by Lola West
15
Drew
I stopped, my hand still on the doorknob, my back to Lua. My eyes were wide, unblinking, and my legs were heavy. I didn’t answer her. I just waited, hoping that she would let it go, step back, and disappear behind the safety of her door. But she didn’t do that. Instead, she took a step toward me and she gently asked again, “Drew, why was my bandana in your pocket?”
I dropped my forehead against the door in front of me. I didn't know that she’d seen the bandana. I wondered when she’d seen it. I didn’t bring it with when I changed for dinner, but I carried it earlier in the day. So, she knew I had it before she asked me to spend the evening with her. She must have seen it when we were on Kelsey Jennings’ couch. She must have seen it when I lost my cool, that moment when I faltered and almost choked, when she announced she would be a student at Hamilton. I had touched it then; I knew I had.
She stepped closer again, and this time I could feel the air that stirred when she spoke on the back of my neck. “Please, Drew, tell me.” Her voice was whispery and sad, like a sound that lived in the dark corner of an attic.
My throat burned with rage. I knew it wasn’t the right response, but I let it bubble up so I could propel myself forward. Punching the door open, I growled, “Leave it, Lua.”
I stepped over the threshold and whipped around to catch the door in my hand and slam it shut, but she was right behind me. She crossed the threshold with me, even though I was acting crazy. I couldn’t shut her out or push her out. I couldn’t move her, so I walked deeper into the room, needing to put space between us.
Loaded with frustration, I spat, “What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer me.
I manically ran my hands through my hair, like my father does. I half told, half begged, “You shouldn’t be here. You should go, Lua.”
There were no lights on in the room. Lua stood just inside my door, backlit by the light from the hallway. I couldn’t really make out her expression, but her body language was clear. She was standing sturdy, her legs shoulder width apart, her arms crossed just below her breasts. She paid no attention to the things I was saying or my behavior. She kept her voice even and said, “Tell me about the bandana.”
Neither of us said anything, and I waited for her to leave, but she didn’t.
She moved toward me, then turned and quietly shut the door. The room went dark. I knew she couldn’t see me. Cloaked in the darkness, I let the anger dissipate. Anger was always my shield; it was how I hardened myself to my father’s outbursts; it was how I kept myself safe. But I didn’t want to be angry alone in the dark with Lua. I wanted to keep Lua from being alone in the dark with me, and I’d failed her. I’d been failing her since the moment I saw her in the lobby.
My eyes started to adjust, and I could see she was closer now, standing four or five feet in front of me and moving in my direction. She could see me too. Her eyes were locked on mine. When she was close enough to touch me, she spoke again in that same low, quiet, calm voice. “Drew, it’s okay. Tell me why you had the bandana.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head no. She brought her hands to my face, stilled my movement. I kept my eyes closed. My arms hung limply at my sides. Her hands on my skin were so gentle, so kind, just like they were the night I met her. Her touch drifted from my cheeks, down my neck, to the tops of my shoulders, and I could feel her rising, lifting up on her tiptoes.
“Because I matter, right?” she asked, her lips inches from mine.
She used my exact word, matter. Lua mattered. I swallowed and something like a sob escaped. I wasn’t crying or anything, but I was tattered. I felt worn, like you do after a fight. I wasn’t going to kiss her, no matter how close she came, but I didn’t think I had the strength to hold back if she kissed me. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know that she was right, that she mattered. I lifted an arm, found her waist, and wrapped my index finger around her belt loop.
She sighed softly, but she didn’t let it go. “It’s not enough, Drew. You don’t have to speak, but you have to tell me.” The calm in her voice shook ever so slightly. “Tell me it’s because I matter.”
My breathing stilled. Hearing her crack, hearing that somewhere beneath the calm there was something weary, something breaking, was enough to stir me. Very deliberately, I tilted my chin down and up just once, just a small affirmation, just enough so that the truth crashed between us. Before I could even draw another breath, her lips were on mine, sweet and greedy.
