Page 115 of Best Served Cold

“I mean Ilikelike you.” Embarrassment and shame swirl inside of me, telling me to shut up, but it’s too late. The floodgates have opened. “The way I’m not supposed to. It’s terrifying.”

“I like you too.” He presses a soft kiss onto my wet lips. “I like you just as much as I’m supposed to. Because there are no rulesfor this. We’re in unchartered territory, so don’t you think we should make our own rules?”

“Oh goodness, I really want to. I want you.” Emotion surges inside of me. I’m happy, but I’m also worried about what that happiness might cost. “But I don’t want to take you away from your family. I know…” I have to pause to regain my voice. It doesn’t help that he’s pressing soft little kisses to my face. Or that I’m cradled in his lap, where I feel so safe. “I know what it’s like, to be at odds with people who are supposed to love you. My grandparents never spoke to me again. They’re gone now, so I’ll never be able to fix that.”

“You were a child when that happened,” he says disapprovingly, gripping me from behind and steadying me on his lap. “They should have offered you forgiveness.”

Fresh tears surface from the seemingly bottomless well inside of me. “But what about your father?”

“Forgiving someone doesn’t mean letting them continue to hurt you. Besides, you said Jonah is seeing someone else. Why should they care if you and I are together?”

“You really want to be with me?” I ask, stunned.

He laughs, though there’s a look of frustration on his face. “Yes, Sophie. I figured that’s what all of this was about. I want to be with you. There’s something special between us. I don’t want to let that go without exploring it. Do you?”

“No,” I say. “Definitely not.”

“Thank God,” he says, and then he kisses me deeply, holding me to him with his hand in my hair.

I pull away slightly. “I didn’t bring the purple condom.”

“I’ve got a purple condom.”

I laugh, feeling a surge of joy. “You bought multicolored condoms so we could continue with the correct color order?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile, smoothing his thumb over the side of my face. “I think I did. I got us some fake tattoos too. I went all out.”

“Is that why you’re wearing a purple shirt?”

He laughs, glancing down. “No. Let’s call that a happy accident.”

I kiss him, and I kiss him again and again and again, pausing only to take off his purple shirt so I can trace kisses over the band tattoo on his upper arm and the tat of his lucky guitar pick on his chest. I want to kiss him everywhere. I want to show him the way he makes me feel…

Not vanilla. Not biddable. Just me. Sometimes Pollyanna, and sometimes a bitch, the way any woman should be allowed to be.

So I get down on my knees in front of him and say, “Stand up and take off your pants, please.”

“Again with the manners,” he says with a slight smile as I lower his sweatpants. I reach for the elastic of his boxer briefs, and he stops me, clamping a hand around mine. “Hey,” he says gently, “you don’t have to do this.”

For a second, horror turns me to stone. I realize I must look horrible. I’ve been sobbing, and there are probably makeup trails down my face. My eyes must be red and puffy and hideous. “I could wash up first.”

He squeezes my hand before I can get up. “That’s not what I meant. You look beautiful to me. You always do. You just…you do so much for other people. I don’t want you to think you have to do that for me, if it’s not going to bring you any pleasure.”

“It will,” I say. “I want to. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about sucking my dick?” he says with a cocky grin.

“A lot.”

He swears, and I pull his boxer briefs down, stroking him with my hand for a moment. He’s so hard for me. So big and beautiful. It’s still difficult to believe that he wants me. For so long, I thought no one could want the real me. That if they knew what I’d done they’d turn on me.

Looking up at him, I find his eyes on me, his mouth parted in pleasure. I stare at him as I take him into my mouth, moving my tongue over him, learning this part of him with my mouth.

Groaning, he tips his head back. Then he weaves his hand into my hair and watches me. The knowledge that his eyes are on me right now is delicious.

I keep sucking him in deeper, in and out, unable to take all of him at once but giving it my everything, and his hand tightens in my hair, a strangled sound escaping him.

Then he’s lifting me to my feet. Tugging the hem of my T-shirt. We undress like wild animals, throwing clothes, stepping on them, laughing, and he backs me toward his room, kissing me the whole way, passionate, open-mouthed kisses. My whole body is consumed by a deeper yearning than I’ve ever experienced with anyone, including him. I need him tonight. I need him to claim me, to thrust in deep, to show me that I’m still the woman he wants. That what I did is not the sum of who I am.

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