by Sky Corgan
I follow him into the living room. It's the most expansive area in the house, from what I can tell. An open floor plan that was crowded with people the week before when I came to his party. It's completely empty now. A literal waste of space. A huge tiled area that leads to a wall of windows overlooking his backyard. Briefly, I wonder if there's some furniture missing. It's definitely too big to be this empty. But then I'm captivated by the view. He lets go of my hand, and I step up to the window, looking out onto the manicured landscape. There are immaculately trimmed trees and shrubbery, several flower beds, and a large koi pond filled with fish. It's an enchanting view, though I bet it would be far more stunning in the daytime. As it is, the only reason that I can see it is because there are lights all over the yard. Everything in me wants to go outside and explore, but I'm too shy to ask if I can. I'll just stand here and admire it from afar, hoping I'll someday get a chance to see it in the daytime.
The soft sound of classical music scratches to life behind me, and I turn to see Tristan fiddling with a record player. I can't help but smirk. Who owns a record player anymore? And the thing looks vintage. I'm tempted to go take a closer look, but by the time I finally decide to move, he's walking toward me.
“Nice touch,” I tell him playfully.
“Does Cinderella dance?” He gazes down on me. His expression is adoring.
I bite my bottom lip. “I'm not any good.”
“Sure you are. I'll lead. You follow.” He takes one of my hands in his, then slips his other hand around my waist, stepping even closer to me.
My breath hitches from overwhelming nervousness. He's so close, and he smells heavenly. I feel swept off my feet as he begins to move. I match him effortlessly, as if our bodies were made to dance together like this.
We stare at each other as we glide across the floor. My long dress swishes around my ankles. He's so romantic. So perfect. I can't resist him. All the protective walls I've built up fall down when I gaze into his eyes. All the red warning alarms are silenced, as if he's damaged their very circuitry. I'm so lost, and I don't want to be found. Falling so hard that I might not ever be able to stand again.
We dance for what feels like hours, never speaking, simply staring at each other. We dance until my feet hurt, but the pain is eclipsed by the strange warmth in my heart. And I don't want it to go away, so I don't stop dancing. I've never felt like this before. It's absolutely intoxicating. I can't get enough of this feeling.
Finally, the record reaches its end, and Tristan pulls me to a halt. The intense look is there, but I know that I'm matching it. I can't stop looking at him. I know what it means. He likes me, and I like him. He wants me, and I want . . . I don't know what I want.
“Do you believe in love at first sight, Sarah?” he asks, making my cheeks glow with warmth.
I know he's trying to be sweet. He expects me to say yes. But I hate lying. I only do it when I feel like I have to, and right now, I just want to be honest. “I believe in lust at first sight. There's no such thing as love at first sight.”
“But there is.” His hand reaches up to caress my cheek, and I lean into it. “I've loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
“You're just being charming,” I laugh nervously.
He bends suddenly and presses his lips against mine, stealing my breath. I expect his kiss to be hungry. Expect that I'll have to pull away from him. The kiss isn't hungry though. It's chaste and gentle and everything my fantasies conveyed. I find myself leaning into him, not wanting him to pull away. It's over far too soon, and I'm left dumbfounded and wanton.
“Wow. That was . . . Just . . . Wow,” I stutter stupidly, licking my lips to taste him on them.
“Then can I do it again?” He looks hopeful.
“Yes.”
Almost before the word can leave my lips, he's claiming them. This time, his kiss is much more impassioned. His tongue slides across my bottom lip, and I open my mouth, letting him inside, wanting to taste more of him. He slowly rakes his fingers through my hair, holding me tenderly against him as our mouths move in time. I wrap my hands around his broad shoulders, feeling the muscle flex beneath his polo. My body comes alive with desires I know I shouldn't feel. Dark desires. Sexual desires.
