Chapter 12

TWELVE

Claudia

Anders is unlike any guy I’ve ever spent any time with. He’s gentle and kind. Thoughtful and intelligent, from what I can tell. He has a faint accent, but his English is almost perfect, so I have to believe he’s fairly well-read since I know he didn’t go to college. He’s attentive but not aggressive, and he doesn’t seem to mind my inexperience. Not to mention, he’s so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at him.

I’m not stupid. I know there’s probably an element of his ego and him accepting the challenge of getting me to sleep with him that’s driving whatever this is.

But it doesn’t feel that way.

When he says he’s okay with my boundaries, I believe him.

When he says he can get me off with all my clothes on, I don’t just believe him, I’m desperate for him to try.

Because I’ve never had an orgasm.

I’m too fucked in the head to try on my own, and obviously, there hasn’t been a man in my life since the Seth Crandall disaster. His attempts to get me off using his fingers had been woefully inept and ultimately unsuccessful.

My willingness to contemplate having sex—even if intercourse is still off the table—is a little disconcerting, but that’s just it. It’s because it’s this particular man. Anders. I don’t understand what this bond is, and maybe I wouldn’t even be considering whatever it is I’m considering under different circumstances.

On vacation.

Surrounded by people I know and trust, like Hana and Johan.

I know with every fiber of my being that Johan would get involved if he had a single concern about my going out with Anders. Hana is extremely protective of me, and though she wants me to get out there and enjoy life, she would tell me if she was worried that Anders might hurt me in any way beyond the potential broken heart.

Which is why we’re still sitting on the beach as the sun sets, my back to his front, his arms around me as we sip cocktails and talk with our friends.

It’s been a wonderful day.

Surfing. Sunning. Friendship. Kissing and hand holding.

I’d convinced myself I didn’t need romance, a boyfriend, or anything that went with it, because of what happened with Seth.

Experiencing it with Anders changes everything.

I’m still terrified at the thought of having sex again, but I’m also fairly secure that Anders won’t push it. That he’s genuinely willing to wait for me to figure it out. Or not.

I’m only here for a week, after all, and I’m not sure how much time we’re going to spend together. How do I ask Hana to give up our girls’ week to spend it with this great guy I may never see again? Is it even worth it to risk my heart like this?

I already know the answer is yes.

I look over to where Hana is sitting with Johan, Sloane, and Aiden. Felix left about an hour ago, and though Hana and I haven’t talked, I could tell she was annoyed with him. Johan is going to drive her back to our hotel when they’re ready to go, but I’m not ready for my time with Anders to end.

“I think the pizza’s here, sweetheart. What kind do you want?”

Why do my girlie parts jump to attention when he calls me that?

“Any kind,” I murmur, leaning back against him.

“I’m not ready to end our date,” he whispers against my ear.

Like he’d read my mind.

“Me either,” I whisper.

“Sweetheart…” He drops his chin onto my shoulder. “I know this is your girls’ trip, and I’m trying to be respectful of that, but I want to spend more time with you. Is there a compromise we can make? Is it even something you want? To spend more time together?”

“Yes.” I don’t even hesitate. “But I don’t know how to navigate that with Hana.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“We’re going to Vizcaya in the morning and then Jungle Island the rest of the day. Johan and Sloane are coming too since they’ve never done it. Do you want to join us?” I probably should have asked Hana before extending the invitation, but if Johan and Sloane are going, it seems safe to assume I can add Anders. If not, I’ll apologize later.

“Yes.” This time he doesn’t hesitate, and I tilt up my face. His lips find mine, softly, gentle nibbles that leave me satisfied and breathlessly anxious for more at the same time.

He’s a big guy, six three to my five-foot five, and I like the way his warm, strong body fits around mine. When he hugs or kisses or touches me. When he brings one of his big hands around to cup my waist. His fingers skim my hip, and even with the barrier of my sundress between us, it warms me. For some reason, there’s no fear with Anders.

