A Kiss Like This

by Sara Ney

“Caleb,” she murmurs quietly when I trail my index finger along the side of her neck, brushing her silky hair aside and whispering kisses down her jaw to that delicate spot just behind her ear.

  Abby’s fingertips tentatively trail along my stomach before flattening her palms against my skin—giving me goose bumps—sliding them over my fit torso, cupping the pec muscles I work so hard to maintain, as if weighing them and revering their strength. I cover her hand with my free one as her fingers roam, encouraging the exploration, and moan when her index finger traces a circle around my nipple.

  “Abby.”

  I shiver, needing this girl, and tilt my mouth as she opens hers farther, our tongues cautiously, finally, introducing themselves.

  I could kiss this girl for hours—and that’s exactly what I do.

  I found what I’ve been looking for, and I didn’t even know it was missing.

  We kiss—just kiss—until our lips are chapped and we couldn’t possibly get our tongues any further down each other’s throats.

  We kiss until we’re tired and those kisses are nothing but whispers and sighs and breath across each other’s lips.

  We kiss until we’re wrapped in each other’s arms, Abby’s back to my front, her lips pressed against the thick bicep she’s resting her head on.

  I sigh, content, and run my hand down her hip before slipping into a dream.

  CHAPTER 18

  Abby

  It’s like déjà vu, only this time, we’re alone and the door is locked.

  My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sun that’s flooding the bedroom with a brilliant morning light, and blink. Caleb peers down at me, chin propped on his palm, watching as I give him my first smile of the day. He dips his head then and kisses my sleepy mouth, letting his lips linger there.

  I raise my hand and run it along the whiskers of his face, my fingers stopping at his full bottom lip. Immobile as stone, he waits, anticipating my next move. I can see the anticipation building in his dark, stormy eyes, but rather than the typical brooding, I see nothing but desire.

  “Morning,” he whispers, his lips moving to my ear, flicking the outer lobe with his tongue.

  With the tip of my finger, I trace his mouth, letting the tip remain at the crest above the bow, and whisper, “Let me see it.”

  He knows instantly what I mean: his gap.

  Caleb’s brows raise, and his shaggy hair gets a little shake.

  “Please,” I sulk. When he just looks back at me uncertainly, I add, “You can’t hide it from me forever.”

  But I can try. I can see him thinking it so hard it’s almost out loud.

  “Fine, be that way.” Rolling to my side, I face him, giving myself permission to cast my eyes downward to his mesh shorts and openly ogle his groin; the shorts do very little to conceal his erection.

  Lazily, still too tired to be embarrassed by my bold actions, I trace his chest, flattening my palm on the hard planes of his abs and firm hips. There is barely an ounce of fat on this guy, which, to be honest, isn’t necessarily a selling point.

  In fact, I’ve always made it a point to stay away from guys who are in better shape than me. Call me crazy, but it makes me feel more self-conscious than I already am when a guy is ripped with a six-pack. A guy who spends all his time at the gym.

  I know it’s stereotyping, but those are the guys who will probably judge me later when they see me stuff my face with snacks and ice cream.

  And I couldn’t handle that kind of pressure, dating someone with the perfect physique when mine is anything but.

  Not that I’m complaining!

  Because Caleb’s body… Caleb’s body is a masterpiece that I couldn’t possibly begrudge or envy. I’m proud of him for it.

  “I’m… n-not wearing underwear,” I announce. “It’s too bad you won’t show me your sexy gap.”

  “I’m not going to barter with you,” he replies stubbornly. But his intrigued eyes give him away, and his hawk like gaze shoots down to my shorts, searching so intently for panty lines they’re likely to catch fire. “This isn’t an arbitration.”

  “What are you, a business major?” I reach over and play with a thick strand of his hair.

  “No. Pre-law.”

  “Wow, how did I not know that?”

  He shrugs. “I have to do something when I graduate.”

  “I just assumed, you know, the hockey thing…”

  He gives me a nudge, and I’m quickly flipped onto my back again. “No. When I graduate, I’m done. I’m only playing to pay for school.” He hesitates. “Would that bother you? That I don’t want to play pro?”

