“I don’t know how to do this with you right now, Cass. I just plain fuckin’ don’t.”
“Do what?” But something layered like a web of spider silk through her words and the wild burn of her eyes told me she knew damn well what I was talking about.
I swallowed hard, felt myself chewing on my thoughts as I do when agitated or deep in thought. She was in front of me, blocking the door.
I let my bag hang off my shoulder, reached out and grabbed her around the waist—god, bare skin, hot and soft—and set her to one side. I should not have done that, though. Her skin, in that split second of contact, melted into my hand, dissolved into me, absorbed itself into my bloodstream and lit the furnace of need inside me to a snarling wildfire roar.
I pushed out the door and all but ran, my bare feet slapping on the pavement.
I ached for long hours after that.
Cassie
I watched his broad back recede into the shadows. His ponytail swayed at his back, and the huge bag of laundry seemed like no more of a burden than if he’d been carrying a single pillow. Yet that bag had been larger than me and heavier.
God, he was strong.
He’d picked me up and literally physically set me aside, and I don’t think it had required any effort whatsoever.
I stood at the door watching the sidewalk where he’d vanished for a long time, wondering.
Why had he left?
It had seemed, for a moment, as if he’d been about to kiss me.
His eyes had raked over my face, caught on my lips, stared at them. I’d felt his eyes on my body, and I couldn’t bring myself to regret having dressed so skimpily. I wasn’t overly modest anyway—as a dancer, I’d performed in this or something like it countless times. Practiced in it, sweated and been lifted and videotaped in outfits like this.
So why did it feel different with Ink? Why did I feel more naked? With anyone else I wouldn’t think twice. I was comfortable in my dance shorts and midriff tank top, and often went without a bra late at night when I was not planning on being around people, or moving around that much. It wasn’t a big deal, really. But with Ink, it just felt different. I felt exposed.
I felt…sensual.
And that was truly different. I am a physical person, a sexual person, a visceral person. But not a sensual one. Big difference. Ink made me feel intensely sensual, in that moment he was looking down at me like…
Like he wanted to devour me.
Has anyone looked at me like that, ever?
Did Rick ever look at me like that? Like if he didn’t get to touch me and kiss me and do wild and dirty things with me he would just die.
Rick had looked at me like he owned me, like he deserved me, like I was his. But not ever with such violent burning desperation, the way Ink just did.
And then Ink had just…walked away.
As if he couldn’t wait to escape me.
The washer buzzed, and I went to switch my laundry over, still turning the last half an hour over in my head.
I was attracted to him, I realized. It seemed like a weird thing to have to realize, but there it was. He was drastically different than Rick—the polar opposite, in fact. In every way.
Yet I was more than just physically attracted to Ink. There was a lot to him. His presence was soothing and exciting at the same time. His size was intimidating and scary and thrilling and intense…and comforting. I had never in my life felt as safe as I did around Ink. Or as at risk, because he sees me. Knows me, despite not knowing a whole lot about me. I’ve told him things I’ve not really talked about even with Mom.
So, wait. Was I imagining him wanting me? Was I seeing something that’s not there because I was lonely and sad and upset and lost and—
And fucking horny as hell.
God, so horny.
But was I using all that to see something that’s not there?
I didn’ think I was. I think he felt it—felt a connection, something hot and sizzling between us.
And then he walked away. Picked me up, set me aside, and walked away.
But there was a whole boiling shitload of conflict going on as he did so, which made me think he has some hang-ups of his own. He seemed so self-contained, so confident, so at ease in his skin and with who he was, which made it hard to imagine what he could be insecure about. I needed to know.
And, if I was going to be honest with myself, the look in his eyes, the burning desire that was so blatantly obvious…? It made me crazy. I wanted him to act on it. I wanted him to show me what it would feel like for him to let that loose. I mean, god what a feeling that must be. To have a man that powerful, that strong just…take me?
Yes, please.
Rick…I knew I had to stop thinking about him, but it was impossible not to compare them. Rick was my only truly serious relationship. I had a boyfriend in high school, my first kiss, my first trip to second base, and the boy to whom I’d given my virginity. We’d dated from sophomore year through me leaving for Julliard, and I’d known all the time that it would end upon graduation. He’d known it too, because he had his own plans—Stanford for a double major in computer science and business, and then intern at a dot-com in Silicon Valley for some experience, and then strike out to create his own startup dot-com, in the biotech field. Last I’d checked, William had done everything he’d planned on doing, and his startup was doing great. We’d been good together, William and me. It had been fun, exciting. We’d known all along it was a relationship with a finite term, and so we’d set out to extract the most amount of fun and enjoyment from our time together as possible.
As horny teenagers with busy parents, we’d had plenty of time and opportunity to explore and indulge our sexual curiosity, and that had been quite a wild time of learning myself and my body and my desires. And what I’d learned, more than anything, is that I just rev at a higher level than most. I think that’s true of all of us Goodes. I know Lexie, more than any of us, has a libido that runs hot enough that she would probably call it an affliction. Charlie and I have talked at length about our struggles to find a partner who gets us, who satisfies us, who can keep up with us.
For my part, I’ve yet to find that. William came closest, I think. But that’s only because I was a young adult, at best, a girl just finding herself and just beginning to understand my body and what I wanted, and how to ask for it. I would say I’m a pretty sexually liberated woman—I regularly and enthusiastically take care of myself, and when I’m with a man I have no qualms about asking for what I want and indicating what I like and don’t. I just also know that most men don’t have the stamina or patience to truly stay with me, to satisfy me to the point that I’d really truly feel well matched. I enjoy myself when I’m with a partner, no doubt about that—but I’m often left feeling like, once he’s gone, that I need to find a few minutes to handle some unfinished business.
And I don’t mean that as a complaint or insult or anything negative about the men I’ve been with. I’m just…I need more, want more, I’m ready for more sooner. I want things crazier, hotter, wilder. I’m not an exhibitionist, don’t have any interest in being public about things. I just want a lot. And none of the men I’ve slept with so far have really met my deepest, strongest needs.