Kissing Frogs

by Tori Turnbull

  He draped a comforting arm around my shoulders, tugging me against his side. “You’re not fat and you’re single because you’re your own worst enemy.” I pouted. “So, why do you sabotage yourself and pick men you have nothing in common with?”

  Trust Mark to go straight for the kill. “It’s not so much that I don’t want a lasting relationship with a nice guy. It’s just, I…”

  “You just don’t want to prove your mother or me right by being happy with a man that she set you up with… or approves of.”

  I shifted, tipping my head back against his shoulder, blinking up at him through wet eyes. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but… yes. I can’t bear the idea of listening to my mother’s I told you so, without me you’d never have met and had children… for the rest of my life.”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed me, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “I know you, honey. Cutting off your nose to spite your mother. You need to get over that.”

  “If we’re being truthful here and offering life advice, it’s only fair that I tell you you’d be better off getting yourself a proper job. I read an article in the Metro by some American writer the other day, and he was saying that you won’t get rich by writing.”

  Mark shook me. “Listen carefully, KT, because this is the last time I am going to explain this to you. Are you listening?”

  “You’re shouting in my ear. Of course I’m listening.”

  “I quit my job. I’d made enough money that I don’t need to work fifteen-hour days, six days a week, anymore. I don’t need to ever work a full-time job again, provided I don’t do anything crazy and look after my investments. Writing’s a hobby that I want to turn into a career. Financially, it doesn’t matter to me if I don’t write a Times bestseller. Any money that I do make will be a bonus to my financial coffers, not a necessity.”

  “Lighten up, rich boy. I was only trying to help.”

  “You’ve got enough troubles of your own without trying to borrow mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. Picking up my spoon, I looked back down at the plate and realised that whilst I’d been talking, he was finishing my cake.

  “Good cake.” He trailed a calloused finger down the back of my neck, leaving a shivery trail in its wake.

  Ohhh… I fought the tremble.

  My stomach muscles clenched.

  My breasts tingled. My lips parted. My heart stuttered and I watched his pupils grow, his eyes darkening as his head lowered towards mine. My eyelids sank closed; my tongue flicked out moistening my lips. My breath snagged as I waited for his mouth to meet mine.

  And waited.

  I cracked an eyelid to see what was taking so long and groaned with frustration. He was gone.

  No follow-through.

  No nothing.

  He’d just melted into the night, leaving me shivering in the cool spring air with no immediate release and no chocolate cake to take my mind off it. Forcing back the scream of frustration, I gathered the dishes, headed back into the kitchen, and dumped them by the sink. There was no way I was working off the frustration by washing dishes. I braced my hands against the work surface, my head dropped forward, and took several deep breaths. It didn’t work. My heart was still pounding and I trembled with need.

  For Mark?

  Yes, for fuck’s sake, for Mark.

  I didn’t know why I was having such a hard time getting it.

  He was hot and I was desperate.

  It didn’t take a mathematician to figure it out.

  He’d probably bolted because he thought if I overanalysed cake like I just had, I wouldn’t be up for no-strings-attached sex. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to empty my mind of the image of that drip of water running down his hot, hard body when he’d come out of the shower, or his mouth closing in on mine…

  Groaning, I forced my eyes open, staring at the stack of dirty dishes. Anything to get my mind off Mark’s body. He was not sexy. He could not be sexy.

  Falling for him would only get me hurt. He’d laugh himself silly if he knew his joke near-kiss left me burning up and thinking about sneaking into his room and jumping him whilst he slept. It was crazy. I wasn’t exactly built like the Barbie dolls he favoured.

  I’ve been single for too long. All this focus on my lack of a man was obviously affecting me, or maybe it was his proximity and penchant for wandering around the flat half-naked, or a little bit of chemistry. Nothing else. Nothing serious.

  It couldn’t be.

  It wasn’t rational.

  That didn’t stop me burning up like a supernova.

  I could practically feel the heat of his eyes burning over me. The gentle scrape of his work-roughened hands stroking over sensitive skin.

  Squirming, I white-knuckled the counter and clenched my thighs.

