And definitely the most perfect she’d ever had the pleasure of touching. Tasting. Feeling.
She could remember the taste of his skin under her lips, under her tongue. The sound of his heavy breathing against her ear, hot on the skin of her neck.
And other places. So many places. He’d taken his time getting to know her body, though he’d seemed to instinctively know what she liked. What she needed.
How long had it been since she’d been taken good and hard, until there was nothing to do but scream her approval?
The memory made her mouth go dry.
Why couldn’t she control herself for just a little while, until he was out of the room and it was safe to fall back on the bed and pick through every last memory?
Probably because he’d just given her a night like she had never known before. Sweeter. More passionate.
The kind of night a woman could get addicted to if she wasn’t careful.
And Missy had spent so, so long being careful. Painfully careful.
She didn’t want to be that way anymore.
Yet there she was, saying stupid things. Like this was some mid-twentieth-century movie or show where the girl had just lost her innocence and hoped the boy would still respect her in the morning.
It had been a long time since Missy was innocent.
Still, somehow, this felt different. Deeper. More real.
More dangerous, too, because of all that.
“You’re not?” His hair stuck up in all directions. He ran his fingers through it, combing it down. Fingers she could remember being on her. Inside her.
A flush burned her cheeks at the memory. “No, I’m not.”
“That’s disappointing because I like this sort of girl.”
“Stop.”
He laughed. It wasn’t a taunt, a tease. He wasn’t treating her like a joke. How did she know? No way of telling. She felt it just the same.
“Hey. Not everything has to be so serious.” He sat next to her, where she had just about wrapped herself in an entire cocoon of sheets. “No, I don’t think you’re a slut, if that’s what you’re trying to say. Even if you were, that’s none of my business. Don’t be so worried about what people think about you.”
“I’m not worried about people in general.” She found the courage to look him in the eye. “Just about certain people whose opinion matters.”
“My opinion matters?”
She managed a soft laugh. “I told you, I’m not that sort of girl. Which means you must be something special, right?”
He kissed her shoulder. Even that simple, touch was as tender as any caress she could imagine. “That means more than I can say. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No, I mean it.” He turned her head, so she faced him, and then buried his hand in her hair. Hair he had run his hands through, had clutched in his fists. His touch was softer now. “I’m not good at things like that. These moments, you know. I haven’t had many of them. Wanting to spend time with a woman afterward. Staying in bed. Sitting here, making sure she was okay with what we did.”
He looked away before she did, making her wonder how much more uncomfortable he had to be than she was. Even she’d had the nerve to hold his gaze.
Maybe it was one thing to pretend to be comfortable with himself and another to truly okay inside.
In a way, this was just as new to him as it was to her.
I sit back, reading over what I just wrote and remembering the moments that had inspired it.
Kellen hadn’t stayed until morning the way Trent did in the book. Missy wasn’t sharing a room, but I am. Hayley had been nice enough to give us time to be alone and might have stayed away all night if I hadn’t told her it was okay to come back.
Am I writing the scene this way because this is how I wish it had gone? I think so.
It’s been almost a week since we got back from the resort, and my tan is still going strong, so that’s a good thing.
Matt’s left me alone. I’m not sure what to make of that. He’s such a baby, sulking in his apartment. I know he’s in there too. I know he’s alive and well.
How do I know?
The fact that a girl spent half the night moaning his name. He’s up to his old tricks, apparently. There I was, spoiled all this time. Enjoying silence while working in the middle of the night.
I didn’t bother playing the marching band music. It would’ve been petty, and while I am many things, I don’t like to imagine myself as being petty.
Not to mention the fact that I’m suspicious of him. What if he was trying to goad me into confronting him? What if he wanted that to be our first contact after so long?
I wasn’t about to fall for that trick. If that was what he had in mind anyway.
Not that I’m exactly going to ask if that was what he had in mind because I don’t want to make it look like I’m overthinking it and—oh shoot, I’m driving myself nuts. I should get back to thinking about work.
With my elbows on the desk, I rest my chin in my hands and read over again what I have so far.
How can I capture the way I felt when he left me there, in the room, and I wished it hadn’t felt like I was saying good-bye to him for good?
No, I never told him I wasn’t that kind of girl. Even I know how hopelessly silly that sounds. It’s one thing for a character in a book to come up with something like that, but me?
At least he stuck around for a little bit afterward. That was nice. We walked along the beach for a while before he headed back to his room to get packed.
Now?
I need to get my head fully into work, so I won’t be tempted to check the phone again. And again.
So what if he hasn’t gotten in touch with me yet? So what if there hasn’t even been a text message?
So what if I’m starting to wonder whether I was right in the first place? That he only wanted to get in my panties while we were at the resort and then disappear in the night? I guess he never had any intention of us going to dinner or doing anything else once we were back from the wedding.
And I need to be okay with that, which is why I’ve decided to put him behind me.
While writing a book based on our experiences. I swear, it’s like I’ve decided to live the rest of my life in purgatory. Punishing myself, serving my time before going on to something better. Something less torturous.
I know what I need to do with my book at least. That much I can control. I’ll have Trent avoid Missy, though it’ll be for completely innocent reasons. Death in the family or something equally unpreventable.
If I were Missy, what would I do?
Oh, to hell with that. I am Missy, let’s be honest. And what I would love to do is go to him and ask who he thinks he is. Why he thought it would be okay to lie to me. Six days, and he hasn’t bothered to get in touch?
I reached out to him. The ball is completely in his court.
Yes, I’ll have Missy confront Trent to his face. Let her take him down a peg or two.
When did I start crying?
I have to go to the bathroom to rinse my face before taking a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look any different than usual. My skin is tanner than normal, but that’s not saying much, considering I’m normally pale enough to be nearly transparent.
There’s no sign on my forehead reading, Sucker.