by Louisa Trent
But kissing was different than fucking. Way different. In a kiss, he could keep his tongue clear of her mouth, but if they fucked, no way could he keep his dick clear of her...
Nope, not going there. Absolutely not. Saints don't have one of those.
"Run in and take a hot shower while I start dinner, sweetheart," he said, walking with Kesley up the three flights of stairs and following her into her apartment, just like always.
When he was home, he spent more time in her place than in his own, his place being neglected--except for the plants--and her place being warm and inviting, lived-in. Since her roommates moved out, he had the run of her apartment. It was just the way it was. If they had sex, things would change. Fucking would just fuck up everything.
While Kesley showered, Drew threw a steak on the broiler, popped potatoes in the microwave for nuking. He'd already made the salad as he'd left work early that day. What the hell, he owned the consulting business! He could come and go as he pleased, travel or not travel; those were his decisions to make.
Grabbing a cold one from the fridge, Drew made himself at home in front of the tube for the evening news.
Generally speaking, they ate together most nights when he was home. He didn't mooch; he always chipped in for the food, even taking turns doing the grocery shopping. Though more often than not, he let Kesley handle that end of things.
When the water in the shower shut off unexpectedly--Kesley took l-o-n-g showers--he looked up from the Sports to see Kesley racing from the bathroom.
"Fire!" she yelled, waving her arms at a billowing gray cloud.
Shit! For once, the Red Sox were on a winning streak. Alternating between cheers and swears, Drew had forgotten all about the steak.
He beat Kes to the kitchen, shut off the broiler, dumped a box of baking soda on the greasy flames, and swept the cremated cow remains onto a plate. Heaving open a window, he sent the ashy evidence of his absentmindedness into the atmosphere before Mrs. Harris dialed 9-1-1 to put out his faulty memory.
When the danger of smoke inhalation passed, he looked down at Kesley, alarmingly tiny in her bare feet.
Rather than run out of the shower naked or wearing a towel, she grabbed the bed wear she always kept on the inside bathroom door hook. Though the tee was mostly on, t'weren't covering nuthin'. Her shower-moist skin caused the thin white cotton to wrap and cling to some fairly substantial womanly curves. Everything was showing.
This is where it got dicey. This is where the sex thing reared its nasty head, ruining things, causing a rift of tension between them. Before, if he had interrupted Kesley in the middle of getting changed, which, by the way, he had done many a time because of their friendly open-door policy, he would have quickly averted his eyes to spare them both embarrassment. But things had changed since yesterday; now he saw Kes through the tunnel vision of a prospective lover. Assessing. Curious. So how would she be in bed, anyway?
He worked his way down the tee, his eyes caressing her womanly curves.
He already knew about her breasts. But the nipples. Hey, now there was a pleasant surprise. Bigger than what he would have expected, sticking out under the clinging tee and obviously pink, which made sense because of her light complexion. Kesley never went braless, except to bed, a situation he had always before pretended not to notice when he caught her in her jammies. Now he was noticing, openly noticing.
Nice tits, he thought.
He liked tits. They were lots of fun to play with.
And because sex always escalates, his gaze dipped to take the rest of the tour.
Pussy.
Kesley's pussy.
Not waxed--he didn't think she was the type to tamper with Mother Nature. A neat patch of light brown curls snuggled under the nearly transparent tee.
He wished he could make out the lips. Were her pussy lips as soft as her mouth? Would they taste just as sweet to kiss? He always kissed pussy.
His glance lowered some more.
Kesley was tiny, but she still had legs, shapely legs from all those runs around Jamaica Pond. When he was home, he joined her. Exercise and he did not agree, but he didn't like the idea of her running alone.
Nice firm thighs, he mused. The kind of thighs that could handle a large man like him, cradle him in their delta, lock around him as he surged upwards into her body. He knew Kes' body would welcome his body in a way his body had never been welcomed anywhere before. He just knew it. Had always known it. She was perfect for him.