  What was I doing? I was supposed to be devoting my time to searching for Mr Perfect, not fantasizing over sex with Mark. Yes, he was hot (out of my league) and I’d been single for long enough to be willing to explore all opportunities (notable exceptions being anyone I’d recently dated) and a spark had been ignited recently… But one kiss would lead to two, which would lead to sex, and then my mother would find out.

  I shuddered, my body temperature dropping a good couple of degrees. My mother always found out (look at the whole Graham saga), and she’d get ideas. Then Mark would feel trapped into having to let me down easy or go through with a relationship so he didn’t upset me, and my mother, and it would be so excruciatingly embarrassing and… pathetic.

  Why was I even thinking about it?

  Okay, so I could answer that one.

  I wanted sex.

  S.E.X.

  With Mark. If he was lucky.

  If I was lucky.

  His body heat hit me a second before his scent. His arms wrapped around me from behind. I melted, twisting against him, my mouth seeking his desperately. Yes. Rational thought fled in the wake of sensation.

  “Just chemistry.” I spoke before he could, hands fluttering up his chest to curl around his neck.

  Mark exhaled a harsh, shaky breath as my fingers fisted in his hair, tightening. “Uhmmm.”

  I wasn’t stopping or letting go long enough for him to escape or negotiate more than basic terms. “Nothing serious.” I didn’t want him to scare himself off, thinking I’d want to white-veil-and-vow it in the morning. I stretched against him, humming in the back of my throat.

  He swallowed, hard, his jaw tense.

  His eyelids drooped.

  Oh my.

  His rumbling growl vibrated against my lips. He hardened against me. Our chests pressed together. My hips pressed against his erection. He shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Nuh,” he grunted against my mouth, gripping my bottom, pulling me tighter against him. I climbed higher, wrapping my legs around his hips, and we staggered, bumping off the table, the counter, the wall, into my bedroom. I bounced on the bed, and before I’d settled, he was yanking off his clothes. I tore at my own. Finally, he fell on me naked and aroused.

  “Just practice…” I squeaked as he gripped the round globes of my backside, before sliding forwards into warm, wet heat. Teeth raked the tendon down the side of my throat. I arched into his solid strength.

  “Makes perfect, honey. Practice makes perfect. You are so hot…”

  “Rusty.” I gasped.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m a bit rusty.”

  He pulled back, panting hard, a frown crinkling his brow. Bugger it. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Shame burned across my face and chest.

  “Rusty?”

  I was so out of practice. I was going to make a mess of it and he’d never let me live it down. He was still harping on about things I’d done when I was nine years old. I’d rather have a second date with Stalker John then make a naked tit of myself with Mark. I made a mad nudie dash from the bed, snatching up my underwear.

  “What do you mean, rusty?” If he didn’t have the wit to work out what I was talking abou
t…

  A muscled arm hooked around my waist, hauling me back against him. I wriggled, soft naked bits rubbing against hard naked bits, very nearly achieving what I was trying to avoid. “Quit huffing and wriggling. How rusty are we talking here?” Jeez, I should have kept my big mouth shut. “Squeaky-hinge rusty?”

  He wasn’t going to let this go, and I was cooling off fast. “No.”

  I felt his shock and made a second bid for escape. He twisted me around, hands clamped firmly on my backside, holding me still. Exhausted, panting hard, I pushed my hips back to ease the pressure of him pressing between my thighs.

  “So…” He obviously wasn’t going to let go until I competed my humiliation.

  “Less squeaky hinge, more 1996 Ford Sierra, submerged off the coast of Blackpool for past ten years.” I fixed my eyes on his chest, refusing to look at his face, as I admitted one of the most embarrassing facts of my adult life.

  “Holy shit, ten years!” He looked like I’d just announced I was the Virgin Mary reincarnated.

  “I was exaggerating.” A little.

  “Hmm.” His head tilted back, his gaze burning over me, spending a good deal of time checking below the neck, where my breasts pillowed against his chest, nipples drilling holes. A smile slowly tilted his lips. “You know what is good for rust?” Hot, laughing eyes flashed up, capturing mine. “Lubrication… We could work on getting you all lubed up, and then–”

  “Fuck you, Mark.” I pushed futilely against his chest.

