“Yes. Maybe even second dates,” Darin agreed.
“Sometimes not,” Barbie pointed out.
“I don’t think that’ll be the case here, do you?” This was said with his hair tickling her neck.
“No?” she replied faintly, her body pulsing on the comforter, chills zooming in all directions, most of them heading south.
Darin’s mouth came to rest on her collarbone. Though Barbie couldn’t see his face, she imagined those dangerous eyes looking at her. Those double-ringed, two-colored, animalistic eyes. She wanted to purr in response.
“You like this?” Darin’s voice was barely recognizable, raw with what must have been submerged passion. Or maybe it was just muffled with a mouthful of her quivering self? He must have tilted his head; more of his hair teased her cheek.
“I. . .Tongues. No. First date.” She barely got that out, lost as she was in pleasure.
Darin’s face came close to hers. After several seconds of hesitation, he laid a kiss on her chin, followed by a kiss to her nose. Then he hovered, Barbie knew, above her parted lips. Even in nearly total darkness, without the use of sight or her hands, she felt his predatory looming.
“No love spells. No tongues? What do you allow?” Darin asked, his mouth resting on hers for a couple of seconds. But then he backed off. The bed vibrated—swear to God, like one of the beds in those old movies, in old motels where you put in a quarter and rode the wild sheets.
Was her body making all this commotion? Barbie wondered. Was his? She couldn’t seem to stay still. She could hear his labored breathing.
“Talk. . .to me,” Darin requested. “Please.”
Talk? She could do that.
“I allow dinner, movies, shopping,” she said, twisting her hands still held in his easy grip, needing to wrap her arms around his shoulders, do some feeling around of her own. But, no. Darin held her back.
“I like guys who aren’t afraid to shop,” she added, all in one long stream of air.
Darin cleared his throat and maintained a bit of distance. “Have you ever found any guys who like to shop?”
“Do you see a wedding ring on my finger? Because that would be a guy worth keeping.”
Shoot. Nothing like a little mention of the M-word to spoil the mood, Barbie thought right after.
Darin said, “That’s a test you give guys who want to date you? Dinner, a movie, and shopping?”
“Sure. Shows who has relationship potential.”
“We had dinner,” Darin said.
“I beg to differ. We ate pretty much nothing. You plied me with wine.”
Barbie made a direct prayer to the sex gods. Would Darin for Pete’s sake nibble her some more, please? Turned out those gods must have been busy elsewhere. No nibbles came. A few heartbeats of silence passed, and then the tickle and tease of Darin’s hair returned to drag silkily downward, pausing, Barbie felt, just above her nipples.
He planted a kiss dead center on her sternum, equidistant from both breasts, and it might as well have been her G-spot. Skin exploding with heat and surprise, Barbie sprang from the pillows uttering a yip. Her entire body was quivering.
“Do you mean to say that to night doesn’t even count as a first date, since we didn’t get to finish dinner?” Darin asked, allowing her to slowly settle back to the pillows.
Barbie nodded halfheartedly. A seismic pulse shot down through her thighs as she tried hard to restrain herself from flopping all over the bed in anticipation of his next move. A funny feeling had risen deep inside—a new feeling, not really so funny at all, more like a submerged promise. A bigger something was about to happen. She rode out the rising new sensation with her eyes closed.
“It’s no first date,” he clarified, “even though I was gentlemanly enough to bring you home, to forego taking advantage of you in your rather sozzled state? No credit for that?”
Unsure how to answer, since he was in her bedroom with his hair and hands all over her, and given the fact that she was quivering with expectation, Barbie withheld comment. None of this really mattered, after all. In this particular game there could be no loser. If this were to be a one-night stand, so be it. Patterns like lifelong periods without sex or Gypsies were eventually meant to be broken. Virgins weren’t supposed to remain virgins. Right?
“Well,” Darin said, voice deep, serious, and deliriously sexy, “we’ll have to fix everything with the next date, won’t we?”
Barbie squeezed her eyes tighter, said, “There will be another one?”
“Is there any doubt?”
