She makes a small distressed sound, and I pull away to look at her. But before I do, she ducks under my arm and jumps on the bed.

Hiding from me, and I’m drawn to her more and more, and I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s the pain of her past, the bullying, the loss of her belief in herself. The move away from her childhood, the fear of losing it all. The fear of never being able to trust anyone ever again.

I know that feeling. I know that pain.

Fuck me. I think I know now why she felt so familiar from the start. I didn’t meet her before, and she doesn’t remind me of anyone else I know.

She reminds me of myself.

***

Teeth brushed, face splashed with cold water, I’m standing in Amber’s bedroom, leaning back on the closed door. Clutching my baseball cap in my hand, I hesitate, not sure what she expects of me. The buzz of alcohol is fading, and I’m hyper aware of her soft, sexy body curled under the covers.

She sits up, and the golden light of her bedside lamp catches the sweet curve of her cheek, her soft lips, the pale roundness of her breasts over the neckline of her blouse.

Mouth gone dry, I stare, my pants growing tighter by the second, my dick so excited you’d think I’ve never seen a chick before.

Ridiculous. Fucking hilarious. Jesse the manwhore, hesitating to jump into bed with a girl. Only, I’ve never been in a bed with a girl, and let’s face it, never a girl as pretty as this. As kind as this. As smart and funny, getting under my skin, making me fantasize about her. Making me feel.

Damn.

If I get into her bed, we’ll have sex. I know it by looking at her face. She wants it. Wants me. Her chest is rising and falling fast, her breathing ragged. As for me, if I climb under the covers and take her in my arms, I won’t be able to stop myself from taking her hard.

And then it will be over. She’ll be just another girl, another fuck.

I don’t want that, and it scares me shitless.

You don’t mix sexual fantasies with feelings, ever. Feelings are… dangerous. Like her. But it’s too late. I can’t stop feeling when she’s around, and it fucking hurts.

“JJ?” Her voice is low and light, wrapping like a fine thread around me, tugging me toward her.

I kick off my shoes, take off my socks, undo my belt and push down my pants, letting them pool around my ankles. Her gaze follows my movements as I step free, then I tear off my T-shirt as I walk toward the bed.

Her eyes are dark pools in the dimness. She scoots back, giving me space to climb in beside her. I expect her to touch me, say something, but she lies on her side, watching me as I stretch down and fold an arm behind my head.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her bare, long legs. Her tits fight to be free of her top, soft and so unbearably close. One second more of this and I’ll roll over, grab her and—

Her hand alights on my chest, and I still. The warmth of her palm sends a shiver of fire all the way to my balls.

“What do you need, kitten?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Say it.”

She shakes her head and bites her lip.

I should close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep, but I can’t look away. She’s a contradiction—shy and yet quick to reply, pretty and yet unaware of it, scared and yet courageous. Sexy. Distant.

So damn close to my raging hard-on, and yet so damn far I could weep.

“Embers—”

“Your turn,” she says ands sits up, the covers pooling at her waist. Her dark hair tumbles around her face, on her shoulders, and her eyes… Fuck, they’re like mirrors. Mirrors reflecting me. “What do you want?”

She looks nervous. I open my mouth to give her a flippant reply—but I can’t find the words. What is she doing to me?

So I do the only thing I know how. I twist and slide my hands under her blouse, finding her lush tits and thumbing her nipples which harden. The breath leaves her lungs in a whoosh and she falls back against the cushions, her eyes wide.

“JJ…”

“I’ll take care of you, kitten.” I drag her blouse up and off her, and put my mouth on her pretty nipples. I love her sweet taste, her scent of caramel and the fainter whiff of coconut from her hair. My dick jumps and twitches between my legs as I lick and lightly bite, then switch to her other breast and repeat. Fuck, I’m so turned on I’m in real danger of coming from this little taste. “Let me.”

She moans something, writhing as I slip her tiny shorts and lacey panties off, then dip my finger into her tight heat.

Christ.

Getting chicks off with my hands, yeah, I’m good at that. An expert. Been doing it all my life. What I need… Hell, who cares what I need? What she makes me want and wish for. It’s easier to fall back into the role I know by heart, the one expected of me.

She convulses, letting out a mewling cry, and I bow my head, sobbing for breath, my dick throbbing and weeping inside my briefs, aching like a bitch for release.

What the fuck am I doing with this chick—in her bed, for chrissakes? I never do this shit. I need to get out before I give in and fuck her. Fuck her up, like I do with everything that means something to me.

But before I roll out of bed to search for my clothes and run like hell, she grabs my arms and holds on with surprising strength.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice a bit raspy, her eyes heavy-lidded.

I swallow hard. If possible, she looks even sexier now, loose-limped and disheveled, her tits exposed. Looking at her rosy nipples makes me lick my lips, hungry to taste more of her, taste the sweetness of her pussy, make her scream—only I never go down in chicks, and that’s a rule I’ve never broken.

“That wasn’t fair,” she whispers. “I asked what you wanted. You, not me.”

What is she talking about?

“I don’t…” I have to clear my voice and try again. “I don’t understand.”

Because I really don’t.

When I worked the sidewalk, the women who went with me had specific ideas in mind of what they desired—fantasies their husbands couldn’t give them. Mostly it was me, fucking them hard against the wall, in the kitchen, on the sofa. They paid me to play out a role and make them come, and I did.

Afterward, the chicks I’ve been with also knew what they needed. They told me how to get them off—hands or cock—and the shortest way to get me off, too. We never kissed. Never held hands. Never hugged or touched otherwise. They thought that’s how all guys think, that they’d win points with me for not wasting time, racing toward pleasure.

They didn’t win any points. They never thought to ask. They never…

“You always ask what I want,” she whispers, her lashes casting impossibly long shadows on her cheeks, her wild hair framing her face. So goddamn beautiful. “What about what you want?”

I could still make fun of it, laugh it off, ignore the strange twinge in my chest at her desire to please me. Tell her I want to bury myself balls-deep inside her and fuck her until I come. I could tell her she’s stupid for asking.

But that’s not what comes out of my mouth.

“I wanna kiss you,” I breathe. “And hold you.”

The fuck?

Her eyes widen, and we stare at each other, both shocked at my words. I’m sure she’s about to laugh, or sneer, or ask me if I’m serious—am I?

Instead, she bends over, brushes her lips over mine—and I’m gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Amber

He tastes faintly of my mint toothpaste and something dark and spicy, like chili chocolate. Delicious, so much better than I remember, and then his arm slips around my waist, crushing me to him. I collapse half on top of him and he tucks me by his side and keeps kissing me, his tongue tangling with mine, setting me on fire. His large, strong hand strokes down my back and cups my ass, possessive and firm but steady, keeping me in place as he devours my mouth like it’s his favorite sweet.