Falling Under (Falling 3)

But I can’t. I’m not that guy. Not for her.

Yet she perseveres, refuses to take no for an answer, thinks she can outwait me. Seduce me. And f**k, she just might be right.

The kiss ends, and she’s staring up at me, breathless, flushed, panting slightly. Each deep breath swells her amazing, enormous tits in her pale purple sweater, teasing me, tantalizing and tempting me. It’s a low-cut sweater, fitted to hug her figure, scooped deep in the front to offer me a mouth-watering expanse of cle**age.

“Oz. Take me to your apartment. Please.” Her voice is a whisper, a plea.

“No.”

She pouts. “Why not? What’s wrong with me?”

I groan. “Jesus f**k, Ky. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

She slides her arms up around my neck, breathes in my ear. I can’t take it, can’t handle it. The heat of her breath and the scent of her skin are intoxicating, making me forget why I’m no good for her. “You say I’m impossible, but you’re the idiot who’s refusing to take what’s offered. What belongs to him.”

“It doesn’t belong—you don’t belong to me. It’s not—god. Why are we always talking about this?”

“Because I want you.” She nips at my earlobe. “And you’re frustrating me. Making me mad.”

“Good. Get mad. Storm off. Walk away. I’m just doing what’s best for you.”

She pushes away from me, genuinely pissed now. I follow her, and she ignores me. We near an alley, and she stops abruptly and shoves me into it, a nearly violent move. I stumble, catch my footing, and then she’s on me, attacking me, arms like soft silken serpents around my neck, her legs leaving the ground and wrapping around my legs, and I’m hard as a rock in my jeans and holding her by the ass, feeling in my hands the supple muscle barely contained by her tight jeans, feeling her lips on mine, and I’m drunk with her. I can’t help it. I’m not a saint. Not a good person. That’s my point. I’m not nice and not good, and she’s all over me, and I can’t resist such a determined assault on my resolve.

I hold her and press her back against the wall, kiss her back and pin her with my hips and let my palms soar over her ass and her hips and her thighs, and I’m breathing her in, sucking her breath into my lungs and devouring her tongue and sampling the wild innocence, the hunger of a virgin who has tasted sin. I’m the poison she thinks she wants, and I’m trying to summon the goodness to save her from me, from herself.

I break away, let her slide to the ground. She’s shaking, barely able to stand up, and I’m weak in the knees, too, but I step away from her.

“How dare you tell me what’s best for me?” She’s furious; the kiss was an angry one. She puts her fingers to her lips, as if to feel the imprint of my mouth on hers. “You make your own decisions in life, Oz. You’re your own person. No one tells you what to do. Well, what if I want that same freedom? I’ve always done what my parents want. What I know is good and safe and right. I’ve been a good girl because I love them and want them to be proud of me. And yeah, that’s still true. But you want to know something? I didn’t stay a virgin for them. I didn’t save my virginity for their sake. I waited for my own reasons. I’ve waited for the right guy for me. Because I’ve heard stories and watched my friends pair off and get laid. Some of them regret it, some don’t. Some felt pressured, some didn’t. And I knew I wanted to choose my own time, with someone I cared about. Someone who cared about me. It doesn’t have to be love. I’m young. I’ll be eighteen in two weeks. I have my whole life to find the kind of love Mom and Dad have, or their friends, Jason and Becca, have. I don’t expect that of you. If you feel that way about me, I would—I would be so happy. So happy. Because I think you’re amazing, and I could see us having that together. I really could, Oz. But it doesn’t have to be that. Not yet, or not ever. I know you have your own plans. I know you’re gonna leave Nashville eventually, and I won’t ever try to keep you here, no matter what. But I still want my first time to be with you. That’s what I want. And you know something?” She wraps her arms around her middle and stares at me from three feet away. People pass by on the sidewalk just beyond us, and cars rush by honking their horns, and from everywhere there’s the sound of music playing, a cacophony of competing bands. “I think you’re scared. Of me. I think you’re telling yourself you’re protecting me from yourself, but in reality, you’re just scared because I make you feel things you don’t understand.”

“Kylie—”

“NO! I’m not done.” She steps forward, eyes so hot and blazing that I can’t look away. She’s hypnotic when she’s mad. “You and I? It may end badly. I may get hurt. But guess what? I don’t care! I’ve never had my heart broken. Maybe I’m fine with risking it, because it’s better than being afraid and going through life bored. I have friends. I have Ben. I have my parents. But none of them have ever challenged me to feel new things. I’ve never had to risk anything. I’ve never risked being hurt. I’m going into this with you, knowing you’re bad for me, according to you. Yeah, Oz, I get it, you’re a bad boy. You’re a drifter. You kick ass and take names and ride a hog. You’re all those stereotypes. Got it. I’m not trying to change you. I just want a piece of you.”

I lean back against the wall behind me, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to say. I’m a stereotype? That bugs me a little.

The fact remains, though, that I don’t want to hurt her. She doesn’t know about heartbreak, or she wouldn’t be talking about it so casually.

“All right, you know what?” I take a step toward her. “I don’t want to talk about this here. You want to talk about this? Then let’s go. Take us to my place.”

She doesn’t speak, just whirls on her heel and storms back to the car. I follow her, watching her ass move in her jeans and watching the tense set to her shoulders, and wondering what the hell I’m going to say when we get there, because I have no idea. She’s right. So right. It should be her choice. And I am afraid.

The ride to my apartment is silent. The radio is off, and Kylie is chewing on the inside of her cheek, mad and tense and I don’t even know what else. I’m confused, and nervous, and trying to figure out what I think, and what I really want, and what I’m afraid of, and why she makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, and what to do about it.