Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (68 page)

"Have sex," I choke out in a breathy voice.

"I'm not sure…"

"I'm ready."

"I'm not."

"Why?"

He sighs. "I just… I need more time."

I give his dick a squeeze. "Do you now."

He shudders. I can feel the shiver pass through his body, down to his toes. His arms tighten around me and we mold to each other as I slowly work his shaft through my grasp. I pull my hand away and moisten my palm with my lips, to make it slide more easily through my fingers, and he rolls onto his back and pushes his underwear down. He has an amazing body, all ridged muscle, so tight and sculpted that veins stand out even on his stomach. I love watching the way he flexes and tightens when I do it just right.

I rest my head on his chest and watch. I've started to learn to feel when he's getting close. It gets harder, tighter, and even swells a little. I may be brave enough to offer myself to him but the thought of taking all of that into my body still makes me a little afraid, but it's an exciting kind of fear, like taking the plunge down a rollercoaster. A tiny little rational part of my mind keeps me from just, well, hopping on. I know if I started he'd finish it. I'm surprised he's so resistant to go all the way. For all the time he spends between my legs, it can't be me.

He grunts and thrusts into my fist and his hot seed spills over my palm. Fascinated, I stare at it as I squeeze out every drop. There's something strange and exciting by how vulnerable he becomes in these few seconds when he loses control and pleasure takes over his body. I like the feeling of control it gives me. I sit up, yawn, and walk to the bathroom, holding up my hand like a doctor headed to the operating room until I clean up in the sink. When I walk back into the room he immediately grabs me by the waist, and, giggling, I'm pulled down to the bed.

Apollo is strong. He gets on top of me, gets my underwear down and slides his finger inside me, and I go still, a slow breath emptying my lungs before I draw it back in, my body tensing at the feeling of movement inside me. All it takes is his finger curling inside me to make me tingle all over, and then he starts kissing me, his lips hot on mine, his breath tickling my nose until I give in and the kiss deepens, his tongue slipping over mine. Then he goes for my throat, then my breasts, and works his way down until he's lying between my spread legs and I'm writhing on the bed, clenching fistfuls of sheet and gritting my teeth out of some irresistible urge to stay quiet.

The pleasure ebbs and flows, each time rising to a new plane until I can't take it anymore and I feel like I'm flying apart and crashing together all at once, too choked with the spasmic energy tightening my body to even cry out. I only moan when it's over, and he rests his head on my shoulder and puts his arms around me. As my eyes close and I settle against him, he flicks my nipple with his finger and my whole body jerks, my legs snapping up from the shock of his touch when I'm so sensitive. It turns into wrestling and I struggle and squirm to get loose. My legs wrap around his hips.

Do it.
Do it.

He rolls over and I lose my grip. I'm on top of him now, trying to grind down on him, and he slips his arms under my shoulders and pulls me up, rolls again so I'm on my side and kisses me.

"Not yet," he murmurs, a strange sad timbre in his voice.

"Why not?"

"Your first time should be special."

"Was yours?"

He looks startled.

"It was…" he sighs. "No. Not really. Special isn't the word I'd chose."

There's something guarded in his voice. He rolls again onto his back. I flip onto my stomach and climb on top of him, resting my chin on my folded arms, on his chest.

"Tell me about her. What was her name?"

"Star."

"Star? Seriously?"

"I don't think that was her real name."

My eyebrow twitches. "Uh, that sounds like quite a story."

"I don't want to… I don't want to talk about it," he says, turning away.

"Tell me."

"She was a stripper."

"
A stripper?"
I sit up, leaning on his chest. "Your first time was with a
stripper?"

He sighs. When he breathes, it moves my whole body up and down. "Yes. It's kind of complicated. My dad was… there a lot, and I knew some of the girls, and I think they, um, they made a bet on who would, ah, break me in…"

"Oh. My. God."

He just looks confused, and his confusion clearly deepens when he sees my grin.

"You've had an interesting life."

"Have I?" he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Tell me about her. How old was she?"

