He flexed his hips, his pelvis pressing against her clitoris at exactly the right angle, the sensation of him being inside her as her muscles clenched tight around him so incredible she couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure from escaping her lips.
She gripped his tight, muscular butt, so much more perfect than she’d even imagined. Everything so much more perfect than she’d imagined.
She wrapped her legs around his calves and held him to her, moving in rhythm with his thrusts, the pleasure building low in her stomach, emotion swelling in her chest, threatening to overflow. It came to a head, pushing her until she was certain that unless she found release, she would break apart into tiny little pieces beneath the weight of the pressure inside of her.
Then she was falling apart, splintering, release, pleasure, love, pouring through the cracks, filling her, washing through her. She dug her fingernails into his back, squeezing her eyes closed tight. She didn’t even try to stop the sharp cry that was climbing her throat, couldn’t feel embarrassed that she was arching and moving against him with no control at all.
Because he was right with her, his entire body trembling, his fist gripping the comforter by her head, a low, intense growl rumbling in his chest as he found his own release.
He lay above her, his breathing harsh, his heart pounding so hard she could hear it. And she was pretty sure he could hear hers, too.
“Wow,” she said.
He moved to the side, withdrawing from her body, one arm resting on her body. He was watching her closely, like he wanted to ask her something. Or like he thought he should but didn’t want to.
“You’ve never been careful about what you said to me before,” she said. “Don’t start now.”
He huffed a laugh. “Clara …”
“Actually I changed my mind,” she said. “We have one night. Why talk about anything?”
Something in his expression changed, hardened. “I think that’s a good idea.” He rolled to his side and stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He went into the bathroom and came back out a moment later.
“What do you propose we do, if we aren’t going to talk?”
She got up on her knees and went to the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck, uncharacteristic boldness surging through her. “I’m sure we can think of a few things.”
This was her night to have all of the man she loved. And she wasn’t going to miss out on a single experience.
Morning came too quickly, light breaking through the gauzy curtain that surrounded the bed, bringing reality in with the sunbeams.
She didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want to face reality. She’d felt like a princess last night; beautiful, desired. She’d felt like her dream was in her grasp. And this morning she felt like she’d turned back into a pumpkin. Reality sucked.
She looked at the man sleeping next to her, the only man she’d ever really wanted. The only man she’d ever loved.
And today, she would have to get up and forget that last night had happened. She would have to consign it to the “perfect memories” bin along with other things she pulled out when she was feeling lonely, or when things weren’t going well.
The thought made her whole body hurt.
“I arranged to have the plane leave in an hour or so,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“Okay,” she said, swallowing thickly and sliding out of the bed, clutching the sheet tightly to her breasts, desperate to cover herself now, in the light of day. It was one thing to feel sexy, to be all right with her nudity when he was looking at her like he was starving and she was a delicacy. A lot less easy when he seemed … uninterested.
“I’m going to take a shower real quick.”
He made a noise that might have been a form of consent, but she didn’t ask for confirmation before beating a hasty retreat to the bathroom. She turned the water on and sat on the closed toilet lid, letting the tears fall down her cheeks, hoping the sound of the water hitting the tile would drown out the sound of her sobs.
Zack sat up, a curse on his lips. Last night … last night had been an aberration. A hot, amazing aberration, maybe, but it could never happen again. He had been careless. He’d nearly forgotten to use a condom. And she’d been a virgin.
If he’d thought about it, if he’d thought at all, he would have guessed that. He knew her well enough to have picked up on how nervous she was, to understand what that meant. He also knew her well enough to know she wasn’t really a one-night-stand woman. She was sensitive, emotional. Sweet.
His stomach twisted, nausea overtaking him, spreading through his limbs. She probably wasn’t on birth control, and there was a possibility that in that moment, when he’d been inside of her without protection, that he’d made a very big mistake.
No, he knew he’d made a mistake. He hit his fist on the top of the nightstand and stood, stalking through the room collecting his clothes. Had he learned nothing? Was he as stupid now as he’d been fourteen years ago?
His heart froze for a moment, the events of what sometimes felt like a past life, playing through his head from start to finish. Like a horror film he couldn’t pause.
No. He’d worked way too hard to leave that person behind. That boy, who had been so irresponsible. Who had caused so much damage.
Last night he’d lost control. With Clara, of all people. She shouldn’t have tempted him like that. But she had. She’d made him shake like he was the virgin.
It couldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t. He might have lost his control for a moment, but he wouldn’t do it again.
Clara appeared a few moments later, her face scrubbed fresh and pink, her hair wet and wavy. She was dressed, a fitted T-shirt and jeans meaningless now since he’d already seen her naked and his mind was doing a very good job of envisioning her as she’d been last night.
All pale skin and soft curves. Pure perfection. Better than he’d ever imagined.
“Hey,” she said, trying to smile and not quite managing it.
“Are you all right?” he asked. He’d never slept with a virgin before, but that was only part of the foreign, first-time feeling he was dealing with. The other part of that was because it was Clara. And the rest was because of his carelessness.
Carelessness that had to be addressed.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Are you on birth control?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “No.”
He tried to get a handle on the gnawing panic in his gut. Condoms were reliable. He knew that. But there was the matter of his impatience, of his entering her, even briefly, without protection. He swore. “Why not?”
“What?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to start taking the pill just in case you invited me on your honeymoon and we hooked up? I was a virgin, you jackass.”
“I know,” he shouted, not sure why he was shouting, only that his blood was pumping too fast through his veins and his heart was threatening to thunder out of his chest. “I know,” he said again, softer this time.
“You used a condom,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Yes, I did, eventually. There’s a chance that kind of carelessness could have gotten you pregnant. It’s not a big chance, but there is a chance.”
“I … I seriously doubt that I’m pregnant. Well, obviously I’m not pregnant yet since things take a while to travel and … well, that’s high-school health, you know all that.”
“But there’s a chance. I’m usually more careful.”
“Zack, I think you’re overreacting.”
“Is that what you think, Clara?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “You think I’m overreacting because you think it can’t happen. But then, you’ve never been pregnant, obviously. And I have gotten a woman pregnant, so I think I might be a bit more in touch with that reality than you are. Do you know what it’s like? To know that everything in your life is going to have to change because for one moment you were so utterly selfish and consumed with one moment of pleasure that you didn’t think about anything else?”