Pure Hearts Read online

  Once he was satisfied, he brought his gaze to mine. Our eyes stayed locked as he wrapped each of his hands around one end of the scarf, folding the material over and over again, our bodies coming closer with each turn of his wrist until we were only inches apart. And with one final twist, Nick pulled me into him without even touching me.

  His warm, sweet breath fanned across my lips seconds before he made contact. The kiss was unhurried and quite possibly the sweetest kiss I’d ever had.

  Unlike earlier, when the first kiss was all about the newness, and the second was raw and hungry, this was different. It wasn’t…

  I’m kissing you because I’ve been dying to for weeks and I can’t go another second without it.

  Or…

  I’m kissing you because I’m powerless against it, practically starved for your lips.

  It was simpler than that. It was I’m kissing you because I want to, and I don’t care who’s watching or what else is out there. Kissing you is all I want to do in this moment.

  When he finally pulled back, my lips felt worshipped and wrecked in the most delicious way.

  “Wow,” I murmured. And like that was a secret password, Nick gave me the widest, brightest smile I’d ever seen, his dimples like proud exclamation points on how happy he was.

  “So I did good?” he asked. There was no nervousness in his question, no quiver to his voice. He had to know this date was incredible by all my reactions.

  “The best date I’ve ever been on,” I whispered intently. His smile melted into something softer, his dimples receding, but he stilled looked radiant. Maybe because his eyes were bright with excitement.

  “C’mon.” He uncurled his hands, leaving his scarf around my neck, before turning and offering me his arm. I eagerly took it and leaned my head against his upper arm as we walked up to my house. His footsteps slowed, like he was trying to prolong the date too.

  We disentangled from each other on the porch. I felt his gaze on me as I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. Only when I unlocked the door and threw my keys back in my bag did I look at him. His eyes were soft on me and the corner of his lips were tipped up in a barely there smile.

  “I had a really great time today,” I said softly, cringing as I realized we’d essentially just had this conversation.

  “Me too,” he whispered back with a grin. I watched with bated breath as he stepped into my space, both of his hands framing my face before he turned us. My back gently hit the door at the same moment his lips met mine. It was another soft kiss, my personal favorite. I was never a fan of clothes being ripped off or up-against-the-wall sex. I didn’t need rough and fast to feel how much Nick wanted me.

  His tongue sneaked out to part my lips, and I eagerly let him in, our tongues immediately tangling. With a slant of his head he took the kiss deeper. I was immobile, his hands still holding me hostage, not that there was anywhere else I wanted to be.

  A few minutes later I broke away. Panting, I turned my head, desperate for air. Nick’s hands fell away, ghosting down my body until they landed on my hips. His kisses moved from my cheek and down my neck until he reached my collarbone. I moaned as he brought his kisses back up, kissing under my jaw, stopping right by my ear. It was my weak spot. And based on the grin I felt there, Nick had figured it out.

  My hand reached out to grab the doorknob behind me.

  The moment was ruined when he slipped his hand under my shirt and the tips of his fingers began making soft designs on my stomach. Because I giggled. Freaking giggled, like a fourteen-year-old.

  Nick stilled his hand and pulled back, looking amused.

  “Ticklish?” he murmured.

  “Just a bit.” We stayed that way, staring at each other, until our grins eventually fell away.

  “Do you… do you want to come in?” I finally asked, gripping the doorknob painfully tight as I waited for his answer.

  He smiled, leaning in and placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. Then he pulled back and asked, “You won’t think I’m easy if I give it up on the first date?”

  I laughed as we swayed closer together before I nipped his lower lip. “No, and I won’t tell. Your virtue will be safe with me.”

  Our laughter tapered off and we met in the middle for another kiss. It started slow, the warmth from his lips spreading through me and settling in my chest. I breathed him in, and as my mouth opened wider, Nick took advantage. His tongue sliding inside and wrapping around mine.

  My back hit the door once more and Nick’s hard body pressed into mine. His hands framed my face, while mine clung to his sides, begging him closer. When his palms descended and settled on my chest, I shivered, my knees almost buckling.

  “Iris,” he whispered. He was barely a breath away, so close that my name became a kiss.

  “Come in.” It was no longer a question as I reached behind and opened the door. Without taking my eyes off Nick, I walked backward across the threshold, his fingers skimming until I was too far away and they fell.

  When he made no move to follow, I faltered, shifting on my feet and tightly gripping the door. For as confident as I tried to be, sex always made me shy. I didn’t hate my body and I wasn’t inexperienced. But it was never casual to me. It always meant something, and I always felt like I was giving a piece of myself away when I slept with someone for the first time.

  And I’d never slept with someone on the first date. I’d had a single one-night stand, and even though I didn’t feel ashamed, I definitely didn’t enjoy it like I thought I would.

  “You getting shy on me, Iris?” Nick asked, finally stepping closer.

  “I don’t, uhhh… I don’t normally”—I waved a hand toward the bulge in his pants—“on the first date.” Except this didn’t really feel like the first date. And truthfully, it wasn’t. We had meals together. We’d gone to a movie once, and babysat for my sister a few times, falling asleep on the couch when it got too late.

