I lean over, a tiny tomato held in my fingers. “Open up.”
Em obeys, eyes fixing to mine with caution as I push the tiny treat into her mouth, rubbing the tip of my forefinger gently against the plumpness of her bottom lip. When she chews, the burst tomato ejects a rivulet of juice from the corner of her mouth. I catch it with my thumb and push it inside, leaving it there for a moment while she sucks it clean.
Her back arches slightly so her chest is pushed forward. The already strained fabric of her dress pulling even tighter against the curve of her breasts. My eyes drop, following her curves, then spring back to her face, not wanting to miss a second.
I feed her the next tomato, then the last, rolling the despondent lettuce leaf into a tube that she curls her tongue around before drawing inside, even the limp form providing a faint crunch.
I could feed her for days. Feed her, bathe her, dress and undress her like she’s a doll from my private collection.
My arousal is so intense that my entire body pulses in time. I cup the side of her face and draw her closer, expecting at any moment she’ll push me away, tell me no again. Her vocal cords at odds with what her body is broadcasting, like they’re separate divisions within the same company, each trying to achieve a distinctly different result.
When my lips are so near that I can feel the heat of hers against mine, I pause, inhaling her scent, committing the small whimpers as she exhales to a deeper part of my memory, for retrieval only on special occasions. Likewise, the sensations recorded by my fingertips, the soft press of her cheek, the downy hairs along the edge of her face, the stiff resistance of her hairspray giving way to the silken layers underneath.
I pause until my soul strains to touch hers. Coaxing me to close the final few millimetres.
Her kiss is soft, tentative. She raises her fingers to touch the back of my head, then curls them into the hairs there, gently tugging in the same rhythm as our kiss, the penetration of my tongue, the soft tease as hers reaches out to mine then retreats, enticing me to follow.
Our breathing synchs. Our embrace deepens. I curl my body in a protective shield over hers, bending her farther against the wall, one hand still entwined in her long hair, the other keeping me propped at an angle that would be excruciatingly uncomfortable if it weren’t for the gentle rewards driving pain into the background.
My mind takes greedy gulps from every sense, storing it so I can relive the kiss forever because I never want this to end.
CHAPTERNINE
EM
I rest my hand against Caylon’s chest, feeling the thump of his heart, the warmth of his body as it covers mine better than any woollen coat. The taste of his lips is sweet, slightly salty. I wonder if the rest of him tastes as good. Feels as good.
My hand curls into his hair, drawing him closer. His lips briefly leave mine to light a trail of fire from my mouth to my neck, the small sting as he nips at the skin there igniting another fire, deep inside me. Spreading through my abdomen and rising to engulf my chest, twisting my heart with want.
He returns to my mouth, his tongue licking along my lips as he parts them, gaining entry. A curl of pure desire unfurls in my belly, my nipples hardening, heat surging between my legs until I have to clamp my knees together to create the tiniest bit of friction, desperate for more.
I’ve been having sex since I was fourteen, but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been kissed. Properly kissed. More than a peck. Wilbur doesn’t and Zach never liked to. A few aborted attempts to get close to other boys had been abandoned in the years before him.
Caylon kisses me like he’s doing exploratory surgery with his tongue. Like this is the grand prize instead of the starting gate.
My phone buzzes.
My entire body stages an immediate retreat. I recognise the vibration pattern assigned to Wilbur, another one of his check-ins.
If he uploads those videos, no one will ever kiss you again.
The shock of that thought hits me harder than any slap and I draw back further, my head ricocheting off the wall and sending a thick shard of pain into the back of my skull.
“Get off me!” I push him, struggling against Caylon for real, fighting to get free. Anyone could walk upstairs, the tape across the stairwell more a polite request than a barrier.
Anyone could pop their head around the corner. Anyone could see.
I shove him back and it’s more the surprise than my strength that sees him retreat. I surge to my feet and stagger a few steps along the corridor, my eyes searching for a way out, a refuge, privacy.
Somewhere no one can see. No one can report back.
There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall and I scurry inside, closing the door and staring at my phone. My face is flushed, hot.
“Where are you? Send a photo.”
I force a smile and hold the phone at a high angle. But I can’t make my thumb hit the button.
My face is a mess. My eye makeup smeared. What’s left of my lipstick stretches well outside the pencilled line. Wilbur will take one look and accurately deduct that someone just kissed me into disarray. I tilt my head forward, but even the disguise of my hair doesn’t obstruct the view enough to hide what’s just happened.
