Velvet Kisses

by Addison Moore

  Marley leans in until her soft chest is against mine, her lips where they belong. I maneuver her hips until my hard-on finds its way home, and Marley moves her body over mine in a natural rhythm.

  “Oh! Like this,” she whispers the epiphany over my lips. “This is much, much, much better.”

  “Just like this.” I do my part by grinding my hips against hers as much as I can and, between the two of us, we’re getting it done the way it was intended all along.

  It takes half the time for me to get there, and I try to hold out until Marley can join in on the fun, but I end up at the finish line without her.

  “Sorry.” I pant, pulling her body over mine, appreciating the fact she’s still hot and wet for me. “Come here, girl.” I pull her up until she’s sitting on my face and take her home just like that.

  Marley lets out a violent scream that reverberates over the walls, and I’m half afraid Annie and Blake are about to rush through the door with a fire extinguisher again. We have been known to start a blaze or two.

  She forcibly scoots herself off. Her wild hair splays all around. Her eyes burn with an insanity of their own.

  Marley lands her hand to my cheek a little rougher than necessary, and, for a second, I wonder if she’s slapping me. Her chest heaves uncontrollably. Her eyes remain low and heavy.

  “I love you,” she pants. Her mouth falls open a little wider, gaping at the misstep her tongue just took—“for that.” She tries to play it off, or at least I hope. “That was amazing.”

  I give a slow blink. “You’re welcome.”

  My fingers graze her hair, and I nod into her puddle-blue eyes.

  I love you, too, Marley.

  Funny, love wasn’t in the contract. Hell, it was evicted from both our vocabularies just a few weeks ago. But this, whatever this may be, hit us over the head like a tornado on fire. It picked us up and is holding us hostage in some magical realm with nothing but the crackle of lightning all around—nothing but the snap of the electricity that we seem to generate when we’re together.

  This is it. This is the real deal.

  Marley and I may not have wanted to find it, but it sure as hell found us.

  Now if only one of us were willing to admit it. I’m betting it won’t be her.

  Marley falls over me, wet and sticky, hot to the touch like a firebrand.

  At the least I gave her something to write about.

  At best I gave her a taste of that intangible beast called love.

  What’s Love Got to do With It?

  Marley

  A week drills by, correction, Wyatt is doing all the drilling. It’s bliss like this with him. Our office time is just as delicious as our alone time. I sleep, eat, and breathe Wyatt James—literally. And, just the fact that I get to be literal about something of this orgasmic nature makes me giddy from head to toe.

  Baya, Annie, and Izzy all have their eyes peeled on me.

  “So what’s new?” Izzy tilts in as if expecting the low down.

  “Nothing much.” Oh, what the hell. “Are you kidding? I’ve been compiling carnal data as if a monumental government grant were on the line—as if I were completing a doctoral degree in debauchery. Technically, I might be. Who knows what scholastic enterprise I’ll be able to parlay my carnal knowledge into? I might just give Masters and Johnsons a run for their raunchy research money. Scale that back. I might just give myself a bit of liberation from the oppression held over women since time immemorial. Nah. A memoir definitely sounds more lucrative. And, God knows, a dollar still has the power to make me holla’. Can I get an amen?”

  “Amen?” Annie looks confused by the concept, and I stomp out the urge to giggle.

  Baya snatches my coffee from me. “I don’t think the caffeine is doing you any favors.”

  “Very funny.” I take it back and indulge in a nice long swig.

  “Would you stop with all the bizarre levels of happy?” Baya snatches my cup back. “It’s making you sound like a lunatic.”

  “Like you’re one to talk. And enough with the musical mugs.” I steal my coffee and cradle it protectively like a missing child. “You have your own.”

  Annie holds back a laugh. “I have to admit, I was worried about you last fall, but, now, you’re a whole new you.”

  “What a difference a couple of seasons make.” Izzy raises her latte my way.

  We’re sitting in Hallowed Grounds, hovering over hot coffee while the sun does it’s best to melt the last of the snowfall outside. It’s going to be an early spring, and no one could be happier than me.

