Wait For It

by Michele L. Rivera

  My laughter disappears. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” Abby puts her index finger on the trigger. “You know, Parker, if you want to make me wet, I think you can do better than whacking me with some measly, sodden dish cloth.”

  I feel the pink coloring infuse my cheeks.

  Abby simpers at me. “Gosh. I’m becoming something of a master at making you all rosy.”

  “Please don’t squirt me,” I say.

  “Oh how I pity the girl who thinks she can flog me and that I’ll be lenient with her.” Abby gives me a fiendish look. “If, perchance, your sweater got drenched, would you take it off? I maybe want to see what’s underneath it.”

  “Alright. I’ll bargain with you,” I say.

  “You have my attention.”

  “I’ll ditch my cardigan and in exchange, you don’t douse me.”

  “Done.” Abby lowers the hose into the sink.

  I put the towel on the counter without turning my eyes away from Abby’s and begin unfastening the buttons on my sweater. After I loosen the final stud, I go to shed my cardigan, but Abby holds up her hand.

  “No!” She says.

  “What?”

  “Not yet. I want to wait for it.”

  “Wait for what?” I ask.

  “For you…for when you’re ready.”

  My forehead wrinkles. “To take off my sweater? I’m ready.”

  “I don’t think you are,” Abby says. “Because it’s not just the sweater that I want you out of.”

  I swallow hard and stare at her, dumbfounded.

  Abby smiles and captures me by my hand. “Let’s go watch a movie, eh?”

  I don’t say anything as Abby leads me out of the kitchen and to the left, down a hallway. The wooden floorboards creak below our feet. My eyes are magnetized by the balletic sway of Abby’s hips. It is only when we arrive at a single door on our right at the end of the corridor that my brain kicks into gear and I have a thought. She just took me to her bedroom.

  Abby turns the knob and pushes the door open, hauling me in after her by my left hand. Once we’re standing on the cream colored carpet within the four walls of Abby’s bedroom, she frees me from her grasp and continues strolling over to the queen-sized bed. While my eyes are fixed on Abby, my feet are cemented to the ground, but my stance is unsteady. My breathing is strangled and the solitary sound I can hear is the thundering of my heart. Abby plops down on the mattress and powers up the laptop parked at the foot of the bed. She looks at me, eyebrows raised.

  “Care to join me or would you prefer to watch the movie from afar?” Abby snickers.

  I lift my arms and swing them about the room. “I was enjoying the décor.” I hurriedly scour my surroundings. I take inventory. There are two abstract illustrations and one baroque style painting framed on the walls in the midst of several posters. I internally smile at the vibrant depictions of rainbows and winged creatures, priding myself for being able to identify an alicorn. All five shelves of Abby’s bookcase are packed with novels. Her college degree hangs above the desk by her bureau. Atop her dresser is a staged collage of photographs next to a tiara. She has a tiara. I smash my lips together tightly and virtually choke on the laugh I’m trying to keep to myself. I reservedly cough into my fist then my gaze descends upon Abby and the solid, beige comforter she’s sitting on. She widens her eyes, anticipatorily.

  “Well?” Abby asks. “Are you done delighting in my interior designing talents?”

  “You have a tiara,” I state the obvious.

  “Ummm. No. It’s a crown.”

  I hum questioningly. “Is it though?”

  “It is.” Abby holds her head higher. “I told you, I’m royalty. This is my palace and that is my crown.”

  I bend at the waist. “I apologize, my lady. How can I make it up to you?”

  Abby giggles. “For starters, you can shut the door. And then you can come get cozy with me here on my throne.” She pets the comforter.

  I straighten my posture and point both of my forefingers at Abby. “You got it.” I amble to the entrance of her room, close the door, and retrace my steps back to where Abby is seated on the bed. Before I can sit, fear lances through me and I falter. Droplets of moisture gather along my hairline. My kneecaps are pushed into the box spring, but I don’t venture any further. I want this woman in the worst way. Never in my life have I experienced such a profound want, and that frightens me because I know that if I succumb to my want, she could destroy me. She will become all that I ever want. I have to decide now whether I am prepared—not for Abby, but for the consequence of her.

