Nothing More Beautiful (15 page)

The first quarter started off with the
Lakers pulling ahead with several Blazer turnovers, but then
Portland started climbing back in the second. The crowd, including
Vince, went crazy went Lopez dunked the ball hard around halfway
through the quarter. The arena did seem upset about being down, and
Vince explained that the Lakers were at the bottom of the ladder
this year while Portland was doing well and ranked near the top,
thus they shouldn’t have been losing.

“So are you enjoying the game?” Vince asked
at halftime.

“I can see why Ashley watches it,” I said,
sliding my bangs out of my eyes. “It is pretty fun.”

“Then maybe you’ll join me again
sometime?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

He smiled and touched my hand. “Do you want
anything to eat? The wings are really good at Fire on the
Mountain.”

I looked down at my ivory dress.
“Wings?”

“Hmm, maybe something a little cleaner
then,” he said, noticing my hesitation. “There’s a bunch of stuff.
Pyramid Brewery has a big stand here.”

I shot to my feet, probably a bit too
eagerly. “Lead the way.” I went for Danielle’s coat.

“You can leave it,” Vince said. “Terrance
will watch our stuff.”

“Right.” I had forgotten about his
bodyguard. He seemed so normal. I mean, did rich people eat wings?
And talking to him was no different than talking with Ashley, or
Danielle, or Bridgett, except during our conversations I had a
little voice screaming at me to kiss him. Other than that, it was
the same: relaxed and fun and easy.

Throughout the night, the sexual tension
continued to escalate as we exchanged more background on each
other, the Q&A going back and forth. The game also continued
with a lot of the same. The Lakers played scrappy while the Blazers
tried to come back. They fell into a pattern where they’d close the
scoring gap, then would fall behind again by ten or so, only to
fight their way back. Hope permeated through the arena with the
growing sense that the players in white could win with each
comeback. The Blazers tied it up at 105 with a minute to go. They
took the lead by one with 30 seconds to go. At seven seconds, the
Lakers threw it in and one of them dunked it to bring them back on
top.

Everyone was on their feet at this point,
though most had been standing since the game was tied, and Vince
was watching with coiled apprehension when the Blazers passed the
ball in to Number 0, their last hope. Vince punched the air when
the buzzer sounded and the ball bounced off the rim, missing.

“Dammit,” he rasped. The seats began to
clear out faster than I would have thought, the crowd disappointed.
“Hey, stay here for a second.” He left before I could reply,
walking onto the court and across to the other side, striking up a
conversation with a familiar-looking man who I couldn’t quite
place.

Vince returned after a minute, his
disappointment as palpable as the crowds. “What was that
about?”

“Oh, I just offered Paul Allen, in my
opinion, a very generous offer to buy the team.” He shook his head.
“He turned me down, though. You ready?”

I stood there, shocked. I guess I still
hadn’t yet comprehended how wealthy he truly was. By his demeanor,
it was easy to forget. I began to laugh, and soon I was bending
over, holding onto the back of the seat in front of us.

“Did I say something?”

“I think I may have made a mistake.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were having
fun.”

“I did. I mean I am. It’s not about
that.”

“Then what?”

“The income gap between us. I mean, God, you
just tried to buy a professional basketball team.” I curbed the
laughter that was splitting my stomach.

He played with his lip, now nervous. “The
money doesn’t define me,” he claimed. “It’s true, I have it and I’m
smart with it. But that’s not what I’m all about. I really like
you, Maci, and you seem to like me too. I think this has a chance
of being something, something more than a fling or whatever, you
know? Tell me you don’t feel that vibe—that connection—whatever you
want to call it. Tell me you don’t and I’ll let it go.”

How could I let him go so easily? For weeks
he had drilled deeper into my mind and planted the seed of
irreversible, implacable attraction that I could not hope to
ignore, and had failed to direct my thoughts toward any other man.
He was brilliant, warm, thoughtful, so easy to talk to—and rich as
hell. How could I get past such a divide? We lived in two different
worlds. In mine I bought flour for a bakery and in his he bought
sports teams. But I couldn’t deny force—the energy that pulled us
together—and it was something I had to explore, had to respond to.
Nothing in the world had stirred me so. He had awakened something
in me and I needed to see what it was.

