All of You, page 9
Her hand latches onto my shoulder, fingertips digging into my muscles for support and breath rushes from her chest. Though there’s no more icing on her, I don’t stop kissing and sucking her sweet flesh. My arms slide around her waist, bringing and needing her closer.
“Matt.” My name carries a slight tremor in her voice.
I bury my face into the crook of her neck, wanting all of her, needing more of her. She clings to me, tilting her head to give me better access. It’s an invitation.
Like the pointed blade of a knife, the shrill ring of my phone kills the moment, cutting me off at the knees.
Claire jumps backward, hands falling from me as if she’s been burned. “You should, uh…”
She takes several more feet away from me, disappointment and maybe even embarrassment shadow her expression. I open my mouth with so much I want to say, but she spins on her heel to face the sink and turns on the faucet, grabbing for the dirty dishes.
Frustrated, I snatch my phone off the table, tamping down the impulse to toss it out the window into a snowbank. Britney. Again.
“I’m not answering it,” I say for her benefit. “Let me get rid of this.”
By the time I return, the phone’s in the bedroom with easily a dozen unanswered calls. Claire’s on the sofa. A plate with two cupcakes rests on the coffee table.
“Those are for you.” She’s distant.
“Thanks.” I sit beside her, so close we’re touching, and mercifully, she doesn’t move away from me. “I wish you’d waited for me to clean up.” I squeeze her knee, quick to remove my hand.
“It’s okay.” She brings the plate to me. “Try one.”
I sink my teeth into the soft, chocolatey cake mixed with a burst of hazelnut crunch. “Mmm. These are amazing. I’m going to have no choice but to retire after my time here.”
I exaggerate my stomach and she laughs, shaking her head as some of the tension she’s been holding leaves her body. “Hardly.”
“No, seriously.” I lick my upper lip with the last bite.
“Well at least you’ll have a successful career to be proud of if you decide to retire.” There’s a glossy sheen to her gaze and I wonder if she’s still a little tipsy.
I nod, not sure where she’s going with this but giving her the space to unleash whatever’s on her mind. It’s clear something is.
“Me, I’m a mess. A twenty-six-year-old virgin with my career already in shambles and I haven’t even gotten started.” She slaps a hand onto her thigh and I freeze, unsure if my ears are playing tricks on me.
“Hey, back up a sec. What did you say?”
I turn to face her, and she sags into the couch, covering her face with her hands. “Nothing. I said nothing. Forget every single thing I just said.”
She tries to leave the sofa, but I gently grab her arm, keeping her in place. “No. Wait. You’re a virgin?”
She still won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to tell you.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Me and my big mouth. It slipped out.”
“Claire. Look at me.” This news shocks me and I wonder how or why it could be so. “Uh, why? Do you not like guys?”
“What?” Her head whips to me, face turning beet-red. “Of course I like guys. I was focused on my studies. I like boys, I mean, men.”
“Okay, that’s cool. I kind of get it.” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nah, sorry, that’s a lie. I don’t get it. No matter how much I love football and want to be the best, I can’t imagine giving up girls.”
Her hair falls in soft waves around her flushed face and she rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty. I bet you can’t tell me how many girlfriends you’ve had.”
She’s trying to keep the conversation light, but she’s rattled, likely still embarrassed about her confession. It doesn’t make me think any less of her. In fact, strangely, it’s a huge turn-on. This girl—no, woman—is the real deal.
Claire’s smart, funny, kind, and pure. And I don’t mean that in the virginal sense, although, apparently it’s the case. But she’s pure in that she doesn’t have an angle. Pure of heart. What you see is what you get.
“Not as many as you’d think. Some players like to play the field, pun intended. I’m not like that.” I shift on the couch maintaining eye contact because I’m not giving her some line. “I don’t hook up or have one-night stands. Every woman I’ve ever been with has been a girlfriend.”
Not all of those women were my girlfriends when we first had sex but it did lead to a relationship. I choose not to split hairs over the order of things. Claire doesn’t need all the details, only the truth.
“Seriously?”
“I’ve had five girlfriends and had sex with four of them.”
“Oh, Matt, I didn’t mean for you to tell me how many women you’ve slept with. I’m sorry, that’s not what I was asking.”
“I know but I wanted to tell you. You shared something deeply personal and I wanted to do the same.” I interlace our fingers and her breath shudders.
“Claire, I want to kiss you again.”
She nods, nibbling on her lip, and maybe this is a foolish idea. I’m thinking with the wrong head. But from the first time I saw Claire, even before we met, I knew she was different.
At her sister’s first wedding, when she walked down the aisle, I couldn’t look away. Forget the bride or anyone else, Claire had my full attention.
I didn’t understand it but she was the brightest ray of color in a sea of sameness. I forgot to breathe, restless throughout the ceremony with only one thought.
Find her.
And when I did and we talked, everything intensified. I was powerless, overwhelmed with a craving in a way I’d never experienced before.
But nothing came of it.
Nothing could.
We are opposites in so many ways. She lives in Canada and I’m in the US. I’m a jock and she’s going to be a doctor. And with time and distance, it was easier to think of her as only a fantasy.
