Chapter Eight
Basil
Challenge: Hike a trail you’ve never no one’s ever been on before
Staying here was probably a mistake. But leaving wasn’t a better option. Did I want to have sex with her again? Absolutely. But there was something a little manic about the way Chelsea had invited me into her house, like she was trying to prove something to herself.
The fact I was the first man she’d trusted into her home? I couldn’t process how significant that was. How had I been singled out as special?
I followed her into her bedroom, taking in the details of her private world. The fluffy white duvet on her queen-size bed was turned down at the corner, a little rumpled but inviting. Her pale yellow walls displayed photos I wanted to examine more closely, but one in particular caught my eye: Chelsea’s black hair blew in strands behind her while she ran barefoot along a beach, a white dress riding up her thighs, laughing, expression so free and open. I wondered who’d taken that picture and where, but these were questions for another day.
Right now, I was interested only in the real girl biting her lower lip, so cute. Was she nervous? I’d never seen her lack confidence since I’d met her. Until tonight.
I circled her wrist and pulled her in, wrapping my arms around her to comfort her, to show her there were other ways of connecting. She melted against me.
When was the last time she’d been hugged?
It didn’t last. She drew me toward the edge of her bed, dropping on the mattress, her face level with my stiffening cock. “Let me,” she said as she unbuttoned my pants, slid the zipper down, and found me, already hard for her. She stroked me, and it felt incredible but somehow wrong.
As much time as I’d spent fantasizing about my cock in her mouth, this wasn’t how I wanted it. I dropped to my knees before her. Her cheeks were wet, and I wanted to know what was going on in her head. But unlike that first night in the bar when she’d so carelessly spilled so much truth, I had no idea how to coax out her secrets, so I lifted up on my toes and kissed her.
She responded with desperation, like sex with me was her Band-Aid. I wanted to ask who’d hurt her, though I had a guess.
“Chelsea,” I said, stroking her hair back out of her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She nodded, and I climbed up on the bed beside her. Her head fell against my chest, and I put my arm around her shoulders.
“I really like you.”
“I like you, too. Despite your terrible jokes.” Her back shook with quiet laughter.
There she was. I sighed with relief. “You remind me of my bratty sisters.”
She groaned. “God, I really hope not, you perv.”
I had to laugh. “I’m the perv? You’ve got a fencing fetish.”
“Swashbuckling. And I could lock you in an arm bar, so don’t mess with me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She faced me, swallowing back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so weird. If you want to go, I understand.”
She was scared to death of something, but as long as it wasn’t me she feared, we were good. I was starting to see the fissures in the wall around her heart. I didn’t want to break her; I just wanted the wall to crumble, leaving the girl intact.
“What do you need from me?”
“Kiss me?”
“That’s the easiest thing in the world.”
“And stay?”
“Already planned on it.”
This time, though, when I kissed her, I wasn’t as foolish as last time, rushing everything toward climax, like that was the best part of sex. I kissed her softly, never breaking away from her lips. My hands strayed to places I hadn’t yet explored. I let her undress me, and slowly, I peeled back her layers, touching her, finding what felt good to her, what tickled, what made her sigh. And I squirreled it all away because I was 100 percent sure no man knew this much about Chelsea Abbott.
And when at last she fumbled for the condom, I wanted to stretch this out, too. I kissed her as I slid into her, whispering, “You feel so good.”
She sighed and said, “You make me feel so good.”
Did she realize we were making love?
She came like a tiny earthquake, but quieter, and the power I felt at bringing her there brought me over the edge, too.
I kissed away a tear rolling down her temple and said, “Αγγελ?κι μου.”
She peered at me through wet eyelashes.
“What’s that?”
“It’s Greek.”
“You speak Greek?”
“I should hope so or I wouldn’t be able to talk to a lot of my family, but I never hear the end of how much I butcher it.”
“You never told me that. Do your parents speak Greek to you at home?”
