Elements of Chemistry (Part 1) ATTRACTION (2015)

Chapter 5. Basic Concepts of Chemical Bonding

“PARKER.”

Fingers were in my hair, brushing it away from my face. Then the fingers caressed a path over my shoulder, down my arm, and fit themselves around mine, squeezing.

“Parker... Time to get up. Time to go.” A mystery male voice reverberated in my head. It was a nice voice. It made my insides feel like a warm marshmallow, sweet and fluffy and melting.

I lifted my eyebrows but couldn’t quite open my eyes; I asked in a sleep mumble, “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the beach.”

The words sounded faraway and my drowsy brain told me to ignore them. I began to drift.

“You’re cute when you don’t want to wake up.” The mystery voice sounded both growly and amused. I liked the mystery voice.

I also liked the word cute, but not as much as its alternates. “Adorable, captivating, charming, darling…”

“What?”

“Synonyms.”

“Okay. Come on, Cutie pie. Wake up.” The hand was on my face, cupping my cheek. I noted that it felt exceptionally calloused. A thumb brushed back and forth, whisper light touches over my bottom lip, sending little shivers down my neck to my spine.

I opened one eye, managed a squint at the fuzzy form, and recognized the owner of the mystery voice. It was Martin Sandeke. And it looked like he was sitting on my bed. I couldn’t quite make sense of it.

“What’s going on?” I rubbed my eyes with the base of my palms, still someplace between my dreams and reality, but closer to dreams.

This was a dream. I was certain. It was a dream within a dream or one of those dreams that felt eerily real. Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d be able to control the action of the dream and spend some naked time with Martin Sandeke’s superior physique without the danger of his personality ruining things.

“I’m picking you up for our trip.” His hand settled on my bare thigh. The weight of it felt very real.

I stopped mid-eye rub, opting for motionless contemplation instead of a gasping shriek.

“Martin?” I asked to what I hoped would be an empty room.

“Yes?”

I jumped to a sitting position, my eyes flying open. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”

Martin was sitting on the edge of my bed toward the middle. I stared at him; he was wearing dark, faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and a smile. He was so handsome I felt like filing a civil lawsuit against his parents, claiming punitive damages, pain and suffering to my psyche.

“I’m picking you up.”

I reached for my phone to check the time. It was 7:00 a.m.

“What? What? Why? What?” was all I could manage, because my alarm didn’t go off.

I had fallen off to sleep, but forgotten to set my alarm… Gah!

So, Martin was one hour early and he was here. In my room. Sitting on my bed. Watching me like he wanted me for…things.

He leaned forward, his gaze on my mouth somehow both gentle and wicked. Horrified that he might try to kiss me first thing in the morning, I scrambled to my feet and ran off the bed, jumping from the mattress like it was a spring board. I’m sure I jostled him on my way.

I reached for my bag and pulled out my Wintermint gum, unwrapping three pieces, and shoving them into my mouth.

“It’s seven,” I said sloppily around the wad in my mouth.

“Yes. I’m early.”

I glanced over my shoulder and found Martin Sandeke had stretched himself out on my bed, ankles crossed, leaning against my pillow, his laced together fingers resting behind his head.

Turning fully around, I aggressively chewed and stared at him. His eyes were moving up and down my body with a heated and slow appraisal. I glanced down at myself. I was wearing my Sponge Bob Square Pants tank top and sleep shorts. But I wasn’t wearing a bra and my shape was easily discernable through the fitted shirt.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stiffened my spine. “How did you get in?”

“I have my ways…” He’d gone from appraising to ogling. He licked his lips. The action felt malicious. “Why don’t you come over here?”

“I’m perfectly fine over here,” I said primly, but the effect was ruined by the gob of gum in my mouth that was quickly losing its flavor. I reached for a napkin next to my food stuffs and daintily rid myself of the gum, tossing it into the trash two feet from my position. The nice thing about dorms is that everything is within reach.

However, I’d positioned myself on the side opposite the door. If I wanted to leave I’d have to walk by Martin on my way out.

Abruptly he said, “Bring the red pants.”

