Текст книги "Bad Reputation"
Автор книги: K. B. Nelson
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
25
He lifts me into his strong arms and carries me toward my bedroom—but comes to an abrupt stop when he realizes he doesn’t know where it is. “Where’s your—“
“That way.” I point with my finger to the hallway that leads to the bedroom.
He throws the door open and tosses me onto the bed. “Take your top off,” he commands and bites into his lip as he dives onto the bed. He shifts toward me on his knees and helps finagle the shirt over my head. His hands fall to my breasts, fondling me through a black bra.
One hand crawls underneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and I relish every carving of fine-cut abs. He’s a man made of steel, with a heart composed of the most fragile of fabrics. Men like him don’t exist, and yet he’s here—his body pressed against mine as he climbs on top of me. I run my hands down his back, caressing powerful muscles as they contract. My hand dips into his jeans and grabs at the mounds of his ass. He’s heavy on top of me, and even heavier once he pushes himself against me.
His rock-hard erection begs to be freed from his jeans, but I crave every brush of his restrained cock against me. I crave to feel his naked hardness, but settle for now on caressing the smooth skin of his taut ass.
His hand skates down my bare side and travels to the button of my jeans. He’s quick and rough as he tugs the denim down the length of my legs and tosses them to the floor.
He slithers free from his own jeans and crawls back to kiss me. His lips are smooth as they brush mine. His tongue is needy, set on devouring me with one swipe. He chews softly on my lip and curls his fingers into the sheets on either side of my head.
Through his boxers, I can feel his cock throbbing. A thin layer of underwear on either of us is all that separates us. We are so close to the act of true intimacy, but I want to draw this out as long as possible. I want to remember this, so when the truth comes out, I have something to hold onto—even if it’s just a memory.
He kisses his way down my bare stomach until he reaches my panties. Slowly, he pulls them down my thighs while mouthing against my skin. Soon, I’m fully exposed and completely vulnerable. What I was once terrified of brings about a new sense of pleasure and excitement.
He’s in control, and I’ve never felt so free.
“Can I say one thing?” I ask.
“Make it quick.”
“You’re my impetus for change.”
“I like you for everything you are.” He looks up to me, and the sight before me is visceral and fucking sexy—he’s between my legs with eager, wanting eyes. “Don’t change a thing.”
“I—“
His tongue flicks against my clit, silencing me as I throw my head back and brace my hands around the bedposts. The moan that is thrown from my throat is enough to flush my cheeks red with embarrassment.
He kisses me in the most intimate way possible, taking his time as he circles his tongue around my opening. “Talk to me babe. How does it feel?”
“Like torture.”
“The good kind?” He rubs his thumb along my flesh. “Or the bad kind?”
“The kind where…” I catch my breath. “It’s hard to breathe.”
“I love everything about you.” He slides a finger into me while he crawls up my body. “Your heart. Your soul.” Another finger. “Your tits.” His tongue traces along the side of my neck. “Your pussy.” His knuckles meet my flesh. “Every little thing.”
I place a hand firm against his cheek, holding him in place. “How are you so perfect?”
He cracks a glowing, playful smile. “You’d have to ask God that question.”
“Noted.” I caress his cheek once more, loving every square inch of his sun-kissed face. “Now are you going to stay there, or are you going to fuck me?”
“I’m not fucking you,” he says and reaches for something below. Something out of sight. “I’m going to make love to you.” I feel his cock press against me and I’m more than ready for penetration. “Remember?”
“I—“
He begins a gentle, torturous glide into me, pushing my hips wider the further he sinks in. His mouth drops slightly open and his eyes roll into the back of his head. I never believed the hype, the battle cries of those who have conquered love, screaming from the hill tops that sex is better when there’s love involved.
I loved Mason, and I loved Brick. Both were great in bed, but there was always something missing. Maybe it’s only in hindsight that they were lacking, my view tainted by what I had felt at the time. This feels different, solidifying the love I feel for this man. In the future, when I look back at this moment, it won’t be him that’s tainted by hindsight. It’ll be myself, realizing I was to blame when he’s no longer around.
His thrusts are measured and long. Pulling me to the edge and then driving all the way back in to the hilt. This position—missionary—is almost foreign to me. I can count on one hand the times I’ve been pinned to a bed like this. I’m more into the more erotic positions where he’s behind me, or stuffed in my mouth.
I wish I could taste his dick, but I’m content to feel his width pumping through me. It’s the worst kind of ecstasy—knowing it has to end at some point, and then knowing it may never happen again.
