Held A New Adult Romance(47)

“I hate it," he says. "The AC is always too high and everything costs so damn much." Then he catches himself bellyaching and gives me a brilliant smile that makes my heart twist. "And that was me channeling my Pops, by the way. Now you know how I'll sound when I'm seventy-five."

I laugh as we scoot down the aisle. "Your mother's dad or your dad's?"

"My Dad's," he says, the smile fading from his lips. "He kind of fell apart when Dad died - you're not supposed to bury your children, are you?"

"No. I'm sorry. Was it a long time ago?"

Jaime shakes his head and grabs a carton of eggs, holding it up for inspection. "Three years," he says. "They always say the younger you have the first heart attack the worse it is. Papi was only forty nine."

"Jesus. I'm so sorry."

He shrugs. "What can you do? It was weird the way my sister got pregnant right away after he died. We always say it was like his soul was trying to make its way back to us, like he knew he'd left us too soon and never got to say goodbye."

I cover his hand with mine on the rail of the shopping cart. He pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes and sighs. "These things happen. I can't imagine how it must have been for you – losing your mother."

I shake my head. "I was too young to really understand it. I know that sounds cold, but that's how it was."

He doesn't say anything and I'm glad - I don't think I could handle anyone telling me I wasn't cold right now. Once I used to worry that I was empty and felt nothing. I got heavily into nihilism and sloped around in black eyeliner, convinced I was somehow broken inside. And maybe I still am.

It creeps up on me as we go around the store. I was as surprised as anyone to find that I wasn't panicking the second I set foot outside the door. I thought maybe I'd burned out all my panic cells with that big-ass attack yesterday. A couple of times Jaime tells me I'm doing well, but my heart keeps racing and I keep feeling it once more - the huge, devouring emptiness that I once thought had scooped me hollow.

"Are you okay?" Jaime asks, as we load up the Escalade.

"I'm fine," I say, but when we get in I'm antsy and I recognize the symptoms - the frantic desire to feel something, anything. The same stupid desire that led me to pick fights with Justin, just so we could scream at each other and make it up. It settles in my gut and between my legs, tugging at my frayed nerves, so that by the time we get back to the cabin I'm the same twitchy idiot who allowed that creep to manipulate her, the dumbass girl who didn't care how ridiculous the fight was, just so long as she got her fix of drama and a dick in her at the end of it.

I tell myself I won't subject Jaime to this, but his hand lingers on my ass while we're unpacking the groceries. His lips graze the edge of mine and it's all the encouragement I need to grab him, fist his shirt in both hands and stick my tongue down his throat. "Whoa," he says, softly. "You missed it that much already?"

"Yeah." Luckily I didn't put the condoms at the bottom of the bag.

"You want to go to bed?"

"I don't much care," I say, pulling off my pants and leading him by the hand into the living area. I feel twice as naked, stripped from the waist down like this, and I can tell he likes it too. He helps me unbutton him and springs up in my hand, warm and eager. And from there it's easy - I roll on the condom and straddle his lap. This is how he likes it. Dirty and hot, with me all but crawling the walls until he fills the void inside me with his solid flesh.

I moan like a porn star as he slides inside. The way he likes it - lots of moaning and tossing of hair. Only his hands are sliding up under my shirt and they're not the hands I remember; the fingertips are softer and their touch is so reverent I think I'm going to cry.

"Shh," he whispers. "Easy. Slow. It's not a race." And I'm back where I should be, in the present.

I tug the sweatshirt up over my head and push my breasts in his face. When his mouth closes over my nipple I cry out, no longer like a porn star but like myself, a weird, shattered little sound from deep down in the broken heart of me. Where once I would have rode a man hard, I barely stir, my hips held between his hands and him held tenderly between my hips. "That's it," he says, looking up from my breasts. "Gentle. That's it."

Slowly I begin to move around him, twisting my hips in slow circles.

"Good," he whispers, his eyes bright and dark and beautiful. "Good girl. Deep and slow. You got it. Fuck me, Amber. Fuck me just like that."

Oh God. I twist and shiver around him. When I lean forward he catches my tits in his mouth again and holds me tight around the waist, just like I need. I can feel the ache and swell of it rising inside me and rock my hips into his, slow and soothing. I have never felt like this before - not like I'm clawing and fighting to feel but like I'm slowly, deliciously unraveling. "You like that?" he breathes. "Is it good?"