More Than Anything (33 page)

His name’s Omar, and he’s working for his father’s company while he finishes his doctorate. I’m grateful for anything to take my mind off the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, so I express interest in what he’s getting his Ph.D. in. Turns out it’s some kind of molecular whatever, and I quickly tune out. From there I busy myself with texting Melody and Jeremy, letting them know I made it in one piece. Melody’s on her game and fires back quickly.

Melody:
Yeah, baby. Getting ready for sexytime.

Me:
Do you have to make everything ugly?

Melody:
Remember, video’s worth a thousand words. And a few million $.

Me:
Good to know for a retirement option.

Melody:
You might get your own reality show. Worked for the Kards.

Me:
What is it they do again?

Melody:
Exactly. I so wish I could tap into that $.

Me:
Perhaps a Sebastian vid? Forbidden love?

Melody:
I’ll keep that in my back pocket.

Me:
Ew.

Melody:
Didn’t mean it like that. But now that you mention it.

Me:
I’m hanging up.

Melody:
If it’s a girl, you better name her Melody.

Me:
Ha ha.

Melody’s irreverence is just what I needed, and as we cross into Manhattan I’m actually able to breathe without feeling like a steel band’s tightening around my chest. At least for now.

Derek and I agreed we’d meet up at Jeremy’s once I settled in, but when I call, he doesn’t pick up. I’m only slightly annoyed – he could be running late at the studio, or his battery could have died, or he could have gotten into another tequila-fuelled fistfight…

Stop, already,
I command myself.
Don’t ruin it. You will not overanalyze this, like you do everything in your life. Go with the flow.
Easy. I am a leaf on a mighty river, powerless, and shouldn’t fight the current.

Which is all good, but I’m still a bundle of nerves. Now that I’m actually going to be with Derek for four nights, my nervousness has kicked into high gear, and the anxiety’s threatening to take over.

Jeremy’s street hasn’t changed in the six or so weeks I’ve been gone. Battered garbage cans line the sidewalk, graffiti mars every sign and post in sight, the cars are all sad clunkers that look like they’ve been through a world war. By Los Angeles standards it’s a slum, but I know for New York it’s not a bad neighborhood.

Omar stops in front of my building and gets out to open my door. I give him a folded ten-dollar bill, and he smiles and hands me a card. “Here’s my number. If you need anything while you’re in town, call. A ride back to the airport, a tour guide, whatever. I’m around. That’s my cell.”

My key still works on the front door, which is always nice. Jeremy was vague about when he’d be home – his show’s running tonight, and there will be an inevitable post-show party, so I won’t sweat it. There’s a faint glow in the window, and the building still smells like old socks. Some things never change…but then I remember Lucifer’s. It could be worse. Way worse.

I shudder as I make it to our floor’s landing, the memory of the tunnel rats as vivid as a scream, and stop in front of the apartment door, fumbling for my keys again.

The deadbolt clicks open, and I twist the knob, but when I enter, I’m wondering if I’m in the right place – the entire flat is suffused in a dim red light and smells of incense. “Jeremy?” I call out when I hear music from the bedrooms, and drop my backpack after closing and locking the door – something you learn to do quickly in New York. When I turn around again, I see there’s something on the floor, and it takes me a few seconds to realize what they are.

Rose petals.

“Jeremy?” I call again as I walk toward my bedroom. The door’s open, and my breath catches in my throat when I peer inside and see Derek sitting on the bed playing his guitar, a bottle of champagne on my dresser with two glasses next to it. I walk in slowly, and when he smiles, his eyes light up the room.

“You made it,” he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him. He puts the guitar down and rises, and then I’m in his arms, hugging him tight.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I say, and my voice sounds thick. I pull away and look around at the flowers, the champagne, a small box of Belgian chocolates… “I can’t believe this.”

He grins and looks down at me with those amazing emerald eyes. “I had a little help from Jeremy.”

“Just a little?”

“Well, the champagne, flowers, lighting, and chocolate. But the rest is all me.”

I tilt my head up and my eyes gaze into his, and it’s like I’m sinking into the ocean, pulled under green waves by an undertow that’s more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt. And then his lips graze mine, teasing, brushing them, and he kisses me so softly I can barely feel it. I want to devour him, consume him whole, and he kisses me again, and this time the connection’s more vital, more solid as his full lips meld to mine, our tongues meeting, at first tentatively and then with more urgency.

I let out a small moan as I close my eyes. My anxiety melts away, and my world is now only Derek’s sweet taste, his delicious smell, his mouth and mine locked together. His breathing deepens, and I can feel its heat on my skin. I’m getting dizzy from his aroma, the nearness of him, the overpowering headiness of being so close.

He pulls away and smiles.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He looks over at the dresser. “Champagne? It still sounds French, even though it’s made in Jersey City.”

I laugh in spite of the moment and nod again. I can see he’s struggling to talk past his desire, and I adore him for it. “Sure.”

He pops the bottle, which he must have pulled out of the refrigerator when he saw the car pull up, and pours our glasses full before handing me one. I hold it up and he clinks his lightly against it. “To my incredibly beautiful girlfriend.”

“To us,” I say, holding his stare. I’m shocked by how much I want him right now. It’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had has been lifting weights and working out, waiting for this moment. My natural shyness is battling with the hunger that’s in my core, the unthinking need that’s building, the touch of his lips on mine still tingling as I take a cautious sip.

He walks over to the boom box I bought from a street vendor for forty bucks and turns on music – Chris Isaak. He turns to me and takes a drink of his champagne while studying me like he’s never seen me before. I match the intensity of his gaze, any modesty gone as the champagne warms me with each swallow.

