Oh Lord, he’s not wearing a shirt, and just the sight of his bare skin makes me flush. He’s smooth across the undulating muscles that make up the sexiest chest I’ve ever seen. He’s tan there too, so he must work shirtless sometimes, something I haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing. He braces one arm at the top of the door, looming large. “There you are,” he says, his free hand reaching out to take mine. Cash tugs me close, and I immediately catch the scent of his freshly washed skin. His hair has a gentle curl to it, and it flops over his forehead. He kisses my hand as he did on the first night, but I know it’s not just a prelude to a kiss this time.
I’m in his room.
His bed is right there.
We’re alone.
And I’m totally out of my depth.
“Cash,” I say in a warning tone.
“It’s okay.” He dips lower to kiss my cheek. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
He doesn’t realize that that is exactly what I’m afraid of. If I let him put his hands on me, I’m going to want everything.
My momma told me that sex could be a power exchange. Men like most what they can’t have. They’ll chase and chase, and while you don’t give them what they want, they stay interested. But if a man doesn’t love you before you give him what’s between your thighs, you hand him power during sex that he’ll eventually use against you.
I guess she was trying to get me to be cautious, which I appreciate, but her words hang heavy.
I bet Amber doesn’t worry about handing over her power. I bet her power is between her thighs, and she sucks the life out of the poor men she entraps like a black widow spider.
But I want to kiss Cash. I want to let him hold me. I want to know what it feels like for his weight to be on me. Maybe I can be strong enough to keep my clothes on.
Drawing closer, I wrap my arms around his warm chest and melt into his perfect kisses. His arms envelop me too, and for a little while, we stand at the entrance to his room, kissing as we have before, but then something in him seems to break. His hands grip under my ass, and he picks me up, depositing me onto his soft comforter, leaning low over me.
“You drive me crazy, Melanie,” he says.
“Crazy good or crazy bad?”
“Crazy amazing.” He smiles against my lips, but by the time he pulls back to look down at me, that smile has gone. My heart skips at his handsomeness. I reach up to touch his hair and caress his stubbled cheek, and I feel like I’m slipping into a world I’ve never known. “I want to make you feel good,” he says. “Can I do that?”
“You do make me feel good,” I say, using a smile to conceal my obvious diversion.
“I can do so much better than that,” he says.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if his brothers can too. This charade between us feels strange in these moments at the beginning of intimacy. The thing that holds me back is how much I feel for this man. Despite what he wants, I know he’s not fantasizing about passing me around his family like a whore. He wants me to be a partner for him and his brothers. It’s kind of flattering in a way.
“What do you want to do?” I ask softly.
“Look at you,” he says, nuzzling my nose. “Touch you here.” He runs his finger over my breast, “and here.” He cups my pussy, and a moan leaves my lips. “You don’t have to be shy with me, and you can tell me to stop…anytime, okay?”
I’m still against his hand, knowing that if I move, even just a little, I’ll moan again. I want to tell him I’m scared that if he does what he says, I won’t ever tell him to stop. We’ll end up a tangled mess in these sheets, and what then? I’ll be all in with Cash, and there will be one less barrier to the rest of the Bradfords. My willpower is waning.
He’s waiting for an answer, and I stare at him, wide eyed, wondering if this will be the man who takes my virginity.
His words fill my mind. Melanie is everything we ever talked about wanting. She’s perfect.
Dipping lower, he kisses me again, and I slip into the warm place that exists between us, of comfort and trust and affection. It might not be hearts and flowers, but it’s what I need.
Cash is what I need.
He moves his hand to stroke my cheek, and his touch is reverent. He’s slow to caress me, his fingers finding their way beneath the hem of my shirt, hot and rough against my stomach. “Is it okay?” he asks, and instead of answering, I raise my head to kiss him, gripping onto his shoulder.