Wilson Mooney, Almost Eighteen

by Gretchen de La O

  My hands, owner of their own actions, pushed down below his navel to the first button of his Levi’s. His arms anchored his body above mine, his muscles flexing; I pulled apart the waist of his jeans. Like dominoes, the other buttons followed. Calvin Klein was the only thing separating him from me. I slipped my hands between his jeans and Calvins, using my wrists to pull his Levi’s off his backside. He was down to his boxers when he lowered his body and brought his hands to my jeans. His fingers warm against my abdomen, he hovered before unbuttoning my pants.

  His intentions drifted from my waist, across my chest, and up to my expression. His eyes smoldered, waiting for me to tell him it was okay. I moaned his name soft through my lips. I took hold of the band on my jeans, lifted my hips off the bed, and pushed. He seized my hands—I thought he was going to stop me. Instead, he pulled down, all the way off my body; goosebumps raced across my skin. He skimmed his body gently against mine, up to my wanting lips. Our bodies fought hard to wait, seeing where our ambition was taking us. My hands caressed across his back, and he worked to learn my bumps and curves. His lips lingered long on mine, his sweet taste filled me. My butterflies stormed strongly through my body. His lips pressed delicately against my collarbone, sending signals through my arms to push him down my body. His warm mouth tickled me delicately. Pleasing moans grew loud from my throat. He pulled away, the cold air swirled where his mouth left, causing me to lose my breath. He noticed.

  “Are you okay with this?” he spoke, almost apologizing. His hair hung long enough to tangle in his eyelashes.

  “Max, I’ve never been more okay with anything in my life as I am with you right now.” My body surged with waves of adrenaline in places I’d never felt before.

  He pressed his mouth above my navel. I felt his knowledge and experience consume me. He knew how to dangle me over the edge without letting go. His hands tracked along my sides down to my thighs. He pressed enough to slip his fingers under the waistband of my panties. I felt my body quake deep. My arms clung to my sides; I didn’t know where to put my hands. He plucked his mouth from my skin as his eyes drank up my body and he caressed his fingers along my hips. Shivers owned my legs. His lips followed, pressing enough to bring me to the edge of delirium.

  “This is where we left off,” he breathed as he slid off the bed. I looked at him; his Calvin Klein’s worked hard to keep him covered. He let out a low, earthy growl as he clasped his hands around my ankles and pulled me closer to the edge of the bed. My hands trailed above my head. I left them there, frozen by him. His knees pressed in between mine while his lips explored my skin. His hands read my body before sliding down past my navel and behind the front silky panel of my panties. A craving flooded my body and my butterflies busted free. He looked at me, it was all unknown. I loved how thoughtful he was of my first experience. He watched my face as he brushed his fingers across the apex of my legs. I moaned a high pitched sound that must have given him the okay to continue—a language I was learning. He was brilliant with his hands. I pushed my head back into the bed and closed my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what happened—scared or not, needy or independent—I grabbed his head, knotted my hands in his hair and pulled him to kiss me. He growled a deep, guttural moan before I shattered completely.

  He smoldered with a confidence that hypnotized me into a comfort with him. I was changed forever. No more need to feel a sense of not belonging or weakness because of my age. I knew what he did was for me, and that was all I needed. He wanted me, and I was content in that. I could wait a month.

  chapter eighteen:

  I loved how he held me. His hands refreshed my feelings and his body protected me from any guilt I had for having them. He smiled as I shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked as he pulled me closer to him.

  “No, I’m not cold, I just can’t stop shivering.” My body kept reliving the moment of pure ecstasy with him.

  I don’t know what he did to me, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. He knew how to work the equipment and I was totally fine with his skills. As a matter of fact, it was my skills, or lack of them, that caused me to start feeling self-conscious. Inexperienced or not, it was my turn to learn what made him tick.

  I stretched up to kiss him, my hands caught in his hair and I pushed him back. His hand wrapped around my body, pulling me on top of him. Our bodies molded together, I felt the cool fabric of his boxers against my skin. His fiery hands lingered on my lower back before they slid down further. I wanted to give him what he’d given me, but didn’t know how. I left his lips, traced his chin, and kissed along his chest. My tongue left a cool, wet line down to his navel. His stomach flexed. I must have tickled him. I ran my hands down his sides and across to his waistband. I didn’t look at him, I didn’t want to know if he wanted it or not. I fit my hands in between his glistening skin and silky boxers. As I pulled them slowly away from his waist his hands caught me.

  “Wilson, I’m okay. You don’t have to do this.” His hand pushed at my chin so I could see him speak.

  “I want to,” I told him.

  I pulled his Calvin’s a little lower to see the foundation of his happy trail. My hands shuffled around his boxers.

  “What’s wrong,” he asked, breathy.

  “Nothing,” I huffed.

  “Really I’m serious, you don’t have to do this,” he said low.

  “I want to, Max; it’s just…I’ve never…I don’t want to hurt you.” I pulled my hands away.

