The Heartbreaker

“Hm.” That gives me pause, but it makes sense.

When I was dating Lawrence, women never stopped flirting with him and I thought maybe they wanted to date him but that obviously wasn’t the case. He cheated on me more times than I realized and he still wasn’t dating any of them.

“I thought you wanted casual,” Jagger says after a moment. “Dating isn’t casual.”

“Just because I go on a date with someone doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with them. I just want to set ground rules so that this doesn’t become a problem if I decide to go grab coffee with another guy.”

“You can grab coffee with whomever you like.”

“Okay then. What about sleeping around?”

“What about it?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Will you still hook up with other women?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I’m not sure.” I bite my lip. I’m really not. I don’t consider myself a jealous person, but the times I’ve seen Jagger with other women I have definitely felt something. “Maybe we should revisit this one.”

“Okay.” He searches my eyes. “Are we done talking?”

My pulse leaps. “I think so.”

“Good.” He switches the car off and walks outside.

I grab the bag of leftovers at my feet and set a hand on the door, but he’s already opening it for me. When I step out of the car, he grabs the bags from my hand and pushes the car door shut. We walk into the house in silence, anticipation growing with each step. I really haven’t done this in a long time and I don’t know how to start. Normally, with Lawrence, we’d both be in bed getting ready to go to sleep and it would start gradually. With Jagger it seems foreign, like I’m completely starting over and don’t know what to do. He tosses his keys on the entrance table, sets the bags of food on the table, and looks over at me.

“You seem nervous.”

“I am.”

“Are you nervous because it’s me or . . . ” He starts walking toward me.

“I don’t know.” My heart is pounding so hard, my chest hurts. I’m one thousand percent nervous because it’s him. I try to envision this moment with someone like Bobby and I know I wouldn’t be reacting this way.

“This doesn’t even feel real.” He lifts a hand up and cups my face, his thumb brushing along my bottom lip. My mouth parts with an inhale. “I’m half expecting someone to show up and end this before it even starts.”

“Maybe we should,” I whisper. “Maybe that’s your conscience telling you this shouldn’t happen.”

“What is yours saying?” His eyes darken with the question.

“I can’t hear it. My heart is roaring too loudly and drowning it out.”

“Aren’t you supposed to follow your heart?”

“I don’t know.” I gasp when his hand moves and tightens on the nape of my neck, pulling me forward until our lips almost meet, but not quite.

“You need to decide,” he whispers against me. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” He pulls away slightly to search my eyes as if he knows that’s what I’m worried about and he’s looking for some sort of confirmation. I decide that I won’t allow myself to regret this. I want him too much. I need him right now.

“I want you,” I say, finally, and he crashes his lips to mine, growling as he deepens the kiss, his fingers wrapping into the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling as he walks me backwards.

My knees hit the couch and we both come crashing down on it. He lets go of me just in time to catch himself from completely landing on me and pulls away from the kiss. Hooded eyes look down on me and my chest suddenly feels full, a heaviness of inexplicable emotions ricocheting. Instead of giving them attention, I focus on unbuttoning his dress shirt, my hands shaking with nerves, with desire, with the absolute need for this. He brings a hand to my face, his long fingers running along the side of my neck, his thumb on my chin, brushing over my lower lip as I reach the last button. I tear my gaze from his and look at his torso, tanned and toned, every single muscle cut and defined as if he were etched. He lifts up and finishes taking the shirt off, tossing it on the floor. Instead of coming right back down, he stays sitting back on his heel and stands up.

“I’ll be right back.” He leans down and kisses me in a way that renders me speechless and leaves me writhing even as he pulls away. “Don’t move.”

He rushes off, I assume to get a condom. I sit up, take my shirt off, shimmy my jeans down and stay in the black bra and black boy shorts I’m wearing. When he jogs back, he stops short by the armrest, his toffee-colored eyes blazing like fire as they rake over me slowly. He licks his lips, a move that shoots straight between my legs, and tosses the condom on the table beside us as he closes the distance between us.