  Would that bother me… if what? If we dated? If he was my boyfriend? If we were in a relationship? I want to ask him for clarification, but I don’t.

  “No, I think it’s incredible that you want to do something else. That you have the courage to do it,” I whisper as he leans over, braced up on his arm, studying me. With him this close, I take the opportunity to study him back, beginning with his eyes: the darkest chocolate brown eyes that I’ve ever seen, with the tiniest flecks of hazel and thick, sooty lashes.

  Mesmerizing.

  The straight slashes of eyebrows above are the perfect indicators of what he’s feeling, arching up and down curiously as he lets my intense gaze rake his face.

  Other than the indent under a masculine nose that hasn’t been broken by any flying pucks, the only thing sexier than Caleb’s pout is the shadow darkening his jawline.

  I crane my head to note the time: eight o’clock. Way too early for anyone to be up and in the kitchen yet—not with all the drinking they did last night.

  Caleb shifts his hips, and when his erection rubs against my thigh, he cringes apologetically. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”

  His voice is still so deep from just having awoken that I can feel the reverberation against the mattress, and I scoot closer, wanting to be near him.

  Plus, the bedroom is cold.

  Caleb doesn’t hesitate to wrap his big, strong arms around me and pull me into the heat of his broad chest, and I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of him and relishing the lines of his hard body pressed so tightly against mine. I can feel all the planes of his athletic physique as he strokes my back, first over my tank top, then under it.

  He moves over me then, one arm bent at the elbow next to my face, the other rough hand teasing the hem of my sleep shorts, before his fingers skim inside the waistband. “Holy shit, you really aren’t wearing any underwear.”

  I gulp, suppressing a nervous giggle. “Nope.”

  Growling, his head dips down and our lips meet for soft, pliant, open-mouthed kisses that would have made me drowsy if I hadn’t already gotten a full night’s sleep. Caleb’s teeth pull at my bottom lip, sucking, his tongue swirling erotically into my mouth.

  I moan, my hips coming off the mattress when his hockey player hips rotate into the apex of my thighs in an excruciatingly lazy gyration. His palm reaches down into my shorts, sliding over my bare skin and cupping my derrière. He holds me firmly against his hard-on, fingers digging in dangerously close to my ass crack.

  Caleb’s hand leaves my bottom, firmly runs along my upper thigh, fingers tracing the lacy hem of my little white shorts before brushing the fabric aside and dragging his thick, mesh-covered shaft deliberately up and down the slit in my exposed crotch.

  Holy… mother… o-of… Mmnnnuhhhhhh

  My head tips back, and his mouth presses kisses to the base of my throat, down my neck, on my collarbone.

  Wet, open-mouthed kisses.

  His thin mesh athletic shorts do nothing but deliver the weakest of barriers to our pleasure. The material provides the simplest chastity chaperone and is the only thing keeping me from tearing my shorts off and slipping him my V-card.

  I spread my legs wider; he grinds deeper.

  “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he growls in my ear. “Shit.” His hips continue rocking into me, and I try to speak, but no words come out of my throat. The sensi
tive nerve endings in my body are exploding like fireworks, and I… Oh! Mmmmuuh! S-shoot, oh, crap. Yeah, yes. Oh god, Iove his hips, they’re s-so g-good at th-this…

  I draw out a moan as I come too. Uhhh, so good…

  He braces himself over me, kisses my temple, then flops down on the mattress next to me and reaches for my hand.

  We lie like this, side by side, for a few moments before a throaty laugh escapes my lips.

  “Where’d you learn to dry hump like that?” I tease breathlessly when we’re lying there, my free hand resting on my chest above my heart.

  “Middle school.” He laughs.

  ***

  Cecelia: So… congrats on your first orgasm! I feel like I should send you an edible bouquet. Or a vibrator.

  Abby: I’m going to ignore that last part.

  Abby: ((Sigh)) I really really like him. Everything was so great until everyone started banging on our door, screaming out our names in fake ecstasy once they found the door was locked. Allllll downhill from there.