  He tugged his boxers down and there he was. I leaned on my elbow and soaked in his entire body. He was so beautiful. Even the parts I’d never seen before were amazing. I didn’t know where to start, so I did what I thought he would like. I carefully moved my hands to his stomach, awkwardly, to where they should go; he helped me overcome my inexperience.

  He guided my hand to his body—he was so warm, and his skin was so soft. I slowly manipulated my way down to make him lose his breath. His hands pressed against my bare skin, he moaned deep, strong, short breaths. I tingled low and deep; he was making me excited again. I think I understood where he was and I wanted him to reach for the same place he’d taken me earlier.

  He released a deep, beastly groan and I felt every muscle in his body tighten and release. He found my lips and kissed me hard. I forced my arms up around his neck. His hands pressed and rubbed over my entire body as he pulled me tight against him.

  When he finally stopped moving and we lay in each other’s arms, he giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked him.

  He pulled his boxers up and leaned back, looking down at our bodies. “Looks like we’re gonna need a shower.”

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” I teased, “Because when I fantasized about it, nowhere did that happen.” He lifted his chest into the air so our eyes met.

  “Well, it’s your fault. If you weren’t so incredibly tempting, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He brushed his lips softly against mine.

  He stopped moving. “You fantasized about this?” His eyes narrowed and his expression pulled at my heart.

  “Yeah, and we took a shower too.” I stretched up and kissed him.

  “Really?” He slid down off me and stood, waiting for me to respond.

  “Really. And if I’m going to meet your parents we’d better get a move on.”

  He grabbed my hands, hoisting me up from the bed. His arms wrapped around me and chills shot down my spine.

  “It’ll be a quick shower; I bet you won’t even miss me. We’re still going to try and make it to dinner, right?” I asked against his skin.

  “If you want to,” he answered. “Maybe we’ll get there for dessert.” He ran his fingers down the inside of my arm and snatched my hand. He pushed me toward the door.

  “Let me get the clothes I want to wear tonight.” I went back to my duffel bag. He pushed his hand into my folded clothes and noticed the cute slinky top I’d brought just in case I was going to see him. He pulled it up, hooking it on h
is finger.

  “Wow, Wilson, what I wouldn’t give to see you in this,” he purred. I snatched it from his finger, his hands wrapped around my waist. I liked how comfortable I felt with him.

  “I know something you won’t give.” I slid my hand down his stomach, stopping just above his waist.

  “Hey, careful there, I don’t think you want to start something you’re not ready to finish.” He pulled my hand up to his chest.

  After what I just experienced, I’m totally sure I would have no problem with going all the way with him.

  “We’ll see in a month.” I flicked him in the chest and walked toward the door.

  “Ouch, thirty days.” He rubbed his fingertips on the spot where I’d flicked him.

  “Seven hundred twenty hours.” I grabbed a towel from the closet and tiptoed through the hall and down to our special bathroom.

  I swung the door open and I was back in the familiar area where we’d had our first kiss. The couch I cried into, the mirror I looked at him through, and the counter I leaned against when he kissed me. I walked past them like friends I’d outgrown. I appreciated each for where they’d brought me.

  The shower looked incredible. I didn’t have any curtain to pull or glass to close me in. Surrounded by shower heads protruding around me, they were pointed to every part of my body. Earthy tones of brown and tan braided through the stone on the walls. A perfectly sized rock bench sat precisely below the showerheads, finding the one spot the water missed.

  My body craved a nice hot shower. I pulled off my panties and dropped my towel onto the oversized, velvety taupe antique chair. I twisted the knob to hot and the shower steamed as water flooded the space. I stepped into the stream and felt the water drench my hair; it was like someone took a pitcher and poured it over my head. The lower heads pulsated like hands caressing my entire body. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the water swallow me. I was reaching for the shampoo when a slight knock at the door pulled me away.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” Max whispered against the door.

  My throat went dry as I answered him, “No, come in.”

  He pushed the door open, slowly. His eyes focused on the slate floor. I stood there, waiting to see what his intentions were. His sharp black hair dangled across his face. There wasn’t a curtain or towel to wrap around my body. I was exposed and all he had to do was look up, instead he waited for permission.

  “Do you like your showers hot? Because I like my showers hot,” I told him. He swallowed hard.

  “Me too, really hot,” he answered as his eyes took in my body bit by bit. He sauntered to the edge of the shower, mesmerized by the sights and sounds of the water as it splashed down my skin. I grabbed his hand and pulled him in, Calvin Klein’s and all.

  His body became wet and steaming; his boxers, translucent. Without words, he brought his lips to mine. The water traced down our faces and invaded our kiss.

  I turned away, filled my hand with shampoo, then reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair. He caught my hands, collecting the excess shampoo and shared his lather with me, pressing his foam-filled hands into my hair. His strong fingers massaged my scalp with delicate intentions. I leaned back, closed my eyes and let the water flood me. His hands were careful not to pull my hair or brush my temple, and his lips were a pleasant surprise against my mouth.

  He slowly pulled away and asked against my ear, “Do you want me to wash your back?”

