Because you’d seen the potential. You’d seen what it meant.
And it was a silly analogy, but it was true. Her best friend was a man, and she’d always known that.
But this, right now, was really knowing that her best friend was a man.
And that she was a woman.
She was going to start crying again, and she hated that. Because she didn’t really cry. And it wasn’t that she was afraid or sad. It was just that the feeling was so big that it needed somewhere to escape. Or it would overwhelm her. So it started leaking out of her eyes. And she didn’t particularly care for that at all.
So she took a deep breath, and she closed the distance between them, kissing him again. And then she took a step back, pushing her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. He grabbed it from behind his head, finishing the job for her as he jerked it up over his head.
“Holy shit,” she said, looking at him.
“What?”
“It’s just that you...”
He grinned. The bastard. He smiled at her.
“Is that your way of saying that I’m hot?”
“I... I need to sit down.” So she did, on the edge of the bed.
“What’s going on, Cal?”
“I don’t know how I didn’t see you.”
Those words, that moment, stretched between them.
“You didn’t want to,” he said. “That’s not a bad thing. You could just only see the thing right in front of you.”
“Yeah.” She shook her head. “I’m tired of that. I’m tired of squeezing myself down. Squeezing my life down. It stops now. It stops at this.” She reached out and put her hand on his stomach. It was rock hard. Ridged with muscle. Rough from the dark hair that dusted him. He was incredible. She wanted... She leaned forward and kissed him. Right there on his abs. She felt his body tense, his muscles jump. She looked up at him from where she sat on the bed, and started to work at his belt.
“Careful,” he said, warning in his tone.
But she wanted to know. She really wanted to know. Because she’d spent all this time deliberately not wondering. About men in general, about him specifically. And now she just felt like a deep well of wonderment. And she wanted to reach the bottom. Wanted to find the end of her curiosity, which she didn’t think she was even close to at this point.
She undid his belt. His button on his jeans, his zipper. And quickly pushed the denim, and his underwear, down his legs. And there he was, thick and proud and strong, standing out from his body. And she felt like she’d been punched in the solar plexus.
She could only stare at him.
“Callie...”
“You want me,” she breathed.
Because she might be a virgin, but she knew that much. She knew about the mechanics of everything. Knew that this meant he was hot for her. The same as she was for him.
She reached out, curving her fingers around him. He was so hot. Soft and strong all at the same time. She moved her fist up and down, stroking him. And he groaned, his head falling back. And something inside of her shifted. Because he was teaching her. She’d asked him to. But it mattered to him. It meant something. He felt something. She was holding him in her hand. The most intimate part of him. And it felt right, because it was Jake. Because Jake had been there for her all this time. Because he was...
Her trust in him was limitless. There was no one else on earth she could’ve gone to and asked to marry her.
Only him.
So it stood to reason that he was the one to experience this with.
She leaned forward, and before she could lose her nerve, she flicked her tongue out over the head of his arousal. She had heard the girls talking about this. In fact, she’d been scorched in the ears hearing one of the barrel racers talking about getting on her knees in the horse trailer and doing this with one of the champion bull riders from Brazil. She’d said he was worth it. Much more so than the garden-variety American cowboys. But Callie didn’t see how anyone could hold a candle to Jake.
His hand was suddenly in her hair, pulling. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice rough.
“I want to,” she said.
And she tasted him again. He was salty, and she liked the smell of him. It was so... Strange to think that. So strange to want it. But she did.
She parted her lips, and took him into her mouth. And she lost herself. And suddenly she was shaking all over. Because she never felt more powerful in all her life. And she wasn’t on the back of a bucking bronco. She wasn’t proving her strength. She was being intimate with a man. She was letting herself be a woman. And she’d been certain that there was nothing but weakness to be had there. Certain that there was nothing but breakable vulnerability. In failure.
Oh, she’d been sure there would be failure.
But she wasn’t failing. Because he was trembling. A man who by his own admission had had a whole hell ton of sex was trembling with her untried mouth on his body.
So she couldn’t be bad at it. She had to at least be okay at it. She had to be.
There were so many things tumbling in on her at once. A whole lot of new. And a whole lot of emotion.
And suddenly he was moving her away from him, and she fought to get back.
“No,” he said, his voice hard. “Not like this, sweetheart. Not like this.”
He sat her back on the bed, pulled her top up over her head and unhooked her bra quickly. His gaze was hungry. And she felt undone. Because again, he was just admiring her, just the way she was. And she didn’t have to do anything or be anything or try to win at something. He was just there. Wanting her. Without any clothes to cover her.
He undid her jeans, pulled them down her legs, took her boots along with them. And then they were both naked, and he pushed her back on the mattress. Tangling his limbs with hers. It was like flying. This freedom. Touching him like this, with no barrier between them. It was the thing she hadn’t known she wanted. She had cared for Jake for a long time. But this was like a missing piece. And she hadn’t meant for it to be. It just was.
He put his hand between her legs, and started to stroke her. Stoking a fire there that made it impossible for her to speak or think. All she could do was gasp with pleasure as he pushed her to the brink over and over again. Then he kissed her neck, her collarbone, down between the center of her breasts. She’d never thought much of her breasts, except that they got in the way, and she had strapped them down really tight with a sports bra to keep from being uncomfortable when she was getting tossed around the back of a horse. But he made her appreciate them. Because they didn’t feel uncomfortable or in the way now. They felt worshipped. And they felt pleasure. So much pleasure. As he toyed with her nipples, with his fingers, his tongue, his lips. And she wasn’t embarrassed. Not at all.