"I don't know. Thirty? It's hard to tell with all the makeup and the kind of exercise she did."

"What was she like? Bleached hair? Big fake boobs?"

His face twists in annoyance. "No. She had black hair, blue eyes, and she was, uh, all natural. She was very attractive."

There must be a look on my face, because he quickly adds, "I like you more?"

Just a hint of a question in his voice.

I force my expression neutral. "What was it like?"

He shrugs, and I shift my weight on top of him.

"Do you really…"

"Yes."

"Okay,
 
it was… she was better at it than I was. She was a stripper, not a prostitute or something, she was just older, wiser. I had no idea what I was doing. She taught me how to, um, do stuff."

"Do. Stuff."

My lips twitch. I force myself not to grin with all my might.

"Yeah, she made it last. Made the moment last. I wasn't in love with her or anything but she was… experienced."

"I'm, uh, not."

He smirks. "You learn fast."

Finally I break out in a grin. "Do I now."

I sit up. "She took charge, huh?"

"Yeah," he swallows, his voice tight.

One of the advantages of sleeping naked is waking up naked. He stares at my chest, his hands slowly moving up my sides, until I catch his forearms in my hands and hold him still.

"Did she start on top? Like this?"

"Y-yeah, actually."

"Were you in the champagne room?"

He bursts out laughing and I bounced up and down with the force of it.

"No, we were at her apartment. It's not like TV, Diana. They don't have sex with guys at the club. It's just a job, I swear. I've never met a stripper who did anything more than grind."

"Except the one that took your virginity."

He sighs, obviously exasperated.

"Yeah, she was on top."

"Like this," I murmur again, and move my hips in a circle. His hands move closer to my breasts.

"Yeah, a lot like that." His voice sounds tighter now, like his throat has gone dry.

"She taught you everything?"

"Most of it. She liked to give a lot of, ah, directions."

I smirk at him. "Really. So you picked up the other tricks from other girls, huh?"

"Yeah."

"How many."

"I'm not sure," he says, looking away. "At least… uh…"

"
At least?"

He's actually
blushing
, "I didn't, um, keep count, it's not like…"

"Too many to count?"

I shift off of him and drop on the bed beside him.

"Look…"

I turn away, wrapping my arms over myself. I tense as he rolls up to my back and throws his arm over me, and presses his face in to my hair again.

"I've had sex with a lot of girls. It was a good time, and then it was over."

"Are we having a good time? Is that why you don't want to have sex with me? Because then it's over?"

"No," he sighs. "It's different with you."

"I bet you always say that."

He tenses, and goes quiet.

"No. I've never said that before. I don't use lines. I could walk up to any woman I want and say 'wanna fuck' and they'd follow me someplace private."

"So I'm just an easy target, then. Must be those eyes of yours."

"My eyes are nothing next to yours," he murmurs, and his hand slides up my stomach to cup my breast. He whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my skin, and tickling. My lips twitch. "Brown and green. You have heterochromia. First thing I noticed about you."

"Is that a checkmark on your bucket list? Blonde, brunette, redhead, mismatched eyes…"

His arms tighten around me. "No. It's not like that. I've…" he trails off. "I can't say it without sounding stupid and cliche. I don't know how to say it."

"What?"

"You're different. When I saw you I didn't want anybody else anymore. I don't know if I
can
want anybody else anymore. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where this is going. I can't… if I was your first and I had to leave, or I hurt you…" he sighs. "If I hurt you that way I couldn't live with myself. I can't live with myself. I don't belong in this place, with you."

I wriggle a little so he loosens his grip and turn around.

He can't be faking this. The look of anguish on his face makes me wrap my arms around his neck and pull his face to my chest. I pull the sheet up over us and feel his breath tickling the skin between my breasts as his arms tighten around my waist.

"I don't know what's happening," he whispers.

"I don't either. Apollo," I sigh. "I'm not an idiot. What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, there's-"

I cut him off. "Why would you have to leave? How would you have to hurt me?"