I shake the worry away and focus on the moment. Focus on the way the skin of his back feels like silk under my nails. Focus on the way he fails to miss a beat. Focus on the way I’m turned inside out and he seems to know every little thing about me and my body.
“Are you okay?” he whispers while he continues making love to me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Definitely worth the ‘A’.” It’s a harmless joke, and he takes it in stride with a quick, breathless chuckle.
He rocks into me with steady strokes. The crease in his arm, where the elbow divides the appendage between biceps and forearm, threatens to buckle with each thrust. His fingers dig deeper into the fabric of the sheets with every bounce of his body against mine. His eyes are locked on me, never straying and only going elsewhere when they hide behind flickers of his lashes.
He hits the spot over, and over, and over again. It’s a little fucked up that I learned this in high school, but my science teacher informed our class that the closest we were ever likely to come to death would be through an orgasm. Apparently, your heart stops for a miniscule fraction of a second when you come.
If I didn’t know that then, I know it now. My heart flutters and my breath quickens. The quake building from within threatens to tear me inside out, and it could be for the best if my heart stops. It would save everyone a lot of heartache.
I’m on the cliff for too long, being pushed and pulled along the edge, but never taking the plunge. I slide my body downward on the bed, pushing my body against his. I need him deeper and faster. Harder. Rougher.
With a winding smile, he acknowledges my need. His pace quickens, but he’s never out of sync with some magical beat playing in his head.
The muscles in his arms go rigid, angled at a sharp ninety-degree angle from his shoulder. His lips quiver, and his chest contracts. That’s when I break.
I’m thrown into another world as I shatter with burning pleasure. My toes curl into cool sheets, and my fingers dig into his back, tearing tiny scratches into the surface of his skin.
Quicker, he goes until he’s no longer following some imaginary beat in his head. It has always been my miscalculation of what making love meant. I believed it to be dull, and boring. Tedious without reward. It’s everything I never imagined it to be, but there’s no denying he’s fucking me now.
I’d imagine it’s engrained in his psyche. His cock fucks me through my lasting orgasm, tearing away whatever façade I’ve built up piece by piece, and thrust by thrust. He groans, and he moans. He fights against his own mounting pleasure, trying to find whatever opportunity there is to breathe.
He drives into me one last time, holding himself deep inside of me as he comes. “Fuck,” he whispers as he empties himself inside.
When he’s fully drained, his body sinks down onto mine. His head falls onto my breasts as he comes back down to earth from a temporary visit to heaven. I run my finger through his short hair, and pray to myself that this night never ends.
Silence takes hold, and all that’s left is labored breathing and beating hearts—a perfect symphony of love gone haywire. Like the irregular rhythm of our hearts, love isn’t something that ever makes sense.
Tonight, I’ll hold him tight while we sleep, because tomorrow I have to tell him the truth. How can a word spelled with only five letters carry so much weight and heartache? The funny thing about truth is that you can’t live without it, but I can’t love with it. Not when it’s this explosive. Not when the truth is the pin of a grenade.
When my eyes flicker open, I’m at peace. The early morning sun streams in through the bedroom window, washing a thin coat of heat over my body. I’m not tired, but rather fully refreshed and ready for the day ahead—no matter the obstacles.
I’ve found something in Jensen, and I’m going to do everything within my power to keep it from falling apart. I’m eager to see his face when I roll over onto my side, but he’s not there.
I sit up in bed, and pull the covers tight around me. I listen for signs of him, but hear nothing. There’s an eerie silence abound and the only thing that passes through my ears is that of a car cruising down wet pavement.
“Jensen,” I call out, and raise my hand to push the hair from my face, but something steals my attention. My hand swipes against a folded sheet of paper beside me where Jensen had fallen asleep.
My heart would drop out of my chest if I didn’t know better, the same way it did back at the beach when I didn’t know better. A smile ripples across my face as I unfold the note, wondering what sweet, ridiculous words are waiting for me.
Apple,
Good morning, beautiful. Last night was the best night of my life. Thank you for your patience and understanding with me, but there’s one last secret for me to share…
I don’t love you. I thought I did, but I have realized you are nothing but a bitter, vindictive woman. You’re toxic and I can’t have you in my life. This is on you. You know what you did, and I don’t think I can ever forgive you.
Somebody you used to know,
Jensen
P.S. Get some professional help
26
“You stupid son of a bitch,” I scream through my cell phone as I race across the quad.
“What is this concerning?” Brick asks innocently enough, but he’s full of shit. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. I may have the worst luck when it comes to men on this side of Jennifer Aniston, but the similarities between what Mason and Jensen both did are too striking to not make the connection. Jensen wouldn’t have made this move on his own; there has to be a puppeteer pulling his strings.
