Screwed, page 18
I panic.
I’m totally frozen; I can’t breathe. How did this happen? How am I cuddling with James right now? When I fell asleep, he was on his back on the edge of the bed, and I was on the other side, rolled to face away from him. Yet now, here I am, wrapped up in his arms.
And feeling more content and more safe and sheltered and just…happy…than I’ve ever felt in my life. Just waking up in his arms.
Tears prick my eyes and I have to force myself to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm. The panic recedes a little, and the pricking heat of pooling tears abates. I focus on the moment. This doesn’t have to mean anything, right? It was an accident of habit—we’ve both had long-term relationships where the habitual norm when sleeping was to seek comfort in the arms of the other person. James especially—he spent twenty years with a woman, and those habits die hard. If he, even unconscious and passed out drunk, is in bed with a woman, his subconscious is going to take over, bring me into his arms.
And if I’m being honest with myself, a huge part of my unhappiness and loneliness is sleeping alone. I HATE sleeping alone.
Breathe in, breathe out. Be in the moment. Don’t panic.
This does feel really nice. He’s so huge, so strong—and speaking as a six-foot-tall woman, and one with the physique of a powerlifter at that, feeling delicate and protected and sheltered has not typically been something I’m familiar with. The majority of men simply cannot, through no fault of their own, make me feel that way. James is simply so big and so strong that I feel…utterly feminine. It’s nice, quite honestly.
His hand on my hip feels good. Warm, powerful. Rough calluses from a life of manual labor, but his touch is gentle. Just resting on my hip, cupped and lax.
He snores softly, a hoarse breath deep in his throat. Snorts. Shifts restlessly, makes a small, boyish sound as he seeks a more comfortable position. James rolls into me, and, without a conscious thought, I roll with him; just like that, we’re spooning. He’s behind me, now. A huge hot hard wall of man behind me, wrapped around me. His hand slides down my thigh, rests near my knee. Pauses, and slides back up to wrap around my belly, high, just under my breasts. His nose brushes my spine, and I feel his hips pressing against my butt.
So much of him—all James, all around me.
I’m not aroused, which is somewhat odd considering he’s pressed against my butt and his hand is inches from my boobs—I’m just comfortable. I feel safe. I feel sheltered, and that gives me a sense of…god, what? A kind of bone-deep, gut-twisting, chest-cracking kind of joy that’s too much, too big, too expansive to contain.
I feel sleepy again.
I peer at the alarm clock on my bedside table—9 a.m. Jesse and Franco told me they had a deck build they were doing today, so they probably won’t be here at all today, which means I can go back to sleep without worrying about them walking in and seeing this.
Not that I’m ashamed, or feel like this needs to be a secret. It’s just…
I don’t know. James was wasted last night, and even though it seemed like he was letting go of things so we could be together, he may feel differently in the light of day, and sober.
So, for now, I’m just going to go back to sleep and enjoy, for as long as it lasts, the comfort of having James’s arms around me.
If nothing else happens between us, at least I’ll have had this—this feeling is something I’ll treasure.
I fall back asleep with my hand over James’s, trying desperately to keep at least a tiny shred of objectivity.
Chapter 13
I wake up again, and I’m alone in the bed. James probably got up and left. Maybe he regretted coming here—or he remembered everything he said and needs time to process it. Who knows? Either way, he’s not here and I knew that was coming.
I have to pee.
I slip out of bed, groggy and still half asleep, my brain, body, and heart all working at different speeds and on different conundrums: my brain is trying to wake up, my body says I’ve been ignoring my bladder for hours, and my heart is trying to come to grips with James leaving.
When I’m half asleep, my brain doesn’t really process what’s going on around me. I don’t notice things right away. I’ve been known to sleepwalk, and to have entire conversations that I don’t remember.
So, when I get up out of bed and trudge to the nearest bathroom—the one that’s going to become my en suite master bathroom—I’m half asleep and not paying attention to anything except relieving my screaming bladder. I shove down my underwear, sit, and pee for a very, very long time, sighing in relief. And my boobs itch, so I reach up and give them a good rub and scratch, lifting my shirt to get at them more easily.
I finish up, wash my hands…
And that’s when I realize something is…not quite right.
I blink, and realize the bathroom is filled with steam.
Steam?
Uh-oh.
I twist in place, and there’s James. My shower curtain is see-through, so he’s on display.
Standing with wet hair plastered back against his scalp, covered in shampoo, beard straggly and dripping. Big chest swelling and receding as he sucks in slow breaths. Cock hanging against his thigh—and growing, it looks like, as he stares at me.
His big brown eyes are wide.
“Um.” I blink at him. “Hi.”
He just stares. “Hi.”
“I, um. I tend to not notice obvious things when I’m out of it.” I can’t stop staring at him. “Like someone in my shower, for example.”
He nods, like he’s as unsure how to handle this scenario as I am. “I see.” He pauses. “I woke up feeling like shit. So I made coffee and figured I’d jump in the shower. Thought I’d be done before you woke up. Sorry.”
I shrug, my eyes raking over him—taking in all of James, naked and wet and in my shower. “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay?” he asks.
