25. Shelby
Dear Jessica,
Remember all those times we used to talk about what we thought it would be like to kiss a boy? And I know you never want me to bring this up again, but that time we practiced on our teddy bears?
Well, honestly? We had no idea. I had no idea until yesterday. I’ve kissed boys before. Plenty of them. But I’ve never felt like I did when Mac kissed me.
That’s right, Mac and I kissed. And it was un-fucking-believable, pardon my French.
When I tell you it was the most amazing feeling in the world, I’m not exaggerating. It was like a thousand butterflies flying over you all at once. Or sticking your finger in an electric socket that somehow doesn’t hurt you.
Okay, that’s corny. But I feel like I fully understand the words Duke Dick said now: “Milady, I did not know the depth of pleasure to be found in the human touch until I chanced to graze my finger upon your arm.”
But Jessica, as good as it feels, I’m scared. I feel like I’ve cast a spell on this man, and he’s going to wake up and realize it’s me he’s been kissing.
Me, the girl you had to rescue over and over again at school until you couldn’t. I guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like, since you were always the perfect one.
I just have to remember what you told me before you left. That thing about me being amazing too.
—Shelby
After all the tension between us, I wonder if I’ve misread things. Because at nine o’clock, Mac excuses himself, saying he’s tired.
“Good night,” he says with a brief wave. I know, theoretically, that this is probably his way of saying good night to Nate. But still, my body roils with doubt as we say goodbye and I watch him disappear up the stairs.
“You want to play the next level with me?” Nate asks.
I bring my attention back to him, my chest softening. “I’m sorry. I should probably take a rain check. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a lie. I tossed and turned, agonizing over the roller coaster of the day yesterday. And now my stomach churns, unsure whether I dreamed up all that talk this afternoon.
“Me neither, actually.” Nate rubs his hand over the back of his neck. It’s the same gesture his dad makes, and it makes my heart squeeze. “I’m glad you’re back,” he mumbles.
Oof. Now my heart squeezes so tightly it actually hurts. “Me too.” I smile at this sweet boy. “Can I give you a hug?”
Nate flushes red, then nods like he’s much younger than fourteen.
It’s hardly a hug. He’s stiff as a board as I lightly wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he beelines it to his room the minute I let him go. I still count it as a victory.
But when I retreat to my room a few minutes later and sink onto the bed, I wonder if coming back was the right decision.
That is, until there’s a soft knock on the door a moment later.
My heart does a singular thud in my chest.
When I open the door, Mac’s giant figure fills the doorway. The deck behind him is draped in dark shadows.
“I thought you were tired,” I say, leaving the door open for him and backing into my room.
“Tired of waiting to touch you,” he says, his voice a gravelly rasp.
He’s in a T-shirt and jeans, and his feet are bare.
“Better come in, then,” I say, impressed I got the words out without my voice shaking. I want him so badly. I’ve never wanted anything so much, and part of me wonders if anything that happens after this can live up to the anticipation of wanting it.
But Mac reaches forward and hooks his finger into the waistband of my jeans. He pulls me toward him, and I know immediately how wrong I am.
Because when he crushes his lips to mine, the kiss is nothing short of explosive.
I feel rather than hear the deep groan that emanates from Mac’s chest. I feel the brush of his tongue against my lips in waves of pleasure over my skin, and when his tongue penetrates me, I swear I have a little mini mental orgasm right there.
I gasp when he breaks the kiss and his hands cup my neck, my jaw, his fingers sliding across my pulled back hair.
“I’m sorry,” Mac says against my lips. “I’m so sorry, Shelby.”
“Why?” I breathe. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
Mac holds me just a few inches away, his fingers locked around the base of my skull, his palms on my jaw. It’s like he wants to see me but doesn’t want to let me go.
I can’t begin to cover how that makes me feel.
“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t want you,” he says. “Last night was fucking unbearable. I wanted you so badly I couldn’t breathe.” He kisses me again, deep and with a rush of heat, then pulls away, his eyes still on my swollen mouth. “I got in the truck in the middle of the night. More than once.” He runs a callused thumb along my collarbone, his skin rough against me, the contrast underscoring every last perfect difference between us.
“You what?” My heart wants to savor every word he says. But the pulsing between my legs wants him to move. To touch every part of me now.
“I wanted to throw rocks at your window, Shelby. But I couldn’t trust myself not to go in there and throw you over my shoulder to bring you home.”
