Falling into Us Read online

And then, not accidentally, he kissed me, and I was lost once again, all thoughts gone and wars of reason erased. His hand stopped on my stomach, low, just at the elastic of my low-cut panties. My fingernails traced down his chest and caught at the buckle of his belt. I felt his stomach retract from my touch, as if to make room for me touch him more.

  His tongue scraping against my teeth and searching my mouth blasted away hesitation. Oh, god, I was going to touch him, and he was going to touch me. Oh, god.

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  This was okay. We were in love, and this was part of falling in love.

  I tugged the end of the belt out of the loop on his pants and out of the buckle, flicked the prong away from the hole in the leather, and then loosened the belt entirely. He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, his mouth next to my ear, his breathing harsh. His arm shook, and he switched hands, supporting himself with his other palm now. His fingers rested curled against the hot skin of my belly, his thumb brushing tiny circles on the cotton of my panties an inch above my privates. So close, yet so far.

  Oh, god. I wanted this. I wanted to touch him more. I wanted more from him. This was so addicting, unstoppable.

  The button popped open, and my thumb and forefinger tugged down the zipper. My gaze descended to the open fly of his pants, and I saw the tenting of his boxers, and a dot of dampness on the blue cotton. The wetness of desire, something we both had.

  He was stone-still, his eyes on me, glancing at my br**sts, then to my thighs and my panties and finally up to my eyes. He wanted this just as much as I did, but I also saw my own doubts reflected in his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, and his pants drooped around his hips. I touched his waist near his stomach, meeting his eyes. My fingers curled under the gray elastic band, hesitated. My heart was a wild, tribal drum in my chest.

  Jason’s fingers moved to one thigh, midway between hip and knee, and then journeyed slowly upward. I relaxed my legs, let my thighs spread apart a bit farther, and then his palm was against the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thigh, curling around the muscle there, his fingers pointing down. So close. I trembled all over, and as his hand moved ever closer to my core, I shivered harder, felt the dampness of desire grower wetter.

  Our eyes were locked, exchanging permission, communicating need and desire and doubts.

  “You want this?” he asked, his voice a whisper in the silence of the truck cab.

  I nodded. “Yes. Do you?”

  “Yes. But do think we should stop?”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. Where do we stop? Where is too far? I don’t want to. I want to keep going. But I don’t…I don’t want us to regret going past a line we can’t take back. ”

  I didn’t let myself think about what I was going to say. I just blurted it out, stutters and all. “If w-we went all-all the way t-t-to-together…would you rrr-r-rr-regret it?”

  My fingers were still curled around the elastic of his underwear, and his were flush against the hot, trembling skin of my thigh, not even half an inch from my wet center.

  He shook his head. “I know I love you. I know I want to be with you, only you. I wouldn’t regret it. Would you?”

  I shook my head. “No. No way. ” I was so sure, I didn’t even stutter. “I know I love you, too. ”

  His hand dared closer, and now the tip of his thumb was exploring the crease of my privates through the damp cotton of my panties. I couldn’t breathe when he did that.

  Then he stopped, and his eyes locked on mine. “We can’t go that far tonight, though,” he said. “We don’t have enough time, and I don’t want our first time to be in my truck. ”

  “Why n-not?” I tugged on his underwear, just a little. “It’s where we spend a lot of our time together, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but…” He seemed uncomfortable talking about it. “It should be special. In a bed, somewhere nice. And plus…we don’t have any…you know…things. Protection. ” He whispered the last word in a barely audible voice.

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. We should plan it out, then. Make it perfect. ”

  He nodded his agreement. “So what about this? Tonight?”

  I swallowed hard. “Well, we’re not doing that, but we can…we can just spend more time together until I have to go, right?”

  He seemed relieved, and glad. “Right. I mean, it’s not like it can accidentally just happen, right?”

  I shook my head. “No. We’re making choices, together. ” I felt grown-up, talking things through and making decisions about sex with my boyfriend.

  He bent low to kiss me, and my knuckles pressed into the divot of his hips, where his muscles did that crazy V-cut thing. I kissed him with all I had, eyes closed, heart full. I loved Jason, I really did. It was an exciting thing to admit, to say, to feel, to know.

