by Jessica Wood
“It’s cool. No skin off my back,” he said coolly. Then he cleared his throat and looked at me. “So are you ready to go?”
“Go?” I felt a pang of guilt and disappointment that he was going to end the date already. Even though we were both done with our food, I had enjoyed our conversation—well, up until a few minutes ago—and wanted to spend more time with him.
“Yeah.” To my surprise, he flashed me a warm smile. “It looks like we’re both done with our meals, and there’s a long line of people waiting for our seats to free up.”
“Oh.” I looked over at the half dozen people standing at the front door. Did he not hear what I said earlier? Or is he just choosing to ignore it? My head was spinning at his odd behavior, wondering if I should have listened to the many red flags to stay away from him.
“Come on. Let’s get going.” He got up and paid for our meal.
We walked out of the Swan Oyster Depo in silence, and I watched him intently as he seemed to be deep in thought. When we were outside, he took off his black leather jacket, wrapped it around my shoulder, and pulled me in toward his chest. I looked up at him anxiously. But I saw the warmth in his rich blue eyes and felt myself relax into his embrace.
We stood there in silence as he held me in his arms. I closed my eyes, trying to savor everything about this moment before it was gone—the comforting warmth of being in his protective arms, the soft beating of his heart against his chest, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he finally whispered.
“What do you mean?” I tried to play the ignorance card.
He chuckled lightly. “I know you know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry if I came off a little rude. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know…” He paused. “I just have a complicated relationship with my parents, and I don’t like talking about it.”
“Oh.” I was taken aback by his forthright explanation. I knew he was deeper than he let on. I wrapped my arms around his warm toned body and buried my face into his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. I totally understand how hard it can be to talk about family when painful memories are involved,” I whispered as I thought back to the death of my parents. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to tell me anything about them. When you are, I’ll be here.”
He held me tighter in his arms and kissed my hair as I heard him inhale deeply. I raised my head up to look at him. He looked down at me with smoldering eyes that caused me to draw in a sharp intake of breath. I didn’t know why but as he gazed into me, I felt paralyzed by his presence, unable to move or look away. His warm, rough hands brushed through my hair and I let out a soft sigh. He slowly lowered his face toward me and I felt the heat of his breath against my face before his lips met mine. They were warm and inviting as they gently grazed my lips. A whimper escaped me as his mouth began to explore deeper, his tongue expertly seducing me as it moved purposefully in and out of my mouth. His lips were rough and tender against my mine, and I could feel the hunger and need he had for me with his movements. As his rough hands moved down my back and then up under my shirt, I moaned as my whole body come alive at his touch. He let a soft, primal groan as he deepened the kiss, sending a shower of shivers through my body.
When our lips finally separated, my lips tinged at the memory of our kiss and my chest heaved in anticipation of what else this man could to do me. There was something about Damian that left me yearning for him, and the intense desire was almost painful. I was hungry, and I knew wanted more. He nuzzled his face against my neck, the hot rasps of his breath against my skin sending another wave of shivers to cascade down my body.
Suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty that I was in too deep, that I had fallen for this man in front of me before I even knew it had happened—before I could have even prevented it.
CHAPTER TEN
Damian
AS I HELD HER IN MY ARMS and felt her soft breath against my neck, I knew I was in too deep. Somehow this girl had gotten to me like no other girl has before. I never talked about my personal life with girls, especially when it had to do with my parents. That was a door that I wanted to keep shut. But when I responded like I normally did when a girl mentioned my parents, I had seen the disappointment and sadness in Alexis’s face, and I felt a strong pang of guilt for being the cause of that grief. I knew that I needed to explain my actions, even if I didn’t tell her everything.
I kissed her hair and pulled her closer to me. This felt right, natural. And yet, it was a completely new territory that I had vowed never to explore. But here I was, freezing in the cold San Francisco evening air while my leather jacket was wrapped tightly around this girl. This amazing girl. And to my surprise, sex was not the thing I wanted the most right now. Instead, what I wanted the most right now was for this date to not end.
“Hey, let’s do something else,” I suggested.
“Sure,” she agreed. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, now that I’ve taken you to one of my favorite places in the city, why don’t you take me to one of yours?”
“One of my favorite places?”
“Yeah. I want to see you in your element.” Did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I watched her think for a moment and saw her eyes light up when an idea came to her. “How are you with clay?”