“You look good,” I say, and it’s the truth. He looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine, with his chiseled features and his slightly imperfect nose perfectly framed by his bottle-green eyes. I take another long pull on the champagne and reach out to him. “Kiss me again,” I say, my voice deep in my throat.

He moves near and leans into me. I hold his stare until his lips are only inches above my face, and then shut my eyes as his mouth closes on mine. Suddenly nothing exists except him and me in this room, in this space, locked together as one, saying with our lips and tongues everything we haven’t with words. The first song ends and another begins and we’re still kissing, my breathing shallow as my pulse pounds in my ears. I feel his fingers on my hand, and he lifts my glass and sets it on the dresser before sliding his next to it, the entire time still kissing me.

I’m intoxicated, but it has nothing to do with wine. I can’t get enough of him, and now that I finally have him with me, the dam’s burst and the flood’s started. He’s pressing against me, gently, and I can feel his arousal against my thigh. I’ve fought so long against my desire to have him, but now all I can think about is Derek, his incredible body only inches away, and the ache in me eclipses all reason.

I moan softly as his hands frame my face, and then they’re in my hair and he’s tilting his head and running his teeth lightly down my neck, grazing the skin. I respond with an involuntary shiver when he returns to my face, his lower lip tracing the path of his teeth, and the sensation’s incredible. He gives me a small nip just below my ear. I can feel him panting, his passion obvious, and then we’re kissing again as I shrug out of my jacket, unwilling to break the bond that melds us together. I drop it on the floor and we stagger to the bed. We collapse as one on top of it, still kissing.

I groan as he repeats his exploration of my neck, one hand gently pulling the hair at the back of my head, and it’s all I can do to keep from crying out from the pleasure of the sensations thrumming through my body. I feel like I’m flying – time and space have no meaning as I lose myself in Derek, and he in me.

He gazes into my eyes, and I see tenderness mixed with passion as he blinks his question. I don’t want to talk, don’t want to think, so I close my eyes and nod, and he kisses me again, this time with more urgency, and then we’re pulling at our clothes with numb hands, trying to shed anything between us. We break our connection so he can pull off his T-shirt, and I’m rendered breathless by the sight of his bare chest, mine to touch, to do with as I like. He’s staring down at me with his crooked grin, looking more gorgeous than anybody’s got a right to, and I get my top over my head as he gently unbuttons first my jeans and then his.

I do the rest, impatient now that I’ve worked up the courage to finally act, and hurriedly kick off my shoes and slide my jeans down over my hips. Derek’s watching me, transfixed, and I smile nervously, almost naked in front of him for the first time. He seems to sense my hesitation and quickly stands and moves to the light switch. The room darkens, and the soft glow from the streetlights bathes the bed in an amber hue. I can barely make him out as he returns, but my eyes quickly adjust, and then we’re kissing again, my hands roving over his hard sculpted body as he does the same with mine, every touch like an electric shock of pleasure and stimulation.

My arms encircle him and pull him close. He stops and looks deep into my eyes in the dim light.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I draw him to me and kiss him, taking my time, reveling in the way he tastes, smells, feels. This time when he pulls away and moves to his jeans, I remove my bra while he retrieves his wallet. He returns, a condom in his hand, and takes in my naked breasts without a word, then lies next to me and lowers his head to my chest. I watch as he licks one nipple, so delicately it’s like the flutter of a moth’s wings, and then gently nibbles it before dropping his mouth to it.

I gasp at the thrill that cascades through me, incredible pleasure I’ve never imagined, and my hands go to his hair and hold him there. After a small eternity he lifts his face from my skin and shifts up, and then we’re kissing and I feel him sliding his fingers under the elastic of my panties to slip them down. I do the same to his, marveling at the feel of his body as my hands roam over his butt, the forbidden now mine, and push the waistband down.

Then we’re naked, his body against mine, and I want all of him, as much as I can have, the inferno inside me out of control. His fingers brush me and I feel a gush of moisture and let out a small cry, arching my back to get more of him. His light touch is torture for my building need. He strokes me and my mind’s a whirring blank; my thinking shuts down as I’m consumed by the sensations.

He lifts his head and takes in my naked body. “You’re perfect,” he says in a quiet voice, his tone reverential, and then kisses me again.

I whisper in his ear, my words raw and hoarse. “Now.” He rolls onto his side, tears the condom package open with his teeth and slips it on, and then he’s back, mouth locked on mine. Our breathing is ragged and urgent.

I’m slick with moisture and swollen with desire as I feel him slide slowly into me. My sharp intake of breath when a spike of pain shoots through me stops him, and I feel pressure. I feel another stab of pain and I wince – Melody’s warned me what to expect, and I want him to keep going, but he pulls his lips away from mine.

“Are you okay? Should I stop?” he asks, a concerned look on his face.

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod and pull him to me, urging him on.

There’s more pressure and a tearing pain and then he’s all the way inside, straining against me. The pain dims as our bodies find a rhythm, but he’s still worried.

“Too hard?” he asks.

“It’s great,” I say, and it is, or rather it’s starting to be. He keeps moving, his thrusts slow and measured, an expression of tenderness and concern on his face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and I shake my head.

“Just kiss me and keep doing what you’re doing,” I say, and he does. He slides deep into me as he showers me with kisses, and I gasp as a starburst of pleasure explodes from deep inside. I have no words to describe the feeling. I’ve never felt so connected as we slowly move together, he rigid in me, my hips meeting his thrusts. The earlier discomfort is now a fleeting memory, and I feel like both laughing and crying as I finally surrender to him, give myself over to him, share my most precious gift with Derek. I’m overcome with emotion, and it feels so right I never want it to end.