For The One(48)

“I don’t like to be touched lightly.”

Suddenly, the pressure from her hand increases as she presses harder. My heart starts to race directly under her hand, which rests firmly on my sternum.

“How’s that?”

“Better,” I answer, but my voice is a rasp. It’s suddenly harder to speak and my mouth is dry. I’m almost obsessed with the thought of kissing her again.

It’s a weird word, kiss. With so many different meanings, it confuses me sometimes. A kiss can be a kind of chocolate, it can be a kiss of death, it can be truelove’s kiss. It can be the chaste pressure of lips against a cheek in greeting or a momentary show of affection. But that same word can also describe incredible, unfathomable passion. Like Jack and Rose’s forbidden kisses in Titanic, though their love was a doomed one. Or that expression of undying love and a promise of self-sacrifice, like Arwen’s promise to Aragorn when she declares she will give up the immortal life of an elf in order to be with him as a mortal.

“Was that true…what you said during the game?” she says in a quiet voice.

“I don’t recall lying during that game.”

“When you said you’ve never slept with someone—I mean…are you a virgin?”

I think about how I want to answer that question, and the silence stretches on.

She shifts, turning toward me. “I don’t think less of you because of it, if that’s why you aren’t answering. In fact, it’s just the opposite.”

“Really?”

“I’m actually just surprised. You’re very handsome. There are women in the clan who would jump at the chance to…jump you.” All that does is produce images of people jumping in my mind—on a pogo stick, on a trampoline, off a cliff—though I’m vaguely aware that she’s referring to sex and not actual jumping.

“I’ve had the opportunity. I chose not to.”

Her head lifts from the pillow. “Really? You didn’t want to?”

“I want to. With the right person.” I wait for her to react in the number of ways I’ve heard before…disbelief or disgust or with questions about my sexuality.

“That means that sex means more to you than it does most guys.”

She’s right, and something inside of my chest twists at her words. It sounds as if she admires that difference, which has been both a blessing and a curse to me in my life. I am different.

But Jenna understands me. It’s been a long time since anyone really has.

And I can no longer resist. I want more of what we shared last weekend. I turn to her and press my mouth to hers. She lets out a little gasp, and I might have pulled away if I wasn’t already desperate for her.





Chapter 11

Jenna

William’s tongue breached my lips, slipping in effortlessly without asking permission this time. He’d assumed authority and I happily ceded it to him—even more happily when his hand slid from my head, down my back, to my hip and then slowly to my butt.

What the hell was this? My body was trembling like I was the virgin, not him. Suddenly, I couldn’t catch my next breath. There was so much here in this moment, and I was almost overwhelmed by the swift rush of feelings.

I wasn’t drunk on liquor anymore. I was drunk on him. His smell. His taste. The feel of his hard, masculine body beside mine.

Twenty minutes ago, I’d retreated into the dark, accompanied only by aching thoughts about today’s visit to the cemetery and my potential lifetime of loneliness. I’d been licking my wounds when William had entered and immediately honed in on my emotional state. It was humbling to have him here, but impulse alone had driven me to ask for his comfort.

And he’d offered it with no aim to take it any further. He’d stroked my hair and held me in his arms, where I felt so safe. Like I could sleep for a decade wrapped in his iron embrace. Like I was Hera asking Hypnos, the god of sleep, for the blessings of peaceful, uninterrupted rest.

What did this mean? And why was it making me ache with even more longing than before? For the love of the goddess…

My heart raced, but it wasn’t just from the pangs of desire. It was fear. Pure, screaming fear put me in fight-or-flight mode while playing tug-of-war with hungry, burning lust that wanted more, more, more.

When William’s callused hand clasped the tender skin of my neck, desire won out. The rough feel of his fingers was maddening, ratcheting up the lust a few more notches from the already blazing level of our kisses.

I placed my hands on his firm chest, sliding over every plane. I itched to get under his shirt and vowed to have his clothes off in the next half hour. This hot hunk of man-virgin was not going to stay that way much longer if I had anything to say about it.