3:AM Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “Teach me, slowly.” I pull his hand over my chest until he clasps on and offers a firm squeeze. “I’m ready for my first lesson.”

  “I suppose there’s a lot we can do before...” His words drift in the air like musical notes, stretching across the wall like erotic shadows you could touch and feel. Bryson runs his fingers under my tank top and skims over my nipples, and my back arches at his touch.

  “You’re so incredibly beautiful, you know that?” His mouth covers mine with a sweet kiss that elevates me to that perfect nirvana just this side of ecstasy. My breathing grows erratic. My hips migrate to his just hoping he’ll break all the carnal rules he’s imposed tonight.

  I stream a series of kisses up to his ear. “Do you have protection?” There’s not one part of me that believes he’s not into this.

  “Not in the vicinity.” He pumps a dry grin. “And it’s a good thing, or I’d be unstoppable.”

  Perfect. This is going to put my body and mind in a sexual paralysis without any hope for release. Bryson rolls on top of me and pulls up on his elbows until his lips hover just above mine. His breath holds the scent of minty toothpaste. He’s clean and mean, and I’m pretty sure I can’t take much more of this sexual depravation. Hopefully he won’t mind too much when I start dry humping him for the hell of it.

  “I like you hot and bothered.” He grins from his aerial perspective. His eyes illuminate in the dim light and glow like that of a tiger. “When the time comes”—he bears into me in earnest—“I’m going to run my mouth over every single inch of you.” His finger traces the outline of my shoulder, down through my ribs, then my hips. He moves lower still all the way down between my thighs, and a small cry escapes my throat. My girl parts are ticking like a bomb, begging and shouting the only way they know how for me to get him the hell down there a.s.a.p. He rubs his fingers over my panties, hard, and I buck into him. “I’m going to sink a kiss right here.”

  I hadn’t thought about Bryson kissing me anywhere but my lips, and now an entire world of possibility had opened, new fears were springing to life, and, not surprisingly, my vagina is weeping with joy. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t dive into anything tonight. It’s becoming clear that a scalding shower and the business end of a razor are going to be mandatory for this new adventure with Bryson.

  “Come here.” He turns me in his arms until my hips conform to his stomach, and we’re happily spooning. “Love you, Baya. Sleep tight.”

  “I love you, too, Bryson.”

  But I don’t get any sleep. I just revel in the fact that I’m in Bryson Edwards’ arms—in his bed, and I want to memorize how it feels.

  Soon the weekend will be over, and all I’ll have is a memory.

  In the morning, well, technically the afternoon, when we finally stop resisting the idea of spending all day in bed holding one another, we shower and dress.

  Annie and her friend are already out of the house, and so is his mother.

  Bryson and I decide to take in a movie in the late afternoon, then in the evening check out the fall festival that’s taken over the pumpkin fields down the street from his house. There’s a Ferris wheel and rides that are guaranteed to make you regurgitate your dinner—entire rows of carnival games that are rigged to suck the change straight from your pocket.

  We watch as a boy effortlessly knocks down a pyramid of milk cans and wins a four-foot tall, hot pink giraffe. He kisses its nose before handing it off to the shy girl by his side.

  “Aww,” I coo, gripping Bryson’s shoulder. “That was so sweet! Those things are impossible to do.”

  “Impossible?” His head ticks back a notch. “Just let me know right now if you want a hot pink giraffe because, if you do, it’s as good as yours.” He gives my waist a quick squeeze.

  “Oh”—a quiet laugh bubbles in my chest—“you think you’re that good, do you?”

  “Oh, sweetie”—Bryson’s chest thumps as he comes in close with a dark smile—“I know I am.” He’s bedroom eyeing me, and I’m almost positive we’re not talking about pink giraffes anymore.

  “I double dog dare you to prove it.” Both in and out of the bedroom.

  Bryson digs out a couple of bills and starts in on a pitching adventure that seems to span hours even if it is only a few minutes. I laugh my ass off as he struggles to knock the bottles down, only managing to knock one or two from the top at a time.

