Practice Makes Perfect: A Novel

My smile slowly fades as the playfulness in the air dissipates and reality grabs hold of me. Will is currently horizontal on his back, and my legs are on either side of him. On my bed. His face sobers as our eyes connect. Heat and something fierce that I’m terrified to admit is want zips through me. Will’s hands are still above his head, and my eyes drop to where the cap of his sleeve has bunched up over his shoulder, proving that his tattoos do continue up past his bicep. But how far? To what end? I need to know.

Will’s eyes blaze, knowing exactly what I’m wanting. “Go ahead.”

I briefly look to his eyes—making sure he really gave me permission. He nods once. And then with shaking hands, I brush the hem of his shirt before grasping it as lightly as humanly possible to push it up. Slowly his skin is revealed like a curtain rising to display a million-dollar art installation. A taut, smooth, defined abdomen, followed by a chiseled chest and—gasp!—a peek of inked foliage across his left pec. He flexes his stomach muscles lightly, and I’m not sure if it’s in an attempt to impress me or because my hands are cold. Either way, it’s quite the sight.

Will abruptly sits up, and my breath catches as I fear he’s going to push me off or say he’s offended at how bold and handsy I’m being.

But he doesn’t.

He lifts his arms in the air for me to continue peeling the shirt completely from his body. A thrill surges through me.

When it’s off, Will and I are face-to-face, and his bare torso and shoulders and chest are all here too. Skin. Warm male skin right here for me to touch. I lift my hand to press into his chest and hesitate. My hands shake and my nerves tell me this is wrong. I shouldn’t be able to do this or to enjoy it. I’m Annie Walker! Annie Walker is sweet. Annie Walker doesn’t even desire these sorts of encounters. Annie Walker is—

Will’s hand covers mine as he presses it to his skin. I give in and shut my eyes from how incredible this feels. But now all I want is more. Slowly my hands memorize the feel of his raised tattooed skin and marvel that it has a texture—a memory. I glide my fingers delicately up and over his shoulder, stopping to feel his prominent collarbone along the way and then the curve of his neck all the way up into the back of his rebellious hair. Will’s face turns and his jaw presses into my palm. Something is happening between us, and I’m incapable of stopping it.

His hands are on my hips now—fixed there, unmoving. “Annie…” Will says quietly. “I need to ask—you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

The truth falls between us.

I swallow and wish more than anything I could lie. Or maybe I don’t. “Yes. How’d you know?”

“Well,” he says with a crooked smile. “For one, your reputation. And two…the way you kissed me the other night.” He pauses and I’m terrified he’s going to say he knew from how bad it was. How inexperienced. But then the corners of his mouth curve and his grip tightens. “You were so responsive, like you were experiencing passion for the first time. It was incredible.”

My face heats and I drop my gaze. But Will touches my face, angling it back toward him. “Is there a reason you’ve been waiting?”

The quiet presses in around us, but I don’t feel uncomfortable. I feel completely safe with Will just like I always do. I normally shy away from this topic at all costs because, honestly, it’s embarrassing; but now that it’s out in the open with him, I feel nothing but relief.

“I’ve been waiting because I’ve been too scared.” I say those words out loud for the first time in my life, never really knowing until this moment the reason why. “Actually, I’m not even sure scared is the right word. I’ve just never known anyone who made me feel safe enough to share that part of myself with them.”

I’ve always been made to feel like my virginity was silly—not that my siblings have ever said that in so many words, but they’ve said it in the little jabs about how angelic I am. How I’m the only one of us who will likely make it through the pearly gates. Like somehow my need to wait was just me trying to prove I was sweeter and holier than everyone else because I don’t succumb to desires and needs like everyone else.

Will doesn’t do that. He nods, seeming to understand that it’s always been more about protecting myself and my emotions than proving anything to others.

Will’s eyes drop to my mouth. “Time in?” he says quietly, and my stomach swoops. The steady sounds of our breathing are the only soundtrack for the moment.

“Time in.”

“If you want to kiss me again, Annie, I want you to. Take as much as you want, and I’ll keep my hands right here”—he grips my hips again—“unless you tell me to move them.”

I fill my lungs with air—feeling and knowing this is a pivotal moment in my life. The question I’m afraid to answer is why do I feel safe enough to even consider taking this further with Will when I know he won’t be here forever? When I know that with him it can only ever be passion and nothing else. I shouldn’t want this with him because there is no option for happily ever after and babies and white picket fences.

And yet…

My eyes travel up his chest and shoulders and neck, and then decide to take a leap. “You can move them.”

Four little words. Deadly words. Desire pulls the strings on my fingers and raises them to the sides of his abdomen with the lightest pressure, but I still feel his ribs expand under my hand. He holds absolutely still. I’m trembling and nervous as I slide my palms up farther, following the trail my eyes and fingers paved a moment ago. I’ve never felt anything quite like his warm skin before.