When he finally pulls away, I sigh softly. My eyes are still closed. I'm soaking up the sensory overload. This man is truly amazing. How did I ever get so lucky as to wind up in his house again after the stupid crap I pulled?
He takes me by the hand and starts leading me away from the living room. When I realize we're moving towards the stairs, my heart stops. This is where things get messed up. He's assuming I want something that I don't. My perfect night is about to come to an end.
I stall when we reach the bottom of the stairs, heartbroken that I'm going to have to ruin things with my resistance. Sad that this will probably be the end. When he finds out I don't want to have sex with him, he'll never want to see me again. That's how these things usually work.
He turns when he feels my hand strain against his. “What's wrong?”
“I'm sorry.” I look away, feeling guilty. “I think I gave you the wrong impression.”
“I just want to show you around upstairs,” his words are innocent, but I know it's a lie.
“I've seen upstairs already,” I remind him, letting go of his hand.
He walks back down the few stairs he ascended. It reminds me of the night at the party, except this time is different. This time is so much more intimate. “I told you I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. I told you that last time, and I stuck by my word. You just said I need to be more trusting. I think that applies to you as well. Trust me.” He offers me his hand again.
I stare at it for a moment as if it's a dangerous animal that will snap at me if I try to make contact. My mind goes back to that night in his room, to the way he gently pulled the shirt over my head. He could have taken advantage of me, but he didn't. Thus far, he's given me no reason not to trust him.
Gingerly, I place my hand in his, following him upstairs. I expect him to show me around, like he said he would. There are a few doors upstairs, but he leads me straight into his bedroom. I've seen this room before. I don't need to see it again.
“This is my bathroom.” He shows me to the bathroom door.
I peek inside. If this was an actual tour, I might be impressed. As it is now, my mind is stuck on why he took me directly to his room again. The mystery is solved when I feel his hands slide around my waist, drawing me back against him. My heart speeds up as his lips touch my neck, kissing me tenderly. I place my hands on top of his, gently trying to pry them off of me.
“I thought you said we weren't going to do this,” my tone is serious.
“Do what?” He continues to play innocent.
“I don't do one night stands.” I twist around in his grasp to face him.
“Who said this was just going to be one night?”
The intensity of his gaze catches me off-guard, and my defenses go down long enough for his lips to reach mine. His hands tighten around my waist, but I don't feel caged in. There's a strange mix of brazen desire and soft sensuality to him. He knows not to press too hard. He knows how to press just enough to make me want more.
I allow myself to melt into the kiss, savoring the feel of him for a few moments before I finally pull away, fearing he might try for more. “I'm not the kind of girl you think I am.” I avert me eyes, not wanting to get caught up in his gaze again.
“That's too bad, because I think that you're an amazing girl whom I want in my life.” He kisses my cheek.
It's hard to resist him, but I know I have to. Even though it kills me a little inside, I step away from him, creating space between us so that I can breathe and gather my senses. “No, you don't understand. I'm sure you've been with a lot of girls.” I wrap my arms around myself protectively. “I'm sure a lot of girls want to be with you. You're handsome and charming. And I'm sure you can get just about anyone to jump
into bed with you. But I'm not like that.
“I'm the type of girl who wants to wait until she's married. The type of girl who puts love before sex. I'm . . . I'm sorry.”
I expect him to get angry, but he just smiles at me, taking a step forward to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch causes that strange electricity again, that twinge of desire that I'm trying to fight back. I like it when he touches me. I want to feel more of it. All over my body. I want to know what it feels like to be naked in his arms, to be beneath him in the thralls of passion, to feel him inside of me. He's just too perfect, like he was designed to destroy everything I thought I wanted.
“Don't apologize,” his tone is soothing. “I think you have the wrong idea about me as well. I'm not the kind of guy who sleeps with a lot of girls. I'm the kind of guy who waits and watches. The kind of guy who is in it for the long haul. My body is my temple, and I don't share it with just anyone.
