“We don’t have time,” I said, getting turned on once again. I was a wet and wanton, swollen mess. No way could Nell cook me anything delicious enough to make up for losing out on bed time with Vaughan. Impossible.
“I know.” Big hands gripped my hips, pulling me firmly back against him. “Fuck, that’s sweet.”
“Vaughan.” The feel of him hardening, lengthening, made breathing difficult. Thinking was pretty much right out.
“I like your ass, babe. I like it a lot.”
“Thought you were a breast man.”
His hot mouth pressed against my neck, lighting fires wherever it went. One hand splayed over my belly, the other playing with a nipple. He continued to rub himself against me, making everything that much worse. Or better. Both, maybe.
“So did I,” he said. “But I pretty much want to kiss, lick, bite, and fuck every bit of you.”
Oh, god. My knees shook.
“Shit. Nell’s timing sucks.” He groaned, stepping back. “Go shower.”
“Right.” My weak knees wobbled. “Go make coffee.”
“Yeah.”
I stumbled toward the door. Then stopped, befuddled in body and mind, but curious about something. “Hey. You never did finish that story last night.”
With a pained face, he held his cock against his stomach. “What?”
“The one about the girl and you coming too soon.”
He half smiled. “Ah, yeah. So she tells me to think about something else that I like while we’re fucking. To take my mind off of being inside her and everything. Next time we’re doing it, I think about Fender guitars. I think about them good and hard. I tell her my plan so she knows that I’m trying.”
“And?”
“I lasted. She came shouting, ‘Yes! Fenders!’” He smiled. “Woke up her parents. I’ve never climbed out a window so fast in my life.”
Quietly, I laughed, shaking my head. “Great.”
“Mm.”
“Why were you telling me that?” I leaned against the doorway, watching him. Carefully, slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. “I mean, it’s a great story. But why last night?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “To get you to relax, to take your mind off worrying about your body.”
“Oh.”
A shrug.
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t like you trying to hide parts of yourself from me.” Vaughan stared at the wall. “I’m not like that asshole, picking and choosing which bits of you suit him and expecting you to change the rest. I’m into you, Lydia. All of you.”
My heart felt huge. Out of control.
“It worked,” I said, voice thick with emotion despite my best efforts.
He turned his head toward me.
“I’m standing here naked, not covering anything. That’s not usually me.” I shrugged, nervously laughing. Somehow having my pale wobbly ass and bumps and bulges on display hadn’t sent me running for cover. Yet. A miracle, really. The earlier tug-of-war with the sheet had been more about fun than anything else. “I don’t know … I guess I trust you. I mean, I must.”
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing.
Ouch. When would I learn? Baring your soul sucked. I looked at the floor, the wall, at everything but him. It didn’t even make any sense; I mean, so he’d told me a silly story. So he’d been kind, understanding. He was always being kind and understanding. This was nothing new. That he’d then screwed me senseless, giving me the best sex of my life thus far, meant we’d had a great night. But not some life-altering, perception-changing, stars-aligning experience. I just happened to be going through a growth period and he just happened to be a part of it.
That’s all.
When would I learn? Just because my vagina was having fun didn’t mean my heart had to get all clingy.
“Babe,” he said. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I did.
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
“I’ve said it before, but … I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” The smile on my face felt foreign, wrong. Time for a reality check. Things that shouldn’t really mean anything were beginning to feel big and important, and that was neither necessary nor good.
Just friends having sex. Nothing more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“What do you know about book work?”
I untied my apron, throwing it into the laundry hamper. “Inputting accounting data into a computer, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“A little. I can type. I’m familiar with the basic programs.”
We were out back in the small cluttered office, the lunch rush having finally eased. My fellow waiter, Masa, a young Japanese dude studying at the local tech college, had indeed been a delight. Working with him was fun. The Dive Bar might be a little light on staff right now, but those that were here were solid. Even Eric proved to be more than competent, keeping up with our drink orders while carrying on a conversation with a couple hanging at the bar.
“Why are you asking me this?” I inquired, schlepping myself over to the only spare chair in the room. “God? my feet hurt. You’re good with knives, chop them off for me. I don’t want them anymore.”
“Stop being a whiny little princess.”
“Seriously, they ache. If I keep doing this, I’m going to have to invest in better-soled shoes.”