In the Bad Boy's Bed (5 page)

His palm slid under my shirt and up my side to cup my breast, and he pressed it, kneaded it, in a slow, circular motion, using his thumb to plump my nipple into a bead.

Soft mewing sounds slid from my throat as I swayed against him, pressing my breast deeper into his palm.

Thoughts of where I was, what I was doing, left me. All I knew was that I wanted more of this feeling, more of him.

Then, as suddenly as he had captured me, he released me, holding me away from him, seeing the truth of my feelings.

"We'll make love again Angel," he said, his voice ragged, "but I'm not going to play games with you. You'll be the one who comes to me and asks for it."

He kept his eyes locked with mine as he backed away. At the end of the aisle, he turned and strode away, leaving me staring dumbly at the vacant place where he had been, my mouth hanging open, my heart still pounding a rapid fire in my throat, my body still pulsing with desire. If I'd had the slightest breath left, I would have called him back and made his statement come true.

But as the rush cooled, I saw the reality of our situation. I wanted him, and he wanted me, but it would never work between us beyond an occasional roll in the grass.

Hell, I couldn't even talk to him with friends around. It was time to settle this between us, and I would do it after school.

I told Gena I didn't need a ride home. After she and the rest of my friends left, I looked for Nick and found him by the motorcycle parking spaces, packing up to leave.

Fortunately, he was alone. He looked up as I approached him.

"We need to talk." I congratulated myself on sounding sure and strong, and vowed to remain resistant to his many charms.

"Hello, Angel." His sexy smile melted my resolve on contact like a flame bedding a sheet of ice. Green eyes swept across my body, touching off a heat wave in its wake.

"Why do you always call me that? My name is Angela."

"To me you're Angel. That's what you look like in the moonlight—a silvery glow surrounding your naked body, the wetness glistening."

His words thrilled me to my core and made my breath catch in a gasp. "Stop it," I said, and swallowed hard. "Just stop it!"

He chuckled. "Stop what?"

"Everything—the looks, the words, the touches, the . . . the kisses. I can't stand it anymore."

"I wondered how long it would take." He stuffed his remaining book into his cycle's saddlebag.

"How long what would take?" I snapped.

"To come to me and admit you want a repeat performance of the other night."

My laugh sounded hollow and fake even to my ears. He had cut through all my denials, hitting the truth right on the head in one try, but I wasn't ready to give in.

"Man, you certainly have an over-inflated opinion of your attraction on women."

"No. Not women, Angel. You. I know what I do to you and how it makes you feel.

You like it, and you like me to do it. You're just afraid to let your friends know that you want somebody like me."

"Oh, you are so wrong," I lied. "I don't want you."

"Angel," he said my name, drawing it out like a whisper. "You can't lie to me. I can read your face and your body as easy as you read texts on that phone of yours." He fingered the side phone pocket of the backpack hanging on my shoulder.

I shrugged away his touch. "You don't know me at all."

"Maybe I don't know your cook's name, or how many credit cards you have in your Coach wallet." His voice grew lower and more suggestive. "But I know how you respond to my touch. I know how you smell. How you taste in different areas of your body. I know your ticklish spots and the spots that make you moan. I know how you like to be kissed—

and where—and . . . ."

I rammed my hands over my ears to stop his exquisite torture. "I don't want to hear it. I just want you to leave me the hell alone!"

His hands covered mine and carried them down to my sides then behind my back, pushing my backpack off my shoulder to the ground. Releasing my hands, he cupped my butt and pulled me against him, grinding our bodies together.

The heated spot between my legs responded eagerly to his suggestion with trickling wetness. My palms flattened helplessly against his chest to try to deny him.

"I don't want this, Nick. I don't want you. Leave me alone. Please." The voice that came out of my mouth was a pleading whisper to ignore my foolish words.

"Kiss me, Angel. Then if you can tell me you don't want me, I'll leave you alone."