  I grabbed the soap and started lathering across my body. He shifted my hair away from my neck and started tasting below my ear. His hands ran up my stomach and across my breasts; I turned and kissed him. His body warmed me. We fit perfectly together. The water filled the gaps between our skins and I couldn’t tell where he began and I ended.

  “Um-hum, please,” I moaned as his hands slid down to my waist; they were so warm.

  “You’re so soft,” he said against my skin. He turned me to the wall, I felt his hands push and drag heavy across my back. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but when I felt his mouth against my shoulder blade I knew where he was. His hands slid up under my arms and his body pressed against my back—his entire body. My head tilted back as his hands encased my stomach and worked their way down my inner thighs. A moment of desperation flooded my body. He was teasing me, and it was salacious.

  His hands traveled low. His mouth close to my ear, I could hear his visceral breaths. It drove me wild; my hips pressed back against his exposed desire. I wanted him so bad. But even in the heat of the moment, somewhere deep in my soul I found a thread of responsibility and pulled away from him.

  He snatched me back. The water created a cocoon around our bodies, bursting open the wings of my butterflies, and they were free to fly. He was perfect to me, and to him I was flawless.

  He reached across, still tangled in my body, and turned the water off. His hands unwilling to leave my skin, I turned to face him. His hands wrapped tightly around my body. My face rested perfectly against his chest.

  “I could stay like this forever.” I tightened my arms around him.

  “Me too,” he whispered. “But then we’d miss dessert and my mom makes the best berry cobbler.” He licked his lips in a boyish manner.

  I noticed when he talked about his mom he had an inspiring innocence about him. Oh, what she must be like, to still hold such a deep part of his heart. Something I could only envy or dream of. My experience with having a mother—or the lack of one—was the day she dropped me off at my grandparents’ house, kissed me on my forehead, got back into the car, and drove away. My whole life I’d blamed myself for making her leave. Maybe if I was less hyperactive, or if I liked her boyfriends, she would have stayed for me. Maybe if I was a better daughter then she would’ve come back for me. All the while, I never knew my grandparents had obtained a restraining order against her and that she was never coming home to me. Not then, not now. They died never forgiving their own flesh and blood.

  I pulled away from him, grabbed the towel I’d thrown on the designer chair, and draped it around my core. I was cold.

  “Let’s go to your place. I really want to meet your mom,” I choked on the words.

  He stepped out, wrapped the towel around his waist, and shook his head, causing his hair to fluff and lie perfectly. He pulled me into his chest.

  “Are you sure? We could stay here if you want to.” He tried to understand.

  “I’m sure. I want to go.” I pulled away from him and snatched up my clothes. “I’ll be right back.”

  I opened a door that led to the toilet—not my favorite part of bathrooms, but at least in there I could hide the pain that I hated to own in my soul. I’d been so good at disowning it for so long, I thought I was immune to the jealousy that reared in my body, especially with him. I wasn’t going to let the experiences of my F’ed up mother ruin what new memories I had created with Max. I wanted to see a family like his—where the choices of a mother spurred success in her son’s life and she was there for him, really there. It was that reality I wanted to inhabit.

  I got dressed and pushed the backs of my hands to my eyes, drying the useless tears from my cheeks, and worked at filling my mind with thoughts of what we’d just had together. I’ll be damned if I was going to let her win.

  Max knocked on the door.

  “Wilson? You okay?” his voice was soft. I could hear that he was concerned. I guess I would be, too. He had totally made me unbelievably happy and I go pull the basket-case freak-out and run away to a toilet to change my clothes. At least it was spotlessly clean.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I opened the door. “Sorry about the disappearing thing.” He slipped his hands around me and clutched me to his body.

  He didn’t say a word. He just held me until I was comfortable enough to pull away. It wasn’t about sex or guilt. It was his understanding of how to treat a woman, when she just needed to be held. It was him being sensitive and concerned about me.

  “Wilson, I think we should change y
our bandage.” He pressed his fingers to the edges of the tape. “It’s soaked.”

  “Okay, thank you.” As he pulled the bandage from my temple, his eyes reflected less concern.

  “How bad is it?” I asked, pushing my hand to the edge of my eyebrow.

  “It’s not bad at all. Smaller than I thought it was going to be. I don’t even think you’re gonna need a Band-Aid.”

  “Oh good,” I said, relieved. The last thing I wanted to do was go meet his parents with a ghastly bandage taped across my head.

  “You ready to go?” he asked low.

  “Yeah, I am.” I walked to the sink and washed my hands.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said as his hand reached into his pocket.

  “What?”

  “This—I found it on your dresser, thought you’d want to wear it tonight,” he answered as he held the key and heart necklace up in the air. He pulled it across my neck and fastened it. He pressed his hands down across my shoulders onto my forearms.

  “It’s beautiful, Max. Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed the top of my head. “Something to keep me close to your heart.”

  It’ll be the perfect symbol of him when we get back to Wesley. Even though, I didn’t need a necklace to remind me to whom my heart belonged.