16
Lua
Unlike I imagined, Drew didn’t hold back once my lips touched his. He had been so standoffish all night that I thought it would take him a minute to give in, to admit or accept that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. But it wasn’t like that at all. As soon as my lips touched his, he caught fire. His lips were soft, but the strength behind them was firm. The hand that was tentatively tugging at my belt loop leaped to the back of my neck, and with his thumb, he angled my face so his mouth had unfettered access to mine. In this position, he ran the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip. If I had licked my own lip, it would have felt like nothing, but Drew’s tongue unspooled me. An icy heat whirred through my body, and I moaned against his mouth, letting my lips part, granting him entry. In return, he growled, turned me so that my back pressed up against the dresser that was to his left, and then grabbed my ass with both hands and lifted me up so that I was sitting on the dresser’s edge, my legs split, him standing between them. The movement was manic and messy. The dresser shuddered, and I jerked my hand out, clutching the frame of the mirror on the wall behind us.
Even while he was moving me, his lips never left mine. He claimed my mouth, explored it like he wanted to know every cell. He was unflinching in his research, probing, sucking, nibbling, and I returned each penetrating touch twofold. I couldn’t kiss him hard enough or with enough force to quench my need for him. The room filled with our noise, panting breaths and little ravenous moans. Every nerve in my body was on high alert. Without a single caress, my nipples were tight little peaks and pressure was building between my legs. His mouth drifted down my neck, toward my earlobe. Each suck and swirl of his tongue enlisted a small sound from me.
“Fuck, Lua,” he whispered. His breath was hot against my ear. “Those little sounds.”
I don’t curse much, only if needed, but hearing his coarse sounds had me moaning louder. I bucked my hips toward him. His hands slipped to my waist, and he pulled me to him so my body pressed against his length. He was thick and hard beneath his jeans, and he ground himself against me. He cradled my ass and hip in his left hand and slipped his right hand under my shirt and up my torso. I arched into his touch, crushing our bodies together. I’m not religious, but Jesus Christ. I was seconds away from coming and I was fully dressed.
I wanted him. I wanted to tear his clothes off. I wanted his hands all over me. I wanted to feel him fill me, push into me, make me explode. I was crazy with wanting him. Hungry with it. Starving for it. If I was honest with myself, I’d been dreaming of this moment since that night at Bonnaroo, but it was also scary. Kissing Drew wasn’t anything like kissing Lucas. When I kissed Lucas, I was excited, but it felt different, biological. It felt chemical and clinical, like a roadmap. Follow these directions to your destination. Kissing Drew felt wildly emotional. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t just two bodies spiraling toward climax. It was untethered, wider, more open. It felt raw and primal and it felt risky, like it could be devastating.
My thoughts must have played out in my body because Drew pulled back, not like pulled away, just eased his grip and his movements, slowed, and returned to kissing my mouth. Only now, he was gentle, softly caressing me with his tongue. It was like when you cool down after a workout, like he was going backwards, rewinding us back to a closed mouth kiss.
Once we were calmer, he rested his forehead against mine and said, “We should stop, right?”
I could tell stopping was not what he wanted, but rather what he w
as resigned to, what he thought was the right thing, the honorable thing. I could tell because his voice was syrupy and small, like it took incredible will to express each word.
My breathing was still labored, and it was very clear to me that stopping wasn’t what I wanted. “We should but…” He ran his hand up my thigh, and I wanted him to go higher. I dropped my head back and groaned in frustration. He leaned forward and kissed my throat.
“But…” he said against my skin.
I pushed him back and hopped off the dresser. I had to get away from his hands if I was going to be able to think. Drew was so intense, like Jekyll and Hyde. From one minute to the next I had no idea how he would behave. His desire for me was always present, but I couldn’t count on his kindness. I couldn’t have sex with Drew. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t feel comfortable enough, but I wanted release and I wanted it with him.