  “It is exciting. I have to admit”—my fingers strum over my cup with a nervous energy I don’t remember feeling before—“I think I’m in love.” The glee dissipates from me as if that word alone had the power to vacuum it out. I knock my cup over, and I’m quick to right it. Thankfully just a few drops managed to escape the lid, and Izzy mops up the rest with her napkin. “I meant—I’m in love with the situation.” God! If there weren’t a crowd I might have dumped the hot coffee right over my head. I hate love. Love is a four letter, dirty, egg-sucking word. Well, romantic love in the least.

  My heart beats erratic as if trying to call me out on the lie.

  Annie gives my arm a light tap. “It’s okay if you have feelings for him. I’ve been journaling how happy you are whenever you talk about him, whenever you come home from work or a night out. You’ve really transformed into a whole new person. It’s as if a dark cloud hovered over you when you were with Will, and now that Wyatt is in your life the sunlight has exploded right over your face.”

  “You and that silly journal.” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Look, I’m not saying sunshine is a bad thing, but let’s not confuse a ray of light with something as asinine as love. The next thing you’ll be telling me is he’s the reason unicorns shoot rainbows out of their ass.”

  “Unicorns poop butterflies,” Baya asserts. “Everybody knows that.”

  Izzy waves her off. “Just admit it, Marley. Wyatt makes you happy. Happiness equals feelings. There’s a reason the words I think I’m in love just sprang from your lips. You’re already aware you feel this way. I don’t see the point in denying it.”

  “No, no, no.” I hold up a hand like I’m about to stop a freight train. “I do not have feelings for him. Well, maybe as a friend. But the L word just isn’t for me.”

  Izzy’s eyes widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her head cocks to the side as she offers an incredulous stare. Izzy has always been my biggest supporter—case in point when I’m defying Jemma. My sister isn’t exactly the best authority figure, and with my mother gone so much when I was a kid, Jemma was the next unfortunate authority figure in line. It’s a wonder I don’t have a brood of ankle biters of my own by now. Sometimes you just have to buck the mold.

  “Love is for people like you.” I’m quick to state. “Honestly, I think when it boils right down to it, the three of you are freaks. People don’t fall in love and stay that way.” My gaze drifts to the window as a stiletto-sized lump gets caught in my throat.

  “People cheat. Some people never fall in love at all, they simply go through the motions—say those three magic words and hope the rest falls in line.”

  And that was my relationship with Will in a nutshell. For the first time ever, I think I finally admitted to myself that I never really loved Will. I thought I did. But with Wyatt, something feels different, safer, far more solid than anything I had with Will—and that relationship lasted a small eternity. Was I just caught up in some vortex of complacency? God, what if I had married him, and we stayed that unhappy way forever? I would have never known Wyatt. I would have never tasted and seen how good he was—never known the high a man could bring me to just with his devilish smile alone. The thought of missing out on a man like Wyatt James—Wyatt James in particular, makes my stomach sour.

  My phone buzzes, and I fish it out with a nervous fervor as if I were expecting news on a transplant—heart transplant ap
parently.

  “It’s just Jemma,” I say out loud for no reason, and the three of them break into a cacophony of laughter. I wished it were Wyatt, and they all know it. I’m as transparent as glass, and I hate it.

  Meet me at the Black Bear at 6. I’ll have the paperwork with me. Gotta get this shit done. TY!

  This shit is code for government dole out forms. I make a face at the text. Only Jemma would want to fill out an application for food stamps while sitting in a bar with a ten-dollar drink in her hand. Go figure.

  “Anyway, I’ll be seeing Wyatt this afternoon,” I offer as a disclaimer to the Nosey Nellies who think they know my heart better than I do.