“What?”

“When you pack, bring those red pants. I’ve been thinking about them a lot.”

I sputtered, “I’m not bringing the red pants.”

He shrugged, his hands still folded behind his head. “Fine. Don’t bring the red pants. Bring nothing.”

“I’m not bringing nothing, I’m not bringing anything!”

“Good. We’re in agreement.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m not bringing anything because I’m not going.”

He squinted at me. “You promised.”

“Under duress.”

“I wasn’t holding a gun to your head.”

“No, just holding yourself to my body. That’s quite enough to put me in a state of duress.”

“My body places you in a state of duress?” Something wicked sparked behind his eyes.

“Of course. Of course it does. What a ridiculous question. Your body causes distress, disquiet, desolation, and puts me in a state of duress.”

He grinned, sitting up in the bed like he planned to stand up. “Maybe I’ll use it now.”

“Please don’t.” I held up my hand as though it could stop him. It didn’t stop him. He stood, reached for and closed the door, then whipped his shirt off. My mouth went dry. My heart thumped painfully. My girl parts forcefully made their opinion known.

Me want Martin flavored cookie! Me want cookie now!!

The sight was indecent because the sight immediately made me want to do several indecent things to him, around him, near him, on top, underneath, adjacent to—if it was a preposition, I wanted to do it with Martin.

“Ack! No!” I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands. “Not the chest! Anything but the chest!”

“Anything?” I did not miss the wicked teasing in his taunt, nor did I miss the distinct sound of a zipper being undone.

“Okay, I lied. Shirtless is fine, just please, please, please don’t take off your pants.” I turned from him, still covering my face with one hand, and blindly reached for the door of the closet with the other. The closet ran the length of one wall and had sliding doors. I knew I would be able to fit inside. Maybe I could barricade myself until he left, or throw my shoes at him like missiles.

For the first time in my life I wished I owned spiky heals instead of mostly sneakers. I did have one pair of Doc Martins, however…

His pants hit the floor, the change in his pocket jingling on the descent, and I imagined he was now toeing off his shoes.

“For the love of Bunsen, please put your pants back on.” My voice sounded desperate because I was desperate.

I slid the closet door open just as Martin’s hands claimed my hips from behind. I stiffened because he pressed his bare chest to my back and his groin to my bottom. He was hard and I was soft, and I was convinced I was about to die of… something related to abrupt sexual desire. I released a tortured moan because I could feel his stiff thickness through his boxers—or briefs, or boxer briefs.

Unthinkingly I reached around me, my eyes still shut, and encountered the thin cotton of his boxer briefs just as he bit and kissed my neck. I yanked my hand back. “You’re in your underwear.”

“So are you.”

“Oh my God. Who does that? Why would you do that?”

“I’m launching a counter attack.”

“A counter attack? I haven’t attacked. You can’t launch a counter attack until the other person has attacked.”

“Fine.” Kiss. Bite. Tongue. Lick. “Then it’s a preemptive strike,” he said, hand under my shirt, on my stomach. Other hand over my shirt, kneading my breast.

Some instinct had me pressing my bottom backward and against him as I arched into the hand toying with my breast.

“You think I’m only interested in you for one thing. You’re wrong,” he whispered against my ear, hot breath spilling against my neck making me shiver, his hand on my stomach inching lower.

“This, what you’re doing now, how you’re touching me, does not give credibility to your words.” My breath hitched, my brain disengaging.

“You’re wrong. I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’m right. I’m right. I’m so, so, so right.” I sighed, my hands abandoning the closet door and reaching behind me to touch his body. My center ached. My stomach fluttered. My skin was on fire. Lust and madness had descended.

“You’re coming with me. There is nothing temporary about how I want you.” His thumb was tracing a circle around my nipple. He pinched it roughly, causing me to suck in a startled—yet delighted—breath.

He was so talented at this. So very, very skillful. His movements were expert, practiced. Meanwhile, I was fumbling, a creature of instinct, reacting to his proficient petting.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his voice sounding dark and lovely against the shell of my ear. “Does it feel good?”

I nodded.

