I mean... my God above, his dick is something else. I feel deflowered. My lips curl into a mad little smile. I shake my head. I just got my brains fucked out. By Kellan Walsh. I blink at his moving form and wonder who the fuck is he? Why did I react this way?
The sex was just intense. That’s what I tell myself as I get to my feet. My cheeks and neck are hot, my body is unsteady, but the sex we had was so intense, of course I would react differently. I’ve been with other guys. Kellan’s more intense. It’s messing with my head.
I step over to the wall beside the door and drag my palm along it, feeling for a light switch. When the room lights up, I draw my first deep breath since being pulled atop his lap.
See? I’m totally good now. When I turn around, things will be just the way they were while we were studying. Just business. Okay—maybe some occasional heart-thumping... but definitely nothing serious. These squishy-wishy feelings I’ve been having in the last few minutes: they’ll be gone. Because I don’t even know him. And what I do know, I don’t like. There’s no reason I should feel drawn to him in any way.
I stand there facing the wall, breathing slowly, and allow myself to admit that I’ve been lonely. Really lonely. The kind of lonely that always feels like after Olive died, when Mom and Grans were never home and I would find Mary Claire standing in the street “on accident,” and I would curl up in my bed at night and pray for someone to come take me to another house. Any time life gets quiet, the image of that sharpens in my memory. I start needing things I can’t get. Things I think maybe no one ever gets. Things that don’t have names.
So maybe I’ve been a little like that lately.
So his hands on me felt good. No big deal.
Deep breath... blow it out my nose... five, four, three, two, one...
I turn slowly and it’s almost a shock to see him there. My nerves spark as I look him over: Kellan in his unzipped slacks. He’s freaking beautiful. And perfect. Those wide shoulders, and his heavy chest—that look is one I love. The way his abs are dusted with gold-brown hair, trailing down...
I jerk my eyes up to his face and find his mouth curved into a gentle, sideways smile. His eyes seem to twinkle. Is that a smug look? Happy? His smile widens and I realize that it’s both. He’s pleased with himself, and he looks also pleased with me. I had you, and I liked you. Yeah, you. That’s what his face says.
My leggings are draped around one of his forearms; there’s a tissue in his hand. He steps to me. I tell myself to look down at my feet, but my eyes look to his eyes. Low-lidded. He looks satiated. His hand, clutching the tissue, raises.
“I would have cleaned you up.” He trails the tissue along my chin, the motion soft and teasing. And he smirks. It’s... intimate, that smirk. As if he knows me.
“I’ll take care of you while you’re with me. You’ll like it,” he says. He drops a light kiss on my forehead, and I take a step back.
“When I’m with you, my ass.” I hold my hands out, as if his tissue will hurt me. “I’m not going with you! I’m not going to your house. I can’t do this. This.” I wave wildly at the room, then snatch my leggings from his arm. “I’m not a crazy person, Kellan Walsh, you make me feel crazy!”
When my eyes return to his face, I’m surprised to find he looks thoughtful—almost relaxed; the bastard. “You’re a person who likes pleasure,” he says, reaching for my shoulder. I step back, though it doesn’t get his eyes off mine. “What’s so crazy about that?”
I blink at him, because it’s too hard to explain. “I know guys like you,” I stammer. Guys like Kellan Walsh are bad for girls like me. It’s a cliché, even. “Doing this in here—” having wild sex in the library—“it’s not my thing. I’m not that kind of girl. I know you’ve been with tons of them. You’ve got the wrong girl, Kellan.”
He chuckles, tilting his head a little to one side. He folds his arms. “Oh, Cleo. You have no idea what kind of girl I like. You are my kind