“Yes, I feel it,” I finally answered after a
moment of silent debate.

He stepped closer and grabbed my hands.
“Then maybe we can just set the money thing aside for a moment and
concentrate on this.” He waved his hand from his heart to mine.

I could feel the heat rising within. The
sensation was building and building as my heart sped up. A desire
took control, coming from my crotch. “Would it be too rash if I
said we should go back to your place?”

He smiled, staring at me with barely an inch
between us, on the threshold of our lips connecting. The
anticipation climbed like a rocket through the sky, about to
explode at any moment. “It would, but I’m trying this new thing
where I follow my impulses to see where they might take me.” In an
instant, he slid his right hand under my hair to my nape, his left
taking hold of my hip and bringing us together. There was a brief
pause—and then my lips met his. Stricken by a shudder of pleasure,
my mouth opened and his tongue found mine, twirling. They danced a
slick and erotic dance that burned my veins with pure felicity.

And I wanted more.

He pulled back and left me paralyzed, the
intensity dropping off faster than a bullet traveling to its mark.
“My place,” he rasped, clearing his throat. We rushed off to the
parking garage, my hand in his, my hormones on the edge of taking
over completely. I checked them by slowing my breaths, drawing in
deep, holding them until they broke free.

I glanced back and spotted Terrance at his
usual distance, a look of extreme irritation contorting his face
together, narrowing his eyes to the point that they were almost
shut. I never gave the look a second thought as Vince opened the
door and hurried me inside.

“My condo isn’t far,” he said, backing up.
The ride was still too long. I couldn’t contain the urges swelling,
raging to break free. The air in the car was charged with
attraction, worse than being in an elevator because there was no
outlet, only waiting and more waiting. He turned left down NW
23
^rd
, crossed Burnside at SW Vista, then took a right
down a super narrow street and hooked one last right onto SW Osage,
arriving at one of several individual garages for the Envoy. I was
surprised that the outside didn’t look fancier, but I was betting
the inside would be a different story.

Terrance parked in a garage of his own
before following us to an elevator. “I think we’ll be fine from
here, Terrance. Thank you.” Vince closed the door on his bodyguard,
who only nodded in reply. One of Vince’s long, agile fingers
pressed the P button, then entered a five-digit code on the keypad,
after which the elevator shot upward.

“Does he live with you?” I asked, noticing
the intimacy of the elevator.

“No, he lives in a condo below mine.”

“Ah, okay. And P stands
for. . .?”

“Penthouse.”

“Of course.”

“I was told to find something like it for
public image.” He took out his phone and checked the screen. “But
now I actually like it. It has an amazing view and it’s
surprisingly quiet and secluded.” After he pocketed his phone, his
hand was trembling with anticipation again, and I watched as the
key he was holding shook. “Fuck it. I can’t wait.” Before I could
react, he had me pinned against the wall, one hand on my waist, the
other awkwardly squeezing my breasts—but that didn’t matter. I
wanted it there.

Our tongues were wild and wet, swirling in
each other’s mouths, exploring the arousing sensations each new
direction created. I threw my arms around his back and pulled him
tighter.

The elevator dinged when we reached the top.
By then our breathing was rapid and I lost what little control I’d
maintained during the car ride. He started backing up, bringing me
with him, until at last we hit the mirrored door to his condo.

Vince stopped for a breath and turned
around, fumbling with the key, trying to jam it in. At last it
slipped in and the door swung wide. It was a palace with vaulted
ceilings, but he didn’t take the time for a grand tour, leading me
straight to the master bedroom, which was probably larger than my
entire apartment. The room was sparsely decorated. The king-sized
bed in the center sat before a huge square window that looked out
onto the Portland cityscape.

