21. A Sweet Torture
A Sweet Torture
TALIA
Macklin goes to answer the door, and that gives me the chance to pull myself together.
I’m a mess. He hasn’t even kissed me and I’m so wet that I’m glad I’m not wearing a skirt today. Or I would be worried that my excitement would run down my thighs.
He promised that he isn’t going to get bored, and he isn’t going to give up. I hope he means it.
I’m relieved that he didn’t run for the hills when I told him how inexperienced I am.
A lot of guys these days don’t want to date a virgin. It’s become almost a stigma. It’s like they don’t want to be someone’s first.
Sam and I have been debating this at length. She says men are just as stressed as we are about first times, and sex with someone who has never done it feels like a huge responsibility.
I disagree. I’ve been around my brother and his teammates since high school, and I think they aren’t worried about not measuring up to being someone’s first.
These days, both men and women seem to be more and more reluctant to get into relationships, especially in college.
It’s a hookup culture. And while I don’t judge people for wanting to have fun and see what’s out there, I think it’s become the norm that when you sleep with someone it’s a no string attached deal.
So hooking up with a virgin is too much pressure, not because men feel nervous about not making it good for her, but because they’re worried she’ll fall for them and become attached.
The thought hits me that maybe Macklin should run for the hills. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already attached. I already want more than a fake relationship.
Maybe it’s because I was already attached. I was already pining for him even before he noticed in class and asked me to help him study.
And what does it say about me that I’m catching major feelings for my fake boyfriend even before this relationship gets off the ground while I’m also pining for his brother?
Macklin is convinced that seeing me with him will give Becks the push he needs to make the move he didn’t make when he walked me home.
I know I didn’t imagine the vibe between us. Or at least, I think I didn’t.
These intrusive thoughts aren’t helping. I need to quit thinking and see what happens. Trust that Macklin knows what he’s doing. If anything, I promised to help him with Gen. And I’m someone who keeps her promises.
During my mini meltdown I’ve been wandering around Macklin’s room.
Being around his things feels oddly private, and I take in everything.
From the big TV in a corner with a console next to it to the dark blue comforter on his bed.
I bet the red t-shirt slung over the back of the chair by his desk smells like him, like clean cotton with a vague hint of soap, but I don’t dare smell it to confirm my suspicions.
If he walked in on me smelling his stuff like a creep, I’d be mortified.
There’s a framed picture on his desk, and I can’t resist the urge to look at it.
It’s one of those digital frames. The photo must be a few years old.
Macklin’s hair is a lot longer than he wears it now, and it has a definite wave to it.
He has on a red hockey jersey, not the Cove Knights one; I assume it must be his high school team.
He’s skinnier in the photo; he must have worked hard to put on more muscle since then.
He’s smiling wide in the photo, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a woman with his same eyes and long blonde hair. His mother.
His father is standing proudly behind them, and I notice how Macklin inherited his dad’s jawline. But Becker, who’s standing next to them in his teenage version, has the older man’s nose and lips.
I press the forward button, and the second photo is of Macklin and Genevieve’s.
She’s in a cheerleading outfit and is smiling wide with her arms around his neck.
Macklin looks serious, almost uncomfortable.
Like he doesn’t want to be there. Or maybe I’m projecting because I hate looking at the possessive way Gen is holding onto him.
I press the forward button again, and the next photo is of Macklin and Becks.
They’re grinning at whoever took the photo, their arms around each other.
I notice that one of Becks’s front teeth is broken.
One of the hazards of playing hockey. Dad always joked about how pleased he was that Tucker was a goalie because fewer brawls and a slightly lower chance of getting a stick to the teeth meant huge savings in dental work.
Of course, goalies are prone to a lot of other injuries, but that’s a totally different matter.
I’ve been so engrossed in the photos that I didn’t notice that Macklin came back.
“Pizza is here.” He’s standing behind me, so close that I can feel his body heat when he covers my hand that’s holding the frame with his. “That’s one of my favorite photos of me and Becks. I was a high school senior then, and he was a junior. Things seemed easier between us back then.” He muses.
I put the frame down and he comes closer. He’s still behind me, my back now almost flush with his front.
“Are you hungry, or do you want to eat later?”
His lips are close; they’re touching the back of my ear. My body is trapped between him and the desk.