  “I think you should aim for the bottom,” I say.

  “I am.” He looks bewildered that his technique is failing and so miserably at that.

  “Here let me try.” I take one of the weighted beanbags from him, and the top bottle doesn’t even budge once I hit it. “Hey, this thing is rigged. I nailed that sucker. Those things must weigh forty pounds each. It’s never going to work. It’s impossible.”

  Bryson pinches his lips together. He washes those sky-born eyes over mine and gives a tiny grin.

  “You make everything possible, Baya.” He hands over another dollar and steps back with his ammo locked and loaded like he’s about to throw the most important pitch at the world series. “This one’s for you, girl.” He heaves the beanbag at the poor defenseless bottles, and all three of them explode backward like a nuclear detonation.

  “You did it!” I squeal.

  “You did it.” Bryson wraps his arms around me and lands a warm kiss over my cheek. My stomach flutters. It cycles up and down as if we were on the most harrowing roller coaster, and it feels like bliss.

  The man behind the counter hands me an oversized giraffe that glows the most obnoxious color known to man—bright neon pink.

  “I think I’ll put this in my old dorm, right on my bed. You think Jeanie will notice?”

  “What? You can’t part with her. We’re practically parents now.” He gives my ribs a slight tickle as we head back down the midway. “We’ll have to take her wherever we go and get a sitter while we’re in class.”

  A soft laugh streams from me as I slip an arm around his waist.

  “We should name her.” I lay my head on his shoulder, and, oddly, I can feel his body go rigid beneath me. I glance up, and his eyes are fixed straight ahead, his face bleached out pale as a paper white moon. “I said we should name her.” I jostle him by the waist in an effort to pull him out of his trance. “Hey, are you okay?”

  A tall, lanky guy makes his way over with a girl in spiked heels that dig into the dirt each time she takes a step.

  “Well if it isn’t Bryson fucking Edwards.” His dark eyes look serious—no smile. He offers Bryson a knuckle bump, and he’s slow to reciprocate. “How’s it going?” His gaze drifts over to me. I can feel his eyes wandering over my features, sizing me up before glancing at the overgrown animal tucked under my arm. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite pinpoint it.

  “It’s going.” Bryson loosens his grip over me until his arm falls to his waist.

  The boy holds out a hand in my direction. “I’m Grant.”

  “Baya.” I offer a firm shake. He holds my gaze, heavy as anchors, until finally the hint of a tragic smile breaks through.

  “It’s really nice to meet you, Baya.” His eyes sweep the ground a moment.

  The girl at his side picks at the cotton candy in her hand, and, for the most part, ignores the entire exchange.

  Grant cuts a look to Bryson that says something just beneath the surface. “It’s nice you’re doing good—moving on with your life. Not everyone gets that chance.” He shakes his head as they make their way into the crowd.

  Bryson blows a breath through his cheeks as if he had been holding it the entire time.

  It hits me why he looks so familiar. “That was about that girl in the picture, wasn’t it?” He had the same dark hair, same serious eyes.

  “That was her brother.”

  Bryson and I head to the truck.

  He doesn’t say anything all the way home.

  By the time we get back to the house, there’s a seam of tangerine sky meltin
g over the horizon. I decide not to push anything on the subject of what I’m presuming is his ex-girlfriend. Something tells me she was never a notch on his wall. But a part of me wonders if he’ll ever be ready to talk about her—if deep down I really want him to.

  His phone buzzes as soon as we hit the house, and he examines it with a widening grin on his face.

  “You win the lottery?” I tease, landing the giraffe on a stool in the entry.

  “Something like that.” His eyes lower to mine. A fire burns in them, and it’s all for me. Bryson holds up his phone victoriously. “My dad had an emergency at the Ice Bar, and my mom is graciously spending the night up there to help out with the details. Refrigeration unit is down. The place is literally melting.” His chest rumbles at the thought.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “And miss out on us having the house all to ourselves? Not a chance.”

