by Karessa Mann
“You have it,” I murmur.
This time, instead of moving toward my lips, he bends lower and rests his mouth against the deep crevice at the base of my throat. He is a pro, with me. He is showing me he knows where I like to be touched. The same moan that escaped his lips now leaves mine. His arms tighten around me, as though he’s afraid I will escape. But how could I? My heart is entangled around him like an invisible string.
I bend my neck, offering more of my skin to him, and he quickly devours it. I feel the heat of his breath as his mouth opens and his tongue glides against me. It follows the invisible line from my collarbone to my jaw and finally to my lips, which have been waiting five years to taste him again. When our mouths crush together, it is with a need I know I was not alone in feeling. My fingers make their way up his back to the tip of his collar and slide up through the strands of his short, dark, wavy hair.
His hands have made their way down my back, and at the same time that he brings me closer to him, he also tightens his grip on my hip.
“I can’t believe you wore this,” he says between gasps of breath, and I grin lightly against his lips. I guess we both have our game on. I’ve kept the light green, very short, T-shirt-style dress that I know he loved. I never thought anything of the simple dress, but I do know how much he liked my legs in it. I think once he even wrote me a dirty little story involving this green dress.
He grabs a fistful of the fabric, and it’s enough to expose the bottom of my bare ass. He jerks back, and I know now is the time he is going to confess that this is wrong and that I need to leave. My cheeks redden almost as much as my mouth from the bristles of his unshaven skin. But he doesn’t let go of me. Instead, his eyes dance wildly as he gasps, “You’re not wearing underwear?”
I blanch at the idea of leaving my house in full “commando.” “Of course I am. It’s a thong.”
Realization sweeps over his face, and he almost has to shake himself back to reality. He smiles coyly. “A lot has changed in five years, I guess.”
I don’t like to think of what all that indicates, so I don’t answer. Instead, I slip my hand back through his hair and draw him down to me.
We continue to kiss right there in the living area, even as the album has stopped and the house has become silent. Somehow it’s the kissing that I missed the most with him. More than the sex (although it was good for teenage sex) or the cuddling or even the late-night talks. It was his lips. They just knew how to move against mine in a way no man has been able to reduplicate. We kiss as the sun sets, leaving the house a glowing shade of yellow lit only by the one candle barely burning by our cold, uneaten dinner.
Our lips begin to slow, as though the need is lessening, or changing to something deeper. I can’t tell, but don’t want to be the one to expect something that isn’t wanted from me. I softly touch his lips with mine one last time and then pull back. His eyes open slowly as I release my hands from his hair and lift his grip from my waist. His expression is one of concern and confusion as I slide from his hold, and then of distress as he understands that I intend to leave.
“Chels,” he groans as my hands leave his.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Alex,” I admit. “I don’t know if I can just be this conquest you need to achieve, only to have you walk away from me again.”
He looks horrified. “Conquest?”
I sigh, pulling my bra strap back into place. “You know what I mean. The eighteen-year-old boy wondering if he can now bang the twenty-three-year-old girl he once had.”
“Jesus, Chelsea.” His eyes flicker in the candlelight, making his irises darker and angrier than I have ever seen before. I clamp my sore mouth shut, afraid of what else I will say to set him off.
He takes a step back and runs a hand in his hair as he thinks for a moment. Then he turns to me, his angry expression melting to hurt. “You think I brought you here to fulfill some long-standing conquest of ‘can I still get the girl’?” He pauses for a moment. “Is my ego that revolting?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.” I nibble on my swollen bottom lip as I think. “I guess I just don’t understand why I’m here.”
He chuckles lightly as he shakes his head. “And I guess I thought it was obvious.”
“Not to me. Nothing you ever did was obvious to me. In fact, quite the opposite.”
He processes what I’ve just said, understanding that the words have multiple meanings. He knows that what he will say next holds the destiny of where we will go from here. I have one leg bent toward him, while the other is ready to bolt through the door. I am afraid as to which foot will win.
