Best Erotic Romance 2013 Page 5

  I pause. Does he need my sad story to add to his own? And yet, I’ve wanted him to know we have something important in common since our ill-fated dinner.

  I clear my throat. “My parents both passed away, my father when I was in high school, my mother a few years ago.” My voice catches as I speak, but afterward I feel oddly light and cool, as if someone has opened a door and let the breeze in.

  He is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I continue digging at a stubborn root.

  “You were so young to lose both parents. That must have been hard.”

  “I have an older sister. We look out for each other.”

  “I have an older sister, too. She lives in Chicago. And my dad’s in L.A. My parents divorced when I was in high school. We keep in touch though.”

  I glance over at him. Our eyes meet. Suddenly I feel more naked than I ever did in bed with him, but his gaze holds mine just long enough to reassure me. I understand.

  Working together, we clear away all the weeds and ivy beside my cottage in no time at all.

  As dusk falls, Daniel offers to get a pizza for dinner to pay me back for all my help. I say yes, casually, as a friend and neighbor would surely do. Daniel has handed me a second chance. And this time I’ll do it right.

  A few hours later, I’m in his kitchen, showered and dressed in my casual best, finishing up my second slice of pizza from the Cheeseboard. Rich with feta and corn and fresh basil, the food is almost as intoxicating as a mojito. However, I made sure to turn down the beer he offered with dinner, noting that he placed the chilled bottle back in the refrigerator and poured us both water instead. So far so good with my plan to transform a hasty hookup into a real friendship.

  I try to do the dishes, but Daniel graciously refuses. So again I find myself watching him at work and enjoying the view more than I’d like to admit. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized by those thick, soapy fingers rubbing the dripping sponge round and round on the slick white plates? I relax back against the counter by the sink, then immediately jerk myself upright. I’ve unwittingly moved to the exact spot where we first kissed—and I’m determined that tonight, nothing will be like the last time.

  Daniel looks at me quizzically. Then he smiles. “Oh, yes, I’m thinking of putting a plaque there.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s the Place Where It All Began That Night. Don’t you remember?” His grin widens.

  “Actually I assumed you’d forgotten,” I blurt out.

  He lifted his eyebrows at me as if it was unthinkable. In spite of myself, I laugh.

  “Now,” he continues, wiping his wet hands on a towel by the sink. “I hope you’re not too full, because I also bought dessert for us. They’re called ‘adult brownies,’ but I know you’re of legal age.”

  “What does ‘adult’ mean for a brownie? That it’s eighteen years old?”

  We’re both laughing now, even without the benefit of tequila.

  “Let’s taste it and find out.” Daniel breaks off a chunk of the sturdy brownie and holds it out to me. My stomach does a flip. I’ll have to touch his hand to take it. But friends do things like this all the time without a thought. I pluck it quickly from his palm.

  “It’s good,” I murmur. “More dark chocolate than sugar. That must be why it’s ‘adult.’”

  “The chocolate is pretty intense,” he agrees. “More?”

  “Yes, please.”

  This time he holds it out to my lips. His eyes twinkle.

  In spite of myself I lean forward and take both the brownie and his fingertips between my lips.

  The thing about sex is that sometimes you can’t quite be sure how you get from one step to the next. How is it then that Daniel and I, the pair of us wounded and wary, are suddenly smashing our faces together in a desperate, chocolate-flavored kiss? This time his skin is silky smooth and moist—he must have shaved especially for me—and he is the one who moans and takes my face in both hands, as if to claim me.

  He pulls away just far enough to whisper, “Are you sure?”

  My reply is to slip my tongue into his mouth.

  Somehow we get up the stairs, stopping to kiss deeply every few steps. Daniel leads me to the same bedroom, which is as perfectly neat as if it hadn’t been disturbed in years. But once we’re naked under the cool sheets, our bodies twine together, as if we’d never been apart these long, lonely weeks. To think just a short time ago I could only watch. Now my senses are full of him. I’m tasting his sweet lips and touching his hot flesh and savoring his intimate male scent.

