He gently pulls me in, his arm snaking around my waist.
“Let’s go,” he whispers in my ear.
The restaurant sits amongst the rooftops of the city, walls filled with greenery. We are seated with a view of the Notre-Dame Basilica.
We do our best to recall our years of French in school, I don’t take my eyes off him as he orders us dinner and drinks.
“Thank you for this.” I fork rigatoni and mushroom into my mouth, and soak in the view.
“Thank you for being here.”
“No other place I’d rather be,” I admit, taking a sip of wine.
Probably the best wine I’ve ever tasted.
He looks down at his empty plate, and back up at me, a glimmer in his eye.
“What?” I ask, my heart beating faster by the second.
“Once again, I like you here, me here, like this.”
“Like this?” I probe for more information, I want him to elaborate.
“Yeah, like this,” is all he responds.
“This is kind of like your I don’t know what this is line, possibly not as vague,” I tease. He frowns slightly, his boyish grin appearing. “Sammy and I contemplated that you didn’t know what hands were, but I was always hoping it was more.” I bite my bottom lip, suppressing a laugh.
He shakes his head. “You told Sammy?” he asks.
“I did.”
“She wouldn’t tell Logan?”
My smile falls. “No. She wouldn’t. Is that what you care about - at the end of all this?”
His smile fades, too. “No. I don’t know why I asked that. I wish we could talk less about Logan.” He finishes off his glass of wine. “In the nicest way possible.” He smiles at me.
“So you know what hands are?” I quip, breaking the tension.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I know what hands are.”
“That’s always good.” I point out.
A waiter removes our plates and Kingston asks for another bottle of wine.
“It’s nice to be able to look at you and not have to glance away.” Kingston’s eyes fall to my dress.
I look down at the delicate fabric draped over my skin, and back up at him, cheeks flushed, heart racing. My body burning up with his eyes, proudly, on me.
“It’s been years of guiltily looking away,” he confesses. “Lily used to tease me,”
“Lily?” I choke on wine. “What do you mean?”
“Since I was fifteen she would say, you’ll lose her if you don’t tell her," he imitates her, badly.
I laugh out loud, covering my mouth. “She did?”
“Every time she’d catch me watching you.”
“You never watched me.” I narrow my eyes at him, lips pressed to my wine glass.
His lip quirks in a grin. “How would you know how often I watched you?”
“Because, I watched you ninety-nine percent of the time.” I place my glass down, placing my hands over my face in embarrassment.
“Well that couldn’t be true, because I did a considerable amount of watching.”
“Okay.” I raise my hands in mock protest. “We watched each other a lot, we were extremely creepy teenagers.”
Kingston smirks at me.
After dinner, we walk the length of the streets to the Old Port where a festival has people dancing in the streets. We blend into the crowd, Kingston taking no time to loop his arm around my waist. In the middle of the dancing bodies his eyes hold mine, and we move along to the rhythm. I lean my forehead on his shoulder, catching my breath, my legs weak from the possibility of his lips on mine.
We end up dancing our way through the crowd, my hand in his. As the suburbs grow quieter, we become more aware of our closeness.
Once back at the townhouse, I sit on the edge of the couch, Kingston brings over a glass of wine for us both.
“We could finish those questions,” he offers.
“Yeah?” I grin at him.
“How many times have you thought about kissing me?” he asks, eyes locked on mine.
I could laugh, but I’m shocked because there’s no hint of a joke in his manner.
“What?” I ask.
“You heard me,” he probes.
“Probably three thousand.” I shrug.
“Is that all?”
“You thought about kissing me more than that?” I tease.
He passes me my wine and sits down next to me.
“You remember your sixteenth birthday?” he asks me.
“Yeah?” There’s adrenaline running through me, a teenage-like intoxication of hiding feelings, and keeping secrets. But we’re two fully grown adults who have lived their lives independently for years.
How does Logan have such a hold on what we feel is wrong and right?
“You wore that black dress and Logan surprised you with those videos of your mom?” His eyes move between mine and my lips.
“You remember that?” I ask.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you, every day, since that day.”
I blink. And blink. And blink, again. Because my recollection of the past does not match up to his admission.
“But, you were always ignoring me, or lecturing me …” I state. “And …” I pause, embarrassed. “That night, on the porch …”
“Not kissing you that night was so fucking hard, Mae. Talk about self control …”
I must look like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide.
He places his wine on the coffee table. I follow his action, and find myself picking up the remote, and turning the television on.
What the fuck am I doing? He wants to kiss me, and I’m searching for cartoons on late night T.V … I’ve officially lost my mind.
“Cartoons, huh?” Kingston asks, and when I catch his face, there’s a nervous grin. The fact that he’s also nervous sends my head spinning.
My arm brushes his as I shift my dress around to get comfortable.
It’s risen up to my mid thigh, his hand close to my knee. My core heats up. I’m suddenly so wet I can’t imagine my tiny lace thong will suffice.
