Page 42 of Undefeated

“Why?”

“Because it hasn’t been that long. It’s been seven weeks. That’s it. A codependent woman will attach herself to the first man that presents himself after she gets out of a relationship. I don’t want to be your man out of a feeling of necessity. I want to be your man out of feelings of deep desire,” he said as he began to sit up.

I pushed against his chest, forcing him back to his laying position on the couch. I liked that he let me do things like this to him. He could, as strong as he was, keep me from even making him move at all, but he played with me. He let me push him around and play with him. He knew just how to act and what to do to make me feel comfortable, and he never made me feel out of place or uncomfortable.

“Lay down,” I said, pointing to his chest with my index finger.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded as he leaned back onto the couch cushion.

“We’re going to talk,” I said.

“Talk. Alright. Get busy,” he chuckled.

“Do you want to make me happy?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he responded.

“Let’s make progress in this thing we have,” I said.

“This thing…” his voice faded as he raised his eyebrows.

“Yes. I don’t know what to call it. This thing. Let’s go one step further. I want that,” I smiled.

“One step,” he responded with a smirk on his face.

I nodded.

He slid his hands from my shoulders to behind my neck, and slowly pulled my face to his. As his lips parted, I pressed my face hard against his. Kissing Shane was something I could do forever. He once told me everything he did he was great at, and kissing was no exception.

I closed my eyes and held his head in my hands. Our tongues intertwined, our moist lips massaging each other, I got lost in the feeling. Thoughts of the men in my erotica novels ran through my head. I opened my eyes and raised my face from his.

“I want you,” I said, my voice filed with emotion.

“You have me,” he responded as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“No, I want you,” I said.

“Kace, you have me - as much as I am willing to give. I am yours. You have all that you can get. There is no more,” he said as he started to sit up.

Frustrated, I pushed myself toward the other end of the couch and sat between his legs.

“Don’t get angry, babe. Everything I do, I do for what I believe is best for you. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want anything to develop in this relationship because you’re vulnerable,” he said softly as he sat up.

He ran his fingers through my hair and moved it behind my ear.

“I like seeing your face, Kace. You’re beautiful. Sex can be a manner of expressing one’s love, but by no means is it a method of measuring the love one has for you,” he ran his fingers through my hair and smiled.

“Sex is all we have left, Kace. Don’t look at it as a form of verification or validity to confirm how I feel about you. The fact that we’re here together is validity in itself,” he moved closer to me and kissed my forehead.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling selfish as I did so. He was right. I didn’t need to have sex with him to prove anything. I wanted to have sex with him because I wanted to. I hadn’t had sex for almost four years, and I wanted Shane to fuck me until I couldn’t walk. The fact that he held this one act in reserve proved to me that he cared more about me than I could ever expect anyone else to.

I was incapable of recalling what sex felt like. I relied solely on the descriptions in the books that I read for the memories associated with sex. My memories were false, and they were the scenes from the many books on my Kindle. I lived vicariously through the heroines in my books, and made love to my book boyfriends.

“Okay. I understand better now. It’s just hard,” I admitted as I moved my head closer to his hand.

This man made it difficult for me to do anything but want more. To have someone who was built the way he was one thing in itself. His body clearly defied the laws of everything that was human. He had a small waist and abs that were as if constructed of a flesh washboard. A chest that was massive and wide. His arms had muscles along the side of muscles. And he didn’t care. He didn’t flaunt it. He wore a hoodie in the summertime, covering his body, not exposing it for all to see.

He was intelligent. He didn’t speak in a manner I would have expected a boxer to speak. He often thought for some time before he committed to answering a question. When he did answer, be it immediate or after some thought, his answers were clear, concise, and well defined.