“So what? It’s none of your business who I sleep with!” Abby puts her hands on her hips and scowls. It’s almost adorable, until she continues her rant, going straight for the jugular. “I don’t say anything about the whores you bang every night!”
Anger, shame, raging desire—they all battle inside my chest, clashing until they detonate in a huge fireball of uncontrollable emotions. “I don’t want them!” I shout, my hands going to my hair, fisting huge hunks.
I step closer, Abby’s back now pressed against the bathroom door. I lean forward, dropping my hands to cage her in on either side of her head. Her breathing picks up and I drop my gaze to drag up her sinful body, ending at her heart-stopping eyes. “Don’t you get it, Abby?” My voice lowers as I finally confess what I’ve held inside for too long. “I don’t want Brad touching you. I don’t want anyone touching you! I want you. You’re mine.”
Abby gasps, either in shock at my declaration, or with desire. I don’t wait to find out because at that moment, I lean closer, letting my hips press against hers so she can feel exactly how much I want her. Abby’s eyes fall to my mouth, her thick lashes fluttering against flushed skin. When her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips, any remaining willpower I possessed dissolves into nothingness.
I tilt my head to see if that mouth tastes as sweet as she smells, but Abby holds me back with a hand to my chest. A fist squeezes around my heart. Of course she doesn’t want me. Why would she? I’m a fucked-up mess and she knows it.
Abby inhales a shaky breath, drawing my attention back to her eyes once more. “What’s your real name?” she asks.
“What?” I pull my brows together.
“Your real name. I… I don’t want my first time to be with someone whose name I don’t know,” she whispers, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.
I huff out a laugh. “Henry. It’s Henry Walker Evans.”
“Like Gavin Walker?”
I shake my head. “No relation.”
“Henry,” she says, smiling as she trails her trembling fingers up my chest, over my collarbone, to wrap around the back of my neck. “Kiss me, Henry.”
Without hesitation, I lift my hands from the door to cup her flushed cheeks, letting my full weight press against her body. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, sending a rush of blood straight to my groin. I groan in pleasure. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever.” Before she can answer, I lean in and our mouths connect.
Abby melts against the door, her muscles going limp, allowing me to control the kiss. When I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, she lets out a throaty moan that vibrates all the way to my toes. Her mouth parts on a soft exhale, the sound sending little sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. I’m so turned on, so desperate to taste and feel every part of her, that my brain turns off and instinct takes over. Primal, animal instinct to possess, to claim, to make her mine.
I step forward, putting one foot between hers to kick her feet apart. Once there’s enough room to maneuver, I push my stiff dick against the junction of her thighs. Abby gasps and comes to life. The girl who was content to be passively carried along through our kiss, threads her fingers through my hair and grips tight. The streak of pain across my scalp shreds my last vestiges of rational thought.
Panting, I break away, dizzily gulping down oxygen. “Off. Now.” I grab the hem of her silky tank top and yank it over her head, revealing two perfect, round breasts supported by a lacy white bra. “Fuck.” I palm my hard-on through my way too tight jeans, the ache nearly unbearable.
Abby stares at me, her eyes wild, pupils dilated. Desire has put crimson streaks on her cheekbones and turned her throat and chest a deep shade of pink. “Your turn,” she says, clawing at the bottom of my own T-shirt. I reach over my head to pull it off, but hesitate when my fingers grip the material.
The scars. I’ve haven’t had sex with anyone without a shirt on since the accident, usually not even getting my pants all the way off. It’s always been quick backroom hookups or blowjobs. My pulse races, fear overtaking desire, pricking my skin uncomfortably.
“Henry.” Abby caresses my cheek, her thumb brushing across the silver stud in my bottom lip. “I don’t care. I want you, all of you. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Our eyes lock, and I know she’s telling the truth. This is Abby. I can trust her. She skims her hands down my ribcage, hooking her fingers into the waist of my jeans. In a bold move, Abby tugs me forward and arches her back off the door, grinding her crotch against my aching cock.
I nod, knowing right now, I’ll give her whatever she wants. I fist the collar of the shirt and pull it over my head, balling it up in my hands between us, using it as my final shield. Without breaking eye contact, Abby covers my hands with her own and slowly removes my fingers, taking the shirt from me. She tosses it to the ground, blue eyes still fixed on mine. Abby slides her hands around my waist and I flinch.
“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, skimming her hands up my torso, her fingers exploring every inch. They brush across my abs to my chest, where she gently flicks her thumbs across my nipples. “I’m not. I know you’ll take care of me.”
“Jesus, Abby.” My head lolls back from the pleasure of her touch.
Abby winds her hands behind my head and pulls my mouth back to hers. Our tongues slide together, wet and hot and so fucking perfect. She stops to catch her breath, fumbling with the button on her own jeans. As I stare, entranced, Abby shoves down her pants and underwear and reaches behind her to unsnap her bra, letting it slide down her arms to the floor. She’s so beautiful. I stop breathing to stare at her naked body, snapping out of it only when she speaks. “Make love to me, Henry.”
Abby
I don’t know where my courage comes from; maybe I’m faking it, or maybe it’s because I’m a twenty-year-old virgin finally naked with the man I’ve been lusting after. All I know is I’m not going to let anything stop me from getting what I want.
Stripping in front of Hawke is the most nerve-wracking, terror-inducing thing I’ve ever done. As I lower the last piece of clothing, exposing myself to him completely, I swallow back the anxiety, waiting to se
e what he’ll do.
I don’t have to wait long.
Hawke makes a choking noise, his eyes bulging out from behind his black-framed glasses. The muttered curses that fall from his mouth make me smile, but are nowhere near as satisfying as watching him scramble to shed the rest of his clothes. Once he’s toed off his shoes and shucked his pants, hopping on one leg and nearly falling over in his haste, Hawke stands in front of me and my breath hitches.