  Daniel seems just as hungry as I am, moaning as he lavishes kisses on my neck and shoulders and breasts. I wonder if he’s doing things to me that he’s dreamed of for four long weeks, too. Suddenly he rolls on top of me, his strong thighs trapping my legs, pinning me in place. Taking my nipple between his lips, he plays it skillfully with his tongue. Then his hand slides up my neck, grabs a fistful of hair and pulls my head gently but firmly back into the pillow. A jolt of desire shoots down to my pussy. I’ve never felt so utterly possessed and enveloped.

  He teases me until I’m so crazy with lust, I beg him to make love to me.

  “Once you have your way with me, how do I know that you won’t run away again?” It’s that low, smoky sex voice I love, teasing but perfectly assured.

  I whimper and shake my head.

  But he still holds me fast with his body as he reaches for the nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom. As dazed as I am, I have to smile. He’s wanted this, too, even planned for it. Kneeling above me, he quickly sheathes himself, then slips one leg between mine and spreads my legs. With one motion, he pushes his cock in so deep, I can feel his balls wedged into the crack of my ass.

  “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, and after a moment of confusion, I sense what he’s asking. I begin to move, pushing my hips up against his strong stomach. Each thrust brings a little bonus, the sweet friction of his sac sliding along my tender back furrow. All the while he suckles my nipples, which are enjoying this reunion with his lips very much. The pleasure builds in my body, a pulsing core of heat between my legs, until I can bear it no longer. I explode with a cry, my pussy milking him helplessly. Daniel takes the cue, pounding into me faster and harder until he cries out and shudders in my arms.

  And only then do I admit to myself that this is what I really wanted all along.

  Daniel strokes my hair as we lie together on the moon-drenched bed, letting the sweat cool. “How could you think I’d forget you?”

  I laugh. “Not ‘forget’ exactly. But a stud like you probably has women throwing themselves at him all the time.”

  “Are you kidding? Being with you is the only good thing that’s happened to me since…”

  His words trail off, but he doesn’t need to finish. I should have known from the sheer intensity, the touch of sadness in his pleasure, that he was seeking solace as much as sex.

  I give his arm a squeeze. I understand.

  “Why did you leave that night, Lindsey? Did I do something wrong?” There’s no accusation in his voice. It’s a genuine question.

  Another joke flits through my head—I didn’t exactly leave if I’m still living in your backyard, right?—but Daniel deserves better. I take a deep breath. “Maybe it’s that you did everything right. It’s scary to care for someone. If you care, you might lose them.”

  “True enough,” he murmurs.

  “Were you mad at me?”

  “Not really mad, just confused,” he says, pulling me closer. “Actually you helped me see something that night. I had been thinking I might sell this place. Financially, it makes sense to keep it, but I’m still camping out in my old room. A single bed, soccer trophies, books from high school. I felt trapped in the past here. And then you…we…well, I realized I could make this my place own. I just have to start living in it and making my own memories.”

  “We’ve made a few memories on this mattress.”

  �
�Most definitely.”

  We laugh.

  “Lindsey?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I have a favor to ask. Feel free to say no. Would you help me put in the garden? We can start with fall plantings now, then do more in the spring. Maybe put in a vegetable garden?”

  I feel a tugging in my chest, as if a tight knot is easing itself loose.

  “I’d like that a lot. And I have a favor to ask you, too.”

  “Don’t plant any zucchini?”

  “Well, maybe, but…I’d like to stay here tonight, really stay, if that’s okay with you?”

  His reply is simply to laugh, low and deep. Then his hand clasps mine, just like a handshake—friends and good neighbors—but this time there’s new magic in his fingers. Because when I close my eyes, I don’t see darkness. Instead I see floating before me the garden and its fresh expanse of bare brown earth from which, I know for certain, something beautiful will grow.