  “I don’t know why I keep comparing this to everything else,” I murmured.

  It’s incomparable.

  I’d never really been friends with someone before dating them. All of my past relationships began in a similar manner: we’d meet, go out, kiss on the second date, sleep together on the seventh, and from there things progressed differently based on the guy and what my life was like at the time.

  This thing with Nick was entirely different. First date or not, I felt closer to him than I ever had to anyone else. My nerves were still there, but only because I realized how important he was to me, how much I wanted this to work out.

  “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.” It sounded like it physically pained him to say it, yet he didn’t try to convince me. Not one single word.

  I believed there were key moments to falling in love with someone. Moments from I could fall in love with this person to I am falling in love with this man to I’m undeniably in love with him.

  This was one of those moments. I could so easily see myself falling in love with Nicholas Blake.

  He leaned forward and placed a soft, gentle kiss on my mouth, shifting his body away so I couldn’t feel his hardness against my stomach. My eyes stayed open, wide with awe. When he pulled away and smiled, it was genuine, like being here with me really was enough.

  I took a deep breath, ready to set my fears aside when he closed the door and leaned against it, a serious expression on his face.

  Nick looked down and I swore I saw a slight blush race over his cheeks. His eyes met mine again, this time with resolve. “Would you feel better if we got to know each other better?”

  “What?” I asked, stunned. I tracked him as he walked past me, toward my living room. “Nick, I was just—”

  “I’ll sit at one end, and you’ll sit at the other.” He pointed to the opposite side of the couch as he took a seat. “And we’ll get to know each other better. But whatever question you ask, you also have to answer.” Nodding, I slowly moved forward.r />
  “That seems fair.” I joined him on the couch, practically sitting on the armrest to keep from jumping in. He smirked when he noticed and I shuffled down so I didn’t look quite so weird. I didn’t want to be nervous, I trusted Nick, but I couldn’t ignore the slightly uneasy feeling that I was doing something wrong.

  “Iris?” I glanced up and met his solemn expression. “You could know everything about me, but if you don’t feel comfortable sleeping with me, you don’t need a reason. I’ll respect your decision, you know that, right? This”—he paused to wave a hand between us—“isn’t about sleeping with you. I want to know more about you too.”

  Jesus. How could I not feel safe around this man?

  Despite my momentary freak-out, this admission right here made me feel more ready than I ever had. But I was almost positive Nick wouldn’t let it go. He’d want to be sure.

  So now—because I was crazy—I was going to have to sit here and “get to know him,” when the only thing I really wanted to get to know was his—

  “You okay?” Nick suddenly asked.

  “Yeah,” I croaked out. I cleared my throat while he started thinking of his first question.

  Crap.

  This was going to be a long night…

  This might be the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

  “So I think I heard this on a show once… but isn’t there a rule that you shouldn’t sleep with a guy unless you know his middle name? Or was it his mother’s maiden name? That probably makes more sense…” He trailed off, deliberating between the two.

  How was he so unaffected? I was two seconds away from sitting on my hands to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing him, and he seemed calm as could be.

  “Hmm… either way, you already know the maiden name: Blake. But my middle name is Jonah.”

  I clenched my fists. “That wasn’t really a question.” I nodded my head at him.

  “I suppose not. What’s your favorite color?”

  I chuckled. “Really? That’s the thought-provoking question you want to ask?”

  “We gotta start easy, babe.” We both froze as the term of endearment so easily rolled off his tongue.

  I cleared my throat and grabbed a pillow to keep my hands preoccupied. “Right. It’s yellow.”

  “Green.”

  “What was your first job?” I asked.

  “Busboy.”

  “Tutor.”

  “It sounds like you always knew what you wanted to be,” he said thoughtfully as he rested his arm along the back of the couch.

  I relaxed some. Talking about students was definitely a mood killer. “I have. Growing up I noticed that not every kid had parents as great as mine. And I saw the difference a teacher could make. I wanted to give kids the chance to have at least one adult in their life who cared about them. But even before I actually thought about the reasons why, for job interviews and admissions and stuff, I always just knew it was what I wanted to do. It was like someone asking me my hair color or where I was born; it was a fact. I was going to be a teacher.”

  Nick shuffled infinitesimally closer. “It was the same way for me. With Tyson gone and my ma working, I had to learn to cook for myself a lot of the time. She always felt bad, but I loved it. And when I was old enough for people to start asking what I wanted to do with my life, my first thought was cooking. It was the perfect balance for me. There were general guidelines to follow, but there was also a freedom to do whatever I wanted.”

  “It’s nice when your job overlays with your passion. Not many people have that.”

  “Yeah.” His hand twitched like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing me.

  “I think it’s your turn again,” I said softly.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  As I was sitting there trying to think of my own next question—anything to keep my mind from straying—I realized it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Not when you wanted to know everything about the other person.