The speed with which he closed the gap between us and claimed my mouth told me we shared the same hunger. Our lips clung to each other. My arms wrapped round his neck in a fierce grip and I deepened the kiss, meeting and matching each swirl and thrust of his tongue and movement of his body. A small cry escaped from my throat and mingled with his own groan of need.

I couldn't react like this and still deny my true feelings. My body had hungered for his for days. He was right. I wanted him. As if he heard the answer in my kiss, his lips left mine and moved to my ear.

"Let's get out of here," he said thickly, in between nuzzles and nips.

His attentions filled my mind with colorful, intoxicating bubbles, making me forget all but the feelings of the moment. I would have gone anywhere with him, done anything with him at this point.

He grabbed my backpack and slipped it around my shoulders again. "Get on," he said, pulling me on behind him.

"Where?"

"Where do you think?" He grinned.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, my legs alongside his hips, and cupped my body close to his back as he maneuvered the bike out of the parking lot and down the road that took us away from the school and toward the river.

The bike rolled to a stop. We both jumped off. He tossed his jacket to the ground while I did the same to my backpack. We flew into each other's arms. He lowered me to the soft ground, covering my body with his.

"I want to hear you say it, Angel," he whispered, dropping kisses on my face, encouraging me to speak the truth.

I knew he would be able to see the naked desire in my eyes, and I felt embarrassed by it. I needed time to remove the mask from my face and let Angel come forward. As his Angel, I was free to be the person I was. As his Angel, I had wings that took me to heights of great pleasure. As his Angel, I wasn't controlled by Angela's conditioning. Being Angel was frightening and overwhelming. But he knew just how to call her to get her to come out.

"Say it," he repeated, kissing my mouth, my neck, my breasts, caressing my most sensitive places with his hands, again and again, until my head was spinning . . . until Angela was far, far away and Angel lay in his arms.

Without a trace of shyness or hesitation, I gave him what he wanted.

"Make love to me, Nick."

And he gave me what I wanted.

* * * * *

The last rays of the sun were dipping their toes into the shimmering water when Nick and I headed toward home. We pulled in front of my house, my Angela mask firmly in place. There would be no lingering kisses or caresses this time, not while there was enough light out for the neighbors to see us. I scrambled off the bike and stood beside him, awkward and embarrassed, wanting more than anything to bolt into the house.

"No long goodbye kisses this time?" he asked, sensing the change.

I shrugged and tucked my wind-whipped hair behind one ear. "I'm sure my mom heard the bike drive up. She's probably watching from the window, and I'd have to go through this long explanation of where I was after school, and why I'm with you again, and why hasn't she met you, and . . . ."

"Oh, well, no problem." He rose from the bike.

"What are you doing?" I asked, panic in my voice at what Nick seemed to have in mind.

"Going in to meet your mom."

His words stole the air from my lungs. My head was about to explode from the panic racing through my body.

"No! I mean, this really isn't a good time. She's already going to be upset because I wasn't home right after school and didn't let her know where I was. Another time."

He sat back down. "Sure."

"You understand . . . right?"

"Yeah. I understand fine."

His stare was blank, his eyes holding no life, no spark. Even his voice seemed flat, as if he were trying not to feel emotions hammering against his insides. If I had to pin down an emotion controlling him, I'd say it was hurt or disappointment. I had just given him my whole self again and was now rejecting him . . . again.

I hated to hurt him, but I wasn't strong enough to go against my parents and my friends and the society I'd grown up in for him—a guy I didn't really know.

They wouldn't understand the feelings I had for him, especially since I didn't understand them either. They certainly wouldn't understand why we'd never even had one date, or why I'd never mentioned him in family conversations, but I'd had sex with him several times.

"See you around," I said, trying to inject my words with a breezy tone as if I hadn't just crushed his heart with my bare hands in front of him.

He didn't answer me or look at me, but busied himself with pulling on his helmet and starting the bike.

I brushed his arm with my hand, quickly, lightly, and jerked it back like my flesh had been burned. "Bye, Nick."

