Falling into You by Jasinda Wilder
Page 8
I nodded, but I had to push away the dizzying storm of thoughts rushing through my head from the conversation. Becca hung out for a while longer, finished Teen Mom, which suddenly took on a whole new level of meaning, and then went home.
It took me a long time to fall asleep after Becca left. All I could think of was how I’d had to push myself away from Kyle that evening, how I’d felt like I was drowning in him, losing myself in his kisses. How easy it would be to just let go and let myself be swept away.
I didn’t want to have any doubts, though. I didn’t want to show up at Becca’s house afterwards and cry because I hadn’t been a hundred percent ready to have sex with Kyle.
A voice whispered deep in my head, though, and asked me if I’d ever be completely ready, if it was even possible to be a hundred percent ready for something like that.
* * *
Two weeks later, late on Friday night, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Kyle’s Camaro as we carved through a thick blanket of drifting snow. Our favorite song, our song, was playing on the radio: Jason Mraz’s “Lucky”, and I sang along. Kyle was frowning in concentration, the brights on and still barely able to pierce the pall of falling white. He was going barely thirty on a dirt road near our houses which I knew he knew like the back of his hand.
“This snow is effing crazy,” Kyle said. “I can’t see ten feet in front of me, and my back tires keep slipping. ”
“Maybe we should pull over and see if it lets up a little,” I suggested.
“No, I’ll be fine. We’re not far from home anyway. I’ll just take it slow. ”
I rolled my eyes, having known even as I suggested it that he wouldn’t pull over and wait. We rounded a curve and Kyle let out a curse as the back tires fishtailed. I peered through the snow ahead of us and saw the reason for Kyle’s panic: a huge doe standing in the middle of the road, eyes gleaming blue-green-silver in the headlights, stock still and frozen and getting larger by the second. He cursed again and downshifted, trying to get the car under control, but the Camaro only fishtailed worse before twisting into a flat spin.
“Move, goddamn it, you stupid deer!” Kyle shouted as we span closer to the animal.
Kyle knew how to drive in the snow, however, and he pumped the brakes, turned into the spin and touched the gas. The Camaro went through a third complete three-sixty, but it was slowing on the dirt, gravel and snow mixture. The front quarter of the car thudded into the deer, and the car shook violently on the impact. I screamed and braced my hands on the dashboard, but was unable to look away as the deer was knocked backwards, stumbling and falling to its side in the snow. Kyle was able to get the car to a stop, the lights bathing the motionless deer in the middle of the road, snow like a curtain of white all around us. We were both panting, Kyle’s hands clenching the wheel in a white-knuckle grip.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, glancing at Kyle. He met my eyes, and we both cracked up in semi-hysterical laughter. I lunged over the gearshifter and wrapped my arms around his neck, trembling now that it was over and the rush of adrenaline hit me. The seatbelt was cutting into my chest, so I clicked it free and held tighter to Kyle. He shoved the shifter into park and then pulled me closer. I clumsily clambered across the console so I was straddling him, clinging to his neck. He took my face in his hands and pulled me into a deep, heated kiss.
I lost myself in him, then, gave myself over completely. Adrenaline was coursing through me, powering me with lightning-hot energy. I clenched my fists in the hair at the back of his head, then clawed my hands across his shoulders. My fingers caught the neck of his shirt and my palm slipped under the cotton to stutter over bare flesh. I gasped at the heat of his skin, at the electricity zinging through my body at the feel of his skin.
And then he touched me. Oh god. His fingers curled under my coat and under my shirt and palmed the hot flesh of my back. I arched into his touch, felt his tongue dart out to taste mine, and I felt dizzy, subsumed, drowning wonderfully. I brought my hands around, feeling the ridges of his abs and the slabs of muscle on his chest. He mimicked my motion, sliding his hands around to trace my belly with his fingers, and then our kiss broke, leaving our lips touching, eyes open and sparking intensity between us. I held my breath as he brought his palms upward, bit my lip and drew a deeper breath as his hands cupped the lace of my bra.
