Free Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts

“Never . . .”
    “You’re my first.”
    “God.” He stared another moment, blue eyes serious. “Now I’m nervous. Are you sure about—?”
    “I am. I really am.” She crossed to him, then looked down at the pile of CDs. “How about this?” She picked out Nine Inch Nails.
    “Sin?” He gave her that sweet smile. “Is this a Catholic girl thing coming out?”
    “Maybe a little. Anyway, I like their cover of Queen’s Get Down, Make Love. And, well, it seems appropriate.”
    He put it in the changer, turned back just to look at her. “I’ve been hung up on you since the beginning of the semester.”
    Warmth spread in her belly. “You didn’t ask me out until after spring break.”
    “Started to, dozens of times. I kept choking. And I thought you were with that guy, that psych major.”
    “Kent?” At the moment, she couldn’t even bring Kent’s face into hermind. “We went out a few times. Mostly we just study together now and then. I was never with him.”
    “Now you’re with me.”
    “Now I’m with you.”
    “If you change your mind—”
    “I won’t. I never do.” She laid her hands on his face, her lips on his lips. “I want this. I want you.”
    He touched her hair, twining his fingers through the mass of it while he kissed her, long, slow. Bodies drew together, magnetized by lust.
    Hers felt electric, and alive.
    “We can go into the bedroom.”
    This is it, she thought. Held her breath; let it go. “Okay.”
    He held her hand. She wanted to remember that, remember every little detail. The way he smelled like Irish Spring and tasted like cherry Life Savers, and how his hair curtained over his temples when he dipped his head.
    The room, his bedroom, with its messy twin bed—blue-striped sheets and a denim-colored spread, a single pillow that looked flat as a pancake. He had a bulky old metal desk, with a muscular computer and a jumble of books and floppies and papers. A corkboard with more notes, photographs, flyers.
    The bottom drawer of his dresser—small enough to make her think it had been his through childhood—was open and crooked. There was a film of dust on it, more books, and a big clear jar half full of change. Mostly pennies.
    He turned the lamp by the bed on low.
    “Unless you’d rather have it off,” he said.
    “No.” How could she see if it was dark? “Um. I don’t have protection.”
    “I’ve got that covered. I mean—” He actually flushed, then laughed. “I mean, it’s not covered at the moment. But I have condoms.”
    It was easier than she’d thought it would be. The way they turned to each other, into each other. The lips, the hands, the thrill that leapfrogged over nerves.

    The kisses went deep and breath came quick as they sat on the bed. As they lay back. She had a moment to wish she’d thought to take her shoes off first—wouldn’t it be awkward?—then there was so much heat and movement.
    His mouth on her neck, his hands on her breast. Over her shirt, then under it. She’d been here before, but never with the knowledge that this was only the beginning.
    His skin was so warm, so smooth, his body so slight it brought on a flood of tenderness. She’d imagined this, the rising excitement, the sensation of her skin sliding along another’s, the sounds desire pushed out of her. Gasps and moans and hums of pleasure.
    His eyes were so vivid and blue, his hair so silky. She loved the way he kissed her, wished he would simply kiss her forever.
    When his hand moved between her legs, she tensed. This is where she’d always stopped in the past. This privacy she’d never allowed to be invaded. Then he stopped, this sweet boy, whose heart was hammering against hers, and pressed his lips to the side of her throat.
    “It’s okay, we can just—”
    She took his hand, brought it back to her center, pressed. “Yes.” She said yes, then closed her eyes.
    The shudder ran through her. Oh, this was new! This was beyond what she’d known before, or felt