“Of course I never thought you were pathetic. I thought—think—you’re the sexiest damn woman I’ve ever seen. I’m a voyeur, an exhibitionist, and a laundry list of other things that would probably make most people want to lock me up in a padded room. I should be the one worrying that I’m going to freak you out with the things that get me going. So don’t you dare apologize for what turns you on. Ever.” His thumb grazed my parted lips, a glimmer of gentleness despite his firm hold. “You understand?”
I closed my eyes, trying to find my breath and my voice. “Yes.”
He let out a breath and released my jaw. “Open your eyes, Cela.”
I complied, finding his dark blue stare warm and determined in the lamplight.
He took the wrist he’d pinned down and brought my arm down in between us. He pressed my palm along the heat of his erection through the soft material of his pants. Instinctively, I closed my fingers around its hard length, need firing in me anew. “This is what you do to me. Feel how much I want you. You’re not pathetic, you’re maddening.”
The words wrapped around me, soothing the vulnerable places that had cracked open and stoking the embers of my desire for him. Somehow Foster knew exactly what to say and do to bring me back from the brink of panicking and reminding me that the only one judging me was me. I stroked along his erection, the heat of his skin searing me even through the fabric of his pants, and felt the shudder go through him—the quiet rumble of his own desire radiating outward and making the muscles of his arms and chest flex and ripple above me.
“What gets you going, Foster?” I asked softly, desperate to know what he was holding back, what he thought would freak me out. “What’s on your list?”
His smile was rueful as he lifted up, shucked his pants, and pulled a condom out of the pocket before tossing them to the side. “Right now, number one is to fuck you until you make those noises I love to hear so much.”
“Good plan,” I said, a little breathless as I watched him tear open the condom packet and roll the latex over his length with deft fingers. I didn’t know if I’d ever get over seeing him naked. No man should be allowed to be that gorgeous. It was unfair, really, an embarrassment of riches that he was smart and successful on top of that. But despite the mouthwatering view, I didn’t miss his deflection of my question. “But you’re not going to tell me the rest of your list, are you?”
He braced on his elbows over me, his gaze gentle. “I’m just your one-night stand, angel. There’s no reason to go there.”
“Is it that bad?”
But instead of answering, he was kissing me again—a deep and passionate takeover of my sensory system, blotting out my thoughts and questions and replacing them with only awareness of skin on skin and my need for him. In every stroke of his tongue, every caress, I could feel that this was it, the last time we’d touch this way. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding on with everything I had, and opened my body to him.
With sure movements, he grasped the underside of my knee, lifting it and positioning himself at my entrance. Before I could take in a breath or prepare for the pain, he was pushing inside me. But instead of the sharp agonizing seconds of our first time, the stretch of my body around him, that sense of fullness, sent intense pleasure snaking up my spine. I groaned, my nails digging into his back.
“I second that,” he said, releasing my earlobe from between his teeth. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I said, arching up to take more of him inside me. “I’m so very, very okay.”
He laughed softly against the curve of my neck and rocked his hips back to thrust with a little more strength this time. I gasped in pleasure. “Things only get better after that whole virginity thing is out of the way.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said on panted breaths.
But as he moved inside me, murmuring both sweet and dirty things against my skin and touching me in ways that made every part of me light on fire, I knew one thing for sure. I’d better enjoy the moment because the words were a lie.
Nothing was going to be better than this.
Or him.
And hours later, when I stirred from the exhausted sleep I’d fallen into after Foster had dragged out every last ounce of pleasure I was capable of, I could barely make myself roll over to see the inevitable. The other side of my bed—empty.
In the center of the wrinkled sheets where he’d lain was a small square of torn-edged paper. I reached out to flip it over. Familiar handwriting stared back at me.
Never Have I Ever.
It was my list with all the items scratched off.
Foster had given me my fantasies. Now we were done.
FIFTEEN
I balanced on my tiptoes on the ladder, trying to cut in the paint near the ceiling. Why I had ever thought I needed to have this room maroon in the first place was a wonder. When I’d moved into the apartment, the white walls had seemed as stark as the labs I spent my days in at school. I couldn’t handle all that bright white and had tackled my first DIY project to make my bedroom cozier. But the apartment manager had told me that whatever painting I did, I’d have to undo when I moved out or be charged an extra two months’ rent to fix it. And of course, the guy at the paint store hadn’t told me that when it came time to cover up red, it would take an act of God and a truckload of primer and paint.
So the tail end of the week had been spent busting my ass at the clinic during the day and then coming home to work in a fume-filled room, watching my walls go from maroon to red to Pepto-Bismol pink. Now it was Saturday, and I hoped after one more coat, it’d start to resemble white again. My shoulders and arms ached, but I almost welcomed the physical distraction. Since the last night with Foster, I’d been able to think of little else than the way he’d looked at me when he’d kissed me good night—the good-bye eyes.
He’d called me once since then to apologize for leaving before I’d woken up that morning. He’d explained that he had to be at the office early that day and didn’t want to wake me since we’d stayed up so late. The phone call had been light and casual on the surface. But awkward as shit in the undercurrent. There’d been no mention of the note he’d left and no offer to get together for any reason in the future. The message had been clear. We weren’t anything more than two people who’d had a good time together.
And I refused to let myself turn it into anything more. The reason why he’d probably freaked over the virginity thing in the first place was because he feared I’d get all clingy and needy afterward. No way was I even showing a hint of that. No sirree. I was a strong, sexually liberated woman who could ha