  My heart thumps so loud I can practically hear it reverberating off the walls. “What about Annie?” There’s a slight rise of panic brewing in me. Tonight might be the night, and, now, all I can think about is how I’m going to sneak off and shave my legs—not to mention more intricate and delicate places that he talked about landing those lips on. Those kisses he talked about last night made my skin flush and my toes curl in every good way. I can’t imagine doing that with Bryson. It scares and exhilarates me all at the same time.

  Bryson leans in. His hotter-than-hell smile takes over for just a moment.

  “Annie is spending the night at Kaya’s house.” He brushes his finger over the side of my cheek, and an electrical current races through me.

  Holy shit.

  “What do you think we should do?” My voice shakes as I ask the question. My mind races with all kinds of deliciously pornographic possibilities. My head feels light and fuzzy, and suddenly it feels as if I could pass out if I wanted.

  Okay. Don’t panic. If he green-lights operation deflower-power I’ll simply jump in the shower. Then I’ll put on my Whitney Briggs shorts—no wait, I wore those last night. I think I have a pair of thongs, but then I might as well be naked, and, for sure, I don’t have a decent bra for him to see me in. Crap. This is never going to work. Wait, people don’t wear clothes while having sex, so all of the aforementioned fashion blunders aren’t even necessary. My body pulsates like one giant heartbeat while my girl parts pound against my brain trying to get me on board with the idea of sleeping with him tonight.

  “What do you think we should do?” He tucks his head back a notch, and I can tell he’s holding back the urge to smile.

  “I think I should shower.” Did I just say that out fucking loud? He’s going to think I’m gross—that I smell. “I mean shave.” Shit! Shit! Shit! He’s going to think I have an entire Canadian forest tucked between my legs, God only knows he’d be right. “I mean, I guess—we should change into our PJs and maybe we could eat cookies.” PJs? Cookies? Perfect. Let him know you have the dress code and diet of a three-year-old—that ought to turn him on. NOT. Way to show him you’re not Cole’s kid sister.

  “Hmm.” His cheek cinches up one side while I boil in a vat of self-inflicted embarrassment. And, worst of all, I can tell he’s enjoying this. “That’s quite a hygienic, albeit nutritiously deficient, agenda you have mapped out.” Bryson wraps his arms around my waist and sways me as if we were dancing. “Why don’t you put on your bathing suit?” He sears a kiss over the rim of my ear. “I’ll whip us up something to eat, and we can hit the hot tub. Does that sound good?”

  “Sounds more than good.” At least he’s able to think intelligently under the circumstances unlike me who’s reduced herself to a walking ball of hormones on fire. Then again, he’s done this a million times. Of course he’s going to be way more casual about the whole thing. Food then sex. He’s had a steady diet of both for the last few years. I’m just too much of a dumbass to realize the fact that’s how most people round out their day.

  God, that’s going to be my new routine with Bryson! Gah! I just want to scream and shake people. Well, not Bryson, other people who don’t seem to realize how fucking fantastic the rest of my life is going to be. I should call Mom! No wait, ixnay on the calling of the mother. Although, one day, in a land far far away, she’ll be ecstatic for me.

  I scoot upstairs with my thighs quivering every step of the way and jump into the shower, attacking every part of me below the neck that has hair with a razor as I try my best to banish and sculpt. After several nicks and close run-ins with a few surface veins, I dig through my bag and pull out my red two-piece that I had no idea I would even be needing, but, since, I have my entire existence in this bag, here it is. I toss a long sweater over it and head back down, barefoot.

  “In here.” He calls from the dining room, and my private parts quiver as if telling me to hurry the hell up and get that boy on top of me already. Bryson has a series of candles set out and two plates brimming with what looks like ramen noodles.

  “Aren’t you the master chef?” I tease while taking a seat next to him.