“Do you want more? Say yes or no.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “So much yes.”

The fingers of his other hand delved into my panties, his long middle finger stroking my center. If I hadn’t been lost to lust and madness, I would definitely have been embarrassed by the state of my nether region.

I was sure the girls he was used to had porn-star vaginas—waxed, smooth, bleached for color tone consistency, surgically enhanced to make them appear less like a forest floor—but I was au naturel downstairs. I’d never had a reason to do anything beyond trimming the hedge for hygiene’s sake.

But I wasn’t embarrassed. I was a little terrified and a lot confused, but mostly I was trapped in Martin’s erotic haze. I was bucking against him because his finger had just entered me.

“Whoa!” I panted.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the back of my neck, his teeth sharp as they bit my spine. “You are so tight. So fucking tight.”

“That’s because I’m a virgin and I’m aroused,” I said unthinkingly on an exhale. “The vaginal canal swells when aroused.”

His hands stilled—both at my breast and in my panties—though his penis seemed to push more insistently against my ass, as though raising its head and saying, Tell me more about this vaginal canal swelling of which you speak.

“What?” he asked, his tone sharp, exacting.

“It’s true, it swells.” I shifted restlessly when he remained motionless. “It also elongates.”

“You’re a virgin?”

It was my turn to hold still, a spike of some unpleasant sensation coursing through my body. I hadn’t meant to admit that. I hadn’t meant to ever tell him anything personal about myself, anything that could be tucked away and used to make me cry at some later date.

“Um…,” I said, struggling to think of some way to hide that fact without flat-out lying.

Martin withdrew his hands and I felt the loss of him at my back; a few seconds later I heard the jingle of the change in his pants pocket. I closed my eyes again, my forehead hitting the closet door.

“Ah, barnacles,” I whispered, my body cold and hot. I was tightly wound with both mortification and unspent sexual energy.

“You’re a virgin,” he said, this time not a question; it sounded like an accusation.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and glanced over my shoulder. He was buttoning his jeans, his expression thunderous. I glared at where his fingers gripped the waist of his pants.

“So what?” I said. If I pretended like it was no big deal maybe he’d believe me. “So what, I’m a virgin.”

Finished with his button, he pulled the zipper up with a rough yank. “So you’re a virgin and I’m not going to—” He growled, cutting himself off and reached for his shirt with rough swipe. “I’m not a total bastard,” he said, this to his shirt.

I glared at him, disbelieving what he’d just said, what he’d just implied. “What does my being a virgin have to do with anything? All girls should be treated with respect regardless of whether or not they’re virgins. Being a virgin doesn’t make me any more or less worthwhile than a non-virgin. Your seduction logic is flawed.”

“It’s not virgins I have a problem with. I’ve fucked plenty of virgins.”

I winced at this and watched him pull his shirt on with jerky movements. Before I could recover from his harsh admission, he continued.

“But you being a virgin and you being Kaitlyn Parker makes me want to ensure our first time touching each other isn’t some grope session against the closet of a dorm room.”

“So if I hadn’t been a virgin, then we would…what? We would have just, just…” I couldn’t say the word fuck. I just couldn’t. Instead I rushed to finish. “You would have impaled me with your penis while I face planted against the closet?”

“God, Kaitlyn. No!” His protest appeared to be equally appalled and earnest. “I wanted to tease you until you agreed to come with me. I wasn’t going to let it go that far. Haven’t you ever fooled around before?”

I think he knew the answer before he finished asking the question, because his eyes widened with realization as the last words left his mouth.

No. No, I have never fooled around.

I didn’t want to admit anything. Yet I couldn’t help but look away, stare unseeingly at the foot of my bed. I belatedly realized my small evasive action told him everything. My hands balled into fists and I crossed my arms over my chest. The weight and heat of his gaze, what he must be thinking about me, made my skin feel three sizes too small.

“Damnit, Kaitlyn! Was I your first kiss too?” He sounded angry and his words made me jump.

“No. Of course not.” My cheeks and neck were on fire. I tried to lift my eyes to his but couldn’t manage any higher than his chin. “I’ve kissed someone before.”