I shrug again. I’m staring—as I watch his cock go from hanging mostly limp to standing rigid against his belly. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says. “I was a fuckin’ mess.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.” I meet his eyes. “Unless it was just the booze talking.”
He doesn’t answer for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine, intense and unreadable. And then, abruptly, it’s like a curtain falls, and I can see a wealth of emotion in him:
Uncertainty. Fear. Embarrassment. Desire.
He shakes his head slowly. “No. It wasn’t the booze talking.” He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I mean…the booze got me talking, but it wasn’t just the booze.”
“You remember it all?”
He nods. “I don’t black out. I remember every word.” His heavy shoulders lift with a deep breath, and then lower as he lets it out slowly through his teeth. “I meant every word.”
Silence, except for the hiss of the shower.
I swallow hard. “James…” I close my eyes, take a shuddery breath. “I’m afraid to want too much too soon.”
“I know.” His eyes flick down to my breasts, to my nipples poking against the thin fabric of my T-shirt, then back to my eyes. “Was I dreaming, or did we…um…cuddle, this morning?” His cheeks go pink, as if he’s embarrassed to use a word like cuddle.
I can’t help a smile from stealing across my lips. “We did.”
He nods. “I’m glad that wasn’t just a dream.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
He’s enormously erect, thick and hard, his balls tight against his body, the tip of his cock straining near his belly button. I can’t stop looking at it—wanting it. Needing it. Needing James, needing more than we’ve had so far. Needing to know how it feels to…to be his. For him to be mine.
But I’m scared to want that. Scared to reach for—for an us that I’m not sure he’s capable of giving me.
“Nova…” He clenches his fists, then shakes them out. His eyes close, and then open—the way I do when I’m summoning my courage. “I want…”
I’m not breathing. “What, James?”
“You.”
“I want you too, but…” I force the hardest truth out. “But not unless you’re all in. Not unless you can give me all of you.”
He pushes aside the shower curtain now, so there’s nothing between us but steam. “There’s a part of me that’ll always be…a little broken. Time heals all wounds, but some wounds never heal, not totally.”
“I know that. Same for me, but—”
“I can only offer you…me.” He wipes water off his face, off his beard. “I’m all in, Nova. If you can accept that I’m…damaged, I guess, then…”
I huff a gentle laugh. “James…” I shake my head. “All of us are damaged. I know you can’t give me the part of you that belonged to Renée—I wouldn’t want you to try. That’s part of you, James.” I swallow a massive lump in my throat. “That’s part of what I’ve been falling in love with—you. Just…you. All of you. The fact that you understand where I’ve been more deeply than anyone else ever could…the fact that you’ve come through what you have, that you’re here for your girls.”
“I said it last night—I want more than to just to be here. I want more than to just live.” He holds up his hands, drops them. “I want that with you, Nova. I’ve been fighting it, fighting wanting it. Fighting the guilt over everything.”
“I can’t fight your guilt, James. Nor can I compete with a ghost. I won’t try.”
He shakes his head. “She’s not a ghost, Nova. She’s my past. She’s there; she’ll always be there, but…” A shrug. “I know I was drunk last night, but when I said goodbye to her, I meant it. I hate that I had to get so messed up to be able to say that, to do that, but it was real.”
“What about the guilt?”
“It may not go away immediately. Something like that doesn’t just vanish. But can you stick with me while I work through it?”
I take a couple of steps forward. Water droplets from the shower spatter against my T-shirt, my face. “What are you saying, James?”
“I’m saying I’m in love with you, and I want us. I want this.”
“All in?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“All in,” he whispers back.
He reaches for me, picks me up by the waist and lifts me into the shower. Closes the curtain. His back is to the spray, shielding me from most of it, but I’m still getting wet. I don’t care. My shirt sticks to my skin, outlining my breasts, my hardened nipples.
I can’t help the smile that steals across my face, and I don’t try. I want him, but I’m not going to make the first move. Let him show me how he feels, what he wants. I’ll follow his lead.
His move is to kiss me. James takes my face in his hands, cups my cheeks. Pulls me close, his eyes intense and wild. His nose angles past mine, and then my eyes close and his lips slant against mine, and I taste him—he tastes clean.
“I found a new toothbrush under your sink,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine. “Hope that’s okay.”
I smile. “More than okay. Everything is yours. All of me, all I am.”
He pulls away, frowning in puzzlement. “How can you say that? How can you just…offer me yourself, just like that?”
“I can’t help it, James. That’s why I’ve been so cautious. I’ve been holding back, trying to keep my heart at least a little objective, but it’s futile. I fell for you, hard. If you tell me you’re all in, then I can let go. And that means…” I shrug. “It means…here I am, James.”
He reaches down and peels my sopping wet T-shirt up and off, drapes it over the shower rod. His eyes stay on mine, even though I’m topless and bare for him. Still staring into my eyes, he tugs my underwear down, pushes them past my hips. They reach my knees, and I wiggle, squirm, and they plop around my feet.