I trust him, and that says a lot.

We eat pizza and then Jordan got an acoustic guitar out of his car and starts to play. I’m surprised at how good his voice is and that he plays so well. He’s chosen soft rock songs, mostly oldies, like “Brandy” by Looking Glass, and though I’m focused on Anders’ kisses, the music provides a romantic background.

Jordan starts to play “The Air That I Breathe,” by the Hollies, and the melody warms me in a different way. Up until this moment, I was sure all things romance and romantic had somehow eluded me, but I was wrong.

I shift to give Anders a better angle with which to kiss me, and he slides his tongue between my lips. Our mouths work together easily now, as if we’d been kissing for much longer than two days.

“Do you trust me?” he asks against my mouth, his hands stilling.

“Of course.”

“I’m going to touch you, but I won’t cross your boundaries.”

“I really want you to keep touching me,” I admit.

I’m not sure how those words affect him, but his eyes darken and there’s a distinct intensity when he captures my lips for another kiss. His tongue is insistent, almost urgent, and there’s no mistaking the growing hardness against my backside. But it’s dark, and I’m sitting in front of him, so no one can see. And frankly, Decker and Eden have been making out like teenagers most of the day, so we’re not the only ones.

Anders slides his hand along my leg, slowly inching up the fabric of my dress.

Then his big, warm hand is on the bare skin of my thigh.

My heart rate kicks up a little, because it’s been five years since anyone other than a doctor or family member touched my thigh. There’s an element of nervousness, but mostly it’s excitement. Curiosity. Arousal .

Arousal?

Fuck. Have I ever been aroused like this?

Definitely not. Not even pre-Seth Crandall, before my hymen almost ruined my life.

He’s stroking my thigh along the outside, from my hip down to my knee. I’m wearing my bathing suit beneath the dress, and as promised, he’s staying away from places that are off limits. And yet, I’m almost disappointed. Fear and anxiety are taking a back burner to excitement and…wonder.

My breath hitches as he moves his hand to the inside of my thigh, soft, whisper-like flutters of his fingers, so close to a place I swore no one would ever touch again. But his tongue is doing something wonderful with mine, our mouths moving together in tandem. It’s a beautiful dance, filling me with heat and need and…passion. I don’t just want him to keep touching me—I need him to. It’s as simple as that.

Even though we’re essentially out in public.

Even though I know Hana is going to give me a ration of shit about it later.

Even though I know we’re going to have to stop long before I’m ready.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” His voice is a warm rumble against my ear. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no.”

“I know I can’t touch you in certain places…but can I talk about touching you there? Are you willing to try a little dirty talk… about what I’d be doing if I could touch you there?”

Dirty talk?

I’m twenty-four but feel about sixteen right now.

I’ve never done anything like that.

“Yes, but…” I look around and he captures the side of my face with his hand.

“They don’t care what we’re doing. They’re in their own worlds, listening to Jordan, enjoying each other. All you have to do is focus on me. Say yes.”

“I already did.”

His eyes get dark and stormy again.

God, I wish I could bottle up that look and keep it close to me. If I’m having a bad day, open the bottle and see stormy-eyed Anders. Lonely? Open the bottle. Horny? Open that damn bottle in a hurry.

Except he’s here now and I don’t need a bottle.

I have him.

We start to kiss all over again, his erection long and hard against my back. He’s gentle but in no way tentative. This is a guy who knows what he wants and how to make me want it too.

That’s the only explanation I have for how I’m feeling.

“Someday, when you’re ready, I’ll have two fingers inside of you,” he whispers against my ear. The two fingers in question are currently trailing along the section of the seam of my bathing suit that runs along the top of my thigh.

So close, yet so far.

“You’d be so wet, they’d slide right in. Then I’d pull them out…and I’d lick one finger while you lick the other.”

I’ve never done anything like that, but I suddenly really want to.