  “I am.” He pours sparkling water into a pair of tall goblets and slides one over to me. “I guess I’m more of a minute chef tonight. I blame that on a serious lack of food in the fridge.”

  I try to take a few bites, but my stomach has already gone into lockdown. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat another bite. I glance up at Bryson, and he hasn’t taken those steel-colored eyes off me once.

  “You ready to hit the hot tub?” He gives a devious smile as if he had arranged for the mishap at the Ice Bar himself.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Bryson leads us out to a gloriously-huge backyard that spans in every direction with emerald-rolling lawns. A cabana sits tucked close to the house with an expansive patio around it, and nestled in the middle is an oversized hot tub.

  In the distance, a trail of bright green lights blink on and off under a juniper tree and it takes a moment to register what they are.

  “Look!” I marvel.

  “Fireflies.” He lands a kiss in the hollow of my neck, and I take a breath.

  “It looks like magic,” I say, panting into him. Bryson, plus fireflies, plus hot tub equals a trifecta of perfection. My vagina pounds against my thighs because I forgot to add penis in the trifecta mathematics. It’s a rather focused event taking place down there, and now I’m blushing for no reason.

  Bryson turns on the lights to the hot tub, and the water glows a glacial blue just like his eyes.

  “You’re magic, Baya.” He helps me into the bubbling water, and it sears over my skin like a heated glove as I sink into it.

  Bryson lands beside me as we look out at the deep navy night. My heart feels like it’s about to riot right out of my chest, and my thighs tremble for his touch. I can’t believe that the rest of the world feels this way—this fucking fantastic right before they experience one of the most intimate moments of their lives. And something in me wants to believe that being with Bryson would be exactly this incredible night after night. I know for a fact it would be.

  “What are you thinking?” He slips his hand around my waist and pulls me into his lap. My thigh grazes over the bump in his trunks, and everything enlivens in me from the waist down. The Notorious V.A.G. that sits tucked between my legs screams like a cheerleader at the Super Bowl just waiting for that final touch down. The girls sort of want to get in on the action, too, so I position them over his chest and gently rub his marble hewn body with mine.

  “I might die if you don’t kiss me soon.” True story. I leave out the part that I might go into a bona fide cardiac arrest if my heart beats any faster from anticipation—that my uterus is threatening to explode like a pressure cooker, and my nipples are trying to claw their way out of my swimsuit. My hormones are about to take a violent turn for the worse if he doesn’t work his magic over me soon. My legs are already willing to part for him. I’m so hungry, so curious to see what it might feel like to have him in me, a part of me wants to cry.
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br />   “Well, then, I’d better kiss you.” His eyes grow all too serious, and he comes in for the kill. “Baya.” He shakes his head. “Don’t feel like we have to do anything tonight. I’m not like that. We can take our time. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.” He touches his nose to mine before landing a spark of a kiss on my lips, and every ounce of me feels like its about to boil over in a lust-fueled meltdown.

  “I want to.” I glance down at the water a second. “I wish I knew what I was doing. I’d give anything to have your track record right now.” I give a nervous laugh while scratching at his chest. “Okay, well maybe not so extensive but a little experience wouldn’t hurt.” Like a dozen or so tally marks worth.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got nothing but respect for you for waiting. You should. You’re worth the wait, Baya. And the fact you want to share something as special as your first time with me makes me feel honored. I hope you’ll share every time with me.” He pulls my chin up gently with his finger and steadies his eyes over mine. “I want to be your first and your last,” he whispers. “I’m glad you waited. And, trust me, I wish I would have waited for you, too.”

  My heart melts, and I memorize him like this, vulnerable, perfect in every way.

  “So why the long line of girls?” I’ve been wondering for weeks, outside of mass amounts of testosterone, why so many different girls when just a few repeats could have sufficed? “I’ve counted those notches, by the way.” I lean in and take a gentle bite over his lip. He feels full and slippery between my teeth, and I resist the urge to pierce right through. “You’re nearing triple digits.”