He twists, and places me under the spray—it’s hot, and I gasp at the sudden heat of it, but then melt a little under the warmth. I let my hair get wet, close my eyes and luxuriate for a moment in the stream of hot water. I feel him closing in, but I keep my eyes closed, rake my hands through now heavy wet hair, and let the water stream down my body.
His hands close around my hips. I feel his mouth on my diaphragm. His lips stutter across my skin, skating down my left side, and then over my ribcage, to my right hip. I reach out, eyes closed, and find his head, wet hair and beard.
When I open my eyes, he’s kneeling in front of me. Staring up at me. Gazing, his expression open and adoring. Like all the heaviness has faded, like all there is, in this moment at least, are he and I.
“James…” I breathe.
He palms my breasts in his two huge hands, lifting them, caressing. Then he lets them drop heavily, bouncing and swaying, dripping water. Then his thumbs trace over my hip bones, and his palms arc over my thighs. He leans in, and his lips touch my belly just under my navel.
It’s a request, an unspoken request for permission to go south.
God, he doesn’t need permission.
I laugh, and spread my feet as wide apart as the tub will allow. I stare down at him and wait.
His grin is hungry, and I swallow hard as he closes in, eyes on mine as he brings his mouth to my core. I cup the back of his head with my hands and pull him closer, and I bite my lip and sigh as he flicks his tongue against me.
“James, please…” I whisper. “I need…so much.”
“What do you need, Nova?” he murmurs.
“You.” I shake my head, letting out a harsh breath as I tug him upward. “I need you.”
He stands up, leans in, and kisses me again. And this time, it’s not just a momentary kiss, not just a fleeting touching of lips, a taste of him. It’s us—losing ourselves. I press up against him, wet skin against wet skin. His erection presses against my thigh and belly, and my breasts crush against his chest. I roam his broad shoulders with my hands and scour his bulging biceps and taste his hungry mouth. I arch my back and moan as he caresses my ass, and I pull away so there’s room between us; I grip his length in my fists and whimper at the enormity of him. It takes an eternity for my hands to slide all the way down from tip to root, and another eternity to caress back upward. He groans, and I feel a finger at my core, teasing my clit.
James is the one to pull away.
“Why—” I have to pause for breath, to summon words. “Why’d you stop?”
He reaches past me and turns off the water. Shoves the shower curtain open, steps out past me without answering my question. There’s a clean towel on the rack, and he yanks it free, reaches for me. His touch is gentle as he pats me dry, runs the towel over my hair—which is cute and endearing, but he clearly has no clue how long it takes to dry hair as long and thick as mine. I don’t even care, though—not when he uses the towel to scrub himself mostly dry, and then reaches for me.
I take his hand, and he leads me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. Closes the door. He turns to face me, still holding my hand.
“This is more than messing around in the shower,” he says. “No more messing around.”
I swallow hard. Step toward him; stare up into his deep brown eyes. “No more messing around.”
He steps close to me. We’re pressed up against each other—breasts to chest, cock to core. But still, a hesitation. Him? Me? Both of us. We’re both hesitant to move past this into…making it real, making it permanent. Even though we both physically want this, it’s an emotional decision.
James steps back, raking his hand through his wet hair. “I want you so fucking much, Nova.”
“I want you too, James.”
“I want this to happen…but I want it to be right. It should be a choice, something that we do together, not just something that happens because we’re both here and horny.”
I groan. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” I laugh, a bitter, resigned sound. “I want it to be right too, but…fuck, James. I want you.”
He chuckles, gestures downward at the straining evidence of his need. “I definitely get it, Nova.”
I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “My self-control is…not great right now, James.” I drop my eyes to the floor. “I want you, and part of me doesn’t care about…god, anything except getting my hands on you.” I lift my eyes to his. “Getting my mouth on you. Getting you inside me.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have any condoms.”
I groan a sigh. “No.”
He turns away, and he’s just as drool-worthy from the back as he is the front. That ass of his—tight as a drum and round and hard and I want to sink my teeth into it, get my hands on it.
God, I’m out of control with desire.
“I’m just trying to do right by us, Nova,” James murmurs.
His broad shoulders droop with the weight of this, of shouldering the burden of us.
He’s right. Messing around, fooling around, knowing we won’t be able to go as far as we want—at least not safely and responsibly…that would be just torturing ourselves.
But I just…gahhh! I’ve been dreaming of him. I woke up in his arms. I finally have him naked, have him in my home, naked in my bedroom, hard as a rock and begging to be touched.
How can I resist him? How the hell am I supposed to let him put clothes on and walk away from me? I can’t.
He braces his palms against my door, head hanging between his shoulders—the war he is waging with himself is obvious in his tortured posture.
“I fuckin’ need you, Nova,” he growls.
I feel myself moving, stepping silently across the room. I stand behind him, hesitating.
“James.” I hear myself whisper.
He shakes his head. “We’re not clueless kids, Nova.”
“I have been careful and responsible my whole fucking life, James,” I say. “Even when I was experimenting in nursing school, I kept my heart and my head out of it—it was purely physical. It was nothing but an attempt to bury the way I was feeling—heartbroken and alone.”
“That’s how I’ve felt for six years—heartbroken and alone.”