His shoulders relax as though he has surrendered. “I don’t know what will happen, come Monday. I’ll go home to California and you’ll stay here, and that’s the path we both have chosen. But I do know that, as hard as I’ve tried” —he lets out a deep breath— “and man, have I tried, I can’t seem to shake you. And being here is like coming home to you, and all I know is that I don’t want you to leave. Whatever that means. I just don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to, either,” I whisper. The leg that is moving toward the door glides its way back to him.
“Then please, just stay. Even if it’s only for the night, just stay here with me. Let’s just be us again.”
My answer comes in the form of my fingers as they find their way around his neck. He wraps his arms around me, gliding his fingers down to pull me up to him and wrap my legs around his waist.
He turns and walks us slowly, and carefully, out of the living room and down the small hallway that will lead to a stairway. I know it, even with my eyes closed and my lips pressed against his. I can already feel the stiffness of him against the flimsy fabric of my panties, and with every step up the stairway to his old room, I moan as his cock pushes harder against me.
He shoves his bedroom door open with the one hand not holding me, his lips still firmly against mine, and I recall that it is only four quick steps to his bed. He tosses me down without his arms leaving my waist, and I am engulfed in the scent of his bed sheets and am almost afraid to open my eyes in case his room has changed. I want to picture in my mind the same blue striped comforter and vanity dresser with the large mirror at the foot of the bed.
I pull him down with me, but he hesitates just long enough for me to open my eyes in alarm, as though this is the moment he will change his mind. Instead, he straightens, and my knees bend just enough to allow him to stand between my thighs. His long fingers caress the fabric of my dress, which has slid up to my belly, and then glide down the outside of my thigh before leaving my skin to begin unbuttoning his shirt. I want to help but feel almost paralyzed with desire as I watch him. The room is dark, almost black, except for the faint light of the moon coming through the window high above his bed. I am glad it is too dim for me to examine his bedroom, but light enough for me to see him watching me as he undresses. He tosses his shirt to the side, and I reflexively reach to touch the bulge of his chest. He was a football player in high school. Though he was and is still lean, it never downplayed his muscle strength.
He takes my hands in his, and I am confused for a moment as to why he doesn’t want me to touch him, only to quickly realize it’s so he can remove my dress. He pulls it over my head, and I feel a flicker of hesitation before he tosses it aside. I open my eyes to see him staring at my bra, and know he remembers buying me the lacy green lingerie, to match his favorite dress, for my last birthday we spent together. I give him a smile when our eyes meet, as if to say, “Yes, I can play the same game, Mr. Burns.”
“My God, you are still so beautiful,” he says, as though astonished by this revelation.
I touch the scruff on his cheek. “You became a man when I wasn’t looking, Alex, but I still see the boy I loved so much.”
He closes his eyes and presses his cheek into my open palm. His hands grip my knees, pushing them farther apart as he leans down on top of me. Our skin is now touching, and I wrap my arms ti
ghtly around his back, not wanting to let go of him as his lips crush against mine. He adjusts himself until his hardness is pressing into my inner thigh, and I moan in frustration, wanting to remove every inch of clothes still left between us. But he just smiles against my lips, enjoying my sweet torture. Again he moves, this time so his shaft presses against my sex, and I moan even more loudly against his breath before he moves to my other thigh, slowly torturing me some more. I don’t remember him being this cruel. In fact, if I remember correctly, I think if we would have done this much foreplay in high school, he would have come by now.
I bring my hand from behind his back and reach for the zipper of his pants. He smiles again against my lips.
“So eager,” he teases me.
“It’s been five years,” I practically growl, pulling his pants down with one hand.
He raises a brow. “Since you’ve had sex?” Then he quickly shakes his head. “Don’t answer that.”
I happily don’t.