I laugh softly. “You’re out of your mind.”
“No. I’m just in…” He cuts himself off. “I just can’t stand to think of you existing, breathing the same air, looking at the same stars, and not have you right here with me.”
The terrifying thought that this can’t be real hits me. A man like this can’t exist, and he especially can’t want me. I must be dreaming. But I know I’m not. I know because Mac’s eyes are on mine as he lets one hand trail down my throat, over my collarbone. Only his fingers trail over my chest, but it’s enough to make my nipples spring into tight, arched points.
He makes a guttural sound as he draws his fingers over the twin pebbles protruding from my shirt.
“Mac,” I gasp, heat surging between my legs.
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long, Shelby,” he rasps. “You have no idea.”
I try to push the insecurity from my thoughts, but I can’t help the nervous laugh. “You haven’t.”
He freezes. “I have.”
I swallow hard. I hate the nagging need in the back of my mind wanting validation. Wanting him to reassure me that he wants me. But maybe it’s not that. Maybe all I need is proof. “Show me,” I whisper.
He closes the door behind him, then turns around to face me. “No.”
Nerves make my belly tighten. “No?”
He shakes his head. “No, Shelby. You show me.”
I swallow. Laugh, nervously.
“I want you to show me what I’ve wanted to see for so long.” He guides me back to the bed, easily lifting me onto it. “Please. Don’t make me beg.”
I laugh softly.
“Unless you like that?” he asks.
I laugh. Nerves have been rattling through me, but his words and the way he’s looking at me, like he means what he says, give me a burst of self-confidence. Like him looking at me isn’t a mistake or generic lust.
Like he wants me.
I wish I’d worn a nicer bra, but I didn’t exactly know this would be happening.
I didn’t dare even imagine it.
The bra is a gray jersey cotton that’s meant to support my large cup size, not scream sexy beast.
But when I pull my shirt off, Mac’s pupils flare.
I didn’t know men growling was real, but it’s there, a guttural hum that barely forms the word.
“More,” he growls. His eyes are glued to my chest.
When I take off my bra, he closes his eyes, tipping his head back and popping his jaw as if needing to check himself. “Goddamn, Ponytail.”
I laugh at his joke nickname, which, honestly, I don’t mind. But with my shirt off and his eyes on me, I instinctively wrap my hands around my waist, self-conscious.
When Mac opens his eyes again, though, he shakes his head. “No.” He gently unfurls my arms from my body. He kisses each of my palms in turn before setting my hands down on the bed. It was a clever way to get me to stop hiding, because I’m swooning now.
“I knew it,” he says, still holding my wrists, his hands resting on mine on the duvet.
“Knew what?” I ask, breathless.
“That if I ever got to see you naked, it would be better than I could have imagined.”
He buries his face in my neck, dropping soft kisses along my throat and making low, appreciative sounds with words I can’t decipher. Maybe there aren’t any. Or maybe I can’t hear because of the rush of blood in my ears and the tingling so intense across my skin I swear it crackles.
I moan, then bite my lips in my teeth. “We should be quiet,” I say.
Mac shakes his head. “We’re in a separate building. Plus, he’s got his headphones on.”
I relax slightly. That is until Mac slides his hands up, cupping each of my breasts.
“So fucking beautiful,” he marvels.
I’ve always been annoyed with the size of my chest—I developed early and was the source of a good amount of teasing. I can’t go anywhere without a military-grade bra. But seeing Mac savoring them like his own personal treasure has me feeling like they might not be only an impediment.
He runs his rough thumbs over my nipples, sucking in air as they tighten under his touch. “Perfect. Fucking perfect.”
Then he grumbles, sliding his hands down. “I need you over here.” He wraps his hands around my ribs and lifts me up, tossing me back on the middle of the bed like I weigh nothing at all.
He stands there for a moment, his eyes raking over me. “Jesus, Shelby.” He runs a hand over the bulge at his crotch. My pussy throbs. I want him. I want to see his cock properly this time, right now.
But he’s only readjusting himself.
“It’s only fair you take your shirt off too,” I say.
Mac doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his shirt off in one smooth movement. He’s fucking perfect too. That big chest covered in downy dark hair, the trail dipping into his jeans.
“Look at how beautiful you are, Shelby,” he says. “Look at the way you fill my hands. Like you were made for me.” My tits do fill his giant hands perfectly; his rough hands are such a delicious contrast on my soft, pale flesh.