I crossed back to him, wrapped my arms around his waist, rested my head against his chest, felt his hard-on press into my belly, and said, “What if we just took all the big stuff off the table?”
His heart was pounding. “So, no sex.”
“Right, no sex.”
“And no oral.”
“Yeah.”
“But…” His breath caught as I slipped my hand from around his waist so that it moved between our bodies and then lower until I was holding him through his jeans. “Touching.”
I nodded. “Touching, yes,” and I pressed firmly, dragging my hand down a few inches and then back up. I teased him. I pushed up on my tiptoes, licked the rim of his ear like I had wanted to earlier, and whispered, “Are you up for just touching, Drew?”
He made a guttural sound and then turned his head so he could kiss me again. Still kissing, he asked, “On the bed?”
I answered, “With less clothes.” And he laughed.
17
Drew
Lua stepped back from my grip toward the bed, moved her hands down to the hem of her shirt, and started to lift. I stopped her.
“Wait,” She looked at me with an eyebrow raised, like really? I crossed to the wall of windows. I didn’t want to turn on the lights but if she was taking off her top, I wanted to be able to really see her. With my hand on the curtains, I asked, “Can I open them? I…” I didn't know how to express what I wanted.
“You want some light.” Her voice was low and sultry, like it had been at Fureza Bruta.
I swallowed. “Yes.” I didn’t move. I wanted all the decisions to be hers.
“I want it too.”
When I pulled the curtain back, the room was enveloped by a cool blue radiance. I turned. Lua stood at the end of the bed, facing me. Unlike in the darkness, I could see that she was flushed and sweaty, little pieces of hair sticking to her forehead. Her chest fluttered with fast, heavy breaths. Again, she reached for the hem of her shirt, this time with both hands crossed in front of her. She grasped the fabric and lifted so that in one motion her blouse was discarded, a crumpled ball on the floor.
Once she was topless, she didn’t move. She stood there and unabashedly let me look at her. It was like watching the fucking sunrise. She was achingly beautiful. Her skin was smooth and creamy. She was wearing a white lace bra that cut across her full breasts on a diagonal, exposing the crest of her cleavage and the roundness of her bust. Nothing about Lua was hard or cut, but she was curvy. She tapered at the waist. Her jeans sat low on her hips, cutting into her skin, and I wanted to press my thumbs into the flesh at her hip bones, then kneel before her and explore her belly button with my tongue. I wanted to devour Lua, taste every square inch.
Enjoying my eyes on her, Lua slowly unbuttoned her jeans. I watched her fingers as she took hold of her zipper and pulled. Her movement was tantalizingly unhurried, making me privy to the zipping clash of each metal tooth. My heart was running a marathon in my chest. I made a move toward her, but she wagged her finger at me and shot me a sly smile. She was in control of this moment and I liked it. I wanted her to be.
Angling her torso forward, she tucked her thumbs inside the waist of jeans on either side and then shimmied them down over the curve of her ass. When they were around her ankles, she stepped out of them one at a time and dropped them on top of her shirt. Her panties were white cotton, simple, cut high on her hips; they must have been tucked just beneath the waist of her jeans. I couldn't really see the back yet, but all I could see was skin, so I thought she might be wearing a thong. Scratch that, I prayed for a thong.
She sauntered toward me. My fingers ached to touch her, and my dick strained against the fabric of my jeans, but I didn’t move. Once she was close enough, she slipped her hands under the fabric of my shirt. Her palms and her fingers felt hot on my skin as she ran them from my waist to my diaphragm.
“Take your shirt off,” she said.
I reached for the fabric and pulled. With my t-shirt still moving past my face, I felt the warm, soft wetness of her mouth encircle my nipple. I had never really been with a woman who kissed my chest before. I mean a little, but not when I was this aroused and not with the fervor that Lua was putting in. The feeling was incredible. I dropped my arms, my shirt still attached to the right one, and then used my left hand to cup her ass cheek and pull her hips toward me. Yep, thong. Holy thong. She turned from one nipple to the other and my head lulled back as I groaned.
