Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (15 page)

Soon, we lie side by side on the floor. Out of breath. Sweaty. And spent. And yet both still fully clothed.

“Now, that was one hell of a first kiss,” I pant.

Chapter Sixteen

Kennedy

I’m not entirely sure how or when, but sometime after I took a shower and booted my laptop to write about our performance singing karaoke, I ended up pushing the two beds together. When I woke up this morning, Annabel was so curled up against me that it would be hard for someone to tell where she started and I ended.

One of my arms rests over her waist while the other is up her shirt, my hand resting comfortably over her breast. Her back presses against my chest, and that perfect little ass of hers lies dangerously close to my panic button.

With as little movement as I can manage, I turn and place my finger on the track pad of my laptop to check what time it is. It’s then I see that sometime in the middle of the night, Annabel must have gotten up and read over the latest addition to my article. Using Microsoft tracked changes, she added all these little notes about things she liked and things she thought I could improve. If it were any other girl in the entire world, I would see it as an invasion of privacy. You never read an author’s work without permission. But it doesn’t feel that way with her. Any secret parts of my soul I shared within those documents, I have already shared with her.

And I know that the only thing she has ever truly wanted for me is a better life and a chance to become a legit published writer. Scrolling through the notes, they’re detailed and intense, and I wonder how long she spent working on this in the middle of the night. I think about the way she takes care of her family, putting everything and everyone before her own needs. Has she ever truly done anything for herself?

I’m not talking about doing things to pursue her dreams. Annabel Lee is a hell of a go-getter, and there’s no doubt she will do whatever is in her power to make sure she succeeds. The dares last night are proof of that. I mean something just for the sake of it making her feel good. Or free. Or pleasure. Just about her and her alone.

I turn back over and pull Annabel tighter against me. I nuzzle the side of her neck and kiss her gently there. With my fingers, I draw delicate circles around her breast. Annabel sighs, and I know she’s awake.

I move my hand from her breast to her arm, knowing that if I let it wander there, I won’t be able to control myself. And this moment isn’t about my needs or wants. I rub the tips of my fingers down her arm and grab her hand, pulling it slowly toward me. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t turn to face me or even acknowledge we’re both awake, but I feel her with me. She’s
with me
.

I bring her hand to my mouth and slide two of her fingers in. I lick my tongue against them. She quietly gasps. I pull her fingers from my mouth and guide them under her shirt, slowly down her stomach. If she wants me to stop, she’ll tell me. She’s that kind of girl, and I think I love her for it.

My hand grazes the lace of her panties, and I feel myself harden. I push her fingers under until she has found herself. With my hand on top of hers, I move her fingers slowly in circles. I hear her breath catch.

I want to take her right then and there.

Has this girl ever done this for herself? Anything that just made her feel good? It’s been about nothing but rules and control since the accident. I wonder how long it’s been since she just let herself feel.

Her body begins to shift, and I can tell she wants to move her fingers faster. She’s close. But it’s not a race to the finish line. I want her to enjoy this. Enjoy
herself
. I pull her hand up and lick her fingers once again, enjoying the taste of her. Hating myself a little for how good it makes me feel. She shudders, and for a moment I think we’re both done for.

Annabel tugs her hand from mine and returns it to herself. She moans softly, and I could write a whole damn opera to it. Her backside moves against me and she gets close. Her free hand fumbles back, and I can tell she’s about to reach for me. I catch it and freeze it in place.

I kiss each of her fingers and watch as she takes pleasure in herself. It might just be the sexiest, hottest thing I’ve ever seen. The way her face transforms from a look of complete concentration to utter surrender. Her head tilts back, and I want so bad to press my lips against that bottom lip that it’s legit physically painful. When she finally cries out, that sound that lets me know she found herself in all the right and wondrous ways, I push the hair off her forehead and place a gentle kiss there.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

Annabel’s eyes go wide as if she suddenly remembers I’m in the room. Her face flashes red and she pulls the blanket over her head and groans. I attempt to yank the covers down, but she holds them tightly in place. “What’s wrong, Le Chat?” I ask, a feeling of dread settling over me.

What if she regrets what happened between us last night?