I felt my ni**les harden under his touch, even through the bra, not looking away from him, giving him tacit permission to keep touching me. I shifted backward so my weight was on his knees and my back against the steering wheel. He hesitated with his hands cupping both br**sts, and I could see him thinking, wanting to push the moment. He wanted to touch bare skin. I wanted to let him. I liked his hands on my flesh, liked the lightning thrill of his hands on my skin.
I reached up and under my shirt, brushed the strap of my bra off one shoulder, then the other. Kyle curled his fingers under the edge of the cup, tugged it down and lifted my breast free. My shirt was still hanging between us, my coat unzipped and dangling open. The heater was still blasting, overheating both of us. I fumbled with one hand and cut the heater off, then returned my gaze to Kyle. He was watching me with a hooded gaze, warring with himself, his desire fighting reason.
I felt the same war. I wanted this with him. Here and now, I wanted him. Nothing else mattered. A voice in the back of my head reminded me of my conversation with Becca a couple weeks before. I pushed the voice aside. Kyle’s hands were roaming my belly, my sides, and returning to my br**sts. He had both of them free of the cups now, and was exploring my br**sts with his palms and fingers.
I shrugged out of my coat, and then, before I could second guess myself, I pulled my shirt over my head. Kyle sucked in a breath, a giddy smile curving his lips.
“God, you’re so hot,” he breathed, taking in my pale skin and the dark circles of my areolae and the pink buttons of my ni**les.
I bit my lip as he cupped on breast, rubbing the nipple in circles with his thumb, squeezed my eyes shut in a rush of nerves, feeling suddenly exposed, shame fighting with desire. I wanted this. I liked this. It was okay, right? This was Kyle, my boyfriend and best friend and I loved him.
The last thought came a shock, drawing a gasp from me. I love him? Did I? My heart swelled and ached every time I was near him, and the thought of not being with him scared me. That was love, right? I wanted to be with him all the time, every moment.
“I wish I could see all of you right now,” he said, caressing my breast.
I nodded, but I had to push away the dizzying storm of thoughts rushing through my head from the conversation. Becca hung out for a while longer, finished Teen Mom, which suddenly took on a whole new level of meaning, and then went home.
It took me a long time to fall asleep after Becca left. All I could think of was how I’d had to push myself away from Kyle that evening, how I’d felt like I was drowning in him, losing myself in his kisses. How easy it would be to just let go and let myself be swept away.
I didn’t want to have any doubts, though. I didn’t want to show up at Becca’s house afterwards and cry because I hadn’t been a hundred percent ready to have sex with Kyle.
A voice whispered deep in my head, though, and asked me if I’d ever be completely ready, if it was even possible to be a hundred percent ready for something like that.
* * *
Two weeks later, late on Friday night, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Kyle’s Camaro as we carved through a thick blanket of drifting snow. Our favorite song, our song, was playing on the radio: Jason Mraz’s “Lucky”, and I sang along. Kyle was frowning in concentration, the brights on and still barely able to pierce the pall of falling white. He was going barely thirty on a dirt road near our houses which I knew he knew like the back of his hand.
“This snow is effing crazy,” Kyle said. “I can’t see ten feet in front of me, and my back tires keep slipping. ”
“Maybe we should pull over and see if it lets up a little,” I suggested.
“No, I’ll be fine. We’re not far from home anyway. I’ll just take it slow. ”
I rolled my eyes, having known even as I suggested it that he wouldn’t pull over and wait. We rounded a curve and Kyle let out a curse as the back tires fishtailed. I peered through the snow ahead of us and saw the reason for Kyle’s panic: a huge doe standing in the middle of the road, eyes gleaming blue-green-silver in the headlights, stock still and frozen and getting larger by the second. He cursed again and downshifted, trying to get the car under control, but the Camaro only fishtailed worse before twisting into a flat spin.
“Move, goddamn it, you stupid deer!” Kyle shouted as we span closer to the animal.
