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Like she hadn’t heard one word I’d just said, she just reiterated stubbornly, “One kiss. And I will do the kissing. You have to lie there and just take it.”
I felt a bit unhinged by that, but what I said was, “Whatever you like, cupcake.”
I held my breath as she got up from her side of the bed, came to mine, and sat again at my hip.
She put her hands on both of my shoulders and bent down. Her silky dark hair was down, a rare sight, and it trailed onto my chest.
Our eyes were locked when she said softly, “Close your eyes, Thorn.”
I obeyed, but not quietly. “Don’t call me that,” I began, “I’m not your bro—”
Her pillowy soft lips pressed to mine, and I went silent and very, very still.
Her mouth explored mine like the touch of curious fingers. Her tongue darted out to lick like she was memorizing, teasing me relentlessly before pushing inside. I gave instantly and let her in with open arms, our tongues twining together like long lost lovers.
She kissed with tender focus. Like she’d never done it before but had perfected it through sheer talent, unbridled sensuality, and perfect instinct.
Like she’d just discovered kissing and was ravenous for it. Like she’d just discovered everything.
It didn’t speak well of me, but it was true nonetheless: I couldn’t remember the last time I’d kissed someone on the mouth, lips to lips. My foreplay tended to consist of my mouth going somewhere else pretty quickly and no one had ever complained about that.
It spoke very well of her that my thoughts veered so far into outer space that I had the distinct thought: I never want to kiss anyone else after this, not ever again.
Madness incarnate.
She pulled her tongue away, and I fought her a bit to keep it. She bit my bottom lip, I groaned, and she delved back in, kissing me with perfect passion and rare, innocent artistry.
I was lost.
Without permission from my brain, I found my arms pulling her on top of me, lining our bodies up so she was straddling me, my hands gripping hard, stroking her butt, humping my impossible, unstoppable erection against the addictive heat of her in restless, desperate motions.
I wanted to climb inside of her.
I wanted to consume her whole.
I moved my hand between us, sliding my fingers into her loose shorts to graze her sex.
I felt her, hot and wet, for one brief moment before she pulled back, stood up, and walked away unsteadily. The effort not to trap her close but to let her go made my body tremble, head to toe.
She went into my bathroom for a long time, and I was able to calm my body through sheer force of will.
I didn’t want to scare her off. I was scared enough for the both of us.
She came out and turned off all the lights.
“I’m not drunk anymore,” I said roughly to her. “Get back here.”
“I will not.”
“Let me eat you out. It’s a kiss, too. Just farther south.”
“Down, boy.”
“Why won’t you marry me again?”
“Because you’re too sentimental and romantic, obviously.”
She settled on her side of the bed now, a pillow set between us as a barricade.
