Hate (33 page)

Even with all the hours that had passed, I felt like Blane had just gotten there. I was firmly stuck wishing the day would never end.

Now that I was on the back of Blane’s bike, the roar of it between my legs, the wind in my face, and the warmth of the back of his big body pressed into my front, that feeling had amplified exponentially.

I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew the area well, watching as the Atlantic ocean whipped by on our left side as we headed south.

Blane eased back on the throttle, cracking it open a couple of times and making the bike roar as we turned into a driveway for a little beach bungalow in Belmar and came to a stop behind his big, silver truck. The smell of salt water was strong, and my arms tightened involuntarily as I breathed in a deep gulp of it.

His boots left the pegs and hit the ground, the flex in his thigh muscles drawing my attention. I watched as he killed the ignition, prying my arms free and leaning back just as he pulled his helmet off and eased down the kickstand. I balanced my weight in his shoulders and swung one leg over the back of the bike to climb off.

He stayed seated and accepted his spare helmet as I handed it to him.

“So that’s what it’s like?” I asked, running my hands through my wind-blown wild hair.

He looked at me, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “What what’s like?”

“Being on your bike,” I clarified, shaking out my hair all the way to the ends and studying the beast he still sat astride.

“It’s different,” I noted, a hint of question in my voice.

He nodded, hanging my helmet off of the handle bar and turning back to face me. “It was my dad’s.”

My eyes widened, and I looked at it with renewed perspective, taking in its details and getting a little teary-eyed while I did.

Blane swung his leg over and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the house. I went with no complaints, my legs working double time to keep up with his long ones.

He pulled me in the door, drawing me toward his body and settling his hand on the small of my back to guide me now that we were inside.

“Are you living here?” I asked inanely, turning back to look at him. Obviously, he was.

“I’m renting it for the summer,” he confirmed with a wink.

We headed straight for the living room and settled on the couch in front of a big, flatscreen TV.

It took me all that time to realize that I was forgetting something. Looking around comically and then back at Blane, I pointed out, “Um, I thought we were going on a date.”

He smiled huge, settling next to me, so close that we were touching from hip to thigh, and informed me, “We are. You’re on it.”

I looked around again, when the sight of Chinese takeout menus on the coffee table hit me.

As I turned back to look at him, he turned on the TV, pulled up his on demand programming and selected Project Runway.

Jesus. The man listened.

It was such a weird thing, getting choked up over Chinese food and Project Runway, but it was happening nonetheless.

“Blane,” I whispered, my hand finding his and lacing our fingers together.

“You said this is what you wanted out of a date. I’m giving it to you.”

I looked back to the TV and then to him. “You’re really going to watch Project Runway with me?” My voice sounded dubious.

“Fuck yeah,” he answered immediately. “I don’t give a shit what we’re watching as long as your doing it next to me.”

The TV flashed with the opening, views of New York City and the logo swirling in time with one another. It flashed to the last episode, the outfits that they’d created and the drama that had ensued, making me shake my head and look back at Blane.

“What’s this gonna do to your reputation?” I joked, avoiding the very sappy feelings I was seconds away from expressing.

“I only care about my reputation with one person, and if the look on her face is any indication, I’m pretty sure this is elevating it.”

I loved the way his lips felt when I crushed mine down on them.

And I loved the way he kissed me back.

Most of all, I loved that I couldn’t think of one single thing to hate.

CHINESE FOOD CONTAINERS LITTERED THE coffee table in front of us, our fifth episode of Project Runway in a row was coming to a close, and my legs were draped over Blane’s lap, the rest of my body snuggled securely into his side.

I was cuddled in my comfort zone, all snuggly and warm, so when he spoke, I was surprised when his words yanked me out.

“I wanna dance with you to whatever song you were dancing to when I left the kitchen today.”

Oh my God. Had he been watching me?

I sat up slowly, breathing a chiding, “Blane,” before my upper body was fully vertical.

He didn’t give me a chance to get away, and he didn’t give me a chance to say anything else, pulling me up and over until I was straddling his lap and facing him.

“You could literally torture me until I died, Whit, and I’d never apologize for watching you. That was literally the
hottest
fucking thing I’ve
ever
seen.” His hands squeezed my thighs, and his nose ran seductively along my jaw. On the way back¸ he replaced it with his tongue.

My head dropped back, and my eyes rolled their way back in my head.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed softly. “What song was it?”

My tongue struggled to find the right place in my mouth as he kissed his way down my neck. All that came out was a moan.

“What?” he asked, a smirk evident in his voice and in the feeling on my neck.

“Seduces Me,” I breathed roughly. “Celine Dion.”

He chuckled into my throat, the vibrations running all the way down to my chest, and reached for his back pocket. “Thank fuck I grabbed your iPod then, huh? Because I don’t have even one Celine Dion song in this whole damn place.”

I smiled and bit my lip as the majority of my hair fell and cascaded over my right shoulder.

He stood up, lifting my weight with him instead of moving me off of his lap, and let my body slide slowly down the front of his until my toes just barely touched the ground.

I swayed as he placed a kiss on the hinge of my jaw and moved away, plugging my iPod into his sound system quickly before grabbing the remote and coming back to me.

The first few plucks of the guitar took me straight back to my kitchen, where’d I’d been imagining this very thing, his hands and mouth moving on my body to the beat.

Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me close and started moving to the music, his body guiding mine until I was ready for it to follow.

My eyes fluttered closed when he tucked his thigh between mine and his face into my throat.