  Baya holds up a finger as she knocks back the remainder of her coffee. “Don’t forget we have class today—our proposal and our first look is due. It’s the big critique.” She gives an apologetic shrug. “Plus, I think we’re supposed to go over figures with Will. He mentioned something about stats, and my brain shut off.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s a natural response. Most people would rather go catatonic than listen to what he has to say.” I check my phone as if I were waiting for a proposal. This is ridiculous. I don’t ever remember feeling so desperate, so inebriated by a text from Will. Just what kind of power does Wyatt have over me anyway? “And, don’t worry, I’ll be there.” For the first five minutes. If Will wants to drone on, he’ll have to do it sans my presence. I think I’m developing a very real allergy to his person. And to think I ever let him slip his tiny member into my body—in my mouth! Blah! Just the thought makes me want to gargle with acid. Besides, I have other things, people, to do—namely Wyatt.

  I glance deep into my purse and spot the navy velvet cuffs. A naughty grin begs to break free, but I won’t let it. I’ve been meaning to dust off the velvet hardware for a while now. What better time than the present? And Wyatt James in cuffs will be quite the present. A private smile rides on my lips at the thought.

  “What are you grinning at over there?” Izzy tries to peer into my purse, but I quickly pull it to my chest.

  Baya snatches it from me and pulls out the soft cuffs with a look of carnal delight.

  “That’s an invasion of privacy! I should place you under citizen’s arrest,” I yelp taking back my purse.

  “Look at me, I’m Marley!” Her voice rides high. She dances the cuffs in front of her in a perverted puppet show fashion. “I am not in love with Wyatt James!” She knocks the cuffs in my direction as if they’re admonishing me. “I’m a super nasty girl, living in a fantasy world!”

  “Stop.” I touch my hands to my mouth and close my eyes a moment. Who are these women, and why am I sitting with them again? “That was a bad impersonation by the way. Identity theft does not become you.”

  “So this is what you’re planning to do to Wyatt?” Izzy runs her finger over one of the fuzzy bracelets. “Citizen’s arrest never sounded so kinky.”

  “Yes, well, kink makes the world go round. Or so they say—and, for the sake of research, I’m about to find out.” I try to snatch them away from Baya, but she pulls them just out of my grasp.

  “Hey, can I borrow these?” She holds them up in broad daylight for all the student population to see.

  My fingers gingerly take them back. “Only after I’ve had a chance to break them in. I had originally bought them to use with Will. Thank God up in heaven that catastrophe never took place. These have Wyatt written all over them. Of course, I’m sort of hoping I’ll be the one in chains. A girl can dream.”

  “Wow.” Baya bounces back in her seat. “You are in so deep—you don’t even realize it, do you?”

  The three of them shake their heads in tandem as if they genuinely felt sorry for me.

  “Is there something I should know? Is Wyatt sleeping with the cheer squad behind my back? Does Alpha Chi have him on call? Because, I swear, that man has moves that an entire army of women would kill for. I’m talking knock down drag out fist fights would break out over his services. Hair extensions would be in peril.”

  Izzy and Annie share a laugh, but Baya continues to shake her head as if she can’t believe it.

  “You are toast, Marley. Face it”—Baya gives a long blink—“Wyatt has you wrapped around his magical penis.”

  “Eww,” Izzy swats her. “That’s disgusting.”

  “It’s true,” Annie muses.

  If Annie thinks so, it must be true. Crap.

  “What are you saying?” I want to hear it point blank.

  “You’re in love with the guy.” Baya says it matter of fact, but the words feel like a sharp slap in the face. “You’re already submerged. You’ve been under for so long you don’t even realize you’ve already drowned. Case closed—Marley Jackson, has been sentenced to a lifetime of l-o-v-e.”

  “I’d prefer hard labor.” The idea that I’ve become some prisoner to love is laughable.

  Izzy gawks at Baya. “Are you through? And please don’t consider a career in motivational speaking.”

  “She’s still right.” Annie shrugs as if she were sorry. “Forget about that stupid memoir, Marley. You’re in love with the guy. Own up to your feelings.” She gives a smug look of satisfaction. “I’m willing to bet the bar we’ll be sister-in-laws one day.”

  “Gah!” I roar in frustration. Before I know it, I’ve hoisted my laptop onto the table. “Too late. I’m starting that memoir right this minute. Subject one—”

  “Make that Will,” Baya insists. “Don’t waste a single drop of—”

  “Men,” Izzy interjects rather sharply. I swear she still thinks I’m thirteen.