I have nowhere to go, but the truth is that there’s nowhere else I would rather be.
“Later.” I murmur, fighting to keep my voice from trembling.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He whispers.
Macklin moves my hair off my shoulder and presses a kiss on the spot right under my ear.
My body is tense, taut with need and a little anxiety. It’s not because I don’t trust him. I do. It’s just… what if I’m not pretty enough for him? Just the idea of being naked in front of him makes me want to run.
He’s the epitome of masculine strength, and he’s gorgeous. Perfect. I’m not.
“We have certain standards when it comes to the physical appearance of our dancers. And you don’t meet those standards.”
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Talia.” He whispers, as if he heard me freaking out in my own head. “So delicate and soft.”
His fingers follow the same trajectory as his lips. Down my neck and along my shoulder.
His touch is so gentle, his skin slightly rough in contrast with the buttery softness of his lips.
When he reaches the base of my neck, he grazes with his teeth. It’s soft and sensual, and I feel it everywhere in my body.
As he keeps kissing my shoulder, moving the straps of my top, his fingers trail down my arms. It’s a feather light touch, so so slow. Like he was trying to learn my shape inch by inch.
Once he reaches my fingers, he starts back up my arms and then down, tracing the sides of my chest.
He’s barely touching me and I’m ready to melt into a puddle of goo.
“You’re so perfect.” His hands are at my waist, then my stomach, trailing along the sliver of skin between the hem of my top and the waistband of my jeans.
“I’m not perfect.” The words escape of their own accord.
Macklin’s lips stop. “You’re wrong. You are perfect. Can you feel what you do to me? How hard you make me? And I haven’t even taken your clothes off.”
He ends his slow perusal of my body to press me tighter against him. He isn’t lying. He’s hard against my back.
Macklin
I’m about to lose my goddam mind.
I’ve been dreaming about this, to have Talia in my arms, for years.
And now that she’s here, I’m doing everything I can to not fuck it up.
My cock is already painfully hard, and it’s sending these powerful signals to my brain.
If I listened to my urges, I would spin her around, hoist her onto my desk and sink into her.
But I made her a promise; we have a deal.
“I’ve never had an orgasm. Not even close.”
My competitive nature can’t resist the urge to rise to that challenge. And taking Talia straight to pound town like a fucking caveman is the foolproof way of not delivering on my promises.
I take a step back and turn Talia around to face me.
So far, I’ve been keeping my kisses shallow and light. But the second I put my lips on hers, I press hard. Since the night of the party, all I’ve wanted to do is kiss her like I mean it. Again.
Talia responds to my pressure by opening up for me, and I think I’m not the only one who’s been dying to be alone together.
She matches every stroke of my tongue with one of her own, and it’s fucking perfect.
One of my hands goes to her throat, my fingers right over her pulse point. I don’t squeeze, I just keep her there. Anchoring us both for just a few moments.
Because with every brush of lips, every stroke of tongue, the need between us burns hotter and brighter, and I want more.
My other hand sneaks under the fabric of her top, traveling up until I find a soft, round breast.
I trace the perfect shape and then cup it, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her already taut nipple.
Talia’s breath hitches in my mouth and pinch the hard point between two fingers.
Her nipples harden even more, and so do I.
“Is this ok?” I ask, signaling my intention to lift her top over her head.
“Hmm.”
I think that’s a yes, but I want to be sure. “Use your words, baby. If I do something you don’t want or that doesn’t feel good, I need you to let me know. You’re not going to hurt my feelings, I promise.”
“Yes, Macklin.” She whispers. “It’s ok.”
Talia lifts her arms to help me lift her top over her head.
“Jesus.” I half-moan, half-groan when my eyes land on her naked chest. I love that she isn’t wearing a bra, one less barrier between me and her tits. “I’ve always imagined the way you would look and damn. You’re even more beautiful than my imagination could ever conjure. You’re perfect.”
“I’ve always wished they were bigger.” She says, lowering her eyes to her tits.
I cup both breasts, pushing them together and massaging them gently. “Are you kidding? They’re the perfect amount to fill my hands. And one day, if you let me, I’m going to fuck them and come all over them.”
Surprise washes over her face, and for a second, I think I might have gone too far.
“That sounds… hot.”