“Someone? As in, one other person?”

For some inexplicable reason, I felt like crying. Tears stung behind my eyelids and my throat felt tight.

I knew it.

I KNEW IT.

I knew he was going to make me cry. It’s what he did. Therefore, I didn’t answer him. I just blinked at the foot of my bed and pressed my lips together, focused on my breathing.

He sat down heavily on the edge of my bed, his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair, and I heard him exhale a dumbfounded, “Fuck.”

I muttered, “That word is unimaginative.”

“You’re completely inexperienced.” He said this to the room.

He was probably thinking, What is wrong with you that you’ve only been kissed by one other person? That you never made it past first base prior to yesterday?

“I’ve read books,” I said dumbly, clearing my throat, safely past the threat of tears. “And watched a number of pornographic videos. I took extensive notes. I’ve also read several enlightening journal articles on pubmed about the physiology of the sex act. I probably know more about the logistics of it then you do. I’m not an idiot.”

“No. You’re not the idiot,” he said. Again, he sounded angry. He bent to put on his shoes and I noted that his jaw flexed, and he was grinding his teeth.

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. The instinct to hide was strong. I considered stepping backward into the closet and sliding the door shut. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. He’d just look up eventually and it would look like I’d simply disappeared.

I was about to put this plan into action when he stood abruptly. It startled me so I did a weird step forward then backward shuffle, similar to a jazz square. He crossed to me, his eyes fierce, his gaze intent. I retreated until my back hit the closet, lifting my chin to maintain eye contact.

“This is what is going to happen,” he said, his hands moving like he was going to touch me, but then he yanked them back at the last minute and stuffed them in his pockets. “Pack your things, you’re coming with me.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

“You promised, Parker. You said yes and you promised.”

Not breaking promises was one of my life rules. If I made a promise, I kept it. Therefore I frowned at him and admitted nothing.

He studied me for a moment, his gaze growing thoughtful, introspective. His words sounded shaded with distraction as he said, “We’re going to take this slow. We’re going to start over and do this right.”

I squinted at him, my mouth doing its opening and closing dance. “What? What are you talking about? Take what slow?”

“You like me.” He said this matter-of-factly, with a hint of belligerence.

This statement did not answer my question.

“What?”

“You like me. You want to know me better.”

“I most certainly do not want to know you better.”

“I definitely want to know you better.” His gaze flickered down then up meaningfully.

I gaped at him because—hot hottie from Hotsvillie—the growly and intense way he’d said, I definitely want to know you better made my insides flare into a frenzy of wanting that wanted him to know me better.

My immediate thought was, Okay, let’s do that. Let’s just do whatever you want, just say everything using that voice, mmm-kay?

He continued, “We’ll have dates.”

Because my mind was distracted, I didn’t understand his meaning, therefore I said, “I don’t like dates. They’re too sugary and stick to my teeth.”

His somber and fierce façade cracked, a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth. He leaned closer, resting his hand on the closet behind me, his face just inches from mine.

His truly magnificent eyes were bright with amusement and something else as they scanned my face. His truly magnificent lips formed a mesmerizing curve. His truly magnificent body was scant inches from mine, but touched me nowhere.

“Fine.” His voice was quiet and laced heavily with intimacy. “We won’t have dates on our dates. We’ll have tacos.”

“I like tacos.” I said this because I did like tacos, but I was also mesmerized by the voodoo of his closeness.

“Good. Tacos. Promise me.” He stuck out his hand.

“I promise.” I took his hand, shook it, released it, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

His eyes darted to my lips and he licked his own, drawing the top one into his mouth and biting it. I think I fainted a little, which I know isn’t possible—one does not faint a little. But his sexy lip-lick-suck-bite thing may have caused a head rush.

I thought he was going to kiss me, because he was staring at my mouth in such a way that lead me to believe he was hungry…for my lips. He appeared to be struggling, warring with himself; I held my breath.

The five seconds he hesitated proved to be the undoing of the potential kiss, because we were unceremoniously interrupted by a shrieking Sam.

“What the hell is going on?”