Authors: Brandi Kennedy
"I'm sure he will appreciate your efforts," he says, his face serious now.
"Drew, I've been thinking, and I was wondering, if maybe, you might want to, um, stay with me? Instead of at your parents' house?"
His steady gaze freezes my courage, and I start trying to backtrack. "You know, maybe it's not a good idea after all, I don't know. If you feel more comfortable with them, or --"
"Cass." He reaches for my free hand, lacing our fingers together as I drive nervously on. His thumb strokes the side of my hand, and my heart trips over itself. "I think it's a fine idea, staying with you. I just didn't suggest it because I didn't want you to feel pushed, you know? But if you want to play my nurse, I'm game. You can even choose; your place or mine. But if you want me there, then I'm there."
I relax, looking over at him to find him smiling at me with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Will your mom be okay with it? I think she was kind of looking forward to having you home."
"She likes you; she'll be just fine," he says.
"Okay," I answer, still a little unsure. That spark in his eye has me a little unnerved.
"Of course," he continues. "The neighbors might see me there, and that would be quite the little scandal, hmm?"
"What?" I ask, looking over at him. "A scandal? Didn't scandal pretty much grind to a halt after Bill Clinton?"
"No, absolutely not. You know, if I stay with you, the tongues will be a-wagging."
"A-wagging? Are you serious right now? Tongues will be a-wagging?" Laughing at his old-fashioned joke, I flip the turn signal, switch lanes and turn into the parking lot of my apartment building.
"Yes, they will. And then you'll have to marry me, in a desperate ploy to stop the gossip-mongers."
"Drew!" I shout, and he laughs.
"You sure you'll be okay?" I ask Drew, kicking my sneakers off in the living room. His response is a devious grin.
"Oh, I don't know," he says. "Honestly, I think I'll be lost out here on my own. And lonely. Very lonely."
Raising one eyebrow, I cross my arms. "You'll get lonely in twenty minutes?"
"Terribly." He's still smiling as he seizes my hips and steps closer to me.
"But I need showers," I laugh, loving the way his big hands fit the curves of my body.
"Well, then," he murmurs, leaning closer to press his lips to mine. "I can think of only one solution."
"By all means, share with me," I whisper, kissing him back.
"Take me with you."
"Um. In the shower?" I step away, fighting the rise of my typical insecurity and the instant panic that fills me at the thought of being naked and letting him see me.
"Better keep your girdle on,"
Rick says, in my head, as Drew tilts his head, confused.
"It has to happen at some point,"
my inner confidence argues.
"Screw it, take a chance."
"You know what? Actually, I'd like that," I laugh, watching Drew's mouth fall open in surprise. Taking his hand, I lead him to the bathroom.
"You sure about this?" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer, turning to look at him. "Are you?"
Drew drops my hand, and for a split second, I'm afraid he was just teasing about the shower. Then he shuts the bathroom door, kicks off his shoes, and grins. "Oh no," he says, spreading his arms wide. "I can't seem to undress without help."
"Ha! You didn't even try!" Heat fills my face. I've never stripped anyone but myself before.
"And risk injuring myself more?" He shakes his head. "I think I'm going to have to report you to the nursing board, Miss Keaton."
Just do it. You can't live in fear.
"Well, we can't have that, now can we? Surely, sir, there must be something I can do to appease your temper," I tease, placing a hand gently on his chest, looking up at him as innocently as possible.
His breath catches, his eyes widening. "Well, I'm sure if you try really hard, we can think of something."
It takes us forever to get him out of his shirt, both of us in turn laughing and groaning as we figure out how to get the shirt off without hurting him. Catching sight of the healing incisions on his chest, I look up at him.
"Can you get those wet?"
"Yep, sure can. They're glued or something, so I'm good as long as I'm not stressing the glue. Water is fine," he assures me, reaching out to slowly lift the hem of my yoga top.
"Oh," I whisper, heat beginning to leave my face and pool instead between my thighs, as he steps back with my shirt in his hands, taking in my ugly sport bra, struggling to keep control of my breasts.
"Does that work?" he asks quietly, lifting my chin and urging me to meet his eyes.
"The, um, the bra?" I ask stupidly.
"Yeah. Does it help in your classes? Because it doesn't look comfortable." He reaches toward me again, flicking one of the many hook closures down the front. It pops open easily, leaving the bra with a "v" neck appearance.
"Um, it helps, some," I answer, blushing as he flicks another hook open. He works his way down the front of the bra, and though the fabric spreads, it doesn't fall away. I swallow, gasping, standing helplessly as he cups my breasts, spreading the bra with his fingers until it suddenly springs free.
"My God," he whispers, watching as the cool air of the bathroom urges my nipples to needy peaks. "How can you be so ashamed of these?"
Swallowing, I try to force some words to my lips, but before I can form coherent thoughts, he lowers his head, capturing the peak of my breast in his mouth. A groan escapes me as he kneels in front of me, moving from one breast to the other, kissing his way between them as his arms close around me.
