The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) Read Online Free Page B

away to process.
    Although a part of me thought that grabbing him seemed like a good idea, instead, I let my foot off the brake and on to the gas, backing up. Thank all that's holy that I didn't run over his foot.
    Once I put the car in drive and the coast was clear, I floored it. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I could see him in my rear view mirror, still looking at me as I drove away.
    I was not sure why I left so fast. Just that it was so strange to feel … anything. And to want to feel more.  I thought this was a good thing.  So, why did I feel the need to escape even when I knew I’d be back for more?  And why was I so struck by him?
    I didn't believe in this fairy tale romance nonsense. I was an educated, enlightened woman, and I did not need a man. I had a job, a house, a car, and a life. I did not need anyone .
    So why did he affect me so much?

 
    Good Catholic Girl
     
     
    FOLLOWING MY COURT appearance and kiss with Ryan, I drove along the beach back to work. The life of a lawyer sucked sometimes. Actually, it sucked most of the time. No wonder I had been clueless when Ryan asked me about passion. I wouldn't know what passion was if it sent me a text. Nevertheless, once I got to the office, I focused, and I managed to get more trial preparation done; I felt confident that we would be ready for the following week.
    After wolfing down some pretzels in the breakroom at work for dinner, I finally stumbled into my house at eleven o'clock that night. My house welcomed me, as it always did. I lived in a tiny, adorable adobe with two bedrooms and one mint green vintage bath.  Even though it was small, it had cost a fortune because of where it was located: in the tony hills of S.B. Like most of the area, my house had classic white stucco exterior walls, window trim painted turquoise green, and a red tile roof. It also had a small, but cute yard, which the gardener certainly kept in order. But I was never around to enjoy it.
    Inside, I had decorated my comfortable living room with dark brown leather couches, and cushy twill armchairs—that I never sat in because I worked all day. My galley kitchen boasted small high-end appliances—that I never used because I lived in my office, and ate out all the time. At night, I slept in a luxurious bed—that I had shared for only part of one night, for the last year and then some.
    Yeah.
    No wonder I was depressed.
    When I walked in, though, it felt good to be home. All day, I had ignored the throbbing between my legs, which had been steadily increasing. Even though I was working, I kept having daydreams about Ryan and his kiss. And his abs. And his tented pants. All. Day. Long.
    Dammit.
    I felt so sexually frustrated. Okay, I’d been sexually frustrated for a very long time. At least I admitted it now. Today, Ryan certainly brought it to a head. But I didn’t know what to do.
    Frankly, I was tempted to take care of it myself. I never did. That was against the Rules.
    Okay, so about my Rules. I hadn’t told my therapist about them yet and I realize that they were, well, prudish. They were arbitrary, too.  I didn't care. I came up with my Rules to keep my feminism and my dignity and my badassery and I was not about to change them. I had sex. On my terms.
    At least that was what I had told myself when I came up with my Rules.
    Okay, so I came up with my Rules in high school when I still thought that French kissing was gross. After reading a million teenage magazines, guide books, and warnings about abstinence, rape, pregnancy, diseases, and heartbreak, I’d believed that making clear boundaries about what I would and would not do with my body would establish, firmly, that I was in charge.  At that time, admittedly, it was probably a good idea.  A teenage girl needs to take it slowly—the scary dangers discussed in the magazine articles were real.  Every woman needed to learn how to own her own body and deal with the emotions that sex introduced into her life.  I