EIGHTEEN ARABELLA

EIGHTEEN

Arabella

I TAKE A QUICK SHOWER. I lather my entire body with my favorite lotion and put on a thin white T-shirt with no bra and a pair of pale pink pajama bottoms dotted with white hearts. No panties.

I am a slut. But only for Rowan Lancaster because I wouldn’t do this for anyone else. Not a single person. Only him.

Lying in bed, I’m quaking in anticipation of his arrival. I can’t even scroll mindlessly on my phone like I usually do because being on my phone makes me realize that time is ticking by oh so slowly and he still hasn’t arrived, and God, it’s painful. Deliciously so.

What got into him to say such a thing to me?

Leave your door unlocked.

I swear my panties were immediately soaked when he whispered that in my ear. The timbre of his voice. The heavy suggestion behind those seemingly innocent words.

The boy makes me want to melt into a puddle. I don’t recall Bentley Saffron Jones ever making me feel like that.

I’m shocked that Rowan would even agree to my flippant suggestion. I’ve said that sort of thing to him before. Plenty of times, and he never takes me seriously because I don’t take myself seriously either. It’s fun to goad him. To witness his always irritable reaction. Until tonight. There was nothing irritable about his reaction whatsoever beyond his references to Bentley.

A part of me wishes I would’ve never made that confession, but another part of me is glad because I think it helped Rowan see me as a sexual human being. Someone to be desired instead of just annoyed with.

Oh, my thoughts are … not the best sometimes. I know I am the sort who wants attention constantly, whether it’s good or bad. I blame that on my neglectful parents obviously. And praise be to the therapist I went to when I was fifteen and struggling, who helped me have that realization. I told her everything about Bentley, and she said I was just searching for love since I couldn’t find it with my parents.

A painful realization but it’s true. I still want someone to love me. This is probably why I’m enjoying myself so much in this house and I haven’t even been here for twelve hours. The entire place just overflows with love and affection. I adore it. I want more of it.

I want to feel like I belong here in this massive house that feels like a cozy little home.

As I lie there waiting in my bed for a certain someone to show up, clutching the silken duvet cover in my hands so tightly I’m sure it’s permanently wrinkled, I eventually start to drift off. It’s hard to focus, considering how long the day has been and how late the hour currently is. The bed is soft and fluffy, and my head sinks into the pile of pillows that are like clouds. The room is blessedly dark, and I can hear the wind blow outside, gently rattling the windows.

It’s peaceful.

And then I realize I’m being woken up by the sound of someone entering my bedroom. I can hear footsteps shuffle across the floor but no slight drag of the boot.

Hmm.

But I can smell him. I can sense him standing beside the bed, watching me sleep, and I pretend to be exactly that, my eyes gently closed, not moving a muscle. He walks around to the other side of the bed and I feel the tug of the covers being pulled down. The dip of the mattress when he crawls onto the bed. The smooth sound of the sheets and duvet being pulled over his body, indicating that he’s in bed with me. Right next to me.

What is this life?

Rowan Lancaster is in my bed. And he’s not doing a damn thing about it. Just lying there and … what? Spying on me? Do I need to light a firecracker under his butt or what?

Deciding to let him know that I am fully awake, I flop over onto the other side so I’m facing him and crack open my eyes to find that yes, he is watching me. His expression is soft this late at night. Almost vulnerable. And he’s looking at me as if he can’t believe we’re sharing a bed, which I can totally relate to.

“You’re not like other boys,” I murmur to him, keeping my voice low so I don’t break the spell.

“What do you mean?” He appears confused.

“I’m assuming any other boy who would have the balls to sneak into my room would pounce on me immediately,” I tell him.

“Do lots of boys sneak into your room?”

“Not a single one ever has.”

“Is that what you want? For me to pounce on you?”

I am so grateful that he didn’t bring up Bentley. “Is that what you want to do?”

He ignores my question. “I didn’t think you would be asleep when I snuck in here.”

“I waited for you—I tried to stay awake.” I hesitate and decide to ask the question that’s at the forefront of my mind. “What took you so long anyway?”

“I was working up the nerve to actually do this.”

What?

Rowan had to work up the nerve to sneak into my room?

“Are you serious?” He’s always so confident about everything.

He nods. “You … throw me off.”

“How?” I am baffled. I never thought I had any sort of effect on him beyond utter annoyance.

“I never know what you’re going to say or do. I never know what you’re going to wear. You’re a constant surprise.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I whisper, scared that it might be.

“Not at all.” He stretches his hand out toward me, his fingers grazing my cheek, making my eyes close. I wish he would keep touching me forever. “Can you see me?”

“What do you mean? Yes, I can see you.” He presses his thumb against my chin, making my lips part.

“You’re not wearing your glasses.” His gaze roves over my face. “You look … different without them.”

“Different bad? Or different good?”

“Different good.” His smile is faint, his voice dropping an octave when he murmurs, “Tell me to leave, Bells.” His hand drops away from my face and he sounds like he’s in absolute agony.