He glanced at me then quickly looked down at his feet and kicked the bike into gear. Without a word or another look, he sped off.

As I shut my front door on the sound of his grumbling bike, I told myself that for the sake of his heart and mine, he and I would not have sex again.

* * * * *

Two days later Nick and I made another trip to the river. I was beginning to think I was addicted to him. Our lovemaking was so passionate and pleasurable, and he had opened up so many new experiences and feelings for me. But no matter how much I craved sex with him, I couldn't be with him openly. I had to come up with a solution to this dilemma. Fast. Because I couldn't give him up.

A few days later a solution came to me and I presented it to him the day we ditched our last period class and found ourselves again tangled up together at the river. We lay together on a blanket, naked, me tucked into his side, contented and satiated, trailing my fingers lightly across his skin. When I told him my plan, he jerked upright and spun to face me.

"Are you fucking insane?" Anger dripped from his words.

I sat up, too, faced him, took his hand in mine. "Nick, it's the only way."

He pulled his hand away, grabbed his boxers, and began to stand. I yanked the boxers from his hands and held them between my breasts to keep him from leaving.

"Nick, listen—"

"I've heard all I care to hear." He yanked them back and tried to stand again, but I grabbed him by his now flaccid member. A mean, but necessary, trick to keep him put.

"Look, maybe I didn't explain it right," I began, but he interrupted.

"You explained it pretty well the first time. You want my dick, but not me. How close am I?"

He put his hand on mine and tried to gently remove my hand from his member. I tightened my grip. I was determined that he hear me out.

"That's not at all what I said. See? I knew you misunderstood. Let me try again."

My hand around him became more purposeful in its movements, and I smelled victory when I felt it lengthen and thicken in my hand. At least he wasn't still trying to get away. I let my feelings for him show on my face, in my eyes, in my smiling mouth, in the strokes of my hand.

"I love being with you, Nick. You know that. But I don't want to share you or what we have with anyone."

"Bullshit. What you mean is that I spoil your perfectly arranged image, so you can't risk having anyone see us together."

It impressed me how quickly he had seen through my veil of half-truths to the coil of fear in my heart. But his brilliance certainly wasn't making it easy for me convince him to accept my plan. I needed help.

Releasing my hold on him, I rose to my knees, put my hands on his shoulders, and climbed onto his lap. Our pink parts snuggling up against each other, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. His whole body hardened against me, but his eyes turned soft and I heard a muffled groan rise from his chest.

"What I mean is that I want us to enjoy each other without all the drama of unfolding a relationship in front of everyone and having all our ups and downs played out like we're on a stage, out there for judging and comments. We don't need that."

A slight shift upward had me poised over his erect pole. I slid onto him, slowly, making sure he felt every layer of sweet friction we created together, until he filled me completely, touched the very top of me. He felt so good inside me, I could hardly speak.

But I had to speak until I'd convinced him not to do what he should do, which was tell me to go to hell and never have another thing to do with me.

"We only need this." I whispered against his mouth and began rocking up and down, back and forth, on him, keeping my gaze tightly connected to his where I could see his desire for me, or maybe it was my desire for him. Maybe it was both.

I saw the instant he was mine. His eyes went liquid. His luscious lips softened and parted on a groan, and his hands grabbed my hips, encouraging me to go faster. I maintained the slow pace, wanting to draw it out, make it memorable, make my point for me. For him.

And we were a heartbeat, a breath, a blink away from making it together.

All three happened, simultaneously, and pleasure surged through us like a swollen river that had broken its bonds. Our mouths found each other and joined wetly, giving each other breath we couldn't seem to find on our own. We were blind, our heads spinning out of control, our bodies melded, trying to hold onto that magical moment when two became one.

Shaking with his release, Nick clutched me to him. I tasted the salty sweat on his brow when I kissed him. I felt his heart knocking against my chest. I heard his lungs pulling in air to keep his hold on life. I smelled the haze of our orgasm rising hot and thick from our skin like summer heat off a blacktop.