by TB Markinson
“You’re only starting to.” I glanced down. “I’m fucking myself for you.”
Her fingers clasped around my wrist, making me go in deeper and faster. “I love it.” She kissed me passionately on the lips, not stopping in assisting me below. Her musky scent pulled me further into her Kat web.
My body trembled.
“Come for me. Now!”
I dug my head further into the bed. My back arched. The tremors magnified, and I writhed on the bed, under the watchful eye of Kat Finn. “You’re so beautiful,” I said.
She smiled. Her fingers slipped inside with mine. “Don’t stop after you come.”
I never wanted to stop.
The second wave hit me harder than the first, both of us panting and sweaty. Kat held my fingers in place with one hand, elevating off the bed somehow, rubbing her other hand over her panties. “Are you ready for me?”
Not able to stop my urge, I rolled her onto her back, shoving my hand, wet from fingering myself, into her. All the while, staking my claim on her mouth. We didn’t kiss long. I needed to taste all of her.
My tongue trailed down her body, only stopping briefly at her perky nipples, knowing I’d have more time later to give them adequate attention.
Kat didn’t stop me when I stripped off her last remaining article of clothing, completely drenched. My tongue stroked her pussy lips, not separating them yet. Her hands fisted the duvet above her head, her pelvis moving in rhythm with my strokes.
I slipped closer to her source, working my way upward to her bud. Lapping it tenderly, not intent on getting her to orgasm. Instead, I wanted to savor the feeling of making love, soft and beautiful.
“Oh, Cori.” She gripped the back of my head with both hands. “You feel so good.”
I slipped a finger inside, nearly coming again. I slid in and out of her wetness, while stimulating her clit with my tongue, swallowing every ounce of goodness.
“That’s right. Nice and slow.” Her upper body moved like a dancer warming up for the show.
A surge of wetness spurted over my fingers, her flood enhancing the slapping sounds as I moved in and out with more force.
She moaned, running a hand over her face. “Don’t stop.”
I added another finger inside, which her body welcomed as if she’d been waiting for it all along. For me.
My tongue circled her clit, sucking it completely into my mouth.
She moaned louder.
Kat thrashed on the bed, her eyes closed tightly, her stunning neck arching. Another part of her body I wanted to take my time to explore. I could spend my entire life getting to know her, and I had a feeling each time would feel like the first.
Was I falling for Kat in a way I never had before? This wasn’t simply great sex. Our souls were connecting, forming a bond I’d fight for.
She bucked off the bed. “Yes!”
I slammed my fingers deeper.
Kat pulled my head to hers, kissing me while she came.
Did she know how hot she was? How hot this was?
Her arms wrapped around me, constricting with more force than I expected, as if she was afraid to let go. She fell back onto the bed, taking me with her.
I nuzzled my head into the safety of the crook of her neck. “That was wonderful.”
Kat’s arms squeezed even more. “It was.” She loosened her grip, waggling her brows. “Not a bad start.”
“They say if novelists don’t hook you right from the beginning, the story will bomb.”
She chuckled. “I really hope you don’t put that much pressure on yourself when it comes to writing.” Kat tugged on the comforter, which was bunched at the top from when she yanked the bed down. “Now, making love. That’s serious business.”
I smiled. “You’re something else.”
Kat closed her eyes. “I can’t keep my eyes open. Will you be here in the morning?”
“Hey now, what kind of writer would I be if I ruined the ending for you?” I settled on my back, wrapping her into my arms. Staring at the cracked ceiling, I concocted pictures like I used to do with clouds when I was young. The light outside cast a shadow, and I knew when it reached the wall, it would be time to take my leave.
Early the next morning, upon waking in my own bed, I regretted leaving Kat’s place once I knew for certain she’d fallen asleep. It was Monday, but I was still on summer break.
To ease the guilt swirling through me, I donned running clothes and shoes. Outside, I didn’t head for the reservoir, my usual spot, but took off eastward on a whim.
It didn’t take me long to realize I was heading straight for Kat’s apartment.
I knocked softly on her door.
It swung open, and Kat rested her cheek against the wood, but her body was hidden behind the door. “You do exist.”
“What?”
“When I woke alone a little after four, I thought I made you up completely.”
I shuffled on my feet. “I toss and turn and didn’t want to ruin your night.”
“Is that your excuse for leaving without saying goodbye again?”
This wasn’t the conversation I wanted, so I asked, “Would you like to go to breakfast?”
Kat eyed me and then peered around me. “Nope. It’s still early, and you’re dripping in sweat.”
I took a step back. “Sorry.”
She opened the door wider. “Get in here, and I may forgive you.”
Sheepishly, I walked inside. “Are you really angry?”
“You. Shower. Now.” She pointed toward the bathroom.
“Will you join me?” I asked, hopeful.
Kat, with a sheet wrapped around her, laughed. “Why should I?”
“I want you to,” I said with sincerity.
Kat released a puff of air. “You can be quite adorable, you know. Frustrating as hell, but still adorable.”
“Really?” I grinned.
“What’s your plan today?”
“I don’t have a thing scheduled.”
