Abduction (62 page)

Watching him watch her she pulled her tank top the rest of the way off and dropped it to the floor. Then—his nervous panting and the way his eager erection was pushing against his boxer briefs fueling her arousal with a surge of nervous adrenaline—she slipped her fingers under the snug fabric and slid her boy shorts down her legs, stood, and stepped out of them.

“You're so beautiful, Devan.”

Him saying that, she didn't like it. The phrase rang trite. But he seemed so awestruck—not by her physical fabulousness, which was average, at best, but by her, by the situation—that it didn't seem like a dumb, forced line. And way he was looking at her, that was good.

He seemed bolted to the floor, so she moved toward him, feeling a weird mix of self-conscious shyness and thrilling boldness at being dead naked. With a teasing little smile she touched the tip of her index finger to his tummy, just above the waistband of his shorts.

“Still too shy?” she asked.

“Well, yes. But it would be kind of unfair for me to say no, now.” His smile was big. Nervous.

“Yes, it would.”

She bit her lip and caught herself wondering if that was part of the role she was trying out, and began easing his shorts down, careful not to snag the elastic on his jutting erection, pressing her hands against the sweet curve of his ass, then letting the briefs fall to the floor.

When she touched his cock—just brushing the tips of her fingers briefly, simultaneously, against five points along the circumference of the head—he sucked in his breath and a shudder ran down the length of his body. He put his arms around her and she could hear his breathing, fast and loud when she curved her hand in a loose circle around the girth of him. That incredible soft warmth, the fine delicate texture of the surface of a man's cock—always astonished her. She moved her touch—the faintest contact she could manage, down the length of him, and up again, taking in how his eyes were closed and his mouth was open and his body was shaking, his belly going in, out, in, out every second with his breath. He seemed so excited she thought maybe she'd better not do too much.

“Do you want to touch me?” she asked, and he just nodded his head and smiled for a fraction of a second.

But he didn't move. Smiling, then pressing herself close against him, circling one arm around his waist, she took his hand and pressed it to her sex. When she took her hand away, his sort of hovered over her, hardly even touching her smooth mound, but just the awareness of his hand there, about to touch her made her cunt throb unbearably. When his fingertips touched down, soft, soft against her, just above the cleft of her sex, anticipation squeezed her belly and the throbbing between her thighs pounded harder. His faint touch moved, up, then down, hardly more than an inch. Then down, tormenting her with the hope of a more daring touch. Please. Please.

She gasped when he brushed a finger lightly along her wet slit, so delicately he hadn't even penetrated to her inner folds. But then his finger sank softly between, and then slowly up inside her. She let out a little moan against his shoulder, and waited. He 564

pulled his finger out a little, then pushed it back in. She caught herself holding her breath and concentrated, for a moment, on breathing normally. His finger went in, out, in, out.

A little too slowly. Or something. It wasn't quite working. Her aching need was knotting into frustration. His body felt rigid in the curve of her arm, against her body, and when she touched, he seemed to be losing his erection. She wasn't so good at this role—playing the seductress. Maybe he was just nervous.

She caressed his cock for a little while, relieved to feel it stiffening right up again.

Then, curving her other hand behind his, she showed him how she wanted, needed to be touched—drew his hand up so his finger slipped from inside her and slid, wet and slick, over the million pleading nerves all along the folds of her slit, over her needful, swollen clit and she whimpered against his shoulder. Still stroking his hard on she flexed her hips and drove her clit against his touch, rubbing herself against his hand, groaning her rising pleasure. The anxious stiffness of his body seemed to melt away to aroused trembling. His cock felt thick and warm in her hand, twitching against her palm now and then, the thrill of working him up that way just adding to the raw pleasure he was giving her with his fingers, on his own recognizance, now.