“You know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
“I assure you, I do not.”
“You didn’t tell him about our bet?”
“What the fuck?” His voice rings with frustration. “Really, Apple? Do you think I would do that to you?”
“You’ve done a lot of fucked up shit.” I look both ways before crossing the road that separates Clinton Hall and Davidson Hall.
“Give me a damn break. Everything I have ever done has been to protect you.” He’s not exactly lying there. In his own fucked up way, he’s the only one who has ever shown an interest in protecting my heart. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I bark. “I’ll talk to you later.” I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, if for no other reason than I have to trust somebody.
I try to make another connection in my head, trying to figure out Jensen’s motive. Either he knows about the bet, which would have to be Brick’s doing, or he’s somehow connected to Mason. Either way, the explosion I had predicted was coming is about to drop like a bomb over civilian territory.
And I don’t give a fuck who’s caught in the crosshairs. My entire being burns with rage—the taste of hypocrisy is lodged firmly in my throat, but I don’t care. If there were ever any question about why I am the way I am, this right here would be the perfect example. Opening my heart leads to nothing but heartbreak.
I rip open the campus door and storm down the hall. Along the way, I pass open classrooms with students inside each. Once I arrive at Jensen’s lecture hall, I take a short break to collect myself.
I roll my palm into a fist and raise it to my mouth, trying to control the rage within. For the briefest of moments, I think about my approach in terms of logic. I could rush in there and confront him without a care in the world that his students will hear everything. Or, I could wait patiently for class to be over and confront him one-on-one.
Anger doesn’t wait.
I whip the door open and his eyes frame me before I’m halfway to his desk, and I’m practically sprinting.
“You’re an asshole,” I scream, much to the amusement of bored coeds and slam the note he left me against his chest. “You are not who I thought you were.”
“This is my work,” he hisses at me in a whisper. “You can’t come in here acting like a spoiled little brat.”
“Spoiled?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He hooks his hand around my arm and drags me out of the room, and into the hall. “This isn’t some neutral territory for you to wage your personal wars.”
“You are so noble.” The sarcasm in my voice is striking. “You’ve painted yourself in this visage of a perfect façade, but your true colors have come shining through.”
“My true colors?” He reaches back and pulls the door shut. “No. I don’t think so. You are not going to pin this on me.”
“Just tell me why.”
“Why?” He raises his brow and points his finger to his skull. “Think about it, Apple.”
He has to know. Brick has to be full of shit. It’s the only scenario that makes sense. “I don’t know—“
“Do you have the capacity to care about people?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think you do. I was just a game to you. A sick, perverted game.”
“Who told you that?” I know the answer, but I need confirmation.
“It tells me everything I need to know when that’s your concern.” Shoes clatter against the floor as a nearby door swings open and students begin to pour out. Jensen tugs at my arm and pulls me further down the hallway to a little nook filled with vending machines. “Funny story, it was your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Brick Valmont? Does it ring a bell?”
“He is not my boyfriend,” I snap and fold my hand over my mouth. If I have my way about it, he’ll be dead by sunset.
“He called me in the middle of the night and told me everything.” He slams his fist past me, crunching against a vending machine. “I’m not an idiot, Apple, but you sure the fuck made me feel like one.”
“I’m sorry.” The words tremble off my lips. I’m familiar with heartbreak, but it never ceases to hurt.
“You’re sorry?” He jerks away from me, throwing his hand to the side. “Get the fuck out of here with that lame ass shit.” He places a pointed finger against his chest. “I told you about my past. Do you have any idea how hard that was? Do you care? You’re just like the rest of them. You’re a heartless bitch who couldn’t give two fucking fucks about the people around her.”
He’s more than angry. He’s more than hurt. He’s feeling betrayed by the first woman he has opened up to since he lost his family all those years ago. The hurt and betrayal I felt when I woke up this morning is a grain of sand in comparison. This all falls on me. Our heartbreak duet began with my cruel intentions.
“I was a heartless bitch,” I say softly, but I’m unable to look him in the eyes. “That’s not me anymore.”
“You got what you wanted. You got an ‘A’, a free trip to the beach, and a couple great fucks. But that was all just a bonus on top of the satisfaction you’ve gained by winning some game.” He nods his head, and there’s a sullen look painted around his eyes and lips. “You broke my heart, so I guess congratulations are in order.” His eyes sink like stones, dragging me to the bottom of a bottomless lake. “Congratu-fucking-lations.”