“I told you it was love at first sight with you, and the more I get to know you, the more I love you. This isn't just tonight. It's as long as you want it to be. But if you're not interested in me, I'll understand. I'm not going to force you against your will. I want you to be here with me because you want to be here with me.”
Logic tells me that it's all lies, all words to get me in bed. But he seems so genuine. It's hard not to believe him. He strikes at a weakness in me that I never knew existed.
“Do you want me?” he asks, pushing one of his fingers beneath the strap of my dress and sliding it back and forth over my shoulder.
I should say no. That would be a lie though, and I don't feel like lying to him. “Yes.” I can't even look at him when I say it.
I wait for him to kiss me. That would be the next logical step in the progression of things. But he doesn't kiss me. He walks several feet away from me and turns around. My eyes lift to look at him, wondering what he's doing.
I watch as he grabs the bottom of his polo and pulls it over his head. It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room as inch after inch of perfection is revealed to me. He's all lean muscle, cut and delicious. A stupid grin crosses my face, and I hate myself for it. Could I possibly make it anymore obvious that I like what I see?
“What are you giggling about?” He smirks at me as he tosses his shirt on the floor.
“I wasn't giggling.” I wasn't, but damn near close to it.
“Why are you smiling then?”
“Because you look like you stepped right off the cover of some men's fitness magazine,” I confess.
“You like?” He rolls his abs at me, and I burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, you're such a dork.” I cover my eyes, embarrassed for him. When I look back up, he's unbuckling his belt. My smile drops as I watch in disbelief. He's actually going to take off his pants.
It feels like I'm witnessing the most unintentional strip tease ever, or like I'm invisible, walking in on him while he's undressing. Everything he does is so casual, yet so sexy at the same time. He leans against the bed to take off his shoes and socks. Then he goes for his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them to pull them down, revealing a pair of red boxer briefs beneath. When he stands and wraps his hands around the waistband of his underwear, I shield my eyes again.
“Don't tell me you've never seen a naked guy before,” there's a drop of sarcasm in his voice.
“Not intentionally,” I admit. I know what I'm doing is childish, but I can't help it. I just feel like I shouldn't see him naked.
I listen to the rustling of clothes and then the pad of footsteps as he approaches me. His hands hook around my wrists, and he pulls them away from my face. I stare into his eyes, refusing to let my gaze drift any lower. He's naked. I know it. I don't need to look down.
“Are you that disgusted by my body?” It's such a strange question to ask. I'm not disgusted by him at all. If anything, I just feel awkward and aroused.
“No.” I shake my head slightly.
“Then look at me.” He steps back, letting me go.
Adrenaline is pumping through me on overdrive as I allow my eyes to scan down his frame, taking in his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, his defined abs, and then Oh My God. My cheeks are on fire as I stare at his cock like I've never seen one before. He's soft, but still impressive. My clit pulses from just looking at him, and I silently chastise myself for losing resolve.
“What do you think?” He turns around so that I can check out his sculpted back and ass too.
“You're naked.” It's the only thing that will come out of my mouth.
He faces me again. “See. It didn't kill you to look at me.”
“I never thought it would.” I try to adjust to the situation. Oddly, the longer I stand here and look at him, the more comfortable I feel. He's just a man. A sinfully attractive naked man, but a man, none the less.
He takes a step towards me, and my body tenses. He sees the fear behind my eyes immediately and lifts his hands to rub my shoulders, trying to help me relax. “I want to see you naked too.”
“Why?” I look away.
“Because you're beautiful,” his voice is soft and sensual. He reaches up to redirect my attention to his face, causing our eyes to lock. I hate that he sounds so honest. I know what his true intentions are. He wants me to get naked, so he can have sex with me. That's the only reason any guy wants to get a girl naked.
“I told you I don't do this,” I remind him.
“Do what? Look at naked men?” He smirks.