In a quick decision of chaos, I grab his hand and place it on the inner part of my thigh, slightly above my knee.
Kingston turns his attention to me, then down to his hand. Neither of us say a word as I slowly shift my dress higher toward my hips. I’m giving Kingston every possible silent go ahead.
He’s watching me, the nervous look in his eye no longer there - replaced by the intensity of a lion who’s found their prey.
Without saying a word, and with the cartoons playing in the background, he traces circles up my inner leg. I swear I could climax right now from this intricate, insanely intimate moment.
When he reaches the lining of my thong, our eyes are locked, our breathing synchronised, he doesn’t move for what feels like a hundred years too long, so I shift my thong aside and move myself against his hand.
“Mae …” It sounds like a warning, but it’s not patronizing, it’s filled with need.
I don’t say anything, I continue to wait. He runs his fingers along my wetness, dips into my heat. I moan, my head tilts back, gyrating into his hand.
“Mae,” Kingston cautions, again. I never expected I’d be getting fingered on a couch at twenty-seven years old like a dirty little secret.
And then his mouth is on mine. It’s a combination of frantic want and slow need, all at once. A mixture of all the years lost.
He easily pulls me to him so that I’m straddling him. I shimmy my dress up - my core against him.
He groans into my mouth, and I whimper in response. His tongue finds mine, my hands in his hair, aching for more, and more, and more.
“Are you okay?” he hums into my mouth.
I break from his lips, breathless. “Better than ever. You?”
“I want you so bad,” he pants.
He easily lifts me up as he stands and carries me through the living room, up the stairs. I hold his bottom lip in between my teeth. He growls, letting me f
all back onto his bed. I lie still as he watches me, my dress up at my hips, my hair splayed out along the bed.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me, roaming my body. I writhe on the bed, my core aching for him to come closer. When he doesn’t, I lift up onto my elbows and shimmy into the middle. Without taking my eyes off his I lift my dress up and over my head, leaving me in a tiny lace thong.
Kingston’s face moves into a pinched frown, and I worry he’s regretting this decision. But before I can ask, he unbuckles his belt, and his navy trousers are on the floor, and then his shirt. His body is on mine within seconds and I can feel his want against me.
His mouth finds my neck and licks the length to my lips.
“King. I can’t - I need - ” I begin.
He stops, pulls back. “You can’t? That’s okay,” he begins to soothe.
My mouth forms an ‘O’. “No. No. I can. I definitely can.” He holds the silence. “I need you to touch me.” My voice sounds husky and low.
This sets a fire off in his eyes. I feel nervous and ready, and every differing emotion imaginable.
His fingers find their way up my thighs, to the edge of my thong. I moan, my head tilts back.
“Fuck,” I hear him whisper under his breath.
His fingers edge beneath the lace and his mouth crashes back onto mine as he finds my heat.
“Babe. You’re so wet.”
I push into his fingers, begging for more.
“You called me babe.” I pant.
He chuckles against my lips. “Babe,” he repeats, and kisses me hard, his tongue moving with mine.
His two fingers run the length of me, finding my clit and circling it slowly. I instinctively buck into his touch as he dips his fingers back inside me. A deep moan moves through me and at the same time we lock eyes. We share a look, one that says more than words could ever say. One that speaks volumes for how long we’ve waited to share a moment like this. His want pushes hard against his boxer briefs. I reach for him, my fingers edging beneath the elastic. He cocks his head to the side, asking if I’m sure.
“I want your dick, Kingston.”
Need I be more forthright?
He lifts his face to the ceiling, as if he’s thanking God.
I laugh at him, but it comes out throaty and full of desire. He takes the hint and peels his briefs off, standing in front of me completely naked.
“Huh.” I breath out, mouth open. Complete awe.
I look up to meet his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at my response. All I can do is nod, over and over. He moves to me as I kneel on the edge of the bed. We kiss hungrily, wanting more and needing more. Something in Kingston’s movements makes me sense he’s holding back.
“Are you okay?” I ask, breaking the kiss.
“I want you so damn much.” He rests his forehead on mine. I lift his face up, my finger under his chin, and run my tongue along his parted lips. I take his whole length in my hand and a groan moves through him.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask, stroking the length of him.
He lets out a throaty groan and nods, but doesn’t move.
“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to leave this position right now.” His voice sounds strained, he’s worked up, but there’s a glint in his eye.
I laugh and claim his mouth with mine. “Where are they?” I ask.
“My bag.”
I rummage through his bag beside the bed, finding them at the bottom.
“A whole box. You’ve had big plans.”
He leans back on the pillows at the top of his bed and chuckles to himself, his dick on display.
Ripping the packet open, I position myself above him. He watches me the whole time, his gaze making me nervous.
“Mae?” His voice is deep.
I make eye contact with him. “I’m going to start on top.”
He nods, a different kind of safety forming between us.
I roll the condom on and he expels a deep breath. His fingers find my core and he spreads my wetness. Without breaking eye contact, he moves his hand and I place my core above him and slowly ease my way down.