Annabel doesn’t answer, and I fear the worst is true. “Please, Annabel, don’t shut me out. What’s wrong?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she mumbles from under the covers.

“Embarrassed?” I ask, not quite getting what she’s talking about.

Annabel pushes out air between her clenched teeth as she pulls the covers down from her face. “Please don’t make me say it,” she says, looking up at me and pleading.

“Please don’t make me sit here and agonize over what you’re referencing,” I beg.

“About what just happened,” she says quietly.

“You’re embarrassed about what just happened? Holy shit, Annabel. Don’t you ever feel embarrassed about that. That was, hands down, the hottest thing I have ever seen. Have you looked at your body? Who wouldn’t want to enjoy the hell out of that? If I were you, I’d be touching myself all the time.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Annabel accuses. She starts to pull the blanket back up.

I snatch the blanket before she can hide from me again. “I’m a jackass, Annabel Lee, but never would I make fun of something like that. You’re damn sexy. And you should enjoy yourself whenever humanly possible.”

Annabel bites down on her bottom lip, staring up at me.

“See,” I say, reaching forward and rubbing my thumb against her bottom lip, “that right there is enough to topple countries.”

Annabel rolls her eyes, but a smile graces her face. “You’re ridiculous.” She pulls herself up so she’s sitting in bed. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight. We don’t have to leave here for a couple of hours,” I say, leaning over and kissing the side of her neck.

Annabel gently pushes me away. “I’m going to take a bath, and you have some edits to do.” I open my mouth to protest, but she covers it. “Besides, the Milton internship submission is due today. I know you would rather submit the final article, but since that’s not possible, I thought you could send in the piece you wrote last night. Work now, play later.” She kisses me quickly on the mouth, hops off the bed, and disappears into the bathroom.

With a groan, one born half out of despair and half out of pure want, I fall back on the bed.

“I don’t hear typing,” Annabel calls out from the bathroom. Sitting up, I grab my laptop and place it in my lap. I smash down on the keys as hard as I can without breaking them. “Not funny,” she says before turning on the water.

I imagine Annabel will chain me to this bed in an homage to
Misery
before she lets me leave this hotel room without working on the edits. And Kanye knows that if I don’t get my submission in for the Milton internship by the deadline, she’ll have my balls…and not in any way that’s enjoyable.

Not that it really matters. The internship, that is. Out of the ones she suggested I apply for, it’s by far the one I would want the least. But I highly doubt that I’m even able to secure a yearlong stint with Poldark Press in Kingston, Maryland, much less one of the ones in Chicago or New York. I know Annabel meant well, but all of these applications are rather pointless. Hundreds of miles from Belltown, and I can still hear their taunts. All those things the people back home said about me and my mom. They branded me in ways I still don’t really understand.

That doesn’t stop me from going to town on last night’s piece. Once I get into the edits and fully take them in, my fingers come to life the way Jerry Lee Lewis’s danced across the keys of the piano—fire moonwalking across ivory. A good half hour passes, and I’ve made the revisions and added three more paragraphs.

“You haven’t drowned in there, have you?” I yell to Annabel, noting that the sound of running water stopped about fifteen minutes ago.

“No, just relaxing,” she calls back.

Just relaxing. Naked. In a bath.

I scramble from the bed and knock gently on the door. “And would you like some company to help you, you know, relax?”

“Did you finish?” She sounds more like a scolding teacher than the girl who ravished me last night. But this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about. It’s all about priorities.

“Yes, I finished. Now, can I come in?” I ask, pulling off my shirt in anticipation.

“Read it to me.”

“Huh?” I ask, my shirt not completely removed from my head yet.

“I want you to read it to me.”

Of course she does. Why did I expect any less? I pull my shirt the rest of the way off on my walk back to get my computer. When I go to open the door, her voice halts me. “I didn’t say come in. I said I wanted you to read it to me.”

“And may I come in when I’m done?”

“Only if it’s good,” she sings. She’s enjoying every bit of this torture. The lovable vixen.

And so I read it to her sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door. Even I have to admit it’s good. It’s, like, fucking fantastic. When I get to the part about us dancing up there together, the whole crowd making us feel like gods, she makes me read it again, and I smile knowing it meant as much to her as it did to me.