“This.” I gesture around at the room. Everything that's happening is so wrong, but I can't break myself away from it. There are too many emotions going through me, and a fear that if I leave I'll never see him again. It's stupid. That's the last thing I should be caring about right now.
“Touch me.” He takes my hands and puts them on his chest. I can feel the steady beating of his heart beneath the surface. It's so soothing.
“And what does this accomplish?” I sound completely sarcastic.
“It helps you to get to know me better.”
“I can get to know you better with your clothes on.” I arch an eyebrow at him.
“You talk a lot, but your words aren't in sync with your thoughts. I can tell.” He leans in to kiss me again, and I allow it. Can he really read me so well, or is he just good at figuring women out? I don't want to think about the answer. I don't want to think about anything.
He reaches up for the straps of my dress and pushes them over my shoulders. My entire body stiffens, and those red warning sirens turn back on, telling me I should stop him. I don't though. The garment falls to the floor, and I'm left standing there in the horrid granny panties Ethel kept telling me not to wear. They've never embarrassed me before, but right now I just want to die. I couldn't be any less sexy if I tried.
Tristan doesn't seem to notice. He gazes down at my body with admiration. I can barely look at him, though I do sneak a glance at his expression from time to time, worried that he's judging me.
He wraps his arms around me and unclasps my bra with deft ease. My breath hitches from the sheer quickness of it. Despite what he said, he definitely has experience at this. Loads of experience.
I feel my body drawing into itself as he moves to pull the straps over my shoulders. Almost the second my breasts are exposed, I'm covering myself with my hands. This is so wrong. Why am I letting him do this to me?
“Don't.” He grabs my wrists, pulling them away so that he can see me. “You're beautiful. Don't hide.”
I tremble slightly, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. No guy has seen this much of me. I don't think I should be letting him see this much of me.
He kisses my lips, pressing our bodies together. My nipples perk against the firmness of his chest. In fact, my whole body is coming to life from being so close to him. I can feel moistness building in my panties. It's strange to think that I'm wet for him. That I want him so much. But the proof is all there.
He's still being incredibly gentle
, kissing me just enough to make me want more. Being careful not to scare me away. I think it's apparent to both of us at this point that I'm not going anywhere. While I could still run, I don't want to. There are a million men in the world this could happen with, but none of them would treat me so well. None of them would be so caring. He knows exactly what he's doing. Why shouldn't I let it happen? My morals are as old as dust. I could get raped by some cretin tomorrow, and then I'd regret not taking this chance. If I walk away now, I'll never have it again.
My thoughts are drowned out as he kisses down my chest, drawing one of my nipples into his mouth. The warm wetness feels exquisite as he sucks on the swollen bud, twirling the other between his fingertips. I moan softly, abashed by my body's reaction but unable to stop it.
“Tristan,” I try his name on for size. It tastes natural on my lips, like I should be moaning it.
“You're so gorgeous,” he murmurs against my skin. “So sweet.”
I bite my bottom lip, allowing my head to roll back as he moves from one nipple to the other, trading treatments. The wet one slips between his fingers, and he pinches it for good measure, sending waves of pleasure pulsing to my clit.
I don't want him to stop, but he does stop. He kisses back up my chest and finds my lips again, guiding me towards the bed. I can feel the tip of his hardened cock rubbing against my legs and underwear as we walk. It's so crude yet arousing at the same time. His body is ready for me, ready to claim me and make me his. It's a scary thought, that I'm going to let him inside of me. I've already decided though. Or rather, my body has decided for me.
He lifts me up onto the bed, then grabs the waistband of my panties and pulls them all the way down and off. Again, I find myself covering up with my hands, embarrassed by my nudity. This time, Tristan ignores it. He takes my legs and places them over his shoulders, forcing me to lean back.
I stare up at the ceiling, still in complete disbelief that in a single night, this guy has managed to take down my protective walls. I'm so aroused that I can feel my heartbeat through my clit. I've never been this turned on before.
