Page 29 of Unwrapped
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“You told me to slow down, but now I’m realizing you meant stop.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I fucked up. I’m sorry if that was too much for you.”
“It kindawas. But it also wasn’t. Does that make sense?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” He brushes my hair back from my sweaty forehead. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“Yeah. I just need a breather.”
“Let me get you some water.” He grabs the empty glass from his nightstand and heads for the bathroom.
I’m sprawled on the bed like a limp noodle, completely spent, pulsing with the aftershocks of my orgasms. I’ve never experienced anything like that. After three years of celibacy, I was afraid my body wouldn’t remember how to respond. It turns out I had nothing to worry about.
Dean once again proved he’s nothing like his brother. We didn’t even go all the way, but the encounter was more intimate than anything I shared with Ryan. My ex was lazy in bed. He wanted me to do the work—strip for him, suck his dick, ride him. Our sex life always felt like a performance. Since he cheated, I assumed he lost interest in what I had to offer.
It was refreshing to have someone else run the show. To have a man lavish pleasure on me, instead of expecting me to simply get him off.
Dean returns with water and a wet cloth. He gently wipes my face, then presses it between my thighs before helping me sit up. “Drink,” he commands.
I chug the cool liquid and set the empty glass on his nightstand. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Speaking of,” I motion to his dick, “I’m sorry I had to tap out before you got yours.”
He settles on the bed and pulls me close. “Trust me, I’m more than satisfied.”
“But we didn’t—”
“Watching you unravel was better than any sex I’ve had.” His eyes burn into mine. “And hearing you moan my name was the best gift I’ve ever gotten, so please don’t worry about a damn thing. You were perfect. Better than Ieverimagined.”
“You’ve imagined me?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve starred in my fantasies foryears.”
Experiencing true intimacy cracked open the shell around my heart, allowing vulnerability to seep in, which fuels my need for reassurance. “Really?” I whisper, staring into his deep blue depths.
“Yes really. Remember when we crammed for finals at my place? I’m talking about the night with the freak thunderstorm.”
“Of course.” We lost power, but we were so nervous about our tests, we used flashlights to keep studying.
He runs his fingers through my hair. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you that night. We were on the couch. You were wearing a skirt. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kneel on the floor in front of you, shove your skirt up around your waist and throw your legs over my shoulders.”
I flush with the visual. “You were so quiet though.”
“Because I was afraid of telling you how much I wanted you. Fuck whatever I was studying, I wanted to learnyou. Kiss you. Hold you. Touch you. Lick you until you screamed.”
“I thought I was the only one having fantasies in the dark.”
“Definitely not. I can’t tell you how many times my mind has wandered back to that night.”
“Mine too. I wanted to kiss you but didn’t have the guts to try. Until, well, the night that shall not be named.”
Regret burns in his eyes. “I wish I could go back in time and do things differently. I need you to know that, Camille.”
“I do, now.”
“It fucking kills me that I hurt you.” He slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry for being too young, stupid—and afraid—to act on my feelings.” He grips my chin. “I need you toknowI wanted you all along. Pretty much since the first time we hung out alone.”