Kyle knew how to drive in the snow, however, and he pumped the brakes, turned into the spin and touched the gas. The Camaro went through a third complete three-sixty, but it was slowing on the dirt, gravel and snow mixture. The front quarter of the car thudded into the deer, and the car shook violently on the impact. I screamed and braced my hands on the dashboard, but was unable to look away as the deer was knocked backwards, stumbling and falling to its side in the snow. Kyle was able to get the car to a stop, the lights bathing the motionless deer in the middle of the road, snow like a curtain of white all around us. We were both panting, Kyle’s hands clenching the wheel in a white-knuckle grip.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, glancing at Kyle. He met my eyes, and we both cracked up in semi-hysterical laughter. I lunged over the gearshifter and wrapped my arms around his neck, trembling now that it was over and the rush of adrenaline hit me. The seatbelt was cutting into my chest, so I clicked it free and held tighter to Kyle. He shoved the shifter into park and then pulled me closer. I clumsily clambered across the console so I was straddling him, clinging to his neck. He took my face in his hands and pulled me into a deep, heated kiss.
I lost myself in him, then, gave myself over completely. Adrenaline was coursing through me, powering me with lightning-hot energy. I clenched my fists in the hair at the back of his head, then clawed my hands across his shoulders. My fingers caught the neck of his shirt and my palm slipped under the cotton to stutter over bare flesh. I gasped at the heat of his skin, at the electricity zinging through my body at the feel of his skin.
And then he touched me. Oh god. His fingers curled under my coat and under my shirt and palmed the hot flesh of my back. I arched into his touch, felt his tongue dart out to taste mine, and I felt dizzy, subsumed, drowning wonderfully. I brought my hands around, feeling the ridges of his abs and the slabs of muscle on his chest. He mimicked my motion, sliding his hands around to trace my belly with his fingers, and then our kiss broke, leaving our lips touching, eyes open and sparking intensity between us. I held my breath as he brought his palms upward, bit my lip and drew a deeper breath as his hands cupped the lace of my bra.
I felt my ni**les harden under his touch, even through the bra, not looking away from him, giving him tacit permission to keep touching me. I shifted backward so my weight was on his knees and my back against the steering wheel. He hesitated with his hands cupping both br**sts, and I could see him thinking, wanting to push the moment. He wanted to touch bare skin. I wanted to let him. I liked his hands on my flesh, liked the lightning thrill of his hands on my skin.
I reached up and under my shirt, brushed the strap of my bra off one shoulder, then the other. Kyle curled his fingers under the edge of the cup, tugged it down and lifted my breast free. My shirt was still hanging between us, my coat unzipped and dangling open. The heater was still blasting, overheating both of us. I fumbled with one hand and cut the heater off, then returned my gaze to Kyle. He was watching me with a hooded gaze, warring with himself, his desire fighting reason.
I felt the same war. I wanted this with him. Here and now, I wanted him. Nothing else mattered. A voice in the back of my head reminded me of my conversation with Becca a couple weeks before. I pushed the voice aside. Kyle’s hands were roaming my belly, my sides, and returning to my br**sts. He had both of them free of the cups now, and was exploring my br**sts with his palms and fingers.
I shrugged out of my coat, and then, before I could second guess myself, I pulled my shirt over my head. Kyle sucked in a breath, a giddy smile curving his lips.
“God, you’re so hot,” he breathed, taking in my pale skin and the dark circles of my areolae and the pink buttons of my ni**les.
I bit my lip as he cupped on breast, rubbing the nipple in circles with his thumb, squeezed my eyes shut in a rush of nerves, feeling suddenly exposed, shame fighting with desire. I wanted this. I liked this. It was okay, right? This was Kyle, my boyfriend and best friend and I loved him.
The last thought came a shock, drawing a gasp from me. I love him? Did I? My heart swelled and ached every time I was near him, and the thought of not being with him scared me. That was love, right? I wanted to be with him all the time, every moment.
“I wish I could see all of you right now,” he said, caressing my breast.