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“Should I stop?” His fingers immediately loosened around my waist and back, and I suddenly remembered what had made me want to have sex with him in the first place.
“No!” I wrenched him closer and pressed my lips to his, doubling down on that rabid-wildlife conduct. “You…you can’t stop.” But maybe he should? My mind and my body were definitely not in sync.
“Sure I can.” His mouth moved over mine again, his voice velvet and smoke. “Consent is a real thing. Google it.” I was blushing so furiously, it was a medical miracle my head didn’t explode. His mouth grinned against mine, teeth grazing my bottom lip. “Fuck. You’re so sweet. So innocent. I want to eat you out.”
“I want to eat you out too.” Wait, what? That didn’t sound right. Having social anxiety and literally zero filters when I was nervous sucked.
“Do you, now?” I could hear the smirk in his smartass tone.
Dammit, Cal. “Not, in, like, a cannibalistic way—”
“Show me, then. Use plenty of examples. I’m a slow learner.” He growled, deepening our kiss. Our teeth brushed together, and a wave of pleasure rolled along my spine. My skin was cold, but my insides were ablaze. I pushed my palm against his groin over his black jeans. I couldn’t believe I was touching him, really touching the guy who literally made women melt into a pool of hormones just by glancing at him.
He ripped his mouth from mine, eyeballing me hard. We stared at each other, panting. I had no idea what I was doing. I kept my hand on his penis and rubbed a little, like I did when my cat, Semus, asked for a head rub.
His dick twitched, pushing against my palm appreciatively. Row dropped his forehead to mine, letting loose a low grumble that reverberated inside my chest. “Fuck, Dot. Your goddamn existence turns me on. Your mere breathing makes my balls tingle.”
Whoa. Men said crazy things to get laid. Did women know about this? We could’ve collectively prevented wars. Gone on reckless shopping sprees at Target.
There was something about the fact he called me Dot that sent pleasurable shivers up and down my back. Dylan had come up with the nickname because when we were little, four or five, she couldn’t remember the word freckle, so she’d named me after the galaxy of star-shaped dots peppered across my nose. The nickname had stuck.
I unglued my hand from his groin, wrapping my fingers along the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him to me. He smelled delicious. Of cedar, worn leather, and spices. Of an entire foreign land full of Michelin-starred restaurants, romantic chansons, glass chandeliers, and thick, dusty French books. And yet, strangely, also…like home.
“Row?”
“Yeah?”
“As you know, I have…uhm…” Social anxiety from hell.
“A healthy aversion to strangers,” he mumbled into my skin, biting the side of my jaw softly. “Understandable. I’m not a fan of humans myself.” He rubbed the sensitive spot behind my ear with his thumb. “If you want to stop—”
“No!” I cried out. This was the first time I was actually having fun being with a guy. Well, it was kind of the only time I’d been with a guy since…since. “I want you to take my virginity,” I choked out, my lips latching onto his. I was shaking with panic, adrenaline, and the morning chill. “Be my first.” This wasn’t planned in any way. I’d never dreamt of seducing Dylan’s brother. But now that it was just the two of us, I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to do it with.
“Dot.” His fingers were buried in my hair as he ravaged me with his expert mouth. Without finesse, without game, without the untouchable coolness he normally carried himself with. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”
I’d never seen Row so authentic, so final, so…out of control. He was usually unruffled and composed; I felt so drunk with power, my head spun.
“Please,” I croaked. “I know what I want.”
“And what is it that you want?”
“You.”
He tore his mouth from mine, his hooded, golden eyes of a ravening tiger studying me. “From one to ten, how sure are you? Ten is without-a-doubt confident, and one is forget-what-I-said-and-take-me-home.”
“Twelve.” I blinked excessively, maybe seven or eight times in a row. It happened when I was anxious. A nervous tic I’d developed when I was four and never gotten rid of. Contrary to general belief, this didn’t fall into Tourette’s category. It was a chronic tic disorder. My way to wear my heart on my sleeve and show people how nervous I was.
“Are you sure you want me to take your V-card?” His eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, Row, I’m sure. Who else would I give it to? Some trust fund baby from SUNY? Someone with a broccoli haircut? A guy who doesn’t even care about me and would make me sit in his dorm room and listen to his experimental techno music?” Technically, Row didn’t care either. But I knew he’d never ridicule or tease me. He had a history of making me feel safe, and feeling safe wasn’t something I was used to.
His mouth slacked, and I could tell he wanted to refuse my request. He probably thought I was odd. Just like everyone else in this small town.
“Why?” His thick eyebrows nose-dived. I decided to give him the truth. He deserved it, after all.
“Because I have…” Severe androphobia. “Trust issues, and I know I’d never regret you. You’re the only guy I know who is fuckable and not a fuckup. Make sense?”
“I’m a major fuckup.” He ran his fingers over my side bangs, tucking the hair behind my ear. “But too fucking selfish not to fuck you. It’s going to hurt, you know.” He gave me a cool once-over. “The first time, anyway. It’ll get better the more times—”