  Cecelia: Lol. I bet Jenna was the leader of that pack. #obnoxious

  Abby: Pretty much… his friends give him zero privacy. It’s rude.

  Cecelia: Yeah. That particular group is bad. Then throw OUR girlfriends into the mix. Chaos. So. What happens next?

  Abby: Well, I asked him, “What next?” and he said, “Now I take you on an actual date.”

  Cecelia: ((sigh)) Abby, that is sooo romantic…

  Abby: I know, right? My heart was beating so fast I thought he’d be able to hear it.

  Cecelia: I am SO HAPPY FOR YOU ((hugs))

  Cecelia: Oh, before I forget, did you ever end up finding your ring?

  Abby: No :-( the search continues…

  CHAPTER 19

  Caleb

  Tonight is the night of my first date with Abby, and I’m nervous.

  Fucking. Nervous.

  As all hell.

  I make the mistake of having my door open as I’m getting ready, and both Stephan and Weston walk by, back tracking when they see me in front of the mirror, fumbling with an uncooperative button on the collar of my polo shirt.

  I’m finally falling for a girl, and it’s turning me into an awkward, edgy piece of shit.

  “Dammit,” I huff, giving up on the stupid button.

  My roommates both stand in the doorway, staring at me like I’ve started a tilt on the hockey rink and they can’t believe their eyes.

  “What?” I ask irritably, finally slipping the white button through the small slit in my red shirt then straightening the collar.

  “Nothing.” Weston gives me a shit-eating grin. “It’s just, we’ve never seen you look so pretty.”

  That’s not true; we wear suits on the bus to every away game.

  Stephan checks out my outfit and finds it lacking with a tsk. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  I scowl at them both. “Fuck off.” Nonetheless, I run a hand down the front of my shirt self-consciously. What the hell is wrong with a plain polo?

  Instead of retreating, they take my hostility as an invitation to enter and shoulder their way into the bedroom, collapsing down on my king-size bed.

  “I hope for young Abby’s sake you practice better manners on your date.” Stephan flops on his side, watching me with—hey, is that a twinkle in his eye?

  “Get out,” I grumble, turning toward them and leaning against my dresser with my arms crossed.

  They ignore me. Obviously.

  “Where are you taking your lover this evening?” Weston asks with a smirk as he makes himself comfortable against my pillows. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “Oh, come on now, don’t be like that.” Stephan snickers. “Give old Uncle Steve a little hint.”

  My lips clamp shut.

  Weston rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see. It’s already past dinner time, so I’m guessing it’s not dinner and a movie…”

  “…and it’s too dark for the chap to take her yachting…”

  “Ahoy, matey!”

  “… and the last time I checked, they only allow douchebags at the bowling alley…”

  “Hey, Molly and I like bowling!”

  “Yeah, I know,” Stephan snarks, snapping his meaty fingers together. “I’ve got it. You’re going to the butt-packing district.”

  They both laugh, and I stifle a groan at their stupidity, regarding them stoically with only the barest hint of amusement on my face.

  “Planetarium?” Stephan asks.

  Weston shakes head. “Naw, too boring.” He looks me up and down. “Roller skating?”

  “Roller derby? Now that would be cool…”

  “Roller blading?”

  I hold up my hands to halt their conversation. They’re making me mental. “Stop.” My demand comes out rigid and commanding.

  They finally shut their faces.

  For a second.

  “So? Where are you taking her?”

  ~ Abby ~

  I twist the bare ring finger on my right hand before sticking my soapy hands under the water faucet, giving myself a once-over as I rinse them off.

  My dark brown hair is down, falling casually in glossy waves over my shoulders, my wide blue eyes lined in black liner, a heavy application of onyx mascara, and dusted with gray shadow—all compliments of Jenna.

  I have a bronzy glow, and my full lips are a “very kissable” shade of deep berry.

  Donning a pair of scored boyfriend jeans, I’m comfortable in a soft, low-cut but slouchy gray cotton tee, a few thin, delicate gold necklaces, and my feet are elevated in nude cork wedges.

  According to Jenna, I am irresistibly cute.