“I love you…”
“Here’s a tip. Wipe that puppy dog look off your face and get the hell out of my sight. I never want to see you again.” He’s done with me, forcing me to say goodbye as he turns to head back into class.
Everyone who has walked into my life has left. Sometimes, I force them out. Other times, they’ve had enough. None of them have ever hurt like this. With everything I have done to the people I’ve met, I don’t deserve a happy ending. I know that, but still I fight against the currents of the inevitable. Losing him would mean going back to the wicked, empty life I’ve created for myself.
I’m not going down without a fight. “You are not going to put this all on me,” I scream and throw my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. “I tried telling you, but you wouldn’t hear it.”
He jerks away from my touch, and his lips quiver with disgust.
“I like you for everything you are. Don’t change a thing,” I continue. “Do those words sound familiar? They should. You said them.”
“That’s not fair,” he chokes on the words as they come out in a hollow, hushed whisper.
“What’s not fair is for you to dump this on me the way you did. I wanted to tell you so bad, but it was never the right moment. You wouldn’t hear it. You were too in love with who you thought I was. And I admit, this started out as something else. You were nothing more than a conquest.” I shrug, but it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because the words don’t come easy. “I didn’t know you then.”
“You can’t treat people this way, Apple.” His voice comes down a notch, back into a tone in which we can actually converse without anger and bitterness spitting from our lips. “I don’t think it matters one way or the other if you had a change of heart. You can’t change overnight. You can’t stop being who you are like it’s a switch you turn on and off.”
“I’ve changed.” I step to him, and raise my chin so I can catch a deep look into his eyes. “And I know it’s hard for you to believe because it’s not something you can touch or feel, but I love you and I wish I could make it right.”
He throws his hands in the air, cleansing himself from the bad situation we’ve found ourselves in. “You can’t fix what was never broken, because it never existed in the first place.”
When I think he’s going to turn around and leave, he doesn’t. He watches me as if he’s waiting for something, but I can’t discern what. But when I see him standing there, so stern in his resolution I do the one thing I told myself I would never do.
I break in front of him. It’s quick, and it’s furious. It’s a downpour of rain during a sunny baseball game. It’s unexpected and terrifying, like the first time you jump from a bridge into the river below. It’s heavy—the weight of the world washing over my face.
My eyes are heavy—the weight of the world pushing them half-shut. My vision goes blurry, and he becomes a shadow; a distant silhouette. My lips tremble, but words don’t come out. Not that they could be heard over the brute force of my emotional break, anyway.
“Did you care about me at all?” he asks with the kind of emptiness you’d find in a stark-black dream.
I push away the tears from my eyes, but the tears come too fast, wiping away any sense of temporary clarity. “I think you know the answer.”
“I want to believe you, but it’s hard.” His shadow falls over me before I realize he’s shifted toward me. “God,” he says through a deep exhale, “it’s so fucking hard.”
“Can you meet me after class?” I say through muffled sobs. The very thought that he can see me this way, makes me want to vomit. Vulnerability isn’t something that empowers me. It’s something that destroys me.
“I don’t know.” His actions speak otherwise as he places a palm on my shoulder. There’s a chance, no matter how evasive, that we’ll be able to reach some sort of resolution. “I’m not making a commitment, but I’ll agree to a conversation.” He looks away and cups the length of his mouth with his hand. “I think we owe each other at least that.”
I place my palm on his hand that rests on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“You can say it a million times.” He stares down at my hand with empty eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything changes.”
His words cut through me like glass, digging through my skin in a frantic attempt to tear my heart open, but I fight back the tears. Strong women don’t cry, that’s what I’ve learned. But I’m often wrong, and the greatest teacher in my life—Brick—has often led me adrift.
“I’m not saying it to change anything. I’m saying it because it’s how I feel. For the first time in my life, I mean it.”
He flicks his wrist and takes a glance at his watch. “I’ll stop by your house later, but I need to get back in there. We’ve made enough of a scene as it is.”
I give him a nod, and he returns the gesture before turning to head back into his classroom. We both have major damage control to take care of. I have a foot postmarked for Brick’s dumb ass, and Jensen has to explain away the crazy girl who made a scene in his classroom.
Jensen pushes through the door of the lecture hall, but comes to an abrupt halt. He takes one last careful step into the classroom and familiar sounds echo through my ear—A haunting, enticing slice of déja vu.
This cannot be happening. I rush to Jensen’s side. Pushing past his frozen body, I peer into the classroom and everything becomes clear.
Everything.
Falls.
Apart.