Fortified, she changed tack. “Second dates involve movies.” Man. She was pushing things a bit, but she decided to play on, see what happened. Give herself time to get her breath back.
“What about tongues?” Darin asked.
“I’m not sure about French kisses on a second date,” she admitted.
His voice was firm. “Your only option for tongues, sweet Barbie, is the first or second. You decide.”
“Okay. Second. Maybe.” Hadn’t they done tongues already? If not, God almighty, what else could he do with his?
A possible answer to this question brought her upright, gasping. A thrumming had started in that deep place inside, unignorable.
“Do you always postpone the inevitable?” Darin asked.
“I’ve never been confronted with an inevitable quite like this,” Barbie replied. It was true, too. No man had ever made her feel this way, all lusty and discombobulated. Certainly not Liar Bill, with whom she’d allowed no tongues or anything else. But then, Bill’s tongue had been forked. A man had to earn tongue time, and then know what to do with it.
Also, no other man had set foot inside her apartment, let alone her bedroom. Her bedroom, as in her sanctuary, the room with her bed in it, had always been a place reserved for “the one.”
After to night, she’d never be able to say that again. After all, it was her body, her bedroom, her dream date, and her decision whether or not to abide by the silly set of rules she’d had heaped upon her by her parents. Guilt and rule books be damned—French kissing was very nice indeed. Sex, she was fairly certain, would be even nicer.
She wondered if her mom, Brenda Bradley, had abided by these same dating guidelines. Maybe even after one milkshake too many at the soda fountain, her mother had indeed left her father at the front door. Then again, they were Boomers. There was no explaining this cultural phenomenon. And though Barbie knew her mother had the temperament for fending off suitors, she doubted very much that her father would have put up with such antics for long. He was a so-called man’s man whose idea of a hero was James Bond. Adventure Barbie had to have gotten those genes from somewhere, even if only in minuscule amounts. Most likely they were from good old Dad.
When you came right down to it, the whole idea of dating rules was to protect a woman’s virtue. A woman who wanted her virtue protected, that is. She’d taken heed of the fact that there had been no Easy Barbies on the toy store shelves. Nor were there Unvirtuous Barbies.
Come to think of it, Mattel didn’t have a Wedding Barbie, either. Not one. It had always been Dream Wedding Barbie. The white gowns, bridal veils, and tiaras had all been dreamed by Snoozing Barbie. By Bridesmaid Barbie. No, there was no wedded bliss for Barbie and Ken, because everyone, especially little girls who knew no better until puberty, and sometimes not even then, figured the fun was in the chase.
Or maybe it was because neither toy Barbie nor toy Ken actually had the sexual parts, aka genitalia, with which to fulfill a wedding-night consummation.
Well, boy, this Barbie sure had the right parts. All those parts were humming and shimmying with thoughts of Darin. They were wondering what a really good orgasm might feel like, and assuming Darin could help them find out.
Yet. . .
Now that Darin’s incredible hands and mesmerizing lips were again motionless, some of her mother’s comments, the old thoughts and values, fought for elbow room. Most notably, The fun is in the chase. The chase. As
in close, but no cigar. As in fool around, but don’t be a fool if you want a man to stay interested.
Barbie’s eyes fluttered open. Cripes! Could this be true? If it were, was she making a mistake? Would Darin turn out to have staying power? Would he be an exception to the old saying? If she rolled with this, gave in to what she was feeling inside, would he spend the night after? Would he call her tomorrow to say how good it was for him? To ask her which jeweler she preferred? Surely all the fun wasn’t in the chase.
Her brain suddenly hurt. The roiling internal sensations of lust dimmed, still unexplored and untapped. Barbie wanted to scream, shout, whimper. The lull between Darin’s touches was akin to sabotage. Trying to stop thoughts of virtue and strategy once they’d zigzagged into the mind took a concentration she didn’t possess at the moment. It could be that she had never possessed such concentration.