But I never forgot her.
I never had a choice.
Claire would always be the woman of my dreams and right now, we’re here together.
Alone.
I’d be a fool to not seize this chance. It might be the only one I ever get.
12
Claire
Matt leans into me, and his intoxicating scent saturates every one of my pores in the best way possible. He smells really good. Not of something manufactured like aftershave or cologne. No, he’s all natural. Fresh and earthy like crisp wintry air.
Hot, firm lips land on my neck and my hand rises to the space between the base of his throat and collarbone, needing the support. His pulse thumps like a jackrabbit under my palm and like him, my own heartbeat is erratic, racing with want.
Good. I’m not the only one losing all control of my body.
A storm gathers inside me, desire coiling and churning, and I inch closer to him, seeking something. More of him. I whimper and he groans, teeth scraping my flesh and hands digging into my hips.
Something indescribable and heady overpowers my body. There’s a growing ache building at my core, needy and insatiable, and wholly uncontrollable. Like a bullet, locked and loaded in the chamber of the gun, I’m ready to fire at the slightest twitch.
Then as if doused by a bucket of ice water, he rips his mouth from my neck, sliding backward like he can’t get away fast enough.
An incredulous grumble shoots from my mouth and the fire within me hisses angrily as it sizzles out.
“Shit.” Long fingers thread through his mussed hair and he hangs his head. “Claire.”
My neck tingles from where his lips just were. Who knew a kiss, not on the mouth, could still be as intimate and toe-curling?
“Why’d you stop?” I don’t recognize my voice, soft and breathy.
“We should…I, uh…” He grabs the other cupcake. “This looks good. Can I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, shoving it into his mouth.
“Of course…I brought them out for you.” Dazed and confused, I stare at him as he devours the treat the way I wish he’d do me.
Hysterical laughter swells and bursts from my lips and his eyes round, head finally whipping in my direction.
Giddy from the kiss or whatever the hell this is between us and trying so hard not to give in to the searing pain of his rejection, I can’t stop the giggles.
My hand covers my mouth. Maybe it’s a sugar rush. Maybe I’m losing it. Definitely, my outburst has a little something to do with residual tipsiness from the beer.
I'm not drunk. I feel good, never felt better, and a little frustrated. His abrupt withdrawal is still a throbbing ache.
“Sorry. I had to.” He holds up the half-eaten dessert, a sheepish expression on his face, and tiny lines form around his eyes as he studies me. Is he worried about my state of mind? That makes two of us.
A sharp exhale rushes from him and he stabs me with his molten chocolate eyes. “Or else I might’ve done something else.”
His words are mumbled through the last of the cupcake, and surprisingly, his cheeks are a rosy hue. Is he blushing?
Matt licks his fingers and I’m all laughed out, still hazy and confused. The want is still there, simmering under my skin, and I don’t feel quite like myself. But what does he feel? What does he want?
“I wish you’d have followed through.” My hands slide along his thigh and my heart flutters. I’m emboldened by the way he’s staring at me, clearly unable to look away. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
Eyes heavy lidded, his gaze travels a slow path up the length of me, and if I wasn’t already on fire, I’d be an inferno. Icing coats the tip of his thumb and he slides two fingers of the same hand under my chin.
His thumb presses into the center of my bottom lip, and he smears the icing along my skin, blazing a trail over my mouth. The tip of my tongue swipes at the pad of his thumb, and the instant sugar hit sets me aflame like I’m on speed.
I grin and my lips capture his thumb, my tongue wrapping around his digit, devouring the buttery sweetness and his pure masculine taste.
Pop.
Releasing him, a wicked grin tiptoes across my mouth. I’m more than lightheaded now, maybe even a little volatile or unstable.
“I thought I’d have a taste.” It’s a tease and I’m liking this flirty side of me.
His grin is naughty, and he closes the distance between us. “Let me help you with that.”
Staring into his eyes gives me the same sensation of being on a rollercoaster. Spinning. Soaring. Tumbling. I lose myself in the ride.
So much so, I’m gone when his hand cups the back of my neck and his touch short circuits all my nerve endings. His mouth crashes onto mine.
Hallelujah.
Matthew Carruthers is kissing me.
And I’ve no words…no thoughts. It’s as if I cease to exist. I've gone to heaven without dying.
His head angles, deepening the kiss, and the icing has nothing on him. Matt’s taste is rich and intoxicating, and our tongues duel as each of us gives into our greed, this insatiable need to claim the other.
My hands rake across his scalp and he cradles my jaw, our mouths meshing. He’s demanding and fierce, then gentle and unhurried, exploring the heart of my mouth, and I want to give him everything.
My heart. My body. All of me.
His teeth nip at my lower lip, then it’s over all too soon. Matt breaks away and I moan, lamenting the loss. He shakes his head as if chiding himself.
“I need to behave.” He slides over two seat cushions, putting distance between us, and only cementing his rejection. Ouch.
Sighing, he scrubs a hand across his now weary face, and I’m once again confused.
“No, you don’t.” My words are brave but I don’t follow him, challenge his departure while I’m still smarting from his withdrawal.