  “I guess it’s a little harder than we thought, huh?” I asked with a laugh.

  Nick pointedly looked down at his lap. “No, it’s as hard as I thought it’d be.” My eyes widened, following his stare.

  Jesus. That certainly wasn’t helping.

  When my gaze flew back to his face, he was smirking. With a shrug, he said, “Between talking about cooking and you looking good enough to eat, I’m surprised it’s not harder.”

  Clearing my throat, I reached for my phone on the table. “How about we look up some questions?”

  I heard Nick chuckle, my eyes still avoiding his as I scrolled through my phone. Most of them were fairly normal…

  What’s your biggest dream?

  What’s your biggest fear?

  What would you change about yourself?

  Do you want children?

  My brows furrowed. Others were less normal. “What the heck kind of icebreakers are these?” I murmured.

  “What’s the question?”

  “If you were a vegetable, which one would you be and why?”

  “Tomato,” he answered easily. Laughing, I glanced up at him.

  “Why?”

  Nick reached his hand over and rubbed the inside of my wrist. “That’s your favorite,” he whispered. “You always piled extra tomatoes on when my ma made burgers. I’ve even seen you eat a raw one a time or two. And if I’m going to be a stupid vegetable, I’m damn sure going to be your favorite.”

  I swallowed and looked down at his thumb still drawing soothing patterns over my veins.

  “I’ve noticed everything about you. Even when I was being a jerk, I was collecting information. Like how sometimes you absentmindedly smell your hair.”

  I shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I like the smell of my conditioner.”

  “Me too.” He grinned, but got serious just as fast. “You get cold easily and always have a spare sweater in your purse or car. You talk to every animal you see. You catch the eye of any baby you pass and wave. And every time after you crack your knuckles, you cringe, but then your face eases into contentment. Like even though it might be bad for your joints, it relaxes you. You—”

  I cut him off, gently placing my fingers against his lips. “You really noticed all that?”

  “And more. Iris,” he whispered. Looking up into his eyes, I sucked in a breath. There was no heat there, no playfulness, just sincerity. Nick scooted closer, until our legs were touching. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be mad if you ask me to leave, and I won’t think less of you if you want to have sex on the first date. Hell, that’d be pretty hypocritical and stupid since that’s what I’ve been dying to do all night. We can do whatever you want. Stop thinking about what it’ll mean or what I want, just do the first thing you think of, just—”

  I leaned forward and sealed my lips over his. It was a quick and soft kiss. I pulled away, only an inch or two, as his eyes fluttered open. “I hope that was a precursor to picking plan B, otherwise that was plain cruel,” he teased.

  Biting back a smile, I crawled into his lap. We were definitely doing this.

  I was completely gone. I attacked him.

  My hand wound around his neck and I pulled him to me. My kisses were relentless, my hands greedy, and my body was practically vibrating with need. Nick kissed me back, his tongue swooping in like it had found its place in our kiss. One of his hands landed on my hip to steady my body, while the other cupped my neck, his thumb brushing over my jawline. He broke away, kissing his way across my cheek and toward my ear.

  “Iris,” he whispered. “I can wait. For you, I’d always wait.”

  Tears came to my eyes as he pulled away and I stared down at him. “I know. That’s why you don’t have to.” My voice was scratchy, raw and emotional and very transparent. It was the sound of a woman swooning.

  “You’re a good man.” He blushed and tried to look away. I gripped his chin, forcing his eyes on mine. “I mean it. And if you feel uncomfortable taking a
ll the credit, I’m fairly certain your mother is responsible for most of that goodness.”

  He chuckled, any remaining tension fled with my words. “Well if you didn’t want to have sex tonight, talking about my mother was a surefire way to do it. My blue balls are officially cured.”

  I laughed, too; relieved we were getting back on track.

  “Hmm,” I whispered. “Let me see what I can do about reversing that…”

  Our shirts were off and we stood staring at each other, our breaths coming out in labored pants. Iris was—much to my dismay—still wearing her bra. I had been shocked by the intense lust that shot through me when she removed her shirt. Her bra was simple: a plain white material, with two small sections of lace running along the sides, complete with a tiny pink bow in the center. It screamed innocence, and yet I’d never found anything quite so sexy. It didn’t plunge and it wasn’t strategically cut so her nipples were showing or some weird shit like that.

  Fists clenched, I forced myself to take in the rest of her even though all I wanted to do was pounce… again. She was leaning against the wall right next to her bedroom door, where I pinned her when we first walked in. But now I wanted to take my time.

  My eyes fell to her lower abdomen, where the small incision from her surgery was. My scar was a lot larger. And again, just like with our heartbeats, I thought about the irony of it. Because it took so little of Iris to give, while it took so much for me to accept and receive. For me to trust and let someone care for me.

  But somehow we were here.

  Together.

  Sometimes I didn’t have a clue why she cared for me. Why I was falling for her was completely obvious. But I still wasn’t sure I had much to offer in return.

  I shuffled forward and brushed my fingers over her scar, my eyes following the movement.