The Lovers (14 page)

I've lived my life in fear. But this is new, different.

I stay perfectly still and listen to the shallow cadence of his breath, his chest rising and falling gently beneath my head. I breathe him in, swallow down his scent, that fresh, clean scent, the earthy musk of sex, of come. And I close my eyes and allow myself, for just a few moments, to imagine being with him like this again and again. In my own bed at home.

Don't be a fool.

I draw air into my lungs, deeply, command my racing heart to calm, my imagination to stop leading me down this unrealistic path.

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice rough, sleepy. Sexy.

“Hey.”

His arm tightens a little around me. “How're you doing?”

“Good. I'm good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Then why are you twisting your hair like you're trying to break it?”

“What? Am I?”

“Bettina.” He pauses, turns to face me once more, his hand on my cheek making me want to cry for some reason I don't really understand. “You know who I am, right?”

I swallow. “You mean…that you're not a relationship guy? Like we talked about before? Sure. Yes. And I'm not really looking for that right now. It's okay, Jack.”

“Is it? Because I don't lead anyone on.”

“I know that. You've been perfectly honest with me. You've been clear. And I'm a big girl, Jack. I can handle this.”

But even as I say it I'm not sure it's true.

“Okay. I just wanted to be sure you're okay with this. Because that was amazing. And I hope it'll happen again.”

This makes me smile, and I latch onto it. Too much, I
know, but it'll do for now. It'll keep me afloat until I can get my head back on straight.

“I'd like that.” I pause. “I'd like it to happen again right now.”

He laughs, brushing a kiss across my mouth. “Mmm, give me a few minutes, and it will.” He pulls my hand to his lips, kisses the back of it, making me shiver. “You're a little minx, you know that, girl? You'd never know it to look at you. But I like that it's hidden away behind that innocent face of yours.”

“God, do I really look so naive?”

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, making me groan. “But I like it. It makes you irresistible.”

“I'm hardly irresistible.”

“Ah, but you are.”

I shake my head. “I'm not. I know what I am, and it's okay.”

“So, what are you?”

“I'm…cute. Attractive. But not beautiful, or exotic. I'm not like Audrey.”

“What do you mean?” His brows are drawn together. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes. I don't have her perfection. Her magic.”

“Bettina.” His hand is on my cheek, his thumb stroking, and he looks so serious. “You are beautiful. You're beautiful like
Bettina.
That's all you need to be. And it's pretty damn amazing.” I begin to shake my head, but he holds my face in his hand, firm, unarguable. “There are different kinds of beauty, you know. Oh, I get that Audrey is hot. Sexy as hell. I know you know that. You feel it, too. But that doesn't diminish you in any way. Don't let it. Don't let anyone.”

My pulse is hot, racing, my cheeks warm. And there's a
strange knot in my chest. It hurts and it's pleasant all at the same time.

“I'm trying not to let anyone do that to me anymore,” I tell him, wondering where this honesty has come from, but not really wanting to hide anything from him. Except my intense fascination, the degree of my need for him. “That's old stuff for me. I think we can put our pasts behind us, Jack. If we try. And I'm trying to do that.”

“Maybe sometime you'll tell me about it.”

“Would you really want to know?”

“Why do you seem so surprised? Just because I'm not looking for a one-on-one relationship doesn't mean I'm a total dick. I'm usually friends with my lovers. Shouldn't sex be as friendly as possible?”

“Hmm. Yes, I guess so.”

It sounds right on the surface, anyway.

“So, do you want to tell me?” he persists.

“Yes. But not right now.”

“What do you want to do now?”

I smile, feeling sultry suddenly, in a way I don't very often. And slipping my hands between us, I stroke his cock, feel it harden beneath my touch.

“Ah,” he says, his voice catching. “I like the way you think.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Anything about now, my girl.”

“Will you…will you touch yourself for me?”

“You want to watch?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles, gives me a quick kiss, gets up on his knees, as
he was earlier, takes his swelling cock in his hand and runs his fingers up the length of the shaft.