Vince lowered the lighting, letting the city
lights shine. I sat on the bed, debating whether I should slip off
my dress or leave it on for him to do. He kicked off his shoes, so
I unzipped my boots and tossed them. He almost tripped in his
excitement getting to the bed. He leaned over and whispered in my
ear, “I want you.”

I wanted to scream
I want you too
,
but settled for taking off his belt, which prompted him to kiss me.
His touch set my world on fire again and again, the temperature
climbing like an inferno. I didn’t understand how I’d never felt
this before. Vince would be my seventh, and yet he was somehow
completely different, compelling me in ways I’d only heard Danielle
describe.

He stood back and flung his jersey across
the room. I saw his bare chest for the first time, and I ran my
fingers through his fine black hair that stopped after his nipples,
except for a trail that went down to his crotch. The light bathed
his flawless abs and I took them in for a moment before feeling how
hard they were. I tugged off his pants, leaving him in only his
boxers that did little to hold back his erection.

He collapsed and buried his face in my
exposed breasts, kissing them until he ran into my bra. “You smell
so good,” he said. “Like vanilla.” I held up my arms and urged him
to strip off the sweater dress that was blocking his way. He did.
Foreseeing his nervous hands attempting to unhook my bra, I spared
us both that moment and did it myself, letting it fall into my
lap.

His eyes widened as my breasts were freed.
He took one of my nipples clumsily in his mouth and sucked on it,
sending a jolt of pleasure throughout my body. He shifted to my
left one, and then made a trail of kisses down to my panties as he
squeezed them with eagerness.

I jerked down his underwear and watched as
his erection bounced with life. Gasping, I was stunned by his
length. He was every inch the size that Ryan was, but—unlike my
ex—he had so much blood flowing through him, it looked as hard as
stone.

I couldn’t wait any longer. “I want you
inside me,” I said, gently pushing his head back and slipping off
my panties. Before I could add that he didn’t need a condom, he had
unwrapped one and rolled it on his now fully erect penis. I didn’t
bother mentioning its redundancy, falling flat on my back and
spreading my legs. I couldn’t believe his pubic hair: it was as
though he’d never cut it in his life, but I ignored it, my eyes
glued to his face.

With his right hand, he grabbed his erection
at its base while his other hand held my hip. Carefully, he slid
inside me.

“Ah,” I cried, as a rush of sensation
exploded from my crotch to my neck. I wrapped my hands around his
chiseled back.

His right hand moved to my thigh, his
erection sliding in and out, slowly. His eyes burned mine as he
stared down at me, biting his lip. He sped up, bending down for a
kiss, until he couldn’t hold his weight and stood again, his
movement rapid. Despite his wild thrusts, he seemed distant, as if
he were somewhere else.

Disregarding his temporary remoteness, I
could feel an indescribable sensation of pleasure building, a
feeling I’d never known and couldn’t recognize. What was it? Was it
an orgasm? My thoughts focused on the building while my neck
tightened, my blood torrents of fiery joy. I could feel the surge
coming until all I heard was Vince screaming in orgasm, pumping
like a madman, his control lost as a primal, animalistic drive
exploded. He slowed, groaning, then pulled out.

It was then that I could feel the momentum
slipping away, my orgasm fleeing me right before it burst into a
million pieces of pleasure—and just like that, it was gone. I
looked over at Vince, whose breaths were ragged and happy. A kind
of sadness filled me then, as I realized it wasn’t him after
all.

Vince wasn’t the one to break my curse.

I
woke up in a warm,
snuggly bed that I never wanted to leave. The mattress made for the
best sleep of my life. I had thought about asking Vince what
material it was the night before, but after he had come, it didn’t
seem so important. Looking over at him, a deep, profound depression
set in. I was 25 and still had never experienced the mythical
orgasm . . . seven guys and seven duds.

Yet, Vince had been different. He had built
up some feeling inside of me that I had never known, and our
connection was unprecedented—a mutual mental tie that made
conversation a breeze. And staring at him then, surrounded by
darkness, the craving still lingered, pulling me toward him as if
he possessed some gravitational force. I wanted him. I wanted him
inside me again.