That's why he never went there, not even in his thoughts.
Because after they ended, what then? He might never see her again. It would kill him not to see Kes again. Better not to have sex than risk losing her for good.
Kesley started pulling at the hem of the tee. She must have caught him looking. What the hell did she think he would do after throwing sex in his face?
"Looks like the tee-shirt is winning," he said, walking towards her. "Can I help?"
She groaned, "Drat! I knew I should have gone with the larger size!"
"New, huh?" He tugged on the bottom of the clinging cotton, his knuckles scraping her upper thighs.
Blushing, both of them knowing where his eyes had been, she said, "I bought the tee for Ted. For when he stays over."
The prick was staying over? What? On the first date? Saints don't do stuff like that!
Once Kes was covered, she shook out her cap of brown hair, sending water drips scattering and puddling on the kitchen floor.
"Careful," he said. "Don't slip."
She smoothed her hand over the gravity-defying slope of her tit. "I didn't want to wear something new to bed. So obvious, you know? I thought I'd break the tee in first."
He was going nuts! Her talking about Ted and the tee. Her touching her tit while talking about Ted. Her...
Pussy.
Kesley's pussy, soft and brown like a little kitten. He liked tits, but man he loved pussy. A lot of quality fun could be had from playing with pussy.
Because he was losing it, totally going nuts, he said: "You're wet."
She smiled her agreement. "I certainly am."
What was he saying? What was he doing? He had to get out of here! "You know, Kes, I was talking about wet from the shower. Not from the other thing. Not from the sex thing."
Edgy, flustered, frustrated, horny as hell, his sanity slipping away, Drew backed up to the bathroom. He needed an excuse to break the tension. "I'll just get a towel to dry you off."
CHAPTER FOUR
Drew had never dried a woman off after a shower, though he liked pampering women. He liked their softness, their special scent, their fragility. Their bodies. Burying himself deep inside their bodies. Once. Maybe twice. Then, he'd move on. Or she did. Or they both did, simultaneously. No hard feelings, just the way it was. Which explained why he never dried a woman off after a shower. He just wasn't around long enough.
"You're so tiny," Drew told Kesley, moving in on her, towel in hand. "I can stand behind you like this, and still see clear across the room."
"I'm not wearing shoes, that's why."
"Women generally don't wear shoes in the shower."
She sighed. "I always wanted a couple more inches."
"Me too. That would give me a full foot to work with."
She turned around and gaped. "You mean...?"
"Yup. Didn't I tell you it wasn't a little thing? Sometimes, I don't even have to be in the same room."
Turning back around, she let that pass. No laugh. Both too aware of the other for humor. It was sex again. His timing was off, and timing was everything in the delivery of a joke. Why was sex ever invented? Sex sucked.
Drew cleared his throat of lust. "Have you thought about birth control?"
"Of course I have! You know I'm not irresponsible. What's gotten into you anyway?"
He spun her 'round to face him. "You know damn well what's gotten into me! You've gotten into me."
Her hands went to her hips, making the tee-shirt go tight across her chest, making it r
ide up her thighs again. "Why are you growling at me?"
How naïve was she anyway?
Her pussy was looking him in the eye, his one eye. That's why he was growling.
He cleared the lust from his throat again. "What are you using?"
"Um ... well ... stuff."
"You always back it up with a condom. Even if you're deep-throating, make him suit up first."
"I'll go one better than that. When I go downtown, I'm making him wear a tux."
"This is not a laughing matter, Kes! You're a social worker, you know what's out there."
"I'm fully aware. That's why I need a little happiness, Drew."
He didn't let up. "You plan on doing everything?"
"I never thought about specifics. I don't know."
"Stick to the missionary. No toys. No kink. Vanilla."
"I will not!"
"All guys will try for anal. It's the latest Eagle Scout badge. Some will ask, others will insist. You don't give it unless you trust him, and you don't trust him if he tries to wheedle it out of you. That goes for everything. Don't give anything you're not ready to give. Got that?"