I moan, a small laugh escaping my lips.
“What was that?” he pants.
“Let’s pretend I’m not about to comment on how big you are.” I barely rasp the words out as I grind into him.
He doesn’t react to what I’ve just said. “Fuck.” His eyes never leave mine as I ride him slowly. He takes my nipple in his mouth and bites down softly, I cry out and drag my nails up his back.
I rise all the way up and ease back onto him, his hardness causing me to cry out again. He groans, pulling his mouth away from my nipples.
“Mae,” he whispers. He can sense I’ve got myself into a comfortable rhythm and moves his hips with mine, adding more intensity.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper against his mouth.
With a single, swift movement I’m on my back looking up at this beast of a man. He must notice how I instinctively cover myself with my hands.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I bite my lip, and nod.
He kisses my hands that cover my breasts and I let them fall to my side. He claims my nipple, again, licking and then sucking. My hips grind against him and he grinds back into me.
I gasp, caught off guard by him. “Kingston,” I moan. I feel like I could cry from the force of our bodies moving as one. “Harder,” I say, and it comes out as a whisper.
“Mae.” There’s a warning in his tone, like it’ll send him over the edge.
“Please,” I beg.
He runs his lips along mine softly, and bites down on my bottom lip.
“Fuck.”
I place my hands around his neck, keeping my eyes directly on his as he fucks me fast and with intention. I writhe beneath him, my body taking it all, and still begging for more. He senses my need for anything and flips me over in a graceful movement. With my cheek on the bed and my ass in the air he tears my thong off.
“That was my - ” favorite thong I begin to tell him, but he enters me slowly and I whimper.
“My favorite,” he says gruffly, as his hands grip my hips. He’s still moving slowly which is driving me crazy. My nerves are alive and throbbing. “How do you want to cum?” he asks.
No one’s ever asked me that before. “On top,” I say through heavy breaths.
He pulls out and I feel his absence, although his hands are still on my hips. I feel his tongue against my core, and I’m more exposed than I’ve ever been. The idea of this position would have sent me into panic in the past. But there’s trust with Kingston, I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, he wants me to feel good. He sucks on my clit until I feel I’m going to pass out.
“I want to cum with you,” I moan.
He sits back in the original spot where we started, a smile on his face. I make my way over to him, my cheeks flushed, my body on fire.
As I sit on him, he holds my waist, guiding me down. We move together, my clit rubbing friction with each grind.
“I’m close,” he pants.
I nod and we climax together, eyes on one another. He delicately kisses my bee stung lips.
I have spent my life wanting to taste him on my lips. Those very lips that a moment ago claimed my body in the most intimate of ways.
CHAPTER eleven
I wake early the next morning, Kingston’s warm body against mine. Memories from last night flood through me. I automatically move my body back into his, loving the way it feels bare against me. Kingston’s arms snake around me, but he doesn’t wake. I lie in his arms for a while before I decide to get up, letting him sleep further.
I get the half finished painting of Kingston out of the car and set it up in the living room. Painting him feels different, especially compared to Kansas, all the things we wanted to say that weren’t being said have all played out now.
As I’m finishing his lips, I hear him pad down the hallway. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen
, meeting my eyes.
“Morning,” he says, leaning against the white frame in nothing but his boxer briefs.
“Morning.” I grin.
“I’m not sure if I was dreaming it, but I’m almost certain someone was rubbing their naked body up against mine earlier … and then casually got up and left.”
“I haven’t seen anyone come through here.” I look to the front door.
“Means it could only be one person …” he begins walking toward me.
I get up and meet him in the middle so he can’t see the painting.
“What are you working on?” he asks.
“You,” I reply.
“Oh, yeah? Can I see?” he asks.
I stand on my tip-toes and wrap my arms around his neck. “I was thinking we could do something else.” I softly run my lips along his.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, again, low and husky.
“Yeah. I could help you out,” I say casually. “Maybe rub my naked body up against you …”
“That would be great,” he replies, coming up behind me and draping his arms over my shoulders. I can feel him rock hard against me as we move as one toward the bedroom.
We spend the rest of the day walking around the Botanical Gardens, barely able to let go of one another.
We waited all these years to be this close, I’m worried if I let him go it’ll turn out to be a dream.
◆◆◆
Kingston is playing at an intimate bar style venue near Gay Village. My heart thuds an anxious beat as I drink him in on stage, a new intensity in our connection. What is forming between us feels so incredibly real, but the fear of being back in Maine, the idea of reality sits deep in my gut when he’s not touching me.
“I’ve been lost, and bruised, and battered
Been broken, down, and out
Making promises to nighttime ceilings
Got me reeling
Got me feeling
Need some healing
Breaking promises
Just trust me now”
I’m singing along to a song that Kingston wrote back in Austin, watching him caught up in the words. The barstool beside me knocks against my leg as someone sits down.
“Cute song. Especially the one before where he watched you the whole time.”
When I Was Yours, When You Were Mine Page 9