My head dropped back, his hands came to my hips, and before I knew it, they were rolling mindlessly to the music.

His lips walked a path up my throat, and his thumbs stroked at the exposed skin between my pants and my shirt, his fingers working their way under it and up the hot skin of my back.

My hips moved against his, but mostly they moved with him, dipping and swaying in such perfect unison that my hands raced to latch onto his hair, pulling his head back until his hot mouth met mine.

I worked his hair like I’d worked mine earlier, mussing it completely and driving his tongue further and further into my mouth.

Our tongues danced in time with our bodies, swaying and rubbing as our hips did the same. Goosebumps pimpled my flesh as his hands ran back down my skin, over my hips, and clawed gently into my thighs on an upward sweep.

My body felt like it was floating, completely connected with his as all thought fled. I was so fucking lost in that moment, I didn’t think I’d ever be found.

His teeth bit into my bottom lip and tugged it as the song slowed to a crawl. I moaned, long and low and so loaded with arousal that it had to have come all the way from my womb.

As the song started again, obviously set on repeat, my thigh skimmed up his, wrapping and clutching around his hip as we ground together. Rough fingers found the hem of my shirt, ripping it up and over my head before our bodies slammed back together.

Two giant hands engulfed my ass and lifted, spinning my cooperative body until it came to a stop back-down on the couch. He reached between his shoulder blades and pulled his own shirt off, the sight of his skin sending a spark cascading all the way through my trembling body.

The small amount of hair on his chest rubbed roughly at the skin of my breasts, his mouth mimicking his body and practically swallowing me.

His weight felt delicious on top of me, the buckle of his belt digging into me right above the strongest part of my ache.

My eyes fell closed again as he lifted up, taking his mouth from mine and rubbing the tips of his fingers down through the space between my throbbing breasts.

I didn’t see it coming when his lips touched the skin above my heart, moving gently as he called my name.

“Whitney.”

It sounded like a plea and an answer all at once, and his hand came up to cup the bra-covered breast underneath it.

I shifted just slightly, and bra-covered became uncovered, the straps sliding enticingly down my arms as he divested me of it.

His body came forward again, and his tongue found my nipple, the torturously slow pace he set as he licked a perfect circle around it causing my breath to come out in a stutter.

The rough scrape of his facial hair warmed the skin surrounding my nipple as his lips closed over the peak and sucked ever so slowly. His hair felt soft intertwined between my fingers, the tugs I gave it making his throat produce a hum that I felt all the way to my toes.

Moving his lips upward, he followed the curve of my collarbone, up and over my chin, and met my lips with his once more. His hands found my hair, gliding in and clutching it just behind my ears. Several strands pulled at my scalp, but none of it was painful.

Satisfied with what I gave back, he moved in a reflective pattern, back over my jaw, along the opposite side of my collarbone, and up the swell of my breast to the other nipple. Weightless in his warm palm, it was as though my breast swelled up to meet his lips so they didn’t have to do all of the work.

His eyes met mine as his lips sucked me deep once more, and the intensity in them made me feel like their blue pools were leaking into mine, morphing my irises into the much brighter color of his.

The pink of his lips was glossy with moisture when he looked up after releasing me completely.

Shoving off of the couch, he stood, and it didn’t take me long to follow. I jumped into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist, and he settled his large palms at my ass once again to hold some of my weight.

He made carrying me seem effortless, and his path to the bedroom couldn’t have been more direct, the slam of the door behind us thanks to his foot a huge contrast to the slow speed of our other ministrations.

Our pants were gone in an instant, all thanks to his quick work, and he was rolling a condom onto himself before I even knew where it came from.

“I’ll never be able to just dance with you for the rest of my life,” he told me, the hoarse whisper of his voice smoothing the rough edges of my nerves like the finest of sandpaper. “Every day for the rest of my life, this is gonna be burned in my brain,” he whispered as he spread my legs, his hands gliding up the inside of my thighs, finding their place in the bed beside me, and then entered me in one smooth motion.

“God, Blane,” I breathed as my fingers dug into the hard flesh of his back.

He moved slowly, to the rhythm of the music still thumping softly in the living room, and his lips came to mine, resting there as he spoke. “Best song
ever.
”

There was humor in his eyes, and I felt my breath catch as I choked out a laugh.

“Doesn’t get…much…better,” I agreed, the rhythm of his motion and the pleasure it caused interrupting my cadence.

He shook his head, his lips deliciously still on mine. “Doesn’t get better. Period. The end, baby.”

His fingers moved between us, surrounding our connection and moving softly over just the right spot for me as he told me, “I’m close, Whitney.” He shook his head, fighting it. “I’m so goddamn close. Come with me.”

I felt myself tighten around him, one of the sweetest, bottomless burns I’d ever experienced starting deep within me and robbing me of my vision.

He moaned down my throat, the bursts of hot air from his breath filling my mouth directly.

I’d never been so happy to breathe someone else’s spent carbon dioxide.

“I’m sad I haven’t been doing that with you since the day I met you,” he whispered, his weight in his forearm but still protectively shielding me while we lay connected.

I smiled, the afterglow of the experience so damn warm, I didn’t think I’d ever be cold again.

“We were in seventh grade,” I said on a squeeze.

His eyes got serious. “Alright. I’ll settle for doing it from here on forward. We should still get another sixty plus years out of it.”

My throat tightened, the idea of sixty years together so pleasure inducing, I thought I might orgasm a second time just thinking about it.

I felt vulnerable and afraid and like there was so much to fucking lose.