“You can come in now if you want,” she says, sounding a little shyer than I expected to hear. Gone is the bravado of the schoolteacher, replaced again by the girl who still doesn’t know the power she has over me. How does she not realize she’s had power over me since that first dare when she made me switch out Mrs. Peterson’s peanut butter sandwich with kitty litter?

My heart starts beating a little faster, knowing what’s waiting for me on the other side of this wall. My breath catches in my throat when I open the door and see her sitting there, staring up at me, and waiting. Despite the bubbles, I can see the curves of her perfect porcelain breasts. Her knees poke out of the water. Little strands of hair that escaped her bun matted to her neck and cheek. Her skin’s the prettiest pink Kanye created. I’m not entirely sure if the flush is from the warmth of the water or from seeing me standing there in nothing but my boxers.

That’s when it hits me. We actually haven’t seen each other completely naked. Now I’m the one who’s red in the face. Despite the highly intimate moments we’ve shared, there’s still so much that we haven’t discovered about each other.

“Do you want to join me?” she asks, all breathy.

Modesty be damned. I yank down my boxers, not able to wait one more second to join her. Upon seeing me,
really
seeing me, Annabel bites down on her bottom lip, and that’s about all the encouragement I need to proceed. I climb into the water with her, spreading my legs so they lay on the outside of hers. I rest one of my arms on the side of the tub and lean back.

I let my other arm rest on top of one of her knees. My fingers draw tiny little circles against the inside of her thigh. Annabel leans her head back and sighs. My fingers crawl farther down her leg. Suddenly, she grabs my hand and sits up.

“It’s my turn,” she says, running a hand over my leg and down my thigh before it disappears under the water.

“You don’t have to.” I somehow manage to speak between shudders. I don’t want her to stop. Oh, hell no. But I also don’t want her to think everything I do for her has to be returned. That’s not how I work. I’ll always want to ravish this girl. Even if she never touches me back.

“I want to,” she insists, a confidence overtaking her voice that I haven’t heard in a long time.

Her fingers graze the head of my dick, and I jerk. Annabel notes the effect her touch has on me and grins. She bites down on that bottom lip and scoots a bit closer to me. Her fingers delicately run up and down my shaft, and every hair on my body stands on end. Slowly. Teasing. I clutch the side of the tub, fully willing to let this torture go on for as long as she sees fit.

Then her hand wraps around me, continuing to move along the length of me. Not too slow. Not too fast. When she gets back to the tip, she spreads her fingers, pushing me in and out of them, and I groan. Deeply. The tempo of her movements picks up, and I start breathing like a marathon runner about to cross the finish line.

Annabel’s eyes lock onto mine. I reach forward to grab for her as well, even though at this moment, I’m seeing two of her. She pushes my hand away. “Let me do this,” she says. So I lean back and close my eyes, fully giving in to the sensations that rush over me in waves.

Her hand moves faster and faster, and I groan harder and harder until we’re both left panting. I’m finished. Done. Destroyed by this girl. And I’d let her destroy me over and over again if she wanted to. Annabel lays her head against the side of the tub, her chest moving up and down from exertion. I manage to grin at her despite the feeling that my heart is about to literally beat through my chest. She winks at me, and the beast is back.

“Now I get what I want,” I growl. I stand up in the tub, pulling her with me. She squeals as I reach down and scoop her into my arms. I carry her into the main room and lay her on the bed. Crawling up, I move my body so I’m hovering over the girl lying below me. I let my eyes roam. “You are made up of the stuff people write songs about,” I say.

Before she can rebuke my compliment, I press my mouth against hers. I let my lips travel down her neck and over her breasts, pausing briefly to flick my tongue against her nipples. As she moans, I move farther down. Covering the whole of her abdomen with slow, languorous kisses. I move even lower until I find her.

Annabel gasps. Her hands wrap themselves in the sheet. Her legs, now nestled on either side of my face, tense. I lick, and flick, and suck. I taste her. Moist, and warm, and wet. A hand moves to my head, fingers running up and down the back of my neck.