“I always keep my hands to myself because no one expects me to want any of this,” I say more as a realization than a statement. “But with you…” I frown contemplatively, letting my statement dangle.

“Kiss me, Annie. Please.”

His voice, raw with longing and restraint, excites parts of me I didn’t know existed.

Before I lose the nerve, I tip forward and press my lips to his. We’ve kissed before, but this is different. It’s intimate and loaded. The moment we connect, I am lost to the darkness behind my eyelids and the desire pooling in my body. His lips are warm and soft. He doesn’t assert himself, he only responds to my soft kisses. Exploring little presses. It’s not that I’m a complete amateur when it comes to kissing—it’s that I am an amateur at kissing Will. And if this is the last shot I ever get, I want to make it count and not rush a single second.

I pull away to look at him, he looks back, and then I lean in again, eyes open—kiss. I pull away once more, note the fiery look behind his blue-gray irises, tilt, and kiss again. He smiles lightly after the third one, catching on to my pattern. He raises a brow before being the one to lean in this time. He kisses me and lingers, slanting and coaxing. Here. It’s even better this way.

My eyes close again and I sink, sink, sink.

He pulls away, and our lips peel slowly, like they don’t want to let go. And this time, when I go in for the kiss, I linger too. I initiate a new rhythm—something deeper and more exploring.

I slide my arms all the way up around his neck so my chest presses to his. I want—need—to get closer. My consciousness is slowly swirling away from me as I lose myself to this kiss, and I hold on to him for dear life.

And then for the first time, Will’s hands slide up from my hips under my shirt to splay across my bare back. They tug me up even closer, his rough thumbs gliding over my soft skin. I have never felt more alive as Will holds me and kisses me—breathing deeply from time to time like he loves the way I smell.

I’m terrified. Thrilled. Embarrassingly needy.

Will’s mouth leaves mine to kiss my jaw and then my neck. My head lulls back and his hands roam down over my thighs and around to my backside, where he cups my butt and pulls me up to him. I gasp and he catches it in his mouth. A thread snaps and we’re lost.

Will holds me tight and flips us so he’s hovering over me and my back is against the mattress. My pulse is in my ears, heat is flooding every corner of my body as Will’s kisses extend to any part of exposed skin he can find, like my neck. The V of skin peeking out from my pajama top. And then the small section of skin on my abdomen where my top has ridden up. Just when I think I might pass out from the pure ecstasy of this, Will asks, “Why are you smiling?”

I shake my head and tug him up so that we’re face-to-face again. “I just embarrassed myself with my own thought.”

The black centers of his eyes grow. “Say it.”

I bite my lip and tell myself there’s no turning back now. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe…kiss me…passionately,” I ask, barely getting the words out and feeling so embarrassed by them that I could combust. “Less controlled. I can feel you holding back…and I don’t want you to.”

He stares down at me—his unruly lock of hair falling over his brow and his dark tattoos competing with the perfect, dangerous rim around his irises. And then like a riptide swallowing me whole, his mouth slants over mine and demands as much as it gives. I make a sound and he makes a sound, and I think I might die from how wonderful this is—from how much more I need. I don’t care about anything besides taking everything that Will wants to give me. And that’s when I realize that never again will I be able to settle with simply nice and soft and stable. I mean, yes, I want those things still. But I also want this. Dangerous, untethered, and demanding. How did I ever think I didn’t need this?

I grasp at his shoulder blades and then pull away with surprise. “Your tattoos do extend over your back!” I peek up and over and am delighted to see that these beautiful flowers completely wrap his shoulder.

Will’s eyes are unfocused when he looks at me, resting on his forearm and pushing my hair back from my face with his other hand. “You’ve been wondering?”

“Every night since I met you,” I say, solemnly. “Sometimes I can’t sleep because I lie here imagining where they end.”

He stares at me, barely breathing. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

And then his head lowers and swiftly takes my mouth for a kiss so intimate, so demanding, so fevered that my toes curl and my legs lock around his. His tongue parts my lips and glides over mine until I’m consumed by him, and everything I knew about myself vanishes and begins redrawing new lines. I want more. Everything.

While we kiss, Will’s hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt, starting at the bottom and working their way up. There’s only one left when I grab his hand. “Wait. Time out.”

He pauses immediately and pulls back.

“I’m not ready yet,” I say in a nervous rush. “I’m sorry…I thought I would be, but then as things started progressing—”

Will immediately cups my face, cutting me off. “Don’t apologize. No explanation needed.”

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” He adjusts to his side, resting on his forearm and then using his free hand to pull my hand to his mouth. He kisses my inner wrist with a tenderness that surges to my soul. “You don’t owe me—or anyone else—anything, Annie. Just kissing you is a gift. One that…” His brows pinch together and he pauses, idly playing with my fingers. When he looks at me again, I see something so raw in his eyes I never expected to see: fear.

I never do learn what he was going to say. I expect Will to leave, but he sighs and pulls me over to rest my head on his chest, holding me so tight it feels like he’s afraid I’m going to fly away.