I’d felt so alone as a teenager. I’d taken every insult, every harsh comment, to heart in silence, by myself. I hadn’t talked to a teacher or a guidance counselor or a therapist. I’d just kept all of my hurt inside, because I’d felt I’d deserved it.
But now that I thought back on it, I realized I hadn’t been completely alone. Aidan had left hom
e when I was eleven and he was fifteen—he’d gotten the apartment with the other guys and he’d made it clear I was always welcome there. It wasn’t the usual attitude of a fifteen-year-old boy and his friends toward his little sister, but none of us had questioned it. I’d always known I could go to Aidan when things at home got too much for me, and so I had. And Aidan and his friends had taken me in.
But even as I’d spent time at the apartment, I’d never actually talked about what went on with my mother at home. Her absences, her casual insults, her offhand comments that I was too fat or my hair looked stupid. She’d told me more than once that I should probably get a boyfriend and marry him, because God knew I’d never get a good job. And most of all, when we were home in our small apartment I was supposed to go to my room and be quiet. Never make any noise, and never ask her for anything, because by having me she’d already given more than enough and I didn’t deserve her attention. I sure as hell didn’t deserve her love, no matter how much I followed her rules.
I hadn’t talked about any of that with Aidan’s friends, but Dane knew. He’d seen it. Because he’d been watching me.
And he was angry on my behalf. He always had been. And I’d never known.
We’d never talked about my mother when we were together. We’d hardly talked at all during that crazy winter. We’d been far too busy doing other things, and he knew I didn’t want to talk about my mother. Not one word, not ever. He’d respected that.
Dane was drying himself off, running the towel over his strong legs. Without looking at me, he ran it lightly over his stomach, his chest. He sat down on one of the pool chairs and ran the towel over his face, putting his elbows on his knees. Then he dropped the towel and put his head in his hands.
I slid off my floating mat and swam to the edge of the pool, putting my hands on the tile to pull myself up.
“I should have done something,” Dane said. “All those times you were holding back tears. Maybe I couldn’t have fixed it, but I could have fucking said something. That you looked nice. That you didn’t deserve that. Something.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I said, taking off my sunglasses and putting them on the table. The clouds had covered the sun now, and the breeze blew cool. I was lying a little; it would have mattered to me, in those awful years with my mother, to hear something nice. But in the scheme of things, it wouldn’t have made me feel any better. “I wouldn’t have listened,” I said. I grabbed my own towel and ran it over myself, feeling the sensation on my skin along with the cooler air.
Dane dropped looked up at me, dropping his hands to dangle between his knees. “You didn’t deserve how she treated you,” he said, “and you did look nice. Just so you know.”
I knew exactly what I wanted in that moment. Me, the woman who changed her clothes and her hair color on a whim. The woman whose confidence went from high to nonexistent in the space of a breath. In that perfect moment, everything was so clear. I knew what I wanted, and I knew, deep down, that I was going to get it.
I walked over to Dane and swung a leg over his thighs. I lowered myself into his lap, feeling the heat of his body against me. “You’re very sweet,” I said.
His eyes had gone dark as I pressed all the way down against him, only the thin fabric of our bathing suits between us. “I’m not sweet,” he said in a growl.
I tangled my hands in his long, soft hair. “Liar,” I said, and kissed him.
There wasn’t even a breath of hesitation. He kissed me back, bringing his muscled arms up around me, his hand to the back of my neck. His beard rasped against my skin as he opened my mouth, and I felt that rasp in a shiver all the way down my body, between my legs. I’d been reliving that kiss from a few nights ago, the feeling of Dane’s weight on top of me, my legs wrapped around him. Before that, it had been years since I’d kissed this man. I remembered every second of the last time we were together, even though Dane had probably forgotten it.
I was hot now, waves of fever traveling over my skin beneath my bathing suit, despite the breeze. Dane broke the kiss and lowered his mouth to my neck, tasting the skin there as I exhaled and arched into him. His big hands deftly untied the string at the back of my neck and my tankini top was undone. He pulled the damp fabric down and cupped my breasts, moaning softly against my skin.
I closed my eyes. Dane’s touch was warm, his skin rough and gentle at the same time. He knew exactly what I liked. He squeezed me softly, briefly, and then he let his thumbs travel slowly over my nipples, making them ache. He moved them back over my nipples again, and then again, his touch feather-light. I felt the answering pulse between my legs, and for a minute I wondered if I could come from this alone.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growled. He’d always been a lover of my breasts, the president of their fan club. He liked to give them plenty of attention, returning to them over and over until I was nearly begging him. He knew how much I loved it, and he loved it too. He knew that I didn’t like to be handled rough, but that I liked to be stroked. Keeping his hands where I liked them, he kissed back up my neck and took my mouth again.
I sighed into him, my body like hot wax in his hands, and for a long moment I let him do whatever he wanted, let him use his teeth and his tongue and his hands to drive me wild. But I already knew what I wanted. I broke the kiss and rose off his lap, then pushed his knees apart and knelt between them.
Dane made a choked sound in his throat, and he said my name, but I didn’t let him hesitate. I pulled down the waist of his swim shorts and took out his cock, which was hard and hot in my hands. First I ran my fingers over it, my touch light as I smoothed over the skin. Then I wrapped my hand around it and gave it a gentle squeeze, making him growl.
This cock was familiar to me. I was the first girl to see it, to touch and taste it, to learn what it liked. I hadn’t seen Dane’s cock in years, and right now I’d never been more possessive of anything in my life. This had been mine once, and now it was mine again. I stroked it, feeling the muscles of his thighs go hard, watching the flex of his stomach. He was breathing hard. A few simple touches, and I knew he was already close.
That ninety-pound ballerina can go to hell, I thought, and I leaned in and took him in my mouth.
Dane flinched, trying to keep control, but his hips lifted off the chair, pushing him further into me. He exhaled, hard, and I ran my tongue over him, getting familiar with the contours of him again. I let my jaw relax, let him fill my mouth. I moved down an inch, then slowly back up again.
“Jesus, Ava,” I heard him rasp, his voice harsh with control. “That is so fucking good. Don’t stop. Do not fucking stop.”
I didn’t stop, but I didn’t speed up, either. As virgins, we’d both had the instinct to go fast, to get to the finish as quickly as possible. We’d done it fast any number of times, but we’d had to teach ourselves—and each other—to go slow. We’d almost been good at it by the end, and I wasn’t about to let him off the hook now. Right in this moment, kneeling between his knees, I owned him. We were going to go at my pace.
He acceded to my rhythm, and then we were in perfect sync, Dane and me. We moved without thinking. I knew that I had him crazy with pleasure, that he was all mine, and he knew it too. His breath grew harsher and his thighs flexed. He didn’t have to tell me he was close, because I already knew.
He said my name again, his voice ragged, right before he came. I swallowed everything, and when it was over I pushed the waistband of his shorts up again. I stayed between his knees, my elbows on his thighs, as he collapsed back in the chair. I took a long moment to drink in the gorgeous sight of post-orgasm Dane Scotland: hair mussed, eyes dark, muscled chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
Then I smiled up at him. “Now tell me. Who has the unfair advantage?”