

He pauses, running his thumb over my lips. "I don't want you to leave me again."

I catch my breath, and I lean in, whispering, "Never."

When our lips meet again, he completely loses it. His hand presses my back, flattening me against him as his mouth covers mine in a rough move, his tongue seeking mine in a desperate dance. I gasp for breath when his lips leave my mouth, descending down my neck, marking a trail of flames on their way to my breasts. 

"Make love to me, James," I beg, frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt, then tossing the black fabric in the grass. The sight of his naked torso cuts my breath short. He opens the zipper of my dress, and in one, gratifying second, his hands abrade my back, his nails digging in my skin. I get stuck on the button of his pants, as usual. With one soft laugh, James removes his pants altogether. I let my dress fall. James swallows hard when it slides down my shoulders. I'm not wearing a bra. I kick my dress away as he cups my breasts, my eyes latched onto his. I sit down on the blanket, then lie on my back, pulling him on top of me.

"I want to get lost in you," I say, remembering what he said to me that night in the factory. His arms lie by my sides, his warm body shielding me from the chilling night breeze.

James smiles against my lips, "I want to get lost in us."

Lost in us. I could do that.

I smile too. We both have goose bumps all over our bodies.

I don't think the breeze is at fault.

James's hand slides to my hip, and then to my panties—the only piece of fabric I still have on. I mirror his movement, my hand pulling at the waistband of his boxers, and then…
God.
Desire slams through me as I palm his erection. Hot and huge. He chokes on his next breath, and in one swift move, removes my panties.

No. He didn't just remove them. He ripped them apart, accentuating the hunger so deep in my core that it's almost painful. His hot, heavy breaths send ice-cold, shattering shivers through me, as his tongue nuzzles at my nipple, while his fingers stroke my folds, slow and teasing.

I moan deeply when they touch my clit, arching my back.

"James," I gasp, digging my nails in his arms, trying to pull him up, so I can kiss him. I need more of this. More of him.

He rises abruptly, then urges my knees apart, spreading my legs. Fisting my hair, he pulls me into a fierce kiss.

And then he thrusts inside me. Raw and hard and filling.

Devastating. I moan in his mouth, his own groan reverberating across his chest. I press my hips to him, and then the back and forth dance begins. He keeps his moves deliberately slow, spreading relief and desire through every nerve, making my toes curl and my insides scream. I grab his backside with both hands, pushing him harder against me, opening my legs wider. He groans against my shoulder, biting me, his nails digging in my thigh. The clamping of our hips becomes faster. More urgent. The moans blow up into screams and roars, the woods around us amplifying the splash of our pleasure. My breath catches as I feel it starting to build inside me.

The explosion.

It starts as a pulsation deep inside me—at my most intimate spot. But every thrust, every hot breath of his on my skin causes my body to succumb further to the deluge of quivers wracking through me. My veins carry the electric jolts to every corner, every cell of my body.

"Please," I beg, burying my head in his neck, my cheek caressing his moist skin. The sweet smell of sweat on his neck sends me over the edge.

"Serena, God," he cries, arching back his neck, plunging inside me with a brutality I welcome. I grab the blanket with both fists, pulling at it with all my might as a thousand flutters of relief consume me.

I
swear loudly when I open my eyes.

"Good morning to you too, sailor," James shouts.

"Will you keep your voice down?" I bury my head under the pillow. "I've got the most horrible migraine."

"It's called a hangover around here. And it won't get better if you hide under the sheets. Come on, it's past noon."

"Great," I mumble, throwing the pillow away, and forcing myself in a sitting position. I pull the sheets all around me, because I am completely naked. James stands, leaning on one of the bedposts, dressed in shorts and nothing else, staring at me. And even though the creamy, transparent curtain obscures him somewhat, I can see that he looks wide awake. Beautiful. Stunning. I, on the other hand, feel like a bulldozer ran over me. I bet I look exactly like that, too. It was early morning when we returned to the room after watching the sunset.

"Can you pass me the backpack?" I ask. He doesn't budge, folding his arms on his chest, observing me with a smile. "What?"

"Nothing."

He unhitches himself from the bedpost and walks toward the glass doors where the backpack is. I steal a glance at myself in the oval mirror and swear again—this time not out loud. My mascara is smeared all around my eyes; my hair is a downright mess, sticking out in every direction. I try desperately to tame it, running my fingers through it, but this only seems to make it worse. I look like an electrocuted raccoon. Suddenly, I remember Jess's theory about the "kiss of the witch": the magical process through which a girl wakes up in the morning, only to find herself looking like a witch instead of the princess she was when she went to bed. The chances of this happening increase exponentially, the hotter the guy next to her is. It must be avoided at all cost for the guy to see her like this, either by waking up before him and sneaking in the bathroom to freshen up, or by keeping emergency toiletries and a makeup bag under the bed. Otherwise, the guy will bolt faster than a witch on a broomstick.

Since I have no such emergency bag, I weigh my chances of sneaking to the bathroom without James realizing. As he tosses the backpack in front of me, sitting on the edge of the bed, my chances plummet somewhere below zero. So I keep my head bent so he can't see my eyes, searching in the backpack, hoping he already forgot about my second-rate impersonation of a raccoon.