He helps me remove his clothes, and then he is standing in front of me, gloriously naked, and it feels all too familiar and brand-new, all at the same time. I sit up so my face is just below his stomach and twist my arms around me to remove my bra. I wonder if I look the same to him. Has he remembered the curve of my breasts, or has he seen so many that they all run together? Just because I was his first lover doesn’t mean I was forever embedded in his memory. I only hoped I was.
With one soft hand, he takes my breast and begins to knead the tender skin. He finds the tip of my nipple, which he carefully tugs and rubs between his fingers, causing me to drop my head back and moan.
He lets out a sharp breath between his teeth, and it’s all I need to hear to take control. My fingers find their way around his shaft, and I bring the tip of him to my mouth, pausing just long enough to look up at him under my lashes. He’s holding his breath, his hands in fists by his sides. I start with a flick of my tongue up the side and to the tip, all the while keeping my eyes on his. His head falls back, and a slight moan escapes his lips. I know a thing or two about torture, too. I do it again, this time a little more slowly, and I feel his fingers clench again, as though he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. I smile at this and then decide to show off a little. I take him fully in my mouth and quickly push his length to the back of my throat, and he cries out as his hands find their place in my hair. I release him slowly, twirling my tongue on his tip and waiting an agonizing second before slamming my lips all the down to his base again. He swears and says my name, and I know I’ve got him where I want him.
“Christ, Chels,” he hisses. “You will ruin me before we’ve even started.”
I smile at that.
These are moves I’ve never used on him before, and he clearly understands that. In a way, I am being over-exaggerated with my new skills so that he’ll realize the practice I’ve had. A little dagger twisted in his heart at the reminder that I have had lovers since him.
I take my hands and move them up and down his shaft with the repetitive motion of my mouth as I swallow him and then twirl his tip with my tongue. I do this until I think he is close, and then I slow down, going very, very slowly until his head rests back to its normal position, and he’s looking down at me and meeting my eyes with an expression of mingled torture and pleasure. As I come to a stop, he drops to his knees until we are face to face, and he just looks at me for a moment. Just when I think he is going to kiss me, he instead gently pushes me back until my head is against his mattress. I close my eyes as his fingers entwine in the lace of my panties. Slowly, he pulls them down my thighs, and I feel the light breeze on my sex as he pushes my legs apart and bends his head between them. I am expecting the inexperience of a teenage boy, an act of foreplay we girls have to pretend to enjoy. Teenage boys know nothing about the clitoris. Hell, who can blame them? I didn’t know the magic of it until only a couple of years ago. So although a boy’s tongue between my legs is an indication of great intimacy, it’s also greatly disappointing. I wasn’t expecting this occasion to be any different.
Carefully, he cups his hands beneath me, and with his thumbs, he opens me up and leans in to taste me. His lips swiftly find my sweet spot, and I gasp out of sheer shock and pleasure. I feel him smile. He’s showing me up now, proving that he has also had practice. I’m stung by this knowledge, but not so much that I make him stop. His tongue makes a pattern of twirling, then sucking, then twirling again, until my clitoris is enlarged like its own erection in his mouth. I curse and he chuckles, which sends a whole new flurry of intense vibrations through me. I hate giving him the power to know he was finally doing something right down there. Damn the woman who taught him.
He returns to the exquisite agony of twirling and flicking and sucking, and my hands unconsciously wrap tight around his head, locking him in place. Just when I didn’t think it could get any better, he adjusts himself to slip a long finger inside me, and my back arches in reply. A loud moan escapes me, and soon I am rocking to the rhythm of his hand and tongue.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop. Please,” I beg through clenched teeth.
So close on the edge of explosion, my lips release a sweet, agonized whimper as he pulls back and slams his cock deep inside me. One of his hands glides beneath my ass, lifting me up to him as he slides out, only to slam back in me again. I cry out and grip my arms around his neck for a wild ride, but he does just the opposite. He slows himself down, adjusting me so that I am now sitting on his lap and we are face to face. I can look right into his eyes and see the same torment, the same remorse and anguish that has lingered in both of us these last five years.