He chuckles at my reaction, and as his breath tickles one hard, ripe nipple, it occurs to me that he doesn't know I'm a virgin. At least, I haven't told him. I suppose he could guess, by the helpless mewling sounds pouring out of me.
He urges me back, until my hips bump the counter, slowly moving his hands down my hips, and it isn't until the cold of the counter strikes my rear that I realize my pants have disappeared.
"How can you not be proud?" he murmurs, kissing my stomach as I gasp. Briefly, I think to stop him, to shield myself from his sight, and then his fingers trail around to the fronts of my thighs, and I cease to think; all I can do is sink into the feel of him touching me.
He presses me back, slightly, and I'm thankful for a low counter as I realize that he wants me to sit. Naked, I lean back, maneuvering myself into a sitting position. Still kneeling, he slips one hand between my thighs, sighing against my knee when my legs fall open at his touch.
He kisses his way up my thigh, and I'm shocked at myself for loving this, for not being shy, for not wanting to stop him or hide myself. For the first time in my life, I feel entirely sensual, caught up in the sensation of his lips gently trailing along the inside of my thighs.
Helpless and panting, I lean back, my head resting against the mirrored wall, gasping at the first touch of his fingers on the throbbing pulse of my womanhood. Stroking gently, he blows, and the gust of warm air combined with the persistent touch of his fingers causes the nerve endings throughout my body to come alive all at once. I cry out, my fingers digging into his hair, urging him closer even as I fill with embarrassment.
He follows the demand of my body, pressing his lips to my flesh, poking his tongue out to stroke me lazily, his fingers holding my thighs wide to give him access. His tongue darts out again, firm and demanding, and the heat pooled in my lower belly spills over, coursing through my body as I gasp his name.
"Mmhmm?" he asks, looking up at me daringly, one eyebrow raised. "Did you want me to stop now?" he teases, still stroking me with the tip of one thumb.
"God, no, please," I whisper, and he laughs, a low rolling chuckle, kissing his way back up to my breasts, his thumb still working below. My hands slip down his shoulders, my nails grazing the smooth skin of his back, and I don't know if the next low, keening groan is his or mine.
Slowly, he works his way up, kissing along my collarbone to my jaw-line, and I tilt my head, extending my neck to give him access. He flicks his tongue, slowly along the curve of my ear, and my fingers find my way to his hips, where I discover that while I was mindless, he has worked his way out of his pants. I gasp, realizing that I have had a naked man on his knees before me, as if in worship of my body, and the sense of empowerment causes his name to escape my lips again, a breathy sigh that makes him groan and move deeper between my thighs.
The pulse of his erection beats against me, and I scoot forward, opening up to accept him. He pauses once, meets my eyes, and asks if I'm sure.
"I haven't done, you know, this, before," I whisper, and he kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his face serious, his eyes searching mine.
I nod silently, and he slips one arm behind me, sliding his hand around my hips to position me, the other hand between us, guiding him, stroking me. I moan again, feeling the stretch as my body adjusts to accommodate him, but the pain I expected doesn't come.
The sense of being filled is delicious; the gentle sliding of our flesh together as he moves is intoxicating. He moans against my throat, whispering senseless nothings as my nails rake him, scraping lightly from shoulder to hip, repeating the path again, this time a little firmer, as the core of me comes alive.
"Cass," he whispers, clutching me to him, moving faster, his breath a heaving gasp into my hair. "Oh God."
He backs away slightly, and as I take a breath to beg him not to stop, he comes into me again, throbbing and pulsing, gasping, filling me, and the hot center of my body explodes.
Crying out, I lock my legs around his hips, pulsing with him, gasping with him, reveling in the sensation of his throbbing inside me. And then it's over, and he's kissing me weakly, smiling, stroking my face and tucking my hair behind my ears.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispers, and when I shake my head silently, my eyes half closed with the drunken pleasure of his efforts, he smiles, and starts again.
Over the last few days, Drew and I have grown closer than ever, making love throughout the day when I'm home, and then again throughout the night. Today, we've resurfaced out of necessity, because he needs a gift for his parent's anniversary.
"What about this?" I ask, pointing into a shop filled with crystal sculptures and colorful nick-knacks. "I don't know them well enough to know what they'd like."
"They like you," he says, pulling me close and kissing the tip of my nose.
Striking a flirty pose, I bat my eyes at him and pout. "I'm not for sale; they'll have to ask for something else."
"What a shame, because I'm in the market for a sweet young thing that can keep me entertained when I'm lonely," he winks, and I'm reminded of the first time we were together. Heat blooms in my cheeks, though he has possessed my body countless times since that afternoon, and he laughs.
Taking my hand, he leads me into the store, picking things randomly and holding them out to me, asking my opinions and laughing when I give vague answers. "Help me," he says.
"I don't know what's good for them," I answer. "Janet likes candles in her house, though. Would your parents like something like that?"