"What is your problem?"
"How's Ted?" he asked, testy with the dawn of arousal. "Did you see him today, talk phone sex with him today?"
"Now I know why you're acting strange. You're just miffed because I asked you to deflower me."
He started to laugh. "Deflower? What are you, a Victorian heroine in a romance novel?" He asked sarcastically, bad humor turned pretty ugly.
She looked down at her bare feet. Wiggled her toes. "I didn't know how else to phrase it."
Drew did. He had a bunch of ways, but he'd bite off his tongue before using them in front of Kesley.
"So will you help me?" she asked, gaze still on the floor.
He wound a strand of wet brown hair around a finger, pulled up until he raised her chin, and bent his jaw to the soft point. Faces inches apart, he ran a fingertip over her generous mouth. "You're asking me to have sex with you. Right?"
"In a manner of speaking." Her brow puckered. "Well, I suppose so. But really, I was looking at this more from an academic point of view. You have certain knowledge I require and I would like you to facilitate the exchange of that knowledge."
"The facilitation," he said, pronouncing that "f" word with harsh emphasis, much as he would the other, more descriptive "f" word, "will change things between us."
"No it won't!"
It already had. The fact that Kesley had lush, kissable lips had never occurred to him before her request. The way she smelled, sweet and fresh after her shower, had never entered his head. He never before considered how her petite stature would translate into bed positioning. He liked being with her, but he never once thought about being inside her. Though sleeping with her, cuddled under the covers, had crossed his mind once or twice, or a million or so times. But it wasn't sexual! Nothing sexual. Not with Saint Kesley. She had a whole world out there to save and he didn't want to stand in her way.
His mouth twisted. "I understand you want experience but I just don't know if I can get physical with you."
"Why?"
She was so innocent! "Because I've only ever had sex with strangers. You and me? We're not exactly strangers."
They weren't exactly intimates either. He'd purposefully kept her out of his head in regards to a lot of speculative stuff.
"Anyway, this is a big step." His mouth dipped to her quivering mouth. "Suppose we don't click?" he asked, knowing damn well that they would click, and in a big way.
She went up on tiptoes. "That's the beauty of doing this with you. We don't have to click. I only need to click with Ted. It would probably work out better if we don't click."
Their mouths were so close. Help! He wanted to kiss her.
"H-how was work today?" he asked, a millimeter from her puckered lips.
A twitch at the corner of that lush mouth. "Lousy, actually. We got a new runaway in. Swears he's eighteen, looks no older than fourteen. On the streets. The john who picked him up beat him severely. Won't give his real name. It rips me up inside, you know?"
"Aw, Kes..." he said, wanting to fold her in his arms as he would have done before, but not doing it now because sex had messed up everything. "I should go."
She touched his shoulder, a stretch even up on her toes. "You can't run away forever."
When her damp, cotton-covered tit poked his forearm, his cock just about broke through his metal zipper. "Believe me, I know you're here," he said grimly, eyeballing the distance to the door in case he needed to make a break for it.
"You haven't answered my question."
"Don't push me, Kes. I'm thinking."
"Could you at least look at me while you're thinking?"
He looked. A hard look he never used with her. A challenging look meant to scare her off. He wanted to scare her off because her offer was too tempting to refuse.
But Kesley didn't scare easy. She'd seen so much bad stuff with her compassionate brown eyes, yet somehow always stayed her ground, remaining cheery despite the odds. Like about the weather. It wasn't so much she denied the clouds, as it was her hoping the clouds would move on and the sun would shine through.
That was some foolhardy thinking. Clouds always moved in, not out. And it never just rained, it poured. And an umbrella always comes in handy, if not for warding off the deluge, for beating off the muggers hiding behind every bush--those bushes she refused to beat around.
Why didn't Kes carry the can of mace he'd bought for her, that he reminded her to carry like a thousand times? Why wasn't she more careful walking around the city streets?
"Why haven't you taken care of your cherry before now?" he exploded.