I can’t bear it.
I find his mouth with mine and kiss his soft, full lips as he slowly slips in and out of me, making love to me as though it’s the first time. And in so many ways, it is. He breathes my name against my lips, and I have lost all resistance. He pulls back carefully, and then lays me against his pillow, his eyes never leaving mine as he continues to rock against me.
His lips move down to tantalize my right breast with his tongue, sucking and nibbling on my nipple. My fingers grip his back as my nails dig into his skin, scraping down his spine.
“Fuck!” he cries out, and slams his tongue back into my mouth. He picks me up roughly and rolls me over on top of him, my leg swinging in the air and knocking over the lamp on his bedside table.
Not the first thing we’ve ever broken.
He sits up on his knees and brings me down on his lap, this time with my back against his chest. He plunges deep inside me with one hand on my hip to shove his cock in even farther. I let out a deep groan and reach around to grip the back of his head as his hand slides farther south to the opening of my throbbing lips. His palm finds just the right spot and begins the tantalizing circular motion that rocks in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Yes,” I gasp, pushing my hips down on him as hard as I can.
His other hand slides over my breasts to grip my throat, pulling me back to him. His mouth begins to explore my neck, licking and tasting my delicate skin.
“Suck me where I like it,” I beg as I rise up and down on his lap, knowing I am so close it will take me over the edge.
I feel a smile on his lips as his mouth moves up to the base of my ear. His breath is hot when he moans and takes my earlobe in between his teeth, and then begins to suck and lick me where I am most sensitive. I close my eyes and absorb the sensation of his tongue on my ear, his cock slamming into me and his palm working its magic over my sex.
I feel my body peaking to climax, and arch my back and begin to whimper and cry out as I convulse. He says my name again and again against my ear, and it sends a wave of eruptions through me as it does him as he comes with me.
I lie back on him, panting heavily as I calm down from my high. He moves his legs and we fall to the bed, but he stays inside me. We lie like that for so long I lose track of time. I wonder if he fell asleep. Or maybe I did. Eventually, I move, and he stirs and rolls to rest besid
e me, one arm still draped around my waist. I’m not sure what to do. I know what I want, and that is to stay. But it’s not like he’s still my boyfriend, so I imagine I have overstayed my welcome. I slide beneath his grasp and roll to the side of the bed. His eyes swing open as I reach for my dress.
“Where are you going?” he asks sleepily.
“Uh…home?”
His brows press together in confusion. “Why?”
I have no answer for that, except that I assume he wanted me to. As though he knows what I am thinking, he leans over and wraps his long arm around me, and glides me back into position. I giggle as he tucks me under the covers, his arms closing tightly around me as he pulls me back to his chest.
“Remember the night you stayed here with me when my parents were out of town, after the homecoming game?”
How does he know I am thinking of that exact night at this moment?
“It was our first time spending the night together,” I answer.
“And we lay naked like this all night.”
“I remember,” I say, so softly I don’t know if he can hear me.
It isn’t long before I hear his soft sleeping breaths, and I’m not far behind him.
* * *
I wake in a state of confusion. Insomnia is my unwelcome friend, one that seems to have left me for the night. I don’t think I moved a muscle once I closed my eyes. My body, not used to the depth of rest I just experienced, is left in a haze until I take a deep breath.
It smells like him.
I open my eyes, and, sure enough, I am entangled in sheets that are not my own. I pull the covers back and look around, surprised that I am alone.
The coral-hued summer sun is glaring in the window, telling me I must have slept later than I planned to. Has he left? Would he just leave me here?
I hear a clang coming from the attached “Jack and Jill” bathroom, and feel a sense of relief that he didn’t up and leave me in the middle of the night, though I know the thought is irrational – I’m in his bed.