  Abby tugs at the hem of my sweater. “Hey.” She is looking up at me. The light brown of her irises are imbued with endearment. Her eyes are so mesmerizing, so abysmal like an ocean, and I don’t have a choice, it is inevitable—I am going to drown.

  I smile down at Abby. “Hey yourself.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Are you?” I ask.

  “Yes, but it’s getting kind of lonesome on this mattress.”

  “I’m almost there.” I motion to her diploma. “What did you go to school for?”

  Abby throws her head back. “My gods! You’re stalling! Why?”

  “I’m an inquisitive person.”

  Abby apprehends me by my wrists and pulls me onto the bed as she simultaneously reclines. I screech and we land side by side on the mattress with a thud, laughing. When our gazes lock, our amusement is brought to cessation, and we stare at each other as if we’re both actualizing our proximity at the same time. Our faces are a breath’s length away from one another’s. Abby’s chest rises with her violent inhalation and I watch her neck strain to swallow the air. My stomach is cartwheeling and my pulse has alarmingly hastened.

  “Criminal Justice,” Abby croaks.

  I narrow my brows at her. “What?”

  “My diploma…I graduated with a Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  Suddenly, Abby’s fingertips are grazing my cheek. They pause at the corner of my mouth. Her eyes have not deviated from mine, they’re searching.

  “You’re pretty,” she whispers to me.

  “You’re pretty,” I retaliate.

  Abby taps her index finger against my face, chiding me. “Shush.”

  I give her an indistinct nod.

  “It’s not a crown,” Abby says. “It’s a tiara.”

  I smile at her, but I don’t speak.

  “I was elected prom queen my senior year of high school,” she explains.

  I flex my jaw to hamper a smirk as Abby continues.

  “Which technically does make me royalty…because ‘queen’.” Abby smiles slyly. “But not really.”

  “Were you out by then?” I ask.

  “Sure was.”

  “How did the king take to that?”

  “Meh. He soldiered through. I don’t know how we got paired up. Hunter was this handsome linebacker on the football team and I was the stage manager of our school’s theater club, a title that is not synonymous with popular.” Abby shrugs. “I think the committee members were trying to be inclusive that year.”

  “Or maybe you were a trailblazer.”

  “Nah. It’s all thanks to my symmetrical face.”

  “You do have a nice face,” I say sheepishly.

  Abby bats her long lashes at me. “Oh. You like it?”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” She grins. “You have the mic now.”

  “Come again?”

  “Tell me something about yourself,” Abby beseeches.

  “Erm.” I angle my arm, denting the mattress with my elbow, and prop my head up against my palm. Abby mirrors my movements, aligning herself with me. Her short, polished fingernails go on caressing my profile. “Like a secret?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily.”

  This is your chance to talk to her about Reese. Take it! “Promise you won’t get mad?”

  “Geez. O
pening lines really aren’t your strong suit.”

  I frown. “Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, but I can’t make that promise because I don’t know where this is going.”

  “Alright. That’s understandable.”

  “This is a safe space,” Abby reassures. “Just speak your piece.”

  “Last weekend, I…Reese and I, we…um.” My voice is tremulous. “We had sex.” My eyes mist with emotion.

  Nonplussed, Abby toys with a longish strand of my mahogany hair and twists it behind my right ear.

  “Why would that make me mad?” Abby asks. “She’s your girlfriend and girlfriends have a tendency to do that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, but…” I worry my bottom lip.

  “But what, cutie?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Parker, talk to me.”

  “If I do, can we not read into it?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I sigh. “I told you because it felt as though I was being unfaithful…to you.”

  Abby’s hand comes to rest on my cheek. “Oh.”

  What did you just do?

  “It’s nothing.” I backpedal. “How’s about we watch that movie?”

  “Is that really what you want to do?”

  “I thought that was on this evening’s itinerary.”

  “It was,” Abby says. “But maybe the itinerary needs revision.”

  I swallow with audible exertion. “Why? What do you want to do?”

  “We could create a movie of our own.”

  “Seriously?” I chuckle. “Does this have to do with your history in theater? You’re a riot. What kind of movie would we even make? A lesbian chick flick?”

  Abby stares at me, resolute. “I was thinking more along the lines of a porno,” she deadpans.

  I stop laughing.

  “You’re not blushing,” Abby speaks quietly.