  When we’d kissed each other breathless, Jason pulled away slightly, and his wide green eyes and parted lips drove me wild. He was so beautiful, so handsome, and I just loved him. I met his eyes as I pulled his boxer-briefs away from his body and slid them down his hips. His eyes went wide, and even his breathing stopped as he was bared to me.

  Oh. Oh, holy shit.

  I caught my lip between my teeth and drew my gaze away from his…I couldn’t even think of what word to use in my own mind…and met his gaze. He was nervous, slightly embarrassed. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Was there a right way to touch him?

  His chest swelled with an indrawn breath as I curled my fingers around him. Wow. Just…whoa. Such a complex mess of contradictions. Hard, soft, thick, springy under my fingers in places, taut skin in others. My hand was a dark tan against the pale almost-pink of his flesh there. I moved my fist down, and then back up, just wanting to touch all of him, and he gasped, jerked in my grip.

  His eyes closed tight, and he tried to pull away from me. “Becca, oh, god. I’m—you should let go now. ”

  I was confused. “Why? Don’t—don’t you want me to touch you?”

  He tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “Yeah, I do. More than you know. But…if you don’t stop, I’ll…I’m gonna—I mean, I’ll make a mess. ”

  I blushed hard and nearly bit through my lip. Curiosity was a big part of my emotions at that point, along with wonder, amazement, nerves…too many things to name, all mixed up together. I liked touching him. I liked the way he seemed barely able to contain himself. Me touching him drove him crazy. I liked that.

  I touched the top of him with my fingertip, and he groaned. Every muscle in his body was tensed, I could see that. I didn’t want to let go. I liked this. It was daring, it was unlike me, usually so careful and good and calm and reserved and following every little rule.

  I closed my fingers around him again and slid my hand down his length, feeling every ridge and ripple of skin, watching his face contort and the veins in his forehead and neck and arms tense, feeling his abs tighten into rock. His arm gave out and he collapsed partially on top of me, and I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I really liked the way his weight felt on top of me. He was turned on his side, wedged between me and the seat back. His hips were level with mine, and he was gripping my hip, fingers curled into my flesh, his forehead against my shoulder. I waited until he was still, and then slid my hand up and back down. That motion seemed to drive him the most wild, his body bucking into my grip. And then he tensed even more, going entirely rigid.

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  “God, Becca. You don’t know—what you’re doing to me. How good that feels. You should stop before I—”

  I shook my head, the only response I could make. I wasn’t going to stop. We’d gone too far to stop now. I wanted to see what would happen, and I wanted to make him feel good, as good as I’d felt when he kissed my br**sts.

  He lunged over me, grabbed a T-shirt that had been abandoned on the floor of the truck, a sweat-stained sleeveless black shirt. He
shoved it between himself and my skin, my dress, and then groaned deep in his chest as I slowly plunged my fist around him. He jerked in my grip, shoved his hips up toward my hand. I slid my palm up his length, up around the top part of him.

  “Oh…shit…” he breathed.

  And then I felt him jerk, tremble, and spasm. Something hot and wet spilled over my fingers and onto the shirt, and I slid my hand around him, and his body clenched again, and another stream of white liquid left him. It was amazing to watch. His whole body reacted, and a look of utter ecstasy crossed his face as he moved into my touch, slick and wet now.

  “Oh. ” I heard the wonder in my voice. “That is messy. ”

  He laughed, his eyes closed and his face buried against the slope of my breast. “I told you. I’m sorry, I didn’t get it on your dress, did I?”

  “Why are you sorry? I liked watching that happen. And no, I don’t think you did. It’s all over your shirt, though. ”

  He breathed, and his breath was hot against my skin. I ached somehow. Deep inside me, I felt a need I couldn’t express and didn’t understand. I’d touched myself down there, of course, but hadn’t ever really felt anything earthshaking like I’d heard the girls at school talking about.

