Susan Mallery - Sweet Talk

On the way, she tried to rehearse what she was going to say. Nothing sounded right. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to speak at all.

She got to his house and had just pulled in the driveway before she realized that while she was nervous, she wasn’t freaked. She had butterflies in her stomach but no impending sense of doom. No panic attack.

That had to be good, she told herself as she walked up to the front door and rang the bell. At least there were still lights on. She’d been worried about waking him.

He answered fairly quickly. “Claire?”

“Hi, Wyatt.”

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. I thought you might like some company.” She pushed past him and walked into the house. He closed the door and followed her into the family room.

Here she could see evidence of his party for one. There was a half-empty pizza box and a bottle of Scotch on the coffee table. The glass next to it was nearly empty.

She turned around and smiled. “How are you?”

He put one hand on the counter, as if he needed help balancing. Other than that, he didn’t seem drunk. Had Nicole been exaggerating or had he gotten a late start?

“I’m okay,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I thought you might want company.”

His eyes were slightly dilated. But she didn’t know all that much about drinking. She never partied and her big indulgence was an occasional glass of wine.

“Tonight’s not good for me,” he told her. “I’m not at my best. You should probably go.”

“You don’t have to entertain me,” she said. At least not in the way he would think she meant.

She walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. Now she could smell the liquor on his breath, but it wasn’t icky. She leaned in and kissed him.

Wyatt responded right away, kissing her back with an intensity that delighted her. This was going to be easier than she’d hoped. Then he pulled back.

“Not a good idea,” he muttered. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

“It seems like a great idea to me,” she murmured. “Come on, Wyatt. What’s the harm?”

She kissed him again, this time brushing his bottom lip with her tongue. He put both his hands on her waist and groaned. When she leaned into him, she felt the hard planes of his body and something pressing against her belly-something she desperately hoped was an erection.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her with enough intensity to set them both on fire. They circled and teased, even as his hands roamed over her body. He touched her back, her hips, then slid his hands down her rear and squeezed.

She arched against him, pressing against that intriguing ridge. This time he rubbed against her, making her almost totally sure he was aroused. That had to be good, didn’t it? She was one step closer to being just like everyone else.

He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Without warning, he stepped away and pulled her sweater up and over her head. Then he just stared at her.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he muttered. “Better than I imagined.”

He’d been thinking about her? Being with her? Was that possible?

She shivered in anticipation and maybe a little from nerves. He kissed her again and at the same time, reached behind her. Suddenly her bra was loose.

Although she’d long since left her comfort zone, she let it drop to the floor. He cupped her breasts in both hands and, still kissing her, began to explore her sensitive flesh.

He brushed her nipples with his thumbs. He stroked her curves. When he broke their kiss, it was to bend down and lick her right nipple.

It was as if someone had zapped a nerve that went all the way from her breast to that place between her legs. She jumped, then grabbed him by the head to hold him in place.

“More,” she breathed.

He chuckled, then obliged her. He moved between her breasts, licking, sucking, making her feel things so exquisite, she didn’t know how she would survive if he stopped. Then he did stop. But before she could protest, he’d dropped to his knees and was pulling her down with him.

They were on the rug in front of the coffee table, his leg between hers, kissing, with him pressing his thigh against her center. He braced himself with his hands so he was on top of her, but not crushing her. They were both being swept away. At least that’s what she tried to believe.

Claire did her best to give herself over to the experience. This was everything she’d wanted-at least that’s what she told herself. But the truth was, she’d hoped for more than the floor in the family room. She wasn’t exactly comfortable and she felt kind of exposed, as if anyone could walk in on them. Besides, now that he’d stopped kissing her breasts, she was able to think and that couldn’t be good.

Not sure how to explain she was uncomfortable without giving away the truth, she didn’t say anything. When Wyatt unfastened her jeans and tugged them off, she was okay with that. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her shoes, which was also fine. Then he bent over her and drew her nipple into his mouth again. At the same time, he slipped his fingers between her legs and began to explore her.

While she liked what he was doing, she had the sense that everything was going too fast. The sensations were good, but she couldn’t seem to get lost in them. Her stupid brain kept asking questions. Did she really want to do this right now? Here? With him drunk? They barely knew each other and-

He brushed against one spot between her thighs. A single cluster of sensation that, had she been standing, would have brought her to her knees. Her brain went totally blank.

It was as if he’d found the feel-good switch and turned it on.

He touched that place again and she groaned. The third time she wanted to know exactly what she had to promise so that he would never ever stop.

She breathed his name. She closed her eyes and felt herself sinking into the floor. It was perfect, the way he circled and brushed and rubbed.

Teasing at first, getting close, then moving away. A single stroke, then more, deeper, faster, over and over again. Her muscles tensed. She pushed toward something…anything. She desperately wanted to get what all the fuss was about.

Her breathing quickened. She parted her legs, offering herself to him. Closer, she thought, pushing and tensing and hoping that-

He stopped. He actually stopped. She opened her eyes, assuming something horrible had happened to distract him. Maybe the house was on fire or something.

He gave her a quick kiss. “Can you finish with me inside of you?”

“I, ah, don’t know.” She wasn’t sure what he was asking. When he started undressing, she got the basic idea of the question.

Oh, no. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t ready and it would probably be better if she just told him the truth. But how, exactly?

In the few seconds it took her to consider her options, he managed to get naked. She had a brief impression of lean muscles and broad shoulders, then he was kneeling between her legs.

“Wyatt? We have to talk.”

He mumbled something, then settled on top of her. Really on top of her. Apparently with all his weight. She couldn’t breathe. Mercifully, he stopped moving. After a moment, she realized he pretty much stopped doing anything.

“Wyatt?” She shoved at his shoulder. He didn’t move. “Wyatt?”

He rolled off her, onto his back. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

“Wyatt?”

Nothing, except a soft snore.

Her gaze slipped from his face down his amazing body to his erection. Or what was left of it. As she watched, it got smaller and smaller, fully illustrating how she felt inside.

He’d passed out in the middle of almost sex. Just like that. She tried to tell herself that it was because he’d been drinking, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was her? Was if she was so unexciting that he’d actually preferred sleep to making love with her?

Depressed beyond anything she’d ever felt, she collected her clothes and pulled them on. While she desperately wanted to leave, to go home and hurt in private, she was worried about leaving him alone. What if he needed medical attention?

Confident the evening couldn’t get any worse, she threw a blanket over him and then curled up on the sofa and wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she have to be such a freak? And was she really going to die the oldest non-nun virgin in the history of the universe? If she did, it would be just her luck.

CLAIRE WOKE the next morning to find herself fully dressed, in an unfamiliar bed. She had a moment of wondering if she’d been abducted by aliens, only to recall the humiliating events of the previous evening. Abduction sounded a whole lot better than facing Wyatt. She could only hope he’d been drunk enough that he didn’t remember anything. Of course her place in what she would guess was his guest room meant he’d awakened to find himself naked, on the family room floor, with her curled up on the sofa. She had a feeling he was going to have some questions.

She walked into the attached bathroom and found a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen where Wyatt, wearing only jeans, stood leaning against the counter.

They stared at each other, neither speaking. Claire didn’t know if she was supposed to apologize or not.

“I didn’t imagine you here,” he said at last. “I’d wondered.”

“I was here.”

“Want to tell me why?”

She didn’t know what he was thinking and couldn’t read him well enough to know if he was mad. She supposed she could fake some reason but why not go with the truth?