"I can't…"

I pull back, sit up, and tuck the sheet under my arms, covering myself. I wrap it around
 
my back, too, pulling it off him. He sits up.

"They're getting on a flight soon," he says. "Your mother. My father."

Deep breath.

"I'm going to tell my mother I'm going to a school of my choice," I say, slowly. "I'm going to follow my own path in life. I'm going to be my own person."

"That's good-"

"I'm not finished. When they get back we confront them and tell them the truth."

"Uh-"

"You don't have to tell them everything
in detail
," I sigh. "Look, we stand up to them
together
. We're adults. They can't tell us who we can and can't be with. This is it."

I reach over, pull open the nightstand, and grab it, the box of condoms I bought. I checked the expiration date, just in case. I slap the box against his chest.

"You want me? I'm right here. Pull these sheets off me and fuck me, damn you. I'm sick of being teased. I like you, Apollo. I really like you. I think I'm starting to feel something for you. You know how you said when
 
you look at me… and… I feel that way about you. I never cared about it before. When I'm with you I forget everything.

I drop the sheet, throw my leg over him and straddle him, kneeling, naked, hands on my hips. I thrust out my chest and arch my back.

"Grab me and fuck me. Come on. If we're going to do this, let's do it."

"What if I hurt you?"

"You know what you're doing."

"Not like that. I mean what if-"

"You're hurting me
right now
. Can't you see what you do to me? I want more. I want you inside me. Please."

He looks at me for a good minute. I know how his body feels about the situation, his intentions are very plain and standing straight and hard. He rises and my stomach flutters as I realize what I've just gotten myself into, and he seizes me by the hips and tosses me down onto to the bed.

Then he stands up, grabs his boxers and pulls them on, and yanks his jeans up and starts doing up his belt. I fall back onto the bed, crushed. It feels like someone dropped a bowling ball on my stomach.

"Don't go. I changed my mind. We can just fool around a little more, I won't try to rush you…"

"There is no rushing," he says, softly. "Diana, I can't do this, I…" he sighs. He looks me right in the eyes and I feel a shiver pass through me. "You deserve somebody better than me."

I could react to that a million ways, but for reasons I'm not completely aware of, my hurt melts into fury as I hurl the condom box at him and he turns, bouncing it off his shoulder.

"That's not your
god damn decision.
Get out, Apollo. Get out!"

"Diana, wait-"

"I'm not waiting. I should have known better. I thought you understood me. You're just another person that wants to tell
me
what's best
for my life
. I don't want to hear it, Apollo. You had your chance," I yank the sheets up and cover myself. "Deal's off the table. Get. Out. Of. My House."

I can't look at him. I can't see that look of anguish on his face. He pulls his t-shirt on so hard I hear stitches pop and slams my door on his way out. I count the thuds of his footsteps on the staircase until the front door slams, and tear myself out of bed, choking down on my sobs, trying to swallow my fury.

I scrub my face in the sheets until it hurts, get up and grab the condom box. With my luck, Mom would trip over it when I got home and I'd get a six hour lecture about being a slut for being prepared to have sex.

I get in the shower and turn up the water until it hurts, and just stand there. If the hot water peels the skin off, maybe it will distract me from the world ending.

What is the goddamn point? Why do I even bother? I lean on the wall and close my eyes and there's nothing behind them but my own future staring back at me. The light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train ready to run me over, the conductor is my mother and the passenger is a cold, dry life studying what she wants, going where she wants, doing what she wants, dating who she wants, living the life she wanted for herself.

Everybody wants me to be a puppet. Mom wants to live through me, Lucas wants me to be his fuck toy, Apollo used me and fed me some bullshit to let me down gently (after I must have swallowed a quart of his… gah!) after I thought he really felt something for me. Felt the way I did.

There was something
there
. A spark, a connection. I'm not stupid. There's no such thing as love at first sight. It's just hormones. It was…

It was real. What I felt was
real
. Prince Charming came and swept me off my feet. Except it was just an act.

The only person in my life that's straight with me is Charity.