“We’re about to take our driving tests. Let’s find you a helmet.”
You grabbed my hand and pulled me to an array of helmets, selecting one that was black with a silver stripe. You helped me fit it to my head and told me I looked sexy. My face flushed as if a sudden fever had overtaken me. Then you looked away shyly. We were alone for the moment, so I asked you if you liked my choice of vessels.
“I love it, even if it’s a little weird seeing you in the coffee guy’s body.”
As far as driving went, I was pretty out of practice and almost didn’t pass the simple test the establishment required, but you convinced the attendant I was perfectly cautious, and I may have used a bit of seduction as well. We stood in line to have our picture taken for our “drivers’ licenses” then compared them. You asked if you could keep mine as a souvenir, and I gave it over immediately. You snuck mine into your wallet right next to yours, a protective amulet.
Then we were speeding around the serpentine racetrack in a highly unsafe apparatus. You were the most reckless of the lot, going so fast no one could catch you. To add insult to injury, when you’d lap me—I was by far the slowest—you’d sidle right up next to me and hoot in delight, scaring me to bits.
When I wasn’t worried about you crashing your car and suffering a fatal head trauma, I did enjoy driving. I hadn’t done something like this in so long—the rush of piloting a vehicle with the throttle of the small engine humming through my body, the smell of rubber and leather, leaning into the turns and feeling that at any moment, bodily injury might occur. I felt like a youngblood again. I’d forgotten what a thrill it was to fear death and dismemberment. Another perk of mortality was knowing just how much you were risking in these violent pursuits.
After several laps, we parked the cars and removed our helmets. Your hair was damp with sweat, your curls plastered to your forehead. Without thinking I pushed them back so I could see your face in its entirety. You leaned into my hand like an eager puppy, so I pulled you closer and kissed the top of your sweaty head.
“Henri and I will get drinks,” you said to your friends. “Meet you at the basketball hoops.”
You grabbed my hand and pulled me away. I suspected we were taking an alternate route to the soda fountain—if we ended up there at all—because you found a small alcove with a door marked “Employees Only.” You tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pulled me inside. It appeared to be a room where cleaning supplies were stored.
“Are you enjoying your birthday festivities?” I asked as I twirled one of your curls in my forefinger and pressed the silky hair to my lips.
“I am, but we should cut out early. I’d rather be spending this time with you.”
“You are spending time with me. And I’m having fun with you and your friends. This establishment really does provide affordable thrills.”
You smiled at that. “How long can you stay?”
“All day. I cleared my schedule.” And my host’s as well.
“All day, like, you disappear at sunset? Or into the night too?”
“Let’s say until midnight tonight. How does that sound?”
“I feel like Cinderella.” You gazed up at me with your large, luminous eyes and smiled your dimpled grin. How could anyone resist you?
I traced the surface of your lips, enjoying the way they yielded to my touch. You poked your tongue out to catch the tip of my thumb. I dipped it inside your mouth just a little, and your tongue slid over it, sending a surge of heat to my genitals. The smell of you in the broom closet was so concentrated that it sent me into a lusting torpor.
“Can I taste this?” I asked as I drew my fingertips along your smooth, exposed neck.
“Yesss,” you hissed with your eyes half-closed and your body shifting toward me.
I dipped my head and ran my tongue along the strong tendon in your neck. A little bit salty from your sweat and oh, so sweet.
“Delicious.” I drew my nose up to your ear, and your head inclined as if I’d orchestrated it. One of your hands went to my chest where your flattened palm made my heart feel like it might hurtle right through my rib cage. I grasped your other hand and kissed each fingertip, one at a time.
“Henri,” you murmured and leaned toward me, gripping my lower back to steady yourself. You rubbed against me like a cat, and the contact made my erection throb. I pushed you back against the door, trapping you inside my arms. I needed to regain my balance. I couldn’t afford to lose control.
“Kiss me,” you said in a throaty voice.
You lifted onto your toes and drew my face down to meet yours. Your nose rubbed against mine and I inhaled deeply, letting the smell of you waft over me like a honeysuckle breeze. I cupped your smooth face in my hands and brought your plush lips to mine. I had only pressed my mouth softly against yours when your lips parted for me like a new bloom. I suckled your probing tongue like the sweetest nectar. We kissed for so long and so ardently, I worried you’d run out of breath. Or that I might. Then I tasted something achingly familiar. Salt and copper, the unmistakable flavor of human blood.
I swept my tongue along your bottom lip where you were bleeding. Worried, I pulled away to inspect the injury.
“Did I cut you?” A trickle of blood seeped out like a steady flow of tears. You grinned a little, and blood dripped down your chin.
“No, I did.” You jutted your chin toward me, presenting your offering.
My self-control evaporated and I flattened you against the door to hold you still as I sucked on your fleshy lip, relishing the tiny rivulet of blood that snaked its way into my mouth. I savored it like a thirsting man savors his last few drops of water.
I tore my ravenous mouth away from yours, careful to hide my teeth inside my mouth, then pressed my fingertip against your wound to stop myself from taking more. The urge to sink my teeth into you nearly overpowered me. I knew all the best places too—where the dermis was thin, and the blood flowed freely.