My mouth goes dry. My sex goes wet.

“There's only one catch,” he says, his voice going rough already.

“What's that?”

“You have to let me watch you, too.”

“Now?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I hesitate, swallow.

“Fair is fair, Bettina,” he says, wrapping his fingers around his cock and squeezing. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

I sit up a little on the pillows, spread my thighs, slip my hand in between them, begin to rub.

“Jack…this doesn't…my own hand doesn't really do it for me. I can't come like this.”

But I can't take my eyes off his cock sliding in and out of his fist.

“Don't think about it. Just do it. For me. And spread for me. Ah, that's it.”

I let my legs fall open, watch as he licks his lips, and pleasure signals from my hardening clit, thrumming deep in my belly. I spread wider.

“Ah, I think you have a little exhibitionistic streak. And I like it. I love it.”

His tone has dropped even further, and his hand is working his cock. I move my hand in the same slow rhythm, over my slit, which is wet and beginning that lovely, needy ache. Maybe it's more from watching him than it is from touching myself. Doesn't matter. I'm getting hotter and hotter by the second.

“Oh, yeah. Beautiful. My beautiful girl.”

His hips are thrusting, slow, sharp thrusts, and he's squeezing
his cock, the head going purple. I want to put my mouth on it, to kiss it. To curl my tongue around it. To taste the pre-come gathering on the tip.

I lick my lips.

“That's it, Bettina. Now pinch your clit between your fingers. Roll it. Yes…”

I do as he says, a thrill going through me. I love that he's instructing me. It's almost as though he's
doing
this to me. And maybe he is.

“Tell me more, Jack,” I beg breathlessly.

“Ah…” He's smiling, his teeth white, glistening. He's so damn beautiful. “Use your other hand to touch your breast. Just slide it up over the curve, brush the nipple. Oh, yeah, it's getting hard. You have the most perfect breasts. Firm and smooth.”

He's stroking himself faster now, and so am I. I can't believe how turned on I am, listening to him say these things to me. Pleasure radiates through my body like waves of heat.

“That's it, baby. So good. I can see how wet you are. I know just what that feels like, to have my hands on your wet pussy. My mouth. To push my cock inside you…just. Like. This.”

Each word is punctuated with a rough stroke. He lets his head fall back, his eyelids fluttering closed, and he pulls in a gasping breath. Then his eyes open, his hand stills.

“Fuck, need to wait for you, Bettina. Come on, baby.”

“I don't know if I can.”

But truthfully, my body is unexpectedly poised at that edge. I keep my eyes on his cock, the swollen tip, the small pearl of pre-come there. I lick my lips, watching as he begins to stroke once more.

“Baby, I can barely hold it back,” Jack says. “I want you to get off. For me. You can do it.”

“Maybe…” My voice is shuddering, breathy.

“You can. Just stroke yourself, run your fingers over your clit. Harder. Yes, back and forth. And take your other hand and pinch your nipple. Christ, you're beautiful.”

His hips are pumping once more, into his fisted hand, and as I rub my swollen clit, pinch my hard nipple, sensation floods my body in slow, lovely waves. I am imaging his cock is pumping into me. I can almost feel it.

“I need to fuck you again,” Jack says. “Soon. But now, come for me. Come, Bettina.”

“Oh! Oh…”

And shockingly, I do, that slow, liquid sensation filling me up, hot and urgent, taking me over. I'm shivering, pleasure flowing into me like water. Like the salty ocean pounding outside. And I am drowning in sensation, my pussy spasming, my gaze on his hard, thrusting cock, the muscles of his abs, his hips, working, straining.

“Ah, baby, yeah. Beautiful, beautiful girl,” he gasps. “Yeah, I'm coming, baby…”

His come spurts out, thick and white and lovely between his fingers. And even as my body quivers with my own climax, I watch Jack coming, fascinated, awed.