  He backed me, still clamped to him struggling and kicking, towards the bed. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Rusty.”

  “Eek!” His erection pressed against my warm, moist folds. “I-I’m only letting you do this so I can get back into practice, like with the kissing. Just prac–” My squeak was lost as his mouth covered mine.

  “Hmm. Practice.” Legs tangled, we tipped backwards.

  I bounced, grunting as he came down on top of me on the bed, rising on his elbows to get a better look. His legs shifted, pressing between mine, all hair-roughened muscle. His mouth lowered.

  I sank into the mattress. He followed.

  “Drawer. Drawer.” I dragged my mouth from his, panting desperately.

  “What?” He nipped and licked his way across my jaw.

  “Drawer.”

  “Jesus.” He huffed out a breath, half frustration, half amusement. “Have you got some sort of Wild West kink?”

  I shivered, practically incoherent as his body rippled against mine, and flung an arm across the bed, refusing to let him capture my mouth and silence me.

  “Not draw… like high noon at the O.-O.-K. Corral.” I laughed. “Condoms…in the… bedside drawer.”

  “Why the hell didn’t just you say so?” He twisted, leaning to pull open the drawer. He fished around, wiggling against me in all sorts of delicious ways, and finally dragged a little square box from the drawer. He shook out the box. Two foil packets fell free. He shook the box again, frowning at… nothing.

  What was he waiting for? He had two condoms, a massive erection, and me, wet, willing, and naked under him, and he was playing with the frigging box like a two-year-old on Christmas morning.

  He tensed. Finally? Please… Oh, for God’s sake! Tipping the box up again, he checked inside. Face like thunder, he barked, “Who?”

  “Who, what?”

  “Fucking hell, Kate,” he snarled. “What happened to the other one?”

  “Other what?”

  “Condom. There should be three in the pack. There are only two.”

  “It’s in my purse.” I wiggled against him, nudging him with my hips until he got the hint. It was a new pack and I’d already told him it had been a while. Did he think the condoms were vintage? “Just in case I get lucky on one of the shitty dates you and my mother blackmailed me into. Now, are you going to talk forever or are we going to have sex?”

  The heat of one hand burned against the silken skin of my hip. His eyes darkened with desire. Lungs labouring, I struggled to pull in air. My tongue snuck out to lick dry lips.

  Our eyes met.

  Locked.

  His thighs tensed against me. My body tightened, breasts swelling, nipples hardening. He covered himself with the latex. “Sex,” he hissed through his teeth.

  Puffs of breath caressed my overheated skin. I grabbed at the tensed muscle of his thighs, nails digging in, making a kneading, begging motion. He groaned then finally began moving, pressing against me, but not penetrating.

  “Please!” My nails dug into the hard muscles of his bottom, trying to force him forward. He winced.

  “Take it easy.” He gentled, rocking against me.

  “Don’t make me beg.” What was stopping him?

  He cupped my cheek. “I want to make this good, honey. No rushing. I want us both to enjoy it. We’ve waited this long. You can go a few more minutes. I promise it will be worth it.” His thumb rested beneath my bottom lip, pulling gently downwards, tugging my mouth open, ready for his kiss.

  A hot, wet, fierce exploration. I arched into his kiss, lips clinging to his for a little longer each time he pulled away. His rough hands ran over me, teasing the curve of my stomach. My skin jumped, trembling against his touch. Good, so good.

  He pulled back, breaking our kiss, breath coming hard.

  What was wrong?

  Was it my stomach? Mum was right: I should’ve cut back on the chips and wine. I sucked in a breath and tensed my stomach.

  “You’re perfect.”

  His words whispered over me, cooling my sweat-dampened skin. I shivered, hips lifting, nudging against him, silently begging. He continued without haste, hands massaging exposed skin, stroking over the curve of my waist and breasts.

  “Hurry up,” I wailed.

  “Hmm. What have we here?” He flicked my hard nipples.

  I gasped. “If… If you have to ask at this stage, we’ve got a problem.”