  “No. I’m not.” My hand settles on Abby’s hip. I edge closer and sweep my lips across hers just once. “I’m ready,” I murmur.

  Abby’s eyes run over my face then fall in with my gaze. She does not question me. She rakes her fingers through my hair and cradles the back of my head in her hand. Then she presses her mouth against mine, fervently. I close my eyes. I taste the bourbon on her tongue as it gracefully twirls around mine, deepening the kiss. All my senses heighten. I am enveloped by the smell of her skin. I listen as her breathing becomes heavy, rivaling my own. My heart drums forcibly in my chest. Her hand travels from my head to the opening of my cardigan and she wrestles the sweater off my shoulder. I pull my arm from the sleeve in compliance. Without interrupting our kiss, Abby rolls onto her back and collars the front of my black tee shirt. Using a gentle force, she ushers me on top of her. She eagerly finishes removing my sweater then both of her hands scale the sides of my body. I shiver. She tangles her fingers in my hair, sending an electrifying tingle from my scalp throughout my whole body. I feel myself grow wetter. Abby’s lips are soft and supple and I can’t help but catch the bottom one between my teeth for a second, eliciting a small moan from her throat.

  With urgency, she resumes kissing me. And while our mouths are exploring one another’s, my hands discover the hem of her plaid blouse and I slip them beneath the fabric. Abby gasps. Her flesh is ablaze. I begin trailing kisses along her neck and she groans. I move my fingers out from under her clothes and diligently work the buttons of her shirt. When I’m done with the last clasp, I impulsively open her blouse, exposing her bare stomach. There are no other layers of material separating her skin from my touch. Greedily, my hands migrate across the dips and planes of her soft, ivory flesh. My fingertips trace around her belly button. Abby flinches. Then my flattened palms slide upwards but stop at the lining of her bra. My lips make their way from her neck to her collarbone. I smooth my tongue along the lace-trimming of her lingerie, her cleavage. I reach around to her backside, unhook her bra and remove it. Slowly, I knead her breasts. Her flesh is silken. The passion building in me is heady. A lasting minute passes until my mouth replaces my hands. My tongue fondles and flicks Abby’s nipples. She claws at my shoulder blades. Impetuously, Abby takes my face in her hands and pulls me up. She presses my mouth against hers. After a long, titillating kiss, she grips the bottom rim of my tee shirt.

  “This needs to come off,” Abby husks, eyeing my jersey.

  Together, we maneuver my shirt up and over my head. We toss it on the floor. There is no hesitation before our lips meet again, more frantic this time. We grind our bodies into each other’s with a fierce pace. Abby takes my left hand and guides it to the button of her jeans. She breaks our kiss and whispers, “touch me.” Her hot breath gives me a feverish chill. Goose bumps blanket my skin. Abby covers my mouth with hers.

  I unfasten her pants and slide my hand inside of them, careful to keep my touch above her underwear. My fingertips gently scratch the satin between her thighs. Her panties are soaked. I shut my eyes even tighter and swallow. Abby tilts her hips up, beckoning me. I bring my hand to the seam of her underwear and push them aside. I draw my middle finger along her slick center. Abby gasps and agilely wriggles out of her jeans, dragging her boyshorts down with them. She parts her legs a little more so I add a second digit. I glide my index and forefingers over her slit repeatedly. She is swollen. Her body is primed. My motions are steady. I wait. When Abby arches her back, I enter her. She peels her mouth away from mine and sucks in a breath. Intuitively, I find her G-spot and begin firmly tapping my crooked fingers against it. Abby whimpers through ragged respiration. I kiss her bottom lip, her chin, her clavicle. As I slither downwards, I kiss the birthmark below Abby’s right breast. I kiss her stomach. I kiss her waist.