  TEACH ME

  Jeanette Grey

  He isn’t very good at this.

  He’s an athlete, Lissa thinks. All lean muscles and long limbs. Fingers that don’t quite reach his toes when he forward-folds. As she presses back to downward dog, she keeps her gaze on him, itching to correct his form. Hips to arms in one straight line, heels reaching for the floor. He fumbles on without her intervention, looking awkward and maybe, possibly, pained.

  The instructor cues them from the front. “Two deep breaths here.”

  Lissa lets the air fill her lungs, then pushes it back out. Once. Twice. But she can’t quite find her focus.

  It’s unsettling. Strange, to be so distracted.

  “Lift into three-point.”

  In a move her muscles know by heart, she sweeps her leg to the sky then swings it forward, plants her foot between her hands and rises. It’s just a basic lunge, but the change in altitude still makes her breath quicken and her pulse pound. She savors the feeling, aches to fall into it, but out of the corner of her eye, she catches movement where there should only be stillness.

  To her side, he wavers, teeters before finding his balance. In this pose, his legs look even longer, the smooth cording of his shoulders clear as his arms lift high. Lissa frowns. His chest isn’t open, and his knee is too far forward. She glances to the teacher, who’s already moving on, oblivious to the errors in form.

  “Bring your hands to prayer and twist.”

  She turns toward him as he turns away.

  He’s beautiful, really, even if he’s not much of a yogi. His hair is dark with sweat, his skin an inviting gold. In any other setting, he’d be graceful, too. She’d bet anything he would.

  “Back to center.”

  Her gaze lingers just a second too long, her torso still twisting as he straightens, and his eyes meet hers. They’re a deep brown, wide and warm. There’s something honest to them, she thinks. Something made all the more attractive when, out of nowhere, he smiles.

  She comes out of the pose with a start, blushing as she joins the rest of the class in forward fold. With her legs straight, she bends at the waist and lets her torso dangle, lets the blood rush to her face. When they rise to standing again, she chances a glance at him to find him glancing at her, too.

  She has to force herself to look away.

  For the next few poses, she keeps her gaze focused straight ahead, but eventually it’s too much temptation. She seeks him out in the mirror, peering past the other twisting bodies to see just his face—just his eyes, the deep brown of his irises as they focus on her.

  Conscious of the weight of his stare, she pushes harder, arches more deeply and sinks farther into every posture. The burn is more than that of muscles straining, though. Their next time through the sun salutation, she eyes him with a desire to do more than just correct. She wants to touch him. To feel his warmth against her palms.

  He lifts up into the inverted V of downward-facing dog, and she can’t resist. Breaking the unspoken rule of the yoga studio, she acknowledges a world beyond her mat, whispering, “Straighten your shoulders.”

  He jerks his head to the side, looking to her in surprise. “What?”

  She pulls out of the pose, falls to her knees and gestures at him. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  Sparing the briefest glance at the front of the room, she moves to stand beside him. She places one hand on either side of his hips and pulls backward until his whole upper body becomes one long line. Even through his clothes, he’s warm and solid, and she swallows hard against the feeling of his body in her hands.

  “Feel the difference?”

  Voice strained, he grunts out a quiet, “Yeah.”

  The instructor is watching them now. Lissa smiles apologetically and pulls her hands away, but the heat of him is seared into her palms.

  Back on her own mat, she doesn’t even try for calm. She falls into the flow of postures, but it’s with a rushing, thrumming heart and with static in her ears. When the instructor cues them into downward-facing dog again, she looks over at him. His alignment is perfect, and his eyes are on hers.

  She nods, then ducks her head.

  The rest of the class speeds past, and before she knows it, they are moving into shavasana—final resting pose. Flat on her back, her mind and legs open, she closes her eyes and sinks into the floor, but the peace of meditation does not come. There is too much excitement, too much life inside her arms.