Kat dropped the sheet. “Good because I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight.” She led me by the hand to the bathroom, putting an extra twist into her hips.
After our shower, Kat yawned. “It’s still early. Are you capable of taking naps with someone?”
“Good question.” I rolled back onto my heels. “It’s not something I typically do.”
“You have no idea what you’ve been missing.” Kat shed her bathrobe and slipped under the covers, naked. She crooked her finger for me to join her.
I clambered under the covers, hungrily reaching for her body.
Kat shut me down by saying, “That’s not the plan. Sleeping. Have you heard of it?”
“Hmm…?”
“It’s when you close your eyes and drift off. I know you’re a super jock and all, but you still need rest.”
“But I’m awake.” My body betrayed me by yawning.
She rolled her eyes. “Lie on your side, and close your eyes. Even infants know how to do it.”
I followed her directions.
Kat cozied up against me. “Now, fall asleep.”
“How can I with you naked and pressed against me?”
“Seriously!” She growled. “If you can’t behave, leave.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” I pinched my eyes shut and tried to blunt the feeling of her skin on mine. “Not sure this is going to work.”
“Have faith,” she said, her voice indicating she was drifting off.
I woke to the smell of pancakes on the griddle. Sitting up and stretching, I asked, “How long have you been up?”
Kat had an apron tied around her waist and nothing else. She looked over her shoulder from the makeshift kitchen only a few steps from the bed. “Not long. I woke a half an hour ago, but you were out like a light, ruining my plan.” She flipped a pancake with a spatula. “This is plan B.”
“What was A?” I scrunched a pillow under my he
ad.
“Cozy?”
“It’s okay, but I prefer using your tits.”
“Is that a fact?” She poured more batter on the griddle. “As for plan A, it involved me staying in bed with you but not sleeping.”
“Is that so?” I crossed my arms. “There’s no reason why B can’t lead to A, right?”
Kat flashed me a seductive smile, but she said, “We’ll see.”
I yawned. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
I rose, refitting the sheet to the bed. “Can I lift it up with the sheet tucked in, or will it tear?”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. But you don’t have to.”
“I’m no slouch.” I clapped my hands together. After closing the doors, I folded my clothes, leaving them on the recliner. Since Kat was cooking naked, I figured I could eat in the buff. Besides, it might help facilitate plan A. “What else can I do to help?” An urgent need hit me, and I crossed my legs. “After I pee.”
Her laughter trailed me to the bathroom. She called after me, “There’s a robe on the back of the door.”
“No naked dining.” I snapped my fingers, but I don’t think she heard me. I hadn’t been asleep long, but I squeezed some toothpaste onto my finger and did my best.
Back in the kitchen, I slid my hands around her. “Now, what can I do?”
“Set up the table.”
I kissed her cheek. “You got it.” It didn’t take long to unfold the table from the wall. Leaning against the counter with arms folded across my chest, I asked, “Do you get tired of setting up and taking everything down?”
She hitched a shoulder. “I like the process of it. And, it helps me imagine I’m hurtling through the European countryside on a train. Who knows where the next stop will be?” There was a faraway expression on her face, but it fell just as quickly as it appeared. “Besides, if I ever feel sorry for myself, I just have to think of what it was like to live with Phineas.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I straightened. “Your father is named Phineas Finn?”
She nodded, avoiding my eye with stooped shoulders as if folding up into herself, and I opted not to mention that I loved Anthony Trollope’s books.
“There’s coffee and freshly squeezed OJ in the fridge.” She pointed with the spatula.
“You’re kidding me.” The dented door, covered with magnetic poetry pieces, emitted a horrendous squeak. “Holy moly, you’re an angel.”
She jerked her head at the only cupboard door. “Glasses are in there.”
I poured one. “How about you?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You did all the work.” I set the table with paper plates and cutlery.
She set a platter stacked with pancakes in the middle. “I didn’t plan very well and don’t have any veggie bacon. Next time.”
“I like the sound of that.” I pulled out a chair for her.
“Does that mean the napping plan is working? Baby steps to staying the night?” She patted my cheek. “Eat up. Remember plan A.”
I palm slapped my forehead. “I shouldn’t have put the bed up.”
“You’ll get the hang of it here.”
I slathered butter on top of my stack of four pancakes and doused them with organic maple syrup. I groaned when I tasted them. “Jesus, Kat, you may be the find of the century.”
She placed one foot on the chair, her knee pressed into the side of the table, with a pancake in her hands. Tearing off an itty-bitty piece, she said, “You like having someone take care of you.”
“It’s a change I could adapt to if needed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Somehow I’m having a hard time imagining you as a neglected child. What’d you say, not only did you have your mom and dad but aunt and uncle?”
“Yep, but none of them pampered me. Not like this.” I pointed to my spread.
“Poor Cori.” She pursed her lips together.
I sipped my juice. “This may be the first time I’ve ever had freshly squeezed OJ.”
“How does it compare?”
“Not sure I can go back.” I smacked my lips.
She leaned on the table, her breasts almost spilling over the top of her apron. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Taking you out. Can’t ask you to cook me two meals in one day.”