  He took the shirt, turned it inside out to wrap up the mess, then wiped himself and my fingers. He lifted up on his elbow, and his hand grazed along the elastic of my panties. I met his eyes and breathed out a long breath, as still now as he’d been. His eyes roamed over my br**sts as he slid his fingers under the leg-band, and fire shot through me in anticipation as he moved over my skin and the soft patch of curls. I was embarrassed all over again. Would he mind the curls there? Should I—

  All thoughts left me when his finger traced my opening. It was an awkward angle, and he slid his hand out. I nearly whimpered at the loss of his touch. It felt so good, just that little bit of contact. I wanted more. He slipped his fingers over my belly and under the waistband, and I lifted my hips into his touch. Oh, god. My underpants were stretched tight around his hand, tugging uncomfortably in certain places. I pushed at them, rolling them down my body, and Jason seemed to get the idea, helping me push them down and away. When they were near my knees, I had enough movement to spread my legs wider, feeling naughty for doing so, for wanting more of his touch on me…in me.

  “Oh…god…” I could barely breathe when he touched me, feeling shivery and hot all over, but yet pulled taut and stretched like a wire about to snap. And he’d only brushed his finger down me. I arched my back and spread my knees, stretching my underwear and not caring. His fingers touched me, brushed, stroked, and I couldn’t even get enough air to gasp in surprise at how sensitive I was. It hadn’t felt this way when I touched myself. Something inside me felt huge and full of pressure, like a balloon about to pop.

  The tip of one his fingers moved inward, and I actually moaned out loud, louder than when he’d touched my breast. He slid up a little, and I forced my eyes open, watching his finger white against my dusky skin as he touched me. It was his middle finger, long and delving farther in. Then he found the hard, sensitive nub of skin near the top of my privates—I was too embarrassed even mentally to think of sexual terms explicitly. I wasn’t sure if he knew it was there and how sensitive it was, or if he figured it out by my sharply indrawn breath and the sudden shift of my hips into his touch, but he focused his touch there.

  He rubbed it, and I began to move with his touch. His finger brushed and moved, and then swiped a little too hard, and I gasped. “Not so rough,” I whispered.

  “Sorry,” he said, and started to withdraw his hand.

  “No, don’t stop,” I said. “Just…be gentle. ”

  He feathered his finger against the nub, and I gasped, moaned, and moved again. I sounded like a woman to my own ears. Like Sookie in True Blood when she was with Eric. A word from some book I read floated through my mind: wanton. I sounded wanton, dirty. I giggled at the thought, but the laughter evaporated when he moved his finger in a tight circle and all I could do was moan again. His movements were slow and slightly clumsy, but I didn’t care. A little rough, but that was fine. The balloon inside me was burgeoning, stretched to a fullness that couldn’t be contained.

  “Kiss me,” I whispered. He moved his mouth toward my lips, and I grinned, laughing breathlessly. “Not…there. ” I pushed his head toward my breast. “Kiss me there again. ”

  He complied willingly, and I felt that tugging inside me, like there was a string connecting my br**sts to my core, and his moving mouth and licking tongue and tugging lips were pulling at the string, unravelling something inside me. He was moving slowly, consistently, and I needed more.

  “Faster. ” I barely heard myself, and I don’t think he did at all. I said it louder, bolder. “Faster. P-please. ”

  His finger sped up, and I gasped, heard a whimper escape from my throat, and I felt my spine arch off the seat, heat flushing my body, sweat beading on my skin, my heart hammering. I couldn’t stop another moan from getting past my lips, and then faster wasn’t enough, more wasn’t enough, and I was thoughtlessly moving against his touch, gyrating hopelessly, lost in the moment.

  Heat, pressure, lightning, motion, expansion… I didn’t have the right words for what swept through me. All thoughts stopped, and I was arched almost completely off the seat, trying to get closer, more, more, and I didn’t care how I sounded or how I looked or anything. There was no room for anything but the bomb going off inside me, like a star going nova low in my belly.

  I think I might have made a really loud noise, and then I was limp and breathless, staring up at Jason, his vivid green eyes piercing me hot and sensual.

  “God…that was…am-mmm-m-amazing,” I stammered, smiling up at him.

  “Now you know what you did to me. ”

  I glanced at the clock on the dash.

  1:48 a. m.

  “Shit, you have to take me home,” I said, sitting up shakily, my every muscle still trembling.