Fuck, now he was working over her just right, rubbing her petulant clit with the perfect, gentle pressure, stroking sweetly along all her slick folds so her hips were twitching out of her control now, humping his hand in frenzied desperation. Whining, pressing herself closer against him, she coaxed her pleasure on, seeking his rubbing fingers, feeling the swell and throb of need pulsing through her cunt, she flexed, twitched against him, and the pendulous balloon of aching thrill burst and flooded 565

through her. She shuddered and groaned, clinging to him, then clamped her hand over his, stilling his touch.

He smiled back, looking uncertain, when she smiled up at him.

“Did you...” he asked her sheepishly.

“Oh yes.”

Jeremy sank down on her mouth, taking her kiss like his life depended on it. For a second she felt an urge to pull away, catch her breath, wrest control back from him.

But the kiss took her over, made her want it. Him. Jeremy. She melted, yielded. All his want got her wanting again.

Breaking their kiss she nudged him back toward the bed. Got him down on his back. Straddled him. When she kissed him he was panting hard and he had to come up for air every few seconds. Between kisses she dipped down, brushed her tongue over his dark, prominent nipple. It perked and stiffened as she teased it, and he gasped and writhed under her when she sucked it between her lips, working her tongue back and forth against the tip while she nursed.

Already dying for more, Devan rose up on her knees. Jeremy—his cock rock hard, his chest panting frantically—was looking up at her, looking needful and nervous and slightly, adorably myopic without his glasses. She smiled and twisted down for the nightstand drawer, fished around, and came up with something in her fist. She held the condom up and grinned. He stared at it for a second, then took it from her. His hands shook a little as he tore open the wrapper, as he scrutinized the little circle of rolled up latex, chose an orientation, then, intent, focused, rolled it down over his erect cock.

Was she really doing this? Suddenly scared, but wanting, needing—not just the fuck, but his closeness, the adoring way he was watching her, the way she'd feel close to him as she took him in, as they moved together, and after; he'd hold her and she'd feel sort of loved; and she'd love caring for him, however it would go with them—she slid a little forward on his thighs, brought her sex to him, pressed the underside of his cock to her cunt until it was nestled in among her wet folds. Just a little, she flexed her hips, slid up the underside of his cock, caressing him with her cunt, bowing his erection back and forth across her reviving clit. Down, up. And again. The she smiled, tilted her hips, brought the tip of him to her.

“Wait,” he panted. “Waitwait.”

She stopped stark still.

“All right,” she soothed.

He looked freakin' shell-shocked, pale and rigid, jaw clenched, eyes locked on her, transmitting some undecipherable plea. She slipped down onto the bed beside him, stroked his cheek, his arm.

“It's all right, Jeremy.”

She went on petting him, running her fingertips into his hair, planting little kisses on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he finally sighed

“No, it's all right. I came on so strong, so fast. If you changed your mind, if you don't want to, it's okay.”

Jeremy laughed.

“Oh, I want to ,” he said, probably more urgently than he'd meant to. “I just...” 567

“What?” she coaxed when he didn't pick up the thread.

“I was afraid...” Another embarrassed laugh. “I was so, you know, excited, I was scared I'd...the second we...”

Poor thing. He looked worse than embarrassed. He looked ashamed. Miserable.

A sudden tenderness welled up in her, aching to soothe him. She pulled him against her, stroking his back, kissing his hair.

“It's not a big deal, Jeremy,” she began, ready to ad-lib some comforting words, when a certain idea came to her. “It's actually kind of hot that you're so excited with me.” Then, letting the teasing tone back into her voice, she added, “I have the perfect solution for this little problem.”

She opened a few inches of space between them, reached down, and took him in her hand. He flinched and gasped and gave her a startled look. Slowly rolling the rubber up, up, and off, she smiled as he panted through a small convulsion.

Conrad's image glinted in her brain; was she feeling now, with Jeremy, something of what he'd felt with her? This arousing power to arouse?

Carefully, because she didn't want the pleasure of her power to slip away too quickly, she curved her fingers around his hard warmth, waited for another gasping shudder to pass, then delicately drew her hand up the rigid length in her soft grip.

There, at the apex, she cradled the plump tip in her palm, faintly feeling the curves and angles against her fingers. Then down. Rigid shaft. Taut , fuzzy balls.