He stops, staring at me. I'm a little shivery all over; with pleasure, with an odd edginess. I'm not sure what it is. Nerves? But I'm not nervous; far from it.

I pull in a deep breath, then another, watching him watch me, and all I want is his arms around me, his lips on mine.

“Jack. Jack?”

“I'm right here.”

He leans over me and pulls me into his strong arms, and it feels better than even the sex, the orgasms. And I know what it is I was feeling, that little bit of panic.

It's emotion.

I want to tell it to go away. To stuff it down deep where I don't have to look at it.

I burrow in, my cheek pressed hard against his chest, listening to his heart beating. I ground myself in that, thinking about how alive he is. How alive I feel.

I lie there and simply listen to him breathe for a while. I'm tired, but too jacked up to sleep. I am trying not to think, but my mind is whirring away on its own.

How long will this last? If I fall asleep, will I wake up later to find him gone? Or will he send me back to my cottage alone in a little while?

Maybe it would be better to go now, just get up, find my bathing suit and get out of there.

I start to sit up, but he holds me down.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought…I was going to go.”

“Go? Are you done with me so soon?”

“I wondered the same thing about you.”

I am too raw to censor what I say right now. I just can't do it.

“Ah.” He's quiet a moment. Then, “Do you want to stay here with me, Bettina?”

“Yes,” I answer before I can stop myself.

“Good. Because I want you to stay.”

“But for how long, Jack?”

“Do you need to know that now? Right this moment?”

“I…maybe not. No.” He's stroking my hair. I don't want to think about how good it feels. How intimate. “Jack, I don't know how to do this. This casual, friendly sex thing.”

“You've never had sex unless you were in a relationship?”

“Of course I have.” I just don't know how to do it with him. But I don't say this. “I did with Audrey.”

“You have to with Audrey,” he says, and I am a little surprised at the bitter edge to his voice.

“Jack? Has she…has she hurt you?”

“No. Yes. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, which I am beginning to recognize as a sign that he's agitated. Or that he's talking about something he really doesn't want to. “It's different with Audrey. We've talked about that a little. She has that effect on you. On me. When I'm with her, anyway. Then she goes off wherever, with whoever, and I'm pissed for a few days. Then I'm over it. I know what I can and can't expect with her. The lines are crystal clear. And because of who I am, and who she is, I don't want anything more permanent with her. So it's okay, on that level. But I'm not some robot. I still have feelings, which are sometimes unreasonable.”

I nod. “Yes. I understand that. I feel that, too. I wanted to be with her, initially. I wanted to be the center of her universe, because in those moments when I was, it was so powerful. Maybe I wanted some of her glamour, her shine, to rub off on me. Or maybe I just wanted to feel that intensity. I wanted more with her. But now I'm not so sure. And it's been confusing.”

“Are you saying you wanted a long-term relationship with her?”

“I…no. I didn't really think of it in those terms. I simply wanted her. And that was new to me.”

“You fell for her,” he says, not really asking.

“In a way. But maybe not in any different way than you did. But it was more than just sex for me, yes. And I feel like I can't quite get a grasp on it. I mean, I have had sex with people before that I wasn't in a relationship with. I've just never done it with the intention, or rather, with no intention, of it going anywhere else.”

He stays silent for several endless minutes. “So, you've been
in love with—or at least falling in love with—everyone you've ever slept with? Is that what you're telling me?”

“I've never been in love.”

Shit. I didn't mean to say that.

“Then we're really not all that different, are we?”

I have to think about that. But maybe what he's saying is true. Because I have slept with a number of men—and with Audrey—without being in love with them. Not real “in love,” although I think I fancied myself sort of in love with Audrey. Maybe I still do. But I know what he means and it's not that.

“No. I suppose we're not.”

“Okay. Okay. So, can you be here with me, just like this? Get to know each other. Sleep together. Enjoy each other?”

“Live in the moment, you mean.”

“Something like that.”

“Yes. I can do that,” I say.

I'm not sure if it's true. But if the only other option is to stop, then this is what I'm choosing.