“What shall I wear?”
I snapped my fingers. “That’s the downfall of not cooking at home, no naked meals.” While I had slipped into the bathrobe I found in the bathroom, I hadn’t bothered to tie it shut. I forked another piece of pancake. “Of course, it does give me the pleasure of undressing you again.”
Chapter Fourteen
We sat on a small patio outside an Italian restaurant. Kat, in a skirt and white spaghetti strapped top, eyed me over her wineglass. I brushed breadcrumbs off the checkered linen tablecloth, dipping another piece of bread into the olive oil concoction.
“This is cute,” she said, her eyes scanning the potted plants and artwork on the building’s exterior, giving a semblance of a quaint café overlooking the Mediterranean.
“You say it like you weren’t expecting it.”
She set her glass down, crossing her arms and cocking her head, weighing her words carefully. “I was and I wasn’t.”
I leaned on the table, finding it excruciating to sit on the other side, not able to touch her without making a big scene. “Tell me why.”
She blew out a breath of air. “This isn’t your first rodeo.”
“Meaning?” I squinted with one eye closed.
“I’m not the first woman you’ve wined and dined.”
I laughed. “And why didn’t you expect this place?”
“I don’t know. There isn’t any beer on the menu.” She flicked the corner of the wine menu.
“I don’t drink only beer,” I scoffed.
“It’s your go-to, though.”
I conceded the point with a flick of my hand. “But, there’s so much in life. I’m open.” I spread my arms out wide.
She chortled. “Yeah, right.”
Not liking the direction of the conversation, I said, “I mentioned the dinner my aunt is hosting. Would you like to go with me?”
“Do you always go? With a date?”
“Never to the second question. And, not always to the first, but I pop in on occasion. I’ve grown up around artists, gallery owners, art historians—I can’t describe the world, but when I’m immersed in it, I feel like it’s a breath of fresh air.” I flinched. “That was way too cliché, wasn’t it?”
“A smidge, but I think I know what you mean.” She rested on her forearms. “Art is hard to verbalize, which makes sense when you think about it. It’s visual. Putting what you see into words almost bastardizes the work.” She leaned back into the wooden chair, taking a deep breath. “I remember sitting in my art history courses, wondering how teachers described art before slides, LCDs, PowerPoint, copied renditions…” She motioned et cetera with her hand. “How did the students appreciate what they couldn’t see? For instance, you”—she pointed at me—“can tell me why a piece of art excited you, but it won’t affect me the same way. I have to see it. Form my own opinion. And if I had to solely rely on you for a description, the piece wouldn’t be able to speak to me. Art, even works hundreds of years old, is alive. A piece of living history, so to speak.” Her dark eyes sparkled.
I rubbed my chin. “I never thought of it that way.” I chuckled. “It makes me feel somewhat better, though.” I leaned over the table, trying to block out the couples to our left and right, and spoke softly. “Sometimes, when I’m around artists, I feel like an idiot when asked to describe how a piece makes me feel. And if they know I’m a writer, it only adds to the pressure and effectively stills my tongue. Hell, most people think I’m a whiz when it comes to crosswords, but I actually despise them. Being a writer doesn’t automatically giv
e me the words to describe anything and everything.”
She nodded. “What was it like sinking a free throw?”
I sat back and mimed the motion of my hands shooting the ball. “Perfection.”
“Even if you missed.”
“Luckily, I didn’t miss much. But when I did, devastation for letting everyone down.”
“And you don’t like letting people down.” She stated it with tenderness. Understanding, really.
The waiter arrived with our meals, penne pasta with Gorgonzola sauce for me and lasagna for Kat. “Cheese?” He held a small bowl with freshly grated Parmesan.
Kat nodded enthusiastically.
I waved no when it was my turn.
When alone, she asked, “No extra cheese? That’s a crime.”
I forked a piece of penne. With a hand underneath it, in case I spilled some, I said, “Try it and find out why.”
She bit into it, her eyes lighting up with the explosion of the sauce. Covering her mouth, she said after swallowing, “Oh man. That’s good.”
“One of my faves. Back in my playing days, I’d come here after big games.”
“A reward?”
“Something like that. How do you feel when you’re creating a masterpiece?”
She snorted. “Not sure I have. Not yet.”
“You know what I mean.” I forked several pieces of pasta.
Kat set down her utensils. “Most of the time, I’m not thinking. Just doing. Like I’m not actually present but watching myself from afar. Feelings complicate most things in life. Bursts of energy without thoughts clouding my mind is freeing, and I have to wonder if that’s the only way I can paint.”
“Says the intellectual artist.”
“Intellectual, huh?”
I waved. “Please. You have to know you’re the full package. Intelligent, kind, sweet, charming, stunning, and sexy as hell.”
“You put intelligent first.”
I laughed. “Was that wrong?”
She shook her head, her eyes dead serious. “Not at all. It’s just most don’t even include it in the list.”
“Most people are idiots.” I added, “If you’ve been dating people who don’t think you can dance circles around them when it comes to the brain’s department, you’ve been dating the wrong kind of people.”