He was holding onto her desperately, eyes shut, heavy black lashes fringing out between crinkled lids, lips hidden, bitten between his teeth, his hard-panting breaths and whimpers muffled back there. Then, at once, his eyes and his mouth went wide and 568

his hot, tense body arched and he made a sound like he was crying before he let go a long, guttural groan and, as his body twitched and shuddered, a pattern, unique as a snowflake, blossomed on his belly and chest.

His forehead was hot and damp against her lips.

“Wait,” he held her back as she tried to pull him to her.

“I don't mind that. Come here.”

After a few seconds' hesitation he yielded to her embrace, limp and hot in her arms.

“I can't believe how different that felt,” he panted.

“Than what?” she sighed back, feeling easy. Solid.

“Than when I do that.”

It had been a while. A long while, since Conrad or Vaughn had touched her. But she remembered. Nothing like touching herself.

And from under those thoughts a realization struggled to the surface.

“Devan?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have you had many lovers?”

“Two,” she answered after a pause. She wasn't sure if that was how she thought of Conrad. But it was the simplest way she knew how to answer him. “What about you?” She felt like he wanted her to ask him.

“You're the first,” he said quietly, affirming her half-sprouted realization.

“The first? You're a virgin?”

He gave her an apologetic grin and nodded.

Man, was she dumb. She'd spent years imagining she was the last virgin on the planet over the age of fifteen.

“You must think I'm a freak.”

“Right, because you're, like, two years behind my schedule.”

“Really?”

She could almost see his brain doing the math. She took his hand.

“Jeremy.”

“Mmmm?”

“I think I...” She had no idea how to say this. “When I started this tonight I...”

“What?”

“It didn't even occur to me that this would be your first time.”

“Yes, I'm not the don Juan of UW, in spite of the rumors,” he joked, but then his smile faded and his voice dropped. “I guess my vulnerable virgin routine isn't so sexy.”

“Actually, it is. The idea of being your first is...really enticing,” she said, realizing how the thought of it was driving a new thrill through her. “But I don't think your first time should be with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I...I mean, you're my friend, my good friend, and I'm attracted to you, but your first time, maybe it should be with someone who feels more than that.”

“Maybe you will,” he said hopefully. “After.”

“No, Jeremy. I don't think so.” She'd meant to say it differently. Softer.

“You sound pretty sure, I guess,” he said in a hurt voice. “How do you know?”

“Because, Jeremy. I love someone else.”

That shut him up. She felt small, low. Wounded by her own inadvertent cruelty.

“I'm sorry, sweetie. I only meant for us to have fun. But I think I was a little too cavalier about the whole thing.”

“No,” he said after a while. “No, you were fine. I probably should have told you up front.”

”Or never said anything at all. Until it was too late,” she teased, smiling.

“I won't lie. I'm really hoping you'll change your mind. Because I'll admit I've fantasized about it. A lot. And honestly, until we got derailed back there, the way things were going was way hotter than what I'd dreamed up. But as bad as I want that to happen, I care way more that whatever happens doesn't fuck up our friendship. Maybe that sounds trite, but I mean it. Here in Seattle, you're my best friend.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to his smooth, hot forehead, keeping her lips against his skin for a long time, until she'd beaten back the swelling, dissolving feeling she was going to cry. His best friend. She'd been so careless. That's why she felt so sad. Or, no. The sadness pulling her down was the idea that she had no best friend.

The only two people who knew anything real about her had disappeared from her life.

Now, lying there beside Jeremy, she felt so alone she was strangely, pathetically afraid, But when she looked at him again, and let him see her, he asked if she wanted him to go, and she said no. So he stayed. They showered together, then curled up together, warm and naked in her bed.

“So,” he started in a tentative voice after they'd been silent for a while in the dark,

“this person you love. Were you together?”

“Yes. In a way.”

“What happened?”

“It just wasn't possible, us staying together.”

“But if you still love him...”

“Please, Jeremy. Don't.”

“All right. I'm sorry.”