"It's not like going to the dentist," she said softly. "The opportunity never presented itself. At least not with the right man."
"And Ted is the right man?"
She blinked. "Ted? Oh! Ted! I don't know. Maybe."
"You're going through a lot of bother for a maybe."
"I'll never know unless I try. I'm almost thirty, Drew. It's time. If Ted isn't the right one, some other man will be. I want to get married."
"Swell."
"Please." She tugged on his shirt, like a little girl. "Pretty please? Do this one thing for me and I'll never ask you for another favor as long as I live."
The tip of her firm tit was pebble-hard, stabbing him.
Kesley was excited, he acknowledged in despair. "I'd do anything for you, but I don't know if I can do this." He grasped at straws. "Here's an idea. Explain the situation to Ted. Just tell him you're a vir... vir..."
"You can't even say it!"
"I can too say it. Virgin," he yelled like a maniac. "See? I said it. There! Aw, hell! Just tell Ted to back off."
"I don't want him to back off."
"Aw, shit!"
" I know what men say about women like me. Thirty year old virgins. We're the butt of locker room jokes. I'm tired of being a jock's butt."
He tore his hands through his hair. "All right. All right. Just don't tell the pri ... Ted. Maybe he won't notice."
"Of course he'll notice! I'm a virgin! Haven't you been listening to me?"
"Maybe you lost it already and you just forgot."
"I think I'd remember something like that."
"That's not what I meant. Sweetheart, how many times have you told me about scrapes you got into as a kid?"
"See? I am boring! I repeat the same anecdotes about my childhood."
"I enjoy listening to those stories."
"If you enjoy listening so much, why don't you ever tell one or two of your own?" Now it wasn't her tit poking him in the arm, it was her finger. "Huh?" she said, sounding really pissed. "Sometimes I don't think you even had a childhood. You never talk about your folks or anything else."
"Kesley, we're getting off the subject here. All I was trying to say is that you were a tomboy as a kid. Could be your cherry already got busted climbing trees or whatev
er."
"You know, it's not all that great for a woman her first time," she said, completely missing his point. "I don't want to inflict that ordeal on Ted. We don't know each other well enough for me to impose upon him that way. I need someone I'm comfortable with to do it for me."
If you don't know each other that well then maybe you shouldn't be sexing it up, he wanted to holler. But since he had some experience with anonymous fornication himself, that was one argument only a hypocrite would make. He wasn't a hypocrite. He was a thirty-year-old single guy who fucked around. He liked fucking around. No, he loved fucking around. Fucking around was great. He lived for pussy. Ate it right up. And maybe he'd embellished some of the stories as he'd related them to his friends--okay, maybe he jazzed them up to the degree that the exploits were no longer recognizable. Still, no matter how he cut it, there had been lots of women. And now here was Kesley, his little innocent sweetheart, looking to him, the King of Slut, for sexual guidance. Jesus give him strength, because surer than shit, she'd come to the wrong man.
But who was the right man?
Ted?
Drew felt like puking. Kes was too fine a lady to lay it all on the line for that rebounding dick.
Another guy, then?
Drew guessed so.
Pulling it together, he went with the sensitive approach. "When a woman loses her virginity it should be the most romantic night of her life. It should be special, something she'll remember forever. Soft music, soft lights, soft words. A fantasy kind of night. With a lot of shared laughter thrown in too."
"Cow patties!" she scoffed, figuratively assigning his grandiose speech to a pile of B.S. "I don't believe any virgins laughed their way through their first time with you."
"I wouldn't know. I wasn't there with any of them. Save your first time for the man you love. You'll be glad you did."
Kesley rubbed her arms. "I'm tired of saving myself. I'm getting stale saving myself. I'm not a cold woman," she said, looking warmly into his eyes.
"I know."
He understood how Kesley thought. He knew which movies made her weepy. He knew all about the mushy romances she snuck in the checkout along with the groceries. He had a good idea of what would turn her on. But could he do it?