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  He had me home by 1:59, and my father was waiting. Father had left most of the lights off, thankfully, so he didn’t seem to notice the brightness of my eyes, or the glow of my skin, or the mussed mess of my hair. Those are things I saw at least as I undressed for bed. I stared at myself in the mirror before I slipped a long T-shirt on over my naked body. I turned to one side, and then the other, posing, examining myself, trying to see what Jason saw.

  I just saw me: five-foot-four, fluctuating between one hundred twenty pounds and one-twenty-five. Large br**sts with wide, dark arolae and thick, pink ni**les. Wide, curving hips and strong thighs, a flat midsection, dark, caramel-colored skin. Hair so black it was nearly blue, hanging past my shoulders in thick strands of coil-tight springs, impossible to manage. Eyes nearly the same color as my hair, a brown so dark they appeared black, my pupils all but indistinguishable from my irises. I had a bit of a sway to my back, making my ass look bigger than it really was.

  Normally, when I looked at myself, I saw the sum of my flaws; now I saw myself a little differently. Now I saw my flaws as the sum of my beauty.

  I slept deeply, and dreamed of Jason’s touch.

  SEVEN: Falling Into Us

  Jason

  Two weeks later, the end of January

  I was perched on the edge of the couch in Kyle’s basement, the wireless white Xbox controller slick in my grip from the last four hours of Madden, Halo 3, and Call of Duty: Black Ops. The girls were out doing their weekly manicure-pedicure-shopping-milkshakes thing, leaving Kyle and me alone on a cold, snowy Saturday afternoon with nothing to do but play video games.

  I was in the process of whooping Kyle’s ass in Madden, my Chargers crushing his Vikings 48-14, when he glanced at me with an odd look in his eye.

  “So…you and Becca. ”

  I shot him a “yeah…and…?” look.

  “What about us?” I asked.

  “Have yo
u guys, like, hooked up yet?” He didn’t look at me as he asked, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth.

  I cursed as he made a touchdown, bringing it to 48-21. “Have you and Nell?” I shot back.

  “Asked you first, dickhead. ”

  I didn’t answer until after I’d chosen my play. “Depends on what you mean by ‘hook up. ’”

  He smirked at me. “All the way. Hook up, not mess around. ”

  “Then no. ”

  “But you’ve messed around with her?” He was inching forward on the couch, then shot to his feet as my quarterback threw an interception, resulting in another Vikings TD, bringing him to 28 points.

  I wiped my palms on the knees of my jeans and glanced at him. “Yeah, we’ve messed around a bit. ”

  He paused the game, and I knew the conversation was about to get serious. “Will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  He punched my bicep hard enough to make it sting. “Hook up with her?”

  I set the controller on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back to put my feet up, thinking about how to answer Kyle’s question. “I don’t know. Possibly?”

  He just laughed. “C’mon, Jase. This is me you’re talking to. Don’t bullshit me. Are you gonna sleep with her or not?”

  I frowned at him. “Dude, don’t be an ass**le. This is Becca, not some chick. If we do, I wouldn’t call it hooking up. That just sounds…I don’t know…cheap, I guess. Becca’s not cheap. ”

  He raised his hands in front of himself. “I wasn’t trying to say she was, man. I’m just curious, I guess. ”

  “What about you and Nell?”

  It was his turn to shift on the couch, considering his answer. “We mess around, like, a lot. And at some point, I’m thinking we have to just make the decision to do it. ”

  “How do you feel about her?”

  He snorted. “What, we’re gonna talk about our feelings now? Should we paint each other’s nails, too?”

  I kicked his ankle. “Don’t be a dick. This isn’t the locker room, this is a private conversation. We’ve known each other almost as long as you’ve known Nell. ”

  He sighed. “I think I’m in love with her. ” He pulled at a loose thread on a hole in the knees of his designer jeans. “If you laugh or make fun of me, I’ll kick your ass. ” He glared at me in warning.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I was gonna give you shit about it, dude. ” I dug my phone out of my hip pocket and checked for texts. “Have you told her how you feel?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Why is it I can say that shit to you, but if I think about saying it to her, I freeze?”

  I laughed. “It’s scary, that’s for damn sure. Girls can get you all messed up. You know I’m gonna either understand or I’ll laugh at your sissy ass, in which case you’d try to kick my ass—”