  He watched the ripple effect run over my skin, transfixed. “Please.” He stuck his tongue out, a damp touch with the power of an electric cattle prod, laving my nipple then drawing back to blow across the damp peak, chuckling at my desperate whimpering.

  My hips rocked against his, my nails clutching and raking his shoulders.

  He drew my nipple deeply into his mouth, pulling, tugging, rolling it with his tongue. I arched, pressing my tight, achy breast into his mouth. A whimper broke from my throat. I flinched as the sensitivity became too much. “I can’t… It’s too much.”

  “You can. Don’t fight it.” He murmured calming, indistinct sounds against my breasts, as my chest heaved. His lips moved up my chest, over my collarbone. I arched, wanting to be closer to him, trying to increase the pressure between our lower bodies. My hands pulled at him, moving frantically over his hot, hard planes.

  His tongue laved the column of my throat, and my head fell back. His teeth scraped my skin, then bit down, where my shoulder joined my neck. My breath sobbed out. Wetness flooded between my legs. I was too far gone to do more than tilt my hips, trying to ease the burning emptiness. To hurry him into filling the void.

  He shifted, balancing his weight on one arm, his other hand smoothing over the trembling flesh of my stomach, before dipping between my legs. His long, blunt fingers parted my folds, his thumb playing over my clit as first one, then a second finger sank inside me. Mark hissed a breath. “Wet. Tight. Beautiful.”

  “Please, please.” I panted. Pressure built, a scarily intense tide. I moaned and clutched his bicep and shoulder. I was already primed – just a little more pressure on my clit and I’d come. I was shaking and moving against him, reaching for what I wanted. His thumb circled my clit, teasing as I trembled and begged.

  “Stop teasing me!” I writhed against him, trying to direct the pressure.

  The fingers curled inside me, stroking. My eyes rolled back. His thumb slid back over my clit. He pressed down. “Come, KT.”

  I arched into his hand, crying out as the tide broke, p
leasure flooding me.

  He moved fast, not giving time for me to come back down from the high, immediately pulling his fingers from my heat, his hips moving forward, his erection sliding against me, teasing, still not penetrating.

  His growl vibrated through me. I squirmed, wriggling against him, wrapping one leg over his hip, cradling him to me. His hand skimmed my buttocks, pulling me tighter.

  “Yes,” I hissed. As he finally pressed forward sinking into my heat, I melted on a sound, half sigh, half whimper, as he sank deeper.

  “Jesus!” My still-trembling muscles stretched and burned in his wake. “Jesus.”

  “You think it’s the second coming, honey?”

  I slapped at his back, ineffectual swats that ended with nails clawing, digging deeper as he thrust harder, faster. Taking me straight back up to the precipice of pleasure.

  The headboard banged against the wall, my box spring creaking under the unfamiliar workout of fan-fucking-tastic sex. He thrust deep, hard, again and again, and… I came with a high whimpering sound, body rippling, muscles gripping and releasing, taking him with me.

  “Unhhh.” He sank over me, a heavy, blanketing weight.

  I pushed feebly against his shoulder, desperate for breath, and he rolled off me, tugging the sheet up to cover me. He sighed, pulling me close, nestling me against his warmth. He said drowsily, “You know, you just have to ask. I’ll help you get all the practice you want.”

  Practice?

  What?

  Oh. Right. Yeah. Practice.

  Me. Mark. Practice.

  Pushing against him, I angled for space, propping my head up and looking down at him through narrowed eyes. “It’s not all me, you know. You could use a little work on your technique too. A little less conversation, a little more action, please.” I squealed as he yanked my arm out from under me, pulling me down beside him.

  “There is nothing wrong with my technique. I had you sweating and squealing a few seconds ago.” He rolled from the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. He disposed of the condom before returning to the bed. He climbed back under the covers, then dragged me against him, large hands cupping my bottom to hold me close. “Your pillow talk, however, leaves a lot to be desired. If you can’t say anything good – and by good, I mean something along the lines of ‘wow, that was the best sex ever’ or ‘I didn’t know it could be that big and still fit’ – shut up and just snuggle.”