‘You’re not from around here.’ I ran the towel down my bare forearms, cold not the only reason for my shivering.
His brow furrowed briefly and he shook his head. ‘On holiday.’
We were still both drying our hair when, with a start, I’d noticed his eyes were glued to my chest and I glanced down to where my nipples stood like stiff points behind the wet fabric of my dress. I pulled the edges of the towel closer across my chest, suffering a flash of discomfort, though not from his looking, rather the lack there to show.
‘Don’t do that.’ I opened my mouth to answer but no sound came out. ‘Don’t hide yourself.’ His voice was soft, though it wasn’t kindness he was offering, if the pulse jumping in his throat was any sign.
For a moment, I didn’t move—I didn’t dare to. All I’d known was I needed him to touch me or I’d burst. Over twenty years old and I’d never known yearning until that point. That tickle between my legs when someone cute flirted with me? Sure. But this? This was more like a deluge.
Inhaling deeply, I’d folded the towel over my forearm before dropping it onto a kitchen chair, his voice turning rougher as he’d said, ‘Come here.’
Wholly unoriginal, but finding the courage to move was like taking a step from a cliff, not knowing what I’d find over the edge. But he didn’t leave me pin wheeling; no, pressing me flush against him, he pushed me over that edge. Kissing and touching—I was so turned on by his silverware—and, within moments, he had me backed against the countertops, his hand slipping into the waistband of my panties. I was like a cat in heat, rubbing my slick self against him. I thought I’d pass out when he lowered himself to his haunches, trailing his fingers across my hips. Shaking and delirious with longing, I’d exhaled a long breath as he’d slid the plain white cotton down my legs.
‘Not blue.’
Though his eyes were levelled between my thighs, the smile was evident in his words, and as his gaze slowly tracked up my body, I could see the wicked glint there.
His soft lips parted, blowing warm breath against my damp curls, heat coursing through my veins like the path of wildfire through dry grass. I burned like never before. God, Iachedfor him to touch me again, and as he slid his fingers inside me, my ragged gasp sounded like an expletive in the room. I gripped the edge of the countertop, suddenly fearing for the stability of my knees as his fingers worked me slowly, building into a teasing rhythm, his free hand bunching the fabric of my dress tight at my hip.
I was freefalling; the reality of the kitchen slipping away as my hips jerked, delirious and desperate.
‘You’re so wet.’ His voice was just a whisper, but still my head jolted me back to the moment, my body stiffening.Was that normal? No one, and by that I meant neither of the two boys whose fingers were familiar with that particular region of my body had ever mentioned anything like that.
‘What—’ My teeth clamped against my lip before I tried again. ‘I’ve never. I haven’t—’
I sucked in a breath as his fingers slipped wetly from between my legs.
‘You’ve never what?’ he asked, sitting back, his hand still holding my bunched dress. I felt myself shrugging in response, only answering when it became clear those fingers weren’t going anyplace I wanted them to.
‘I’ve never gone any further. Than this.’
‘You’ve never had sex before?’ His brows pulled together. Was he confused? Annoyed? It was hard to tell.
‘Well, technically, no. But I want to. Now. W-with you, I mean.’ And I think we both heard the mixture of panic and desperation right then.
In an almost fluid motion, Rory stood, taking my hand. Tears pricked against my eyes and all I could think washe’s making me leave and my panties are still in his kitchen; I have a wet, bare assed and teary walk home ahead of me.
But then we paused at a door in the hallway where his hands found my face.
‘You want to do this?’
I nodded, my face still in his hands. Fingers I could smell myself on. ‘I want you, but I need to hear you’re sure. That you want this. That you want me, too.’
I swallowed deeply and nodded again. ‘Yes, please.’
The bed was unmade and clothes hung over the back of a chair. Dark blue soft furnishings and a swirling black rug. The rain beat heavily against the window as he led me to the bed, my hand shaking in his as he peeled back the wrinkled covers while apologising for the mess.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, I’d kicked off my ballet flats, placing my hands primly against my knees and watched from under my lashes as Rory slid a hand to the back of his neck to pull off his damp t-shirt. It was such a masculine movement, yet a simple one, and very effective as far as my libido was concerned.
His body was all hard angles and slopes and my heart began to beat like runaway hooves as he stepped closer, popping the button on his dark jeans.
‘Take off your dress.’
Was it wrong to feel a little thrill at his throaty direction, especially as his eyes were so avidly watching me?
I began loosening the buttons of my light summer dress, while considering leaving on the cropped top I wore in place of a bra. Bravery won over ridiculousness, though the urge to cover myself was hard fought.
‘I want you to touch me.’ He stepped closer, the husky tone of his voice sending shivers across my skin.
