Page 385 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Just the moment.

I get lost in his kiss. In the feel of his skin and the taste on his tongue. In the unspoken need and unchecked desire.

We don’t walk to the bedroom. We remove our clothes in subtle movements, as if we’re afraid to ruin the magnitude of the moment, and lower ourselves to the rug.

We react in sighs and moans.

We feel in emotions.

We revel in the connection.

We make love for the first time.

I watch him.

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, but I can’t sleep.

And haven’t been able to.

My mind won’t shut off. I try to process everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.

I see Keely and the terrified look on her face and wonder if she slept last night. Did she have nightmares? Was she scared of the dark? Will someone show up today and make sure she’s okay? In ten days? In six months?

I try to come to terms with the fact that the whole reason I came to Sunnyville is now gone. I wonder what I should do next. If I should let the wind blow me wherever it wishes.

But there’s Grant.

I attempt to wrap my head around how I feel about the man snoring softly beside me. I itch to reach out and touch him, make sure the mix of emotions I feel are real, but if they’re not, I don’t want to ruin them with reality. They’re scary and euphoric and I don’t think I’m built to handle this.

I revel in how it felt last night to make love to him. To feeling closer to him than I’ve ever felt before without us having to utter a single word. To moving from the floor to the bed where he gathered me in his arms and didn’t let go. To how it took well over an hour for his breathing to even out while I wondered what he could possibly be thinking about.

The clock tells me I need to get to work, my first class is coming in just over two hours, but when I pull open the covers, he reaches out and tugs me against him, my back to his front.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs as the heat of his body warms me in more ways than one.

Sinking into the feel of him, I’m reminded immediately of his raw and honest need last night. I settle my hands atop his on my waist and fill the silence. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

He rests his forehead against the back of my head. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Well . . .”

“I did what I had to do, and it wasn’t enough.”

“It was everything,” I say as tears spring to life. “You gave her hope, Grant, when hope is a scarce commodity for her. You showed her there are men willing to protect her instead of hurt her. And while she may have gone back into her house last night because that was what the law demanded, you also made it so no one will ignore her again.”

“I didn’t save her,” he says, the statement holding so much weight in it.

“But you did. You let her know she’s worth something.” I link my fingers with his and pull his hand up to my lips so I can press a kiss to his knuckles. “You can’t go around saving every little girl because you see me. It’s honorable. It’s admirable. It fills my heart in ways you could never imagine. It’s why—” I love you.

I can’t say the words aloud just yet, their power too much for even me to handle right now.

“Why, what?”

“It’s . . . why you need to stop blaming yourself. What happened to me was not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it if you tried. It was my dad’s fault. I’ve accepted that, and I’ll continue to deal with accepting it the rest of my life . . .” I fumble with getting the things out I need to say so that he can stop beating himself up over this. So that we can move forward. “My dad stole so much from me, but I learned a long time ago that I can either let it define me or I can let it fuel me. I choose to let it fuel me, Grant. I choose not to let the fear own me or deprive me of what every woman deserves. Happiness. Some thrills. A good sex life.

“Am I perfect? No. Are there days when a new memory comes back and I’m rattled for a bit? Yes. But when it comes right down to it, I can’t keep moving forward, I can’t keep chasing the moment, if those around me who know about it keep looking to my past to manage expectations. That’s not fair to me.”

“You don’t need to know the details of her past to love her heart in the present,” he murmurs . . . or at least that’s what I think he does because he says it almost to himself before pressing a kiss to my shoulder.