  She rises when the others do, bows her head and murmurs, “Namaste.” He’s doing the same, only he isn’t looking at her now. With heat in her cheeks, she crouches to the floor and rolls her mat. Slides it into her bag.

  Beside her, there’s the clearing of a throat.

  She looks up to find him standing there, bare feet shoved into black, plastic sandals, his yoga mat rolled up under his arm. He’s more at ease than he ever managed to be in his asanas. Being at ease looks good on him.

  “Hey,” he says, reaching up with his free hand to palm the back of his neck. “I just wanted to thank you.”

  She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  “It was my first class.” One corner of his mouth lifts up. “But that was probably pretty obvious.”

  “We all have to start somewhere.”

  “You could have fooled me. You looked like you were born doing that.” His tone is playful, but the way his gaze rakes up and down her body feels anything but.

  Flushing with heat, she demurs and waves him off. “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Well, you must practice a lot.” He stands there, looking uncertain. Around them, the class is dispersing, and another will be starting soon. As if recognizing the imperative, he extends his hand. “I’m Kevin, by the way.”

  She smiles and slides her hand into his palm. “Lissa.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  They stand there, holding hands for entirely too long, staring. Only when another instructor dons the microphone does Lissa pull away, toeing the ground, knowing she should go but lingering.

  “You don’t—” he starts, then smirks and shakes his head. “You probably have plans, but I’m dying for a cup of coffee. Any chance you’d like to grab one with me?”

  The edges of her lips curl into a smile, her chest expanding. “Make it a tea, and you’re on.”

  His whole face lights up—like he thought there was a chance she’d turn him down.

  Ten minutes later, they meet in street clothes at the front of the gym, and together, they make their way to the corner coffee shop. He stands behind her in line and sneaks in his order after hers, places a crisp bill in the barista’s hand and ignores Lissa’s protests when she asks him to let her pay. “My treat,” he insists.

  “I don’t—”

  “You can buy next time.”

  Her jaw snaps closed, the words falling back into her lungs. It’s an invitation, and with her silence, she accepts. She accepts the cup of tea, and she accepts him.


  With a hand brushing lightly at the small of her back, he leads her to a table in a corner of the café. Sinking down into a chair, he’s larger than life, taking up more than his fair share of space and charging the air. Was he so big when she touched his hips? As she sits, her knee hits his. She tries to pull away only to feel his palm, large and warm on her leg.

  “It’s okay,” he tells her. And it is.

  They each take a sip, and he smiles. “So you’ve been doing that for a long time? Yoga?”

  She nods. “About five years. It started out as stress relief, but it’s more than that now.”

  “Yeah?” He’s so attentive, so focused on her.

  Curling her toes, she feels the lingering heat in the muscles of her calves and thighs. “Yeah. I was always pretty flexible, but it makes me stronger. More balanced.” Both in her body and her life.

  “Guess I’m the opposite.” Consciously or not, he flexes the muscles in his arm. “I’m strong enough, but the flexibility?” He laughs at himself.

  “What do you usually do for exercise?” How did you get so strong?

  “A lot of different things. Soccer when the weather’s nice. And rock-climbing.”

  An athlete, indeed. “That sounds like fun.”

  “It is. You should come try it sometime.”

  Her chest gets warm at the almost-invitation. “I’d like that.”

  He lifts his cup to his mouth again. “It was actually one of my climber friends who suggested the yoga, as a way to limber up.”

  “It’s good for that,” she agrees.

  “Would you—” He pops the knuckles on one hand, darts his eyes to the side and back to her. “You wouldn’t be willing to give me some pointers some time, would you? When you helped me back there, that was really great. I was probably doing everything wrong, huh?”

  She chuckles to hide the hitch in her breath and the warmth that’s blooming through her chest. “Not everything.” There’s a moment of silence as she looks him over. “And yeah. I could do that. Sometime.”