The spigot, once open, opened farther. Questions arose. How much money does a graveyard-keeper make? How can he afford that Porsche? What about being a part-time consultant for the Miami PD? Is that job dangerous? Does Darin have his own apartment? Does he ever wear jeans with a hole in one knee? Does a graveyard keeper have to spend a lot of time with dead people?
All this mental jumble was a prime example of Barbie Bradley, overintellectualizer. Barbie Bradley, twenty-something and never been pursued properly. Barbie Bradley, with nary an orgasm in sight, since tucking actually started with a T. Thoughts. Thoughts. Bridesmaid Barbie. Bridesmaid Barbie. It was enough to make a girl insane!
And damn, she’d lost track of Darin again. Was he waiting for the go-ahead? The green light? Permission to go in for the kill?
Heck, she wanted those unmentionable things he might do with her, to her. The bed was still shaking. Her body was atwitter with hopefulness. She liked the licking stuff—his tongue on her bare skin, his mouth dragging over her teasingly. She liked it a lot. And while this would be a problem for a girl with rules governing her behavior, girls who listened to their mothers. . .Her own mother would say that there could be only one acceptable word for girls who took a licking and kept on ticking: engaged. Thank heavens her mother wasn’t there!
The mattress squeaked beneath Darin’s weight as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His hand, on hers, had started to shake big-time. He was shaking all over, as a matter of fact. He was shakier than she was. All revved up and ready to go?
His voice sounded weaker than before, as if he had to force it out. “Barbie, I have to tell you something,” he said.
“You’ll take me to a movie?” she guessed hopefully, not wanting any bad news, afraid there might be some.
“Yes, a movie. There’s something else.”
“Shopping?”
“I. . .” Darin trailed off, then picked up again. “Shopping, too.”
“Really?” Barbie pushed up on her elbows, slightly dazed, feeling the possible return of her internal buzzing.
“I need to tell you. . .” Darin stopped again, throat filled with an audible rawness, as if something was stuck there.
“Tell me what?” Barbie’s scalp prickled in anticipation. Would he tell her he had no condom? Would he ask if she was on the Pill? Would he tell her he was actually engaged to somebody else? Or—oh crap—that he is genitalless, like Ken?
Darin’s finger rested on her lip to keep her from speaking, then immediately retreated. He said, “First I’d like to know why you think shopping allows you to know another person better.”
Nothing about contraception. Nothing about Ken. Hooray!
“Barbie?” Darin whispered.
“It’s a girl thing, Darin.”
“I’d like to know.”
“It has to do with a person’s ability to give and take, more than the actual act. If a man agrees to do something so against his natural compulsions for the sake of the woman he’s dating, it’s a compromise. A man who will compromise has relationship potential.”
“Tough test,” Darin said.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I prefer my way.”
Barbie drew her legs a little closer by bending her knees. “Tongues and lips on skin is fast, a jump-right-in-there method of testing, I suppose,” she admitted. “Though, don’t you think that dinner, movies, and shopping are less complicated ways to get to know someone? Lots of opportunities to talk.”
The more Barbie thought about it, the more she realized that talking would be listed right up front in the rule book as a never-do if one is about to—or hoping to—have sex with a guy. And she wanted sex with this guy. What complicated matters were those two little bothersome words: Bridesmaid Barbie.
Fickle, that’s what she was. Totally and utterly fickle. She should shut up. She should make a decision. She should rise up and kiss Darin, rip his jacket off and see what lay beneath those togs, if sex were truly a goal. If she had her hands free . . .would she actually go through with it?
There was a 50 percent chance there would be another date, no matter what they did or didn’t do. There was a chance there might be a relationship après the deed of tucking. The odds were fifty-fifty that he’d call back tomorrow.
And fifty-fifty not.
Her dilemma. Did Darin get it?
The bed squeaked as she fell backward, but she bounced right back up again. Wait just a darned minute! Hadn’t he started all the talking? Hadn’t he asked her to talk to him? Why would he do that if they both knew talking tended to ruin a perfectly good sexual moment? Maybe he truly wasn’t planning on having one?
She said tentatively, “So, tell me how you decide if you want to see a person again.” And please want to see me.
