Published By: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: Mar 09, 2012
ISBN # 9781419938146
Available in: Epub, HTML, Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.prc)
Van offers her excitement, protection, love…and most of all, sex—even if he’s at first reluctant to give her all the things she’s been craving. She wants to explore this new world of arousal and desire, but Van is only too aware of how fragile she is, how innocent…
And how much is at stake, when their love is forbidden.
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
An Excerpt From: SHELTERED
Copyright © CHARLOTTE STEIN, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
She’d dreamt about stroking him. There. She’d dreamt about his face opening up with pleasure, those pressed-tight lips of his parting to let her lick and touch and do all kinds of things. And sometimes in return, he would lick and touch and do all kinds of things to parts of her. Occasionally obvious parts, like her breasts.
Occasionally not so obvious parts, like between the cheeks of her ass.
She didn’t even know what to do with the latter. What did it mean? People didn’t lick each other there, did they? She felt pretty sure they didn’t but then again—she wasn’t even sure if one body part went into the orifice she actually assumed it did, never mind anything else.
It was probably better that he remained over there, really, when she thought about it. She could feel her cheeks heating just remembering some of her filthier thoughts, and if they came close to touching or even just brushed against each other she wasn’t sure what would happen.
Was dying of embarrassment a possibility? She didn’t know and felt glad she wouldn’t have to find out—though said relief didn’t last long. Because after a moment of her indecisive ridiculousness, he simply opened the gate and came right through. Walked up to the glass and made some sort of hand signal.
Let me in she suspected, but that didn’t seem right somehow. It didn’t suit him. He’d been so careful before, so restrained. She couldn’t imagine him suddenly being forceful with her now.
And he proved her right, for once, because after a second he mouthed obvious words through the glass.
I’m sorry. It jolted her more than the insistent hand gesture had. Mainly because she couldn’t recall anyone ever being sorry to her for anything, but also because of all the people she knew, he had the least to be sorry for.
What had he really done, after all? Not wanted to kiss her? Been a little gun-shy when it came to visiting her again? She couldn’t blame him for any of those things. He didn’t owe her anything.
What for? she tried to mouth through the glass, but he obviously didn’t get it. He even put a hand up to his ear, which just made her act before they could get any deeper into bad sign language.
She pulled the door open and said what she wanted to most.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
He looked relieved for about a second, but that soon became the frown she now recognized. The one that sent a line of pain down his face.
“I didn’t mean to just take off like that.” She thought of him stumbling, telling her not to say his name. “And I didn’t mean to not come back either.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
He put a hand in his hair, restlessly, but he kept his steady gaze on her.
“It’s not okay. It was rude.”
“Hey—I understand. I was kind of like a maniac.”
“And then I said your name all…weird and—”
He held up one big hand, stopped her mid-flow.
“Evie, no, no. That’s…not the situation. Have you spent the last three weeks thinking that was the situation?”
She tried to think of a way to say no. No, I am not a fool who considered things in entirely the wrong way. But of course in order to do that, she would have to know what the right way was.
His mouth made that mean line.
She had the distinct impression that it wasn’t awesome at all, but had no idea what to do about it. Apologizing seemed somehow redundant, in light of his apology. And telling him it didn’t matter wouldn’t work either, because she didn’t know what the mattering thing was.
So she went with something sort of neutral.
“Do you want to come in and talk?”
In the movies, people always came in and talked. However, once she’d said it his eyes got big and some weird naked thing happened to his face and then he blurted out some absolutely insane words.
Words she never thought she’d hear from the likes of him.
“See—this is the problem. You don’t even get where this is going. You can’t just ask me to come in, or kiss me, or tell me you want to know what smoking pot feels like. When I’m close to you I feel crazy, okay? When you say my name I feel crazy. It’s not…the right thing for you. I don’t think I can just…be your friend.”
He said the last little bit in one big burst, as if he had to force it out of himself. And though it stung, in one way, in another she actually knew what he meant. She didn’t even have to struggle for it, or blindly guess.
He meant the thing she’d been feeling too.
“I don’t want you to be just my friend.”
It came out before she could stop it, and once it was done he seemed speechless. Caught, between one thing and another. She wasn’t disappointed, however, when he settled on a course of action.
He simply stepped forward and took her face in his hands, then kissed her. He kissed her and kissed her until suddenly she found herself sprawled on something, doing another thing she hardly had a name for.
She supposed the term for it was making out. They were making out on the couch, like the teenager she’d never actually been. But the thing was—it didn’t feel like something so small and simple.
It felt like something big, and all-consuming.
His mouth felt wet, so wet. And this time he didn’t hold back with the tongue. She felt it slide over hers, slippery and lewd and thrilling all at the same time, and had to fight to not do something crazy like freeze or squirm.
Either might suggest to him that he should stop. And if he stopped, she would just die, she would. It was without doubt the best thing that had ever happened to her, and not only because of the tongue and the softness of his mouth and his sudden greediness.
There was also his hand on something perfectly innocent, like her shoulder. Yeah—perfectly innocent, apart from the fact that he very obviously wanted it to be somewhere else. His thumb kept rubbing and rubbing at her there through the material of her jersey, as if he just needed to have a focus point. Something to distract him from going to the places he’d usually go to.
And there was something both frustrating and maddeningly arousing about that. His restraint made something burn low and deep in her belly, and then his mouth, oh God his mouth.
He tasted like cinnamon, again, and every now and then he’d pull away, just a little—just enough to make her want to drag him back. Before giving her a teasing lick with that perfect, curling tongue of his.
It set all the nerve endings in her upper lip on fire. She had to stop herself from reaching up and rubbing something like normal feeling back into the area, before the urge to writhe against him grew too strong.
Because it was getting pretty out of control. She hadn’t meant it, and suspected that he definitely hadn’t. He’d seemed averse to moving their suddenly passionate kiss to the couch, and had absolutely opposed anything like lying down.
But after a while they’d ended up like this anyway—the back of her head almost on the arm of the seat. His body over hers, solid and glorious. If she shifted just a little he’d be between her legs, and then what?
Oh God, then what?