“Not usually. They’re first generation, but they wanted us to assimilate, so they mostly speak English with us. It’s more that my yia yiadoesn’t speak any English, so it’s sink or swim.”
“Your yia yia?”
“It’s Greek for grandmom. Luckily, we had Greek school on Saturdays.”
“Greek school? What’s that?”
I rolled out of bed to take care of the condom as I said, “Just the greatest thing ever.”
“School on a Saturday?”
“Yeah, but fun.”
“School was never fun for me. What did you learn?”
“How to write the Greek alphabet, traditional dances, history, stuff about Greek heritage, food.”
I dropped back onto the mattress and pulled her against me, hoping she didn’t mind cuddling.
“And on Sundays, we went to church and sometimes didn’t get home until later that night.”
“You spent the day at church?” She sounded freaked out.
“Not at all. After church, we’d go to someone’s house and eat and eat and eat.”
“Well, that sounds more like it.” She rested her head against my shoulder, her fingers tickling the hairs on my chest. “Are you very religious?”
“Me? I go to church with my parents when I’m home.”
“Greek Orthodox, right?”
“Mmm hmm.” I kissed her forehead, so comfortable with this girl in my arms. “My dad’s more about Greek history and tradition than religion. If you’re smart, you won’t ask him to tell you about where he comes from unless you have a couple of hours and a six-pack of Red Bull.”
“Sounds fascinating.” Her knee slipped over my thigh, ankle hooking my calf. She was so sexy, so soft, molded into me, all I could think was mine , even though that was the one thing she swore she’d never be. “You’re lucky. My dad never gave a crap about wherever our family came from.”
She’d mentioned her dad that first night at the bar, and I got the sense she didn’t usually share whatever trauma he’d left her with, that she’d opened up to me only on that dare. “Where is he now?”
“Who the fuck knows?” She stiffened, and I braced for her to pull away, but she said, “What’s your mom like?”
“Ma?” How did you describe a mythic figure? “Fussy. She cares a lot about family and food. Oh and she’s incredibly superstitious—like black cats, evil eye, jinxes, the whole nine yards.”
“Seriously? Like broken mirrors, Friday the thirteenth?”
“ Tuesday the thirteenth, if you can believe it.”
She snorted. “What? Why?”
“Because Constantinople fell on a Tuesday.”
“The thirteenth?”
“Um. No.” I sighed, my dad’s nerdiness coming to haunt me. “But as I understand it, if you sum the digits of the year 1453, you get—”
“Thirteen.” She chuckled. “There’s so much I don’t know.”
“Me too, honestly.”
“I’d love to learn, though. I bet your dad is brilliant.”
I squeezed her tight. “Keep talking like that, you’ll make my parents love you.”
“Sounds like you have a pretty great family.”
I don’t know why, but I said, “It would serve you right to meet them. My mom would start planning our wedding.”
She swallowed hard. I knew I needed to back off the ommitment-cay alk-tay.
She pressed a chaste kiss against my neck. I doubted she realized she’d done it, but to me, it felt more intimate than everything we’d done together, more meaningful, more precious.
“I love the word yia yia. What was the other thing you said— anjelaki ? What does that mean?”
“Αγγελ?κι μου. It means my angel .”
I fully expected her to cringe, roll her eyes, tell me to go home, but she nestled into me and said, “That’s hot. Say more.”
I caressed her arm. “Λατρε?α μου.”
She tried to repeat it. “Latria mou? What’s it mean?”
“It literally translates to ‘my worship.’”
“Oh, I like that one. I’m going to have to start learning Greek.”
That little statement squeezed my heart with a strange feeling. Pride? Possession? I didn’t have a name for it. It made me ridiculously happy.
We drifted to sleep, snuggled together, emotionally connected in a new way. Did she realize how far we’d come together from the first night when she wouldn’t even give me her number? I’d practically had to trick her to let me cook her dinner the next time we met. But slowly, she was letting me into her world.
And she clung to me like a lifeline the entire night.
The price for every inch of ground I gained?
A piece of my heart.