“Tactile sensations,” Darin whispered, sounding as if his voice were coming from inside a long tunnel. “Taste. Smell. Feel.”
“Yes, but that’s too quick, Darin. Scratch-and-sniff comes after dinner, movies, and shopping.”
She said this teasingly. When Darin took a long moment of silence, she wanted to strangle herself for being so honest. Men had their ways of testing the lay of the land—so to speak—and women had theirs. Somewhere in the middle, hopefully, if the stars were aligned, they met.
Those stars were aligned here, now. Darin dropped his face to hers and kissed her as though there were no tomorrow, with plenty of French and oodles of ardor. Barbie’s emotions spun upward, somewhere between an urge to slap him and an urge to wrap her legs around his waist. Some variance. She was still fickle.
Decide, Barbie told herself. You must decide now which it is going to be.
“Close. . .your. . .eyes,” Darin sort of barked.
Barbie obeyed, her heart thumping hard and fast. Something was vibrating upon the bed, something very specific this time. It was probably her, in reaction to Darin’s closeness, something inside of her that needed attention. Which meant there was no need to flip a coin. Her decision was made. Her body had won. She’d go with the flow.
“Keep. . .your eyes closed, Barbie. Breathe.”
Barbie took in some air. Darin kissed her again. Fully, Deeply. Wondrously. Turning up the heat.
Barbie shuddered on the bed in a dance of the senses. Her body pooled with chills, then instantly heated. Hot and steamy. The only thing better, Barbie decided, would be lying beneath that marvelous body of his. . .on date twenty-five.
Oops. She’d forgot. Sooner!
Darin sort of growled. Wasn’t that cute? He was fighting to hold himself back. He really did want her!
His mouth was supple and had tasted so darned delicious. His spicy scent was an aphrodisiac. It would be worth the chance there might never be a second date, Barbie told herself, as her lover’s sharp nails began to burn across her rib cage through her silk camisole.
“Oh God, oh God,” she murmured, sure she would soon get to feel those ripped abs of his directly against hers. With luck, they would both be naked soon. His tactile theory had been a good one. She had folded. Her decision would stand.
Back arching off the mattress, hands fluttering wit
h the urge to tear off Darin’s clothes and get a start on everything she’d once eschewed, Barbie smiled.
Oh, and was she levitating?
Darin growled beneath his breath again, and she blew out a long, low sigh. This had to be a spell Darin had cast over her. She simply was not used to handing over her body. She didn’t have any more protest left in her.
Darin paused again. He cleared his throat. Maybe to hide a moan?
“The best part is yet to come,” he whispered over the snap, crackle, and pop of the sparks going off in Barbie’s mind. Tiny hairs all over her body stood on end with the insinuation that anything could be better than his lips on her shoulder or anywhere else.
“I promise,” Darin continued, oh so seriously, oh so sexily and earnestly, as Barbie imagined his lips trailing lightly down to find her silk-clad nipple, and the conniptions that would bring.
Best is yet to come? Was that a play on words? Barbie’s insides were aching. She reached for him with sheer exuberance this time, her finally freed fingers opening and closing, her body leaning toward him. She wanted to feel Darin. To see him. To experience everything.
Her fingers grazed his cheek and chin in the softest of caresses, then veered toward the cord dangling from the Roman shade at the window beside her headboard. She wanted to see him in the moonlight. She heard Darin gasp and utter an oath. She smiled. Had her merest touch driven him as crazy as his touch had driven her?
The bedsprings squeaked again as she grasped the cord and tugged, wanting to let the moonlight in, eager to see the passion on Darin’s face. As the shade curled up, she squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to recall his list of selective sensations.
Taste.
Smell.
Feel.
Her selection was made. Oh yes, God! Let’s tuck!
Chapter Seventeen
The word alone—tuck!—set off a bomb in Barbie’s gray matter. For a few seconds, as moonlight from the window flooded the bed, she remained perfectly quiet with her eyes squeezed shut. What would Darin’s next step be? She felt nothing. Opened her eyes. Saw no one.
Barbie & The Beast Page 12