What was that? Why did he kiss me if only to pull away? Was it curiosity? What’s it like to kiss a virgin?
It’s a foolish thought. He isn’t like that, but this rebuff hurts. He said he’s never been with a woman he doesn’t care for—does that include kissing? Or am I reaching for meaning where there isn’t any?
We’re attracted to each other. That was obvious from the first time we met. He’s most probably giving in to that. After all, to him, I’m only Pippa’s younger sister. Does he think of me as a friend? An acquaintance at best? I’m not someone he cares about beyond a friend and why should he?
After this week we might never see each other again. Besides, Matt’s my first crush. Only a crush. Nothing happens with your crush, right?
Suddenly, I want to be alone and wish I could go upstairs, but I don’t want to cause a scene. We’ve had a nice night.
Nice…there’s that word again. Tonight wasn’t nice. It was amazing. More than I could have ever hoped for. But I suppose nice is what my life will be.
I’ve always stuck to the middle, sure to stay well back from the edge and never getting too close to the highs or the lows. Of course not, because that would bring worry and uncertainty and no one can handle that.
“Um, what do you feel like doing?” He cuts through my thoughts and I tuck my hands under my thighs to hide the trembling.
“You didn’t just ask me that.” Embarrassment and regret settle in, taking up residence like an elephant on my chest. I don’t regret the kiss or any of it, but maybe he does and right now, I don’t care if I make him uncomfortable. “I was all in with what we were just doing.”
“Claire…we can’t…”
“Whatever. You know what, I’m kind of tired.” Forget treading lightly, I’m sexually frustrated and don’t understand what just happened.
“Don’t go. Please stay.” It could be wishful thinking on my part, but I swear there’s a hint of remorse to his tone, and I shove down any of my residual misgivings.
Besides, I’m a sucker for this man. He wants me to stay. Who am I to deny him when that’s what I want too?
“Um, we could play a game. We’ve got a PS5 and I think there’s Madden and Call of Duty.”
“You play?” The casual air about him returns.
I nod and stand to set up the game. While not in the mood to play, a game will help erase any tension between us, help us move past the kiss. Once things settle into something more easygoing, I’ll go to bed. Lick my wounds in the dark.
He chooses Madden, and after the first game where he barely wins, he drops the controller onto the cushion, staring at me. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“What?” I try to keep my voice flat despite those damn butterflies again.
Why must he compliment me, or flirt? At least I think it’s flirting. In some ways, I liked it better when Britney was here, and I shudder at that thought. At least when she was around, he didn’t look at me the way he is now, as if there might be something more going on here. Like my attraction to him might be mutual. But the thing is, he isn’t willing to do anything about it.
“I play a decent game even if I don’t like football.”
“What?” He gets to his feet. “No. Woman, you're killing me.” He falls onto his ass, clutching at his chest as if he’s been stabbed. “You play like a pro and you don’t like football?”
“I wouldn’t say a pro but I understand the game. The strategy.”
“Please stop talking.” He slaps his hands over his ears and sits up effortlessly without the aid of his arms.
It really is extraordinary. His core muscles must be made of steel.
Laughing, I shake my head and try to soften the blow. “You should see me play the game, in real life. Now that’s a disaster. I’m not athletic, and sports have never been my thing.”
“I don’t believe you. I bet this is the start of your long con.” He lounges on the floor, chuckling and smiling up at me.
My heart melts.
This feels good. Quickly and effortlessly, we’re back to this easy banter.
“Con? Please, you give me too much credit. My family loves football. We don’t only watch the sport. They play and…well, you know, look at Pip. She was always Sporty Spice.”
He snickers, nodding. “I still don’t believe you. What about COD? Please tell me you suck at it?”
“You’ll just have to play me to find out how good I am.”
“Game on.” He slides onto the couch, controller in hand, and sits next to me, closer than before.
My body responds so easily to him—there’s an immediate flush, hands dampen, and my pulse thunders in my ears. Matt’s so close and smells so good. I want to climb into his lap like he’s my personal chair and kiss him some more. Feast on him.
But that’s not going to happen.
We play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare and we’re fairly even in our skills. I win some and so does he, and during the games, he eats two or three more cupcakes. I lose count. Eventually my eyes grow heavy and my body feels limp. I yawn and my lids close.
13
Matt
A virgin.
Claire’s twenty-six and never had sex.
When she spilled the beans, so to speak, I had so many questions. Still do, but I held my tongue, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Now she’s asleep on the couch. That has to be a good sign, right—that things are okay between us?
I mean, she passed out without a care in the world or so it seemed.
She’s like a sleeping beauty, and in some ways, I can see how she’s still a virgin. And there’s nothing wrong with it even though I’d like to ask her why. Is there a reason for her celibacy? Is she saving herself for marriage?
Man, when I blurted out the question about her not liking guys? What an idiot. As if that’s the only reasonable explanation for why she’s a virgin.
Good one, Matt.
Funny thing, the news of her virginity should have dampened my fantasies and cooled my desire for her, but staring at her while she sleeps…ah, no. Maybe for a nanosecond, but this is Claire.