I find my phone charger in the backpack, along with some books—for the courses I'll have on Monday. How thoughtful of Jess to pack them, too. I slosh through the clothing, enough for an entire week it seems, not just the weekend, hoping to feel the emergency bag. She must have packed it too. Nothing.

"Why are you keeping your head bent like that?" James asks.

"Umm…"I bite my lip. "I'm just searching for something in here."

His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my head.

"I don't want you to see me looking like a raccoon," I admit.

He bursts out laughing, guffaw after guffaw bubbling out of his chest. "Why? You're the loveliest raccoon I've come across. You look just perfect."

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not," he says, suddenly serious. "I like to watch you wake up. I…" Inching closer to me, his fingers trail up and down on my cheek, "I want to watch you wake up every morning for the rest of my life."

I catch my breath, lowering my eyes to his lips. My heart drums madly, driven by a will of its own. "I want that too," I whisper.

A knock at the door breaks the moment. "Room service," a man's voice calls from behind the door.

"I'll handle that," James says, standing up. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it, watching me longingly. Heat spreads through me, making my head feel bubbly.

The second James opens the door, I seize my chance, grab the backpack, and slip inside the bathroom.

I reemerge from it half an hour later. I don't quite look like a princess, but I no longer look like a witch, either. I had to seriously rub my face to get the mascara off, but now it's one hundred percent gone. As is the headache I woke up with. My black hair is clean and tamed, hanging around my shoulders in loose waves. I'm wearing a short green dress with a black belt and flip-flops. The room is empty, a smell of bacon and coffee lingering in the air. I plug in my phone and follow the smell outside on the terrace.

The sun shines brightly above us, inundating the terrace, in the center of which a table and two chairs appeared. James is now slightly more dressed, wearing a white T-shirt and his boxers.

"Oh my God, did you order the entire menu?" I ask, ogling at the ten or so platters on the table. It's only then that I realize James is talking on the phone. It's not a pleasant conversation either, because he's frowning, his palm rolled in a fist.

"We are not having this conversation again, Dani," he says, as I sit opposite him, and I can tell he's making an inhumane effort not to shout at her. Dani, on the other hand, isn't making any effort. I can hear her shouts from where I'm seated. I pretend not to hear anything, serving myself coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. I'll try the five types of fish and almost as many jams later on.

"Fine, I'll talk to you later," he snaps, closing his phone.

"How is Dani?" I ask, smearing butter on my toast.

"She's starting to channel me when I was her age." His voice is trembling with anger. "I have no idea what's gotten into her. It all started with her wanting to go to parties more often, and now she's… I'm terrified of her going all alone to England."

"What do your parents say?"

"My mom lives on her own planet, and my dad won't realize something's off unless she busts her trust fund, like I did." He stabs a piece of bacon with his fork so forcefully that the metal pierces through it, scratching the plate underneath with an ear-splitting sound. "I don't want to talk about Dani anymore."

"All right." I ponder asking him about Parker—if he's still mad at me for using him like that, but James already is in a bad mood, and I'm pretty sure bringing up Parker is not the way to lighten him up. "So, tell me, why have you ordered food for ten people?"

"Well," he chuckles, "they do have an array of chefs in the kitchen and only two guests, so I thought why let them get bored? Now, tell me what you've been up to in the past month."

Between bites, I tell him about my new part-time job until graduation, as a programmer for my professor’s project. James congratulates me on making use of my computer science minor, insisting that programming is a good skill to have, even if I plan to go into investment banking. Who knows what I'll want to do later on. I nod, secretly thinking that even if I find out I loathe working in investment banking, I'd never consider programming. It's not my thing. I just wish I'd dropped computer science as a minor when I had the chance.

After we finish eating (I didn't even get to taste the jams), I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes. And, as the sun soaks into my pores, I remember that I was supposed to be somewhere else now, also in the sun. On a beach, playing volleyball.

"Crap." I spring to my feet.

"What's wrong?" James jerks so violently, he almost spills his coffee on himself.

"I have to text Abby."

"Who's Abby?"

"The captain of my volleyball team. Damn it." I always seem to completely forget about my Saturday volleyball when I'm with him. I walk inside the room. I've got five missed calls and a text from Abby when I check my phone. It reads:
Where the hell are you?
I'm tempted to write back
In
Heaven,
but I just text,
Still sick with food poisoning. Sorry
. No need to brag about my bliss to everyone. When I put my phone back on the nightstand, I see James sitting on the bed, holding a laptop.

I raise an eyebrow. "You brought a laptop so you can work while we’re here?"

He blinks up, smiling. "No, I brought it so we can watch movies. I was thinking, you know, since we're here… how about watching the
Lord of The Rings
movies?"

"Oh," I say. "Umm… sure."

"You can say no, if you don't want to. We can watch something else. I also have some other things in mind we can do," he says in a low, raspy voice.

"No, I like them." I sit on the bed, next to him, deciding it's best to tell him the truth. "It's just that they sort of became my breakup movies. I watched them more than a dozen times after I broke up with Michael."