  I give my hair another fluff after drying my hands and walk back into the quaint little studio that Caleb’s chosen for our date. Several couples and a few groups of friends sit around on stools, wine or beer glasses and canvases set on the tables in front of them. Soft music filters in from the ceiling, and there are paintings of every variety hanging on every square inch of wall, some of them amazing, some of them… not so much.

  As I approach my date—can I say that again? My date!—the sight of him waiting there, waiting there for me, has me stopping briefly to admire him from behind, his broad back and sexy shoulders hunched over as he waits for my return. For once, he’s not wearing a baseball cap, and as I brush past him to climb on my stool, I trail my fingers through the hair at the base of his thick neck.

  His mouth crooks into a pleased smile that reaches his hypnotic eyes. Forget the wine; I’ll just stare at Caleb all night.

  As we’re choosing which painting we want to work on—a sunset landscape—the door to the studio opens and two more couples walk in, and I startle as I recognize them.

  Next to me, Caleb begins coughing on the beer he’d been about to take a swig of, like it’s gone down the wrong pipe, and I pat him on the back gregariously. Sputtering, his beer glass clangs on the table as the new arrivals approach us.

  “Chelsea! Molly! What are you guys doing here?” I ask, rising from my chair and hugging them in greeting. Caleb turns to glare hostilely at Weston and Stephan.

  “Yeah, guys, what are you doing here?” His voice comes out in a clipped, angry tone, and his now thundering eyes are narrowed into murderous slits.

  He’s so pissed.

  The entire group moves past us, and I hear Caleb hissing under his breath, “You dickwads did this on purpose.”

  “Yup.” I hear Stephan chuckle as he strolls by with his cocky gait.

  The group moves to the service counter. They register, order drinks, then move across the room to the sink area to get their painting supplies. I run my palm over Caleb’s tense shoulders to soothe him, and his body retracts, relaxing instantly from my touch.

  “Hey, it’s fine. Let’s just pretend they’re not here.” Resisting the urge to kiss him, I hop back on my stool and grab a paintbrush.

  “They knew I was bringing you here,”
Caleb mutters with what looks like a pout. “I should have known this would happen. They’re never going to let me get you alone. I have no privacy.”

  Poor guy looks miserable.

  I look back to our group of friends in the back of the room and swallow my snicker. They’re goofing off, and it’s pretty hilarious. Stephan is holding a wine glass, his pinky finger sticking in the air, overdramatically oozing class while Chelsea smacks him in the arm repeatedly, already lecturing him to “grow up.” My eyes also catch Weston smacking Molly in the butt, shouting, “Hee Yah!” before taking a dry paint brush and whisking it around her face, leering at her with a loud, “Just be glad it’s not my pee pee.”

  She slaps him away with a loud laugh.

  Oh boy.

  Bravely, in a show of solidarity, I scoot my stool closer to Caleb’s. He immediately spreads his thighs so our legs touch and flexes his fingers over my thigh, rubbing his palm up and down over my jeans. We automatically—as if compelled by gravitational force—lean into each other, our lips touching briefly.

  All I can say is wow!

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Moving a little fast for a first date, don’t you think? Better slam on those brakes. And keep your grabby mitts where I can see them.” Stephan stands behind us, holding a wine glass, a beer, and a can of paint, his remarks directed at me. My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline as he leans in to say, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Ms. Grabby Hands.”

  I want to die.

  Chelsea walks up, mortified. “Oh my gosh, I’m so, so sorry, Abby. Stephan, go back to our chairs and leave them be.” She grabs him by the arm and drags him to a nearby table.

  He casts a glance over his shoulder at me and winks.

  When Molly and Weston walk by with their supplies, Weston leans over and pokes Caleb in the nose with the tip of his paintbrush. “Boop!”

  I can’t stop it; a burst of giggles bubbles up from deep inside and sneaks out.

  “You think that’s amusing, huh?” Caleb mutters, watching me squirt some blue paint onto the pallet we’re sharing with a huge grin on my face. I add green, red, then white, before dabbing my brush into the water jar, blotting it on a rag.