  Once I am off of Abby and off of the bed, I get on my knees in front of her. I gaze up and marvel at Abby’s beautiful, naked body. I commit it to memory. I kiss the insides of her open thighs. My fingers are still pulsing within her. I place my other hand on Abby’s hip, and she reaches for me. We hold hands. Leisurely, I lick her center, relishing the flavor of her arousal. Her breathing is uneven. My heartbeat is untamed. My tongue starts stroking her clitoris in a measured rhythm. I feel her throb against me. Her pelvic muscles begin to contract. I apply more pressure. Seconds later, Abby’s body momentarily seizes then trembles. She moans as she releases. I still my tongue. Abby goes limp on the bed and she laughs. I grin and slowly withdraw my fingers from Abby’s core. I swipe my hand over my mouth and climb back onto the mattress, on top of Abby. I kiss her softly, my fingers clear the matted hair from her forehead. I rest my hand on her cheek.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  Abby smiles. “Are you joking me? I’m outstanding!” She pecks my upper lip. “I just came so hard in your mouth though.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “Are you okay?”

  Her skin is glistening; she is radiant. And when she looks at me with that gleam in her eyes, the way she is now, I feel radiant. “Never better.”

  “Care to place a wager on that?” Abby outlines the fringe of my bra with the tip of her forefinger.

  I smile. “I don’t gamble.”

  “You should every once in awhile.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  Abby shrugs and bites her bottom lip. Her left eyebrow lifts, mischievously. “Because you might win.”

  “Or I might lose.”

  Abby irons her hand out on my chest and lightly nudges me onto my back. She levers herself up and pitches one of her legs over me. She sits in my lap, unbuttons my jeans. Her eyes scan my face. “You could lose, buuuut from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re about to score.” She winks at me. My insides tremor. She stretches out her arms and sticks her thumbs beneath the straps of my bra, lowering them off my shoulders. Then Abby unsnaps the front closure of my racerback and casually dismisses it to the foot of the bed, her stare glued to my unclad skin. Her pupils dilate and she licks her lips.

  “Well, aren’t you exquisite,” Abby utters as her hands roam from my ribs
to my breasts. We both exhale. She begins massaging them. I close my eyes. She tweaks my erect nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. I loll my head back and gasp. Abby leans forward, hovering above me. She kisses me hard. I kiss her harder in response. She teases my tongue with her tongue. Our bodies undulate in tandem. At some point—seconds later, minutes, hours maybe— Abby separates our mouths by degrees. We are both panting. Abby holds herself up, her arms on either side of me. Her eyes sear into mine.

  “Hi,” Abby’s voice is smoky.

  “Hi.”

  “Can I taste you?”

  Her question stimulates me. I am pulsating from end to end. Every nerve. Every muscle. Never have I wanted to give myself to another person as badly as I want to give myself to Abby. “Yes.” My answer is almost imperceptible.

  Abby nods subtly and lowers herself on top of me again. She kisses my upper lip, my jawline, my chin. And when her tongue skims the column of my throat, the rise and fall of my chest becomes turbulent. One by one, she takes my breasts into her mouth. Then her lips move to my stomach. As she scooches lower, she pulls at my jeans, taking them down with her. Once she is crouched on the ledge of the mattress, she wrenches the denim over my ankles and feet, ripping my socks off in the process. She throws my clothes aside. Unwittingly, I reposition my legs, one on each side of Abby. Her wolfish gaze drinks me in. Her fingertips tour my bikini-sheathed middle. Her eyes grow wide upon feeling how wet I am.

  “Fuck,” Abby rasps and latches onto the waistband of my panties. She lures them off me, discards them somewhere on the bed near her pillow. She looks to my face, into my eyes. I am already looking at her…it’s all I can do. She takes my hands and our fingers entwine. Her head dips between my thighs. Her tongue is warm and soft, glossing over my sex. My breath becomes bated. The ache in my body builds. She licks my clit with a faultless progression from temperate to fervid—up and down, up and down. My hips buckle. My skin prickles. Abby’s tongue slacks. She kisses the palpitating source of my arousal and smooths two fingers across my very lubricated center as she crawls back onto me. Our bodies are flush up against one another’s. Her fingers are now rubbing my clitoris in the same fluid motion as her tongue was moments before. Our breathing is a song of both shallow and erratic intakes and outtakes of air. Abby wipes her face across her upper arm, drying it some. She stares at me and I wilt beneath her excruciatingly brilliant eyes. I blink and her mouth is on my mouth. Her fingertips keep sliding over the most sensitive part of me. She feels incredible. A pressure starts to rise within me, throughout me. I am all aches and tingles and throbbing. My muscles tense. Abby’s lips slowly leave mine, she presses them to my ear.