Being with Lua was different. Every caress, every stroke, every whisper drove me wild, and it didn’t matter whether I was giving or receiving. Touching Lua made me feel powerful. Like before I knew her, I was nothing, and since she kissed me, I could be everything. I knew it wasn’t real, that the feeling was some kind of sexually induced mirage, but even a glimpse at what it looked like to be the man she was responding to was euphoric. For the first time ever, I wasn’t just cocky. I was gruff and bold, undecidedly confident like a caveman or an animal. I was also deliciously out of control, feeling that somehow, no matter how briefly, she was mine.
She moved her hands to my belt. I shook my shirt from my wrist, letting it slip to the floor, and used my right hand to pull her chin up so I could reacquaint myself with her warm, lush mouth. She was masterful, easily fingering my belt through the buckle, and then pulling the strap through my belt loops with a strong tug and the sound of leather sawing against my jeans. When she went for the button, I stopped her. I wasn’t ready to have so little clothes between us just yet. Instead, I crushed her body against mine. Lua’s skin on my skin, her soft belly mashed against my abs was like nothing I’d ever felt before. As soon as our skin touched, she whimpered.
I cursed, “Oh… Fuck.” It was electric, every nerve in bliss.
We stayed like that for a second just cooing and panting. When I could see straight again, I ran both hands down her back over the smooth slope of her waist and let my fingertips slip under the elastic of her panties. She looked up at me, her eyes hot and huge in the blue light. She leaned back just a little so she could talk to me.
Smiling coyly, she said, “You curse a lot lately.”
I withdrew my right hand from the hem of her panties, ran it up her torso, palmed her breast, and brushed over her nipple with my thumb. She huffed out a breath and bowed her body in response to my touch.
“I curse a lot always,” I said, pulling down her bra cup with my fingers so that her naked breast spilled into my hand. I wanted her nipple in my mouth but not then, not standing. Instead, I rolled her nipple between my thumb and index finger.
She cried out, and then she coarsely said, “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before.”
There was a witty comeback that popped into my head when I heard her curse, but then when she said ‘wet,’ I almost jizzed in my pants.
All I could manage to get out was a command. “Bed.”
She turned and kind of skipped in the direction of the bed. It was the first time I got to look at her from behind. Instantly, I knew I didn't want her lying down yet. With two strong strides, I was behind her with my arm around her waist and my
other hand at the button of my jeans.
She started to speak. But I silenced her with my voice against her ear. “Wait.”
My jeans around my ankles, still in my briefs, I pressed myself against the soft flesh of her backside and slid the hand that was on her waist down, under the lip of her panties. Her head rolled back against my chest and she circled her hips against my cock. I pushed my hand lower and cupped her mound for a second before slipping a finger into her slippery folds. As soon as I felt the wet warmth of her pussy, I started to go over the edge. She wasn’t lying. She was wet, breathtakingly wet. I worked my hand inside of her. She whimpered, these tiny little sounds, sometimes unintelligible, sometimes words. I was fucking panting and groaning, bucking against her.
“Drew…” she huffed. “I want to touch you.” I wanted that, I did. But I also wanted to make her come, and she was close.
“You first,” I got out.
She didn't listen. She reached behind her, pulled at the elastic of my briefs, and lowered them so that there was no fabric between my erection and her skin. Then she wrapped her hand around my shaft and positioned herself so that every time I leaned in to push my fingers inside of her, she stroked me. Her hand on me was almost more than I could handle. I was as close as she was. I found her clit with my thumb and in three thrusts, she was tightening around my fingers. As she clamped down, she held her breath and her noises stilled. Lost in her own ecstasy, she dropped her hand from my cock and drove herself against my fingers. With a high-pitched whimper, she erupted, shuddering and spasming against me. I came with her, all over her back, and she wasn’t even touching me. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.