I rise up on one elbow so I can really look at him. The covers fall away from my top half with the movement and even in the dim light I can see his gaze go straight to my chest.

Typical. The boy is fascinated with my boobs. I glance down to see that my white shirt is extremely thin and my nipples are hard, and oh wow, he is staring.

“I’m not going to tell you to leave,” I say when I return my gaze to his, my voice firm. Maybe even a little too loud. Though right now I could not care less if someone heard me. Us. “I would be a fool to say that.”

“You’re a fool to let me stay.” He sounds serious. Is the boy blind? I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me, I’m that desperate for his attention.

“I’m a bigger fool if I encourage you to leave,” I whisper, shocked I would lay myself on the line like this. For him.

His fingers are on my neck, tracing my necklace, coming to a stop at the heart pendant. The one I never take off. “Is this a locket?” Before I can answer he’s already got it open. “There aren’t any pictures inside.”

“I know.”

His gaze lifts to mine. “Why not?”

“I’m waiting for the right person to come along,” I admit.

His mouth kicks up on one side in the faintest smirk. “Are his initials BSJ?”

I realize that Bentley has some terrible initials. BS could equal bullshit. BJ—blowjob. Poor Bentley. “Absolutely not. You need to stop bringing him up, Rowan. I’m starting to believe you’re obsessed with him.”

“That is the furthest thing from the truth.” He carefully snaps my locket closed, his hand dropping away from my neck and God, why won’t this boy just touch me? Kiss me already? That’s what I want the most. I wasn’t lying when I suggested we make out for hours. That sounds like a dream come true. I want his hands all over me and his mouth fused with mine to the point that our jaws will be aching when it’s over. I want to wake up the next morning and still feel the imprint of his mouth on mine. I want to sit across from him at breakfast and share secret smiles with him because we know what we’ve done.

And no one else would have a clue.

Instead, he’s just lying there staring at me like he can’t believe we’re in the same bed, and I catch his gaze dropping again to the front of my chest. Most likely my nipples. I’m half tempted to grab his hand and place it right on my breast. Force him to feel me up but he might think I’m too forward.

Despite my meager sexual experience, I have no idea what we’re doing. No clue as to how we should navigate these unchartered waters. And when I start spouting clichés in my thoughts, that’s when I know I’m overthinking everything.

“Rowan.” I startle him by saying his name and I wonder if he’s in as much of a trance as I’ve found myself over the last few hours. He is making me impatient and I don’t like it. “What are you doing?”

“Staring at you,” he admits truthfully. “You’re pretty, Bells.”

My impatience evaporates at his compliment. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” His hand settles on my hip and he gently drags me closer to him. My heart starts to pound in my ears, tingles erupting all over my body when I feel the dig of his fingers into my skin. Our legs collide and I slip one between both of his, desperate to get closer when I realize something.

“Where’s your boot?”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t sleep in it,” he points out. “Talk about uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” I’m careful when I drag my toes along his ankle and calf, making sure I’m not touching the one that’s broken. “True.”

He starts to reach for me, hesitating for only a moment, and I withdraw my leg from between his. My frustration and impatience must be showing because he says, “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Fuck what up?”

“This. Us. You. Me.” He slides his hand from my hip to the small of my back, jerking me into him, making me gasp. I like a forceful Rowan. “We should keep this a secret.”

“Yes,” I breathe, knowing full well if he asked me to murder someone at this very moment my response would be the same.

“Just between us? I don’t want to get my parents’ hopes up.” Somehow, he rearranges our bodies and he’s on top of me. On. Top. Of.

Me.

I spread my legs and he settles in, bracing his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. I’m completely surrounded by him and I lie there breathless, heart hammering a million miles a minute, waiting.

“Please don’t bring your parents up during a moment like this,” I tell him, dead serious.

He dips his head, his mouth hovering above mine. I can feel his breath, minty fresh like he might’ve just brushed his teeth, and I wonder what brand of toothpaste he uses. Once I find out, I’m buying it immediately. “Probably best if we don’t talk at all, right?”

“Right,” I whisper just as his lips brush mine.

It’s a tease of a kiss. Barely there yet completely earth-shattering. I have been thinking about this moment for years. Anticipating it for what feels like forever. His mouth touches mine again and I inhale softly but otherwise do nothing else. Just let him kiss me in the gentlest way. It’s agonizing.

It’s wonderful.

“How many guys have you kissed, Bells?” He asks this question while his lips are still on mine.

“How many girls have you kissed, Rowan?”

“Not many,” he returns, leaving me shook.

“Exactly how many then?” My number is low. I figured because he’s Rowan Lancaster, he would’ve already kissed an infinite number of girls.

“I’d rather not say.”

“You don’t kiss and tell?”

He kisses me like he wants me to stop talking. Forceful and quick. “I don’t kiss anyone much at all.”

Wait a second.

Wait.

A.

Second.

I’m almost afraid to ask but I have to know. I must. It’s imperative. And might change everything. Not in a bad way but in a this is so interesting type of way.

“Rowan. Are you trying to tell me you haven’t really kissed … anyone?”