I reluctantly pull away, needing to take a breath. “Wow,” I say. Like an idiot.
Addison laughs, but it’s gentle, sweet, and kind. It’s everything she is but pretends not to be. I can’t help but laugh a little too.
Then she says, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
And suddenly, nothing’s funny anymore. Suddenly, I need to be closer to her.
This time, when I move in to kiss her, I use perhaps more force than necessary, and I end up backing her into the door. She doesn’t seem to mind though. This time, one of her hands tangles in my hair and the other slides up my ribs. Her thigh ends up wedged between my legs, and I rock against it instinctually.
When she bites at my bottom lip, the whimper I let out is so desperately needy, I should be embarrassed. But I’m not. I can’t be. The onlything I have room to feel right now is the burning hot desire that’s coursing through my body.
The fact that I have no experience with women doesn’t even seem relevant anymore. Because the difference here isn’t that she’s a woman when I’m used to men. The difference is that I’ve never wantedanyonelike this before.
And I’ve never felt so wanted in return.
Especially not wanted for more than just my body. I’ve never felt so seen for who I am. Out of the stage outfits and makeup, out from under the spotlight.
She makes me feel like who I am off the stage is enough.
Soon she’s pushing me backward and I’m pulling her with me until we tumble onto the bed together. We move up so our heads are resting on the pillows, then we lie facing each other. There’s so little space between us that I feel her breath on my cheek each time she exhales. And I still want to be closer.
I slide my leg between hers and reach for her waist, dragging her in as I scoot myself toward her. At some point, I expect to get nervous, to start feeling unsure. But I’m not there yet. This is everything I’ve been wanting from her for weeks.
She cradles my face with one hand as she leans in to kiss me, rolling us at the same time so that I’m on my back and she’s half on top of me. This puts her thigh on top of mine, pressing down. The weight of her body settles over me like a comforting blanket. I wish I could wrap her all the way around me.
I want to protest when her lips leave mine, but then she’s trailing them down my neck, making me shiver. She kisses and licks a path over my skin, from my neck to my collarbone to my chest, until she’s nibbling at the tops of my breasts right above the neckline of my dress. I’m ready to beg for more, feeling like I’d do anything in this moment to get her totouch me.
Then she pulls back enough to stare down at me, and she asks, “Is this okay?”
The words to tell her that it’s more than okay get stuck in my throat, tangled around all my emotions.
“I...”
“It’s okay if you want to slow down,” she says, trailing one finger lightly along my shoulder and tucking it underneath the thin strap of my dress. That small action suggests the opposite of slowing down. It suggestsmore. And it matches what I want.
I want more.
“I don’t need to slow down,” I manage to say. “I’m good.”
She smiles at me, and I surge up to kiss the smile off her mouth. I bring my hand to the back of her head to pull her back down with me. Her hair is up in the little ponytail she always wears when she’s at work, and I tug at the elastic until it comes out. I toss it carelessly to the bed, then relish in the feel of running my fingers through her soft strands.
She goes back to kissing and sucking at my neck, less gentle this time. I’m glad she knows I’m not fragile. I do what feels good, squeezing the nape of her neck, pulling a bit on her hair, as she continues to worship me.
When her hand travels down to cup my breast over my dress, a tiny moan slips from my lips. This encourages her to keep going, squeezing and letting her thumb graze across my nipple. I shiver again, my whole body feeling like a live wire now. Everywhere she touches me, even the innocent places like my shoulders and back, sends a zap of electricity down between my legs.
What is happening to me?I feel like a virginal teenager all over again. I don’t understand how she has this strong of an effect on me, but it’s hard to pretend she doesn’t.
I can’t keep myself from squirming underneath her, from trying to press closer, into her hands, against her body. And I can’t hold back the noises I’m making, the gasps and moans.
At some point, I realize that I’m just lying here uselessly, letting her do everything. But I want to touch her too. I want to trace her curves withmy fingers the way I’ve been tracing them with my eyes every chance I get.
As we kiss, I run my hand down her back, resting for a minute in the dip of it, right above her ass. And then I give in to the urge to go farther, to let my hand find her ass and squeeze. This earns me a little moan from her that I swallow down, feeling inexplicably pleased with myself.
I wish she wasn’t wearing jean shorts, because I want to feelher, not denim. But I don’t know if I’m brave enough to make that happen. I’ve never been particularly good at asking for what I want.
Addison, thankfully, doesn’t seem to have the same issue. She rucks up the hem of my dress with both hands, her thumbs sweeping along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Can I?” she asks, gazing at me with unmistakable lust in her eyes.
Seeing the way she wants me like I want her makes me feel validated and kind of powerful.