  “Boy—Will is a boy,” I correct. “Wyatt is a man.”

  My fingers start typing as fast as they can.

  “Sex and the Modern Woman: What’s love got to do with it? Or how about, My Life in Men?” I whisper as my brain thunders a mile a minute. “I like the sound of that because usually it’s the man inside the woman. The irony is rich and empowering from a feminist point of view.”

  Izzy groans at my mock dissertation. “Personally, I think you’re setting feminism back not forward. Sleeping around isn’t some progressive movement it’s”—she closes her eyes and takes a measured breath—“slutty. And exactly how many men do you plan on exploiting this way?”

  “Exploiting?” I gag on the word. “Men have been literally screwing around for centuries, as soon as a woman decides to have a little fun, she’s slutty and exploitive? Really, Izzy?”

  I continue on with my endeavor.

  Marley Jackson

  My Life in Men

  The sexual life and times of a college coed.

  How’s that? I turn the screen, so they can take a gander.

  “Coed?” Baya raises a brow. “When you said memoir, I thought you might be publishing this at sixty.”

  Izzy scowls. “Eighty would be too soon.” She’s got the protective big sister thing down pat, I’ll give her that. Although, ironically, my own big sister would be cheering me on.

  “Neither,” I say turning the laptop back my way. “I’m thinking something along the lines of a year or two, you know—I’ll have to fund my post-graduate school life somehow.” There is no greater truth. The paychecks I’m getting from Capwell, Inc. aren’t huge, but this girl hasn’t had ramen in a month, so I’m not knocking them either.

  Annie looks horrified. “And how many subjects do you plan on taking on in your four short years at Whitney Briggs?”

  “Six? Ten? I don’t know. Originally I thought I’d cap it at twelve.” Twelve. That’s like ten away from Wyatt. My stomach churns at the prospect. I can’t imagine sleeping with anyone else, at least not anyone else as wonderful as Wyatt both in and out of the sack. Just the thought makes me feel like I’m cheating on him, or more accurately on our contract. “But then Baya suggested the baker’s dozen, so it’s thirteen, and it’s settled.”

  Both Annie and Izzy gape at Baya in horror.

  If she’s throwing me under the bus with this love bull crap, I’l
l gladly pull her right down with me. How’s the view of the fender, sweetheart?

  “Subject One: The Great Imitator,” I whisper as I type. “It’s true, Will was just imitating a man. I just didn’t know it until I had a real one to compare him to. Scratch that. I think he’s best known as Ancient History.”

  Subject One: Ancient History

  Quantity and Variety: Ancient History and I had a few sparse, non-memorable encounters. Although the subject had full belief he was able to enforce an assortment of carnal pleasures, the positions were often forced, and not a lot of energy was put into the endeavor. Unfortunately I had to F-A-K-E the big O on several occasions just to convince myself that he cared enough that I had one. His body wasn’t up to par due to his age, and his man parts were most definitely lacking. Even in my inexperience, I knew he wasn’t up to the challenge, but a part of me kept believing things would get better. Optimism be damned, they did not.

  Positives: He could be tenacious once things got going.

  Negatives: He would expend said tenacious energy on trying to work whatever position best pleasured him. I knew this was a one-sided affair from the first night he took me to his place.

  On a scale of one to ten (one being a mental plea for my virginity), I give Ancient History, negative five. The subject is unaware of how vitally he sucketh at the art of lovemaking. It’s comical to think he can make a career of this if need be.

  “Would you stop?” Baya closes my laptop.

  Annie groans. “That was truly disturbing.”

  “We’d better go,” Baya hoists me up. “We’ve got a date with Professor Nicholson, and we can’t be late.”

  We say goodbye to Annie and Izzy and head toward the rabbit hole, otherwise known as the business department, and then I spot them—Cat Alice and Will, tongue tied right in Founder’s Square.

  Knew it.

  * * *

  My feet carry me in their direction without my full permission, and Baya is quick to stop me.