Page 103 of The Faking Game
And damn it all, that makes me proud. “You’re right. I won’t. But I will tell you that you’re strong, and smart, and beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with you.” I reach up with my right hand to brush away the tear. Her skin is rosy. From wine, from emotion. It’s terrifying how comfortable I’ve become touching her.
How addicted I am.
“What’s the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy?”
“Just kissing.” She looks down between us, but she soldiers on. “Making out, you know. One guy put my hand over his jeans when I was a teenager, but that was through… clothes.”
I hate him immediately.
“I want to have sex,” she says. “So I want to keep practicing dating. I want to be in a relationship one day. I’m turning twenty-five in November, and I’ve told myself that I won’t be a virgin then. I won’t?—”
“You’ve given yourself a deadline?”
“Yes.” She nods a little, and there’s fierceness threaded through her voice. “I’ve told you I’m working on all of it. I just need to find someone I like, someone I feel comfortable with.”
She’s killing me. “You want…”
“I want to keep going. We made a deal, Calloway. I need these lessons.”
I brush her hair behind her ear. I need the contact, need her to stay grounded. “This changes everything.”
“It doesn’t change anything.” Her eyes flick between mine. “You told me that I could practice kissing with you. Anywhere, anytime.”
“I did.” My hand slides down, fits to the side of her neck. I can feel her quick pulse.
“Am I a terrible kisser?” It’s a whispered question, nearly lost in the sound of waves beneath us.
“What makes you think that?”
“Now you know just how inexperienced I am. Maybe I’m…”
“You’renota bad kisser.” The idea is laughable, preposterous, a joke. “Not even close. You’re… no. No.”
“Thanks.”
My fingers flex against her neck, her silky hair tickling them. “I’m not a selfless man, trouble. I didn’t volunteer to help you practice kissing out of the goodness of my heart.”
And that’s the whole problem.
She’s practicing. She’s learning. I’m the one taking advantage of a woman who feels comfortable with me and is learning her own boundaries. She doesn’tlikeme like that. And I can’t stop getting fucking hard over her.
Even now, I can’t stop touching her.
“Oh.” A small, tentative smile spreads across her lips. “I could go out and try to solve this problem on my own. That’s what I’ve tried to do. But I haven’t had much luck, because I don’t actually… I’m not actually attracted to those men. If you won’t help me, that’s what I’ll have to do. Go on dates again. Maybe I can try to befriend one of the security guards my age. Sam, maybe, or Amos.”
“No.”
“Then help me, West.”
“Help you.” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “I kissed you up at the house, and you froze.”
“I didn’t freeze. It surprised me, but I liked it.” Even in the darkness, I can see the flush that’s creeping up her face. She’s trusting me with this. With the secret of tonight, with her emotions, with telling me she likes kissing me.
The trust of it all makes me feel ten feet tall. I want all of her, all of it. I told her tonight that good sex is always about trust.
Sex with her would be more than good.
But that can’t be my role. I can’t be that much of a bastard.
