I want to do other things too. Like slide her under me, pull her on top of me, strip off all her clothes. But somehow I manage to restrain myself, even though my body has been reduced to nothing but a raging red-hot fire for her. I twine my hands into her hair, and she slides even closer. Her breasts are pushing against my chest. It’s almost too much to take. It’s as if I’ve been wound up tighter, harder, hotter with every second with her.
We kiss like that for ages, or maybe for seconds. I don’t know because I’m losing track of everything but the feel of her, the way she responds, how she loops her hands around my neck and threads them through my hair. How she can’t seem to get enough of this kissing either. I want to drown in this, to be smothered by this kind of heat and want.
Then the train slows with a jolt, and we break the kiss.
“Hi,” she says, and she looks tipsy. Hell, I feel buzzed. And I’d like another, please. I want to get drunk on her. Her mouth is sinful and sweet. Her body is insanely sexy, and I want to explore her with my tongue, to lap up the taste of her soft, sweet skin.
“Hi.” My hands are still in her hair, and hers are in mine.
“I have to tell you something,” she says, and I tense up instantly. Like she just shot my veins full of cold fluid. No good conversation ever started with those words.
“What?”
She shakes her head and smiles. “It’s not a bad thing, Trey. I want to tell you that I’ve never been kissed like that.”
I relax instantly, liking her answer. Loving her answer. I don’t need to know why she’s never been kissed like this. I just want to give her more of it. “Really?”
She nods. “It was amazing. I want more kissing. I want more.”
That word—more—turns everything hazy and heavy. “What kind of more?” I ask carefully, because I’ll give her whatever she wants and then some.
She takes a deep breath as if she’s about to say something that’s hard for her. Then in the barest of whispers, she says, “I’ve never had sex, and I’m not ready for that, but there are other things I haven’t done either. Like, pretty much everything. And I was wondering if you would…”
I cut her off. “Go down on you?” I say, and my voice is hoarse, my body swimming in desire for her.
“Yes.”
I bring her close to me, graze my lips from her jaw to her ear. “I would love to taste you. But what do you think about getting off at the next stop and catching a train back into Manhattan?”
5
Harley
Thirty minutes later, we’re back in the city, hailing a cab, and then making it up the steps to Trey’s little studio apartment on the Lower East Side. I’ve never gone to a guy’s home. All my work was done in hotel rooms or bars or on assignment at events. But I want to be here. I want to let myself feel everything I’ve missed out on and everything I’ve never wanted to have before. I’ve never had the desire to be touched like that, to let someone feel me, slide a hand between my legs. Never in my life. The only orgasms I’ve had have been delivered solo, and I’m not a regular practitioner of self-love.
Tomorrow everything changes, but tonight is still mine.
And Trey feels like mine too. Like he came into my life tonight for a reason. For more than just a tattoo. For this. For this night to exist suspended and apart from everything else.
“So this is it,” he says, flicking on a light.
His apartment is tiny, but that’s what I’ve come to expect from New York. There’s a futon and bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks and sketchbooks. He turns on his playlist so low I can’t really make out the music.
But it sounds like Corinne Bailey Rae, and I can’t think of a sexier kind of song.
He takes my hand and leads me over to his futon.
He leans into my neck, runs his nose from my throat to my earlobe, then nibbles on it. “You smell so fucking good. Do you have any idea how much I want to go down on you?”
I shake my head in answer, even though I think I do know. I felt how hard he was earlier when we were all wrapped up together. I press my hand against him, outlining him through the denim of his jeans. I feel so risqué, so daring, but I like this wild side of me. And he does too.
“That feels so good,” he says with a groan. But then he takes my hand off of him.
I furrow my brow. “Why did you do that?”
“Because this isn’t about me. This is about you. I want to make you feel good. I want to do things to you with my tongue that will have you screaming. I want to taste you. I want to be the first to know how you taste.”
His words send heat through my body and a sweet ache between my legs. My panties are so damp already from what he did to me on the train.
“I want you to do all those things,” I say, and that’s all it takes. His hands are under my skirt and he’s tugging off my panties.
“Let’s get you naked,” he tells me, raising an eyebrow playfully. I slide off my skirt, and he takes off my shirt. I’m down to my bra. I hope he likes what he sees. Not because he paid for it or ordered it, but because he wants it.
He moans and shakes his head appreciatively. “You are gorgeous,” he says, and unhooks my bra then runs his thumbs over my nipples. No one has touched my breasts before. No one. I barely know what to expect, but my body’s reaction hits me quickly. I hitch in a breath as my nipples harden, and desire spreads through me as he bends his head to kiss my breasts, while touching my arms, my belly, my thighs with his hands.
He is memorizing me with his fingertips, and it’s making me woozy and wobbly.
He lays me down on the futon. He’s still in his jeans and his shirt, and I’m in nothing, but I’m in heaven because he’s returned to my lips, that divine mouth of his kissing me once more. He’s soft and hungry at the same time, and it’s such a heady combination. His lips are amazing, and he kisses me greedily, like I’m a chocolate cake and he wants to gobble me, and honestly I want that—to be eaten up.
He kisses his way down my neck, and I tense for a moment, not sure what to do or how to respond. Do I moan? But I don’t like moaning; I don’t like making noise. I’ve never wanted to make a sound before, and suddenly I’m overanalyzing every sensation. I’m losing touch with the intensity of the here and now because my mind is elsewhere. It’s back to my past, to my shame, to all the things I never wanted to hear. But then I hear him, his sighs against my chest as if I’m the best thing he’s ever had. “You are delicious,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing the tops of my breasts, and I say to myself, Screw the past. Screw the future. The only thing that exists is the present, and this is a gift. I will take it.
Savoring every second of his soft mouth on my breasts. Reveling in the way he kisses my nipples, flicking his tongue against one, sucking gently then hard, all while running his hand along my hipbone. The feelings overwhelm me, and I simply have to give my mind a break. I put it on cruise control, letting my body take charge and make all the decisions, and my body is in love with these sensations I’ve never experienced before. Sharp, sweet waves of pleasure literally roll through me, and my bones feel alive, humming and buzzing with energy. My skin tingles in the most delirious way.