Richard would grab my breasts kind of perfunctorily. But it never seemed like he was that into them. It never seemed like he was that into me at all, at least physically.
But Mac? His appreciation is clear in the almost pained expression on his face.
He squeezes just enough that my nipples push out toward his waiting tongue.
Liquid pleasure shoots through me as he takes my nipple into his warm, wet mouth. I moan, tipping my head back, letting myself fall into the sensation.
There’s so much I could worry about. So many flaws and problems. But all of them vanish under his touch. The sensation of his tongue on me, along with his unadulterated enjoyment of what he’s doing, has me losing the last of my inhibitions.
I arch my back, thrusting my tits into his mouth, grasping the duvet with my fists. “I want you, Mac,” I breathe without knowing the words were even going to come.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Say that again.”
“I want you,” I moan.
“You want this, Shelby?” He sinks his teeth into one of my nipples, swirling his tongue around the trapped flesh, tugging at it so all I feel is delicious, mind-bending tension. God, if this feels so good, I can’t even think about what the rest will be like. I had this idea that maybe we’d chastely make out, but that’s out the window. I chucked it out there myself.
“Yes,” I groan, almost shaking with pleasure now. “I want more. I want to feel you—” I swallow. I never talk during sex. I don’t think I’ve ever understood what this kind of desire really felt like. “I want you inside me,” I say.
Mac’s long lashes drop as his eyes go to half-mast. “Tell me again.”
“I want your hard cock inside me, Mac.” I say it with such conviction he grins.
“You’re a dirty girl, Shelby.” He pulls my zipper down. Then, to my shock, he gently slaps the side of my breast, making it bounce.
“Oh!” I gasp with surprise and unexpected pleasure.
He strokes his tongue over the same spot, almost an apology. But I shake my head, rising up on my elbows. “Do it again.”
“What, this?” Mac asks, slapping my breast again. He bites his lower lip as he watches it respond. Watches me respond.
“You like having your tits slapped, Shelby?” he asks.
I groan. “Yes. Again.”
He obliges, this time catching my swaying breast in his mouth, sucking hard before releasing my nipple with a wet pop.
My legs drift open all on their own, my breath coming in short pants.
Mac meets my eyes as he grazes his knuckles over my underwear.
“Yes,” I say. “There.” I lift my hips up in a silent plea for him to touch the part of me that’s already pulsing for him.
“Are you wet for me, Shelby?” Mac asks it in a mischievous tone.
It drives me fucking wild. “Yes.” Apparently, I’m reduced to monosyllables.
Mac grins wickedly. “I better check for myself.”
I lift my hips again, moaning like he’s already touching me.
Mac slips his fingers under the gusset of my underwear. He sucks in a breath. “Jesus, Shelby. So fucking wet for me. It’s almost like you want to get fucked.”
Oh my God, this man. I tip my head back as he runs his thumb over my entrance.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“What?”
“Tell me how you want to get fucked, Shelby.”
Heat coils in my belly. I look up again, barely able to catch my breath. He presses his thumb into me. “Well?”
I groan, meeting his eye. “I never would have guessed,” I make a guttural sound as he dips his thumb farther in, “that the man who prefers to grunt could be so verbose.”
“You have that effect on me,” he says, the curl of a grin on his face. “Now tell me, Shelby. Tell me exactly how you want this pussy fucked.”
I whimper, suddenly embarrassed. But he runs a circle around my opening with his slick thumb, and the sound I’m making rises. “I want you to touch my clit.”
“Like this?” His thumb slides up, landing directly on me. I cry out at the sharp zing of pleasure that rockets through me.
“Fuck, Shelby.” He shifts on the bed, almost like he’s uncomfortable lying on his front. But then he pulls my underwear aside and spreads me open, and then its him making the guttural sound. He switches his thumb for his forefinger, sliding it in only a little until he hits a spot I didn’t think worked on me.
When he brings his lips to my clit, I nearly come right there. He sucks on my clit, bringing this intense pleasure right where I want it, then pulses his tongue across it at the same time.
“Yes!” I cry. “Mac, I’m going to come…right away.”
I’ve never been brought so close to the edge so quickly, not even with my super-strength vibrator.
“Not yet,” Mac says. He gets up and tugs my underwear down, tossing it on the floor with the rest of my clothes. He looks at my spread pussy like a starving man looking at a feast. “I changed my mind,” he rasps, bending down again. He hooks my calves over his massive shoulders. “I want to live right here.”