“Like a wet mud party?” I teased as an image of Alexis naked and covered in mud crossed my mind. “Shit, you’d look hot in wet mud.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, not mud. Clay. As in the pottery studio I teach at on Saturdays.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes, there’s a difference,” she laughed as she gave me an evil eye.
“Seriously, I didn’t know,” I chuckled, “Okay, clay it is. You’d look hot in wet clay. Happy?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she giggled and rolled her eyes again. “And no one looks hot in wet clay.”
I pulled her into me for a kiss. I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I just wanted to kiss her. When I pulled away, I looked at her like she was crazy. “But you’re wrong. You’d look very hot in wet clay,” I insisted.
She shook her head, but decided to play along. “And how do you know this?”
“Because I can see it now.” Then I purposely closed my eyes, so that she’d know that I was imagining her in the wet clay. “Damn, you’d make a smokin’ hot nude model.” I licked my lips for added effect.
“Hey!” she screamed as she playfully slapped my chest. “Stop picturing me naked covered in clay! You perv!”
“Okay, okay. You’re the boss,” I said as I kept my eyes closed, “Okay, done. Now you’re naked, and not covered in clay.”
I laughed when she slapped me again.
“What?” I asked innocently and feigned a hurt expression.
“Don’t be smart with me. You knew exactly what I meant. Stop imaging me naked period,” she ordered. I could tell from the tone in her voice that she wasn’t really upset.
“I can’t make such promises,” I teased. “Plus, it’s too late. That image of you is permanently seared in my mind.”
And there was the eye roll again. “Which image? The one with me naked with or without the clay?” she asked sarcastically.
I cracked up. “Whichever one that will bring out more feistiness out of you,” I taunted.
Before she had a chance to respond, I moved in for another kiss—this time, a long, deep kiss as I took my time to taste the honey-sweetness of her lips, my tongue moving rhythmically with hers as we moved in and out of each other’s mouths.
When I finally pulled away from her, I saw her eyes were still closed as she lingered in the moment of our kiss. I smiled knowing that she must have also felt the electric-tingle on her lips where our lips had met. “Okay, let’s hail a cab. I’m down to have a private wet clay party with you.”
She nudged me playfully as she rolled her eyes yet again.
“You know
, if you keep rolling your eyes so much, it may get stuck like that,” I began as I forced a straight face, “And well, I hate to be superficial and all, but … I’m not sure I can be seen with a girl with her eyes permanently looking up—even if she’s the hottest girl I know.”
Anticipating another slap from her, I jumped out of the way just in time to miss her hand. Then I pulled her into my arms again and kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered, “Luckily for me—and you, for that matter—that hasn’t happened to you yet.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh?” she teased back.
“Until now, I never found a need to make a girl feel special,” I said before realizing what I had just said. I saw the same surprise I felt inside reflected in her eyes.
“Here’s a cab,” I said abruptly. I motioned to a cab that was slowing down next to us.
It was not until tonight that I realized how dangerous it was for me to hang out with Alexis. But now, I had fallen too deep into this unfamiliar rabbit hole. Because as much as I wanted to fight it, I knew whatever it was that I was feeling right now with her, I wanted more of it.
***
“This place is amazing,” I said as I looked around the brightly-lit pottery studio. There were about a dozen potter’s wheels lined against the floor to ceiling glass wall facing the street. From the window, parts of the San Francisco skyline was visible to the right while the Bay Bridge lit up the San Francisco bay towards the left.
There was an earthy smell with subtle scents of paint and clay that permeated the room. I watched Alexis move around the room with some comfort and ease, I could tell she loved it here. Like the bar was to me, this place was the place she felt most at ease and in control. She was in her element.
“So show me some stuff. I’d love to learn.”
She looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, and to my surprised, I really was. “And didn’t you agree to teach me?”
“I did?” she looked at me blankly.
“You don’t remember anything when it comes to me, do you?” I teased. I knew I was walking in new territory. Most women hung onto my every word, but Alexis seemed to be different. She was giving me a run for my money.
“Okay, sure. Well right now, I only have porcelain clay in my stash, so we’ll have to use that. But normally, for someone who’s never thrown on a wheel, I’d use a different clay.”
“Oh why’s that?” I watched her intently as she pulled off two orange-size balls of clay from a long rectangular plastic bag of off-white clay.
“Because porcelain is actually one of the more difficult clay bodies to work with,” she explained as she threw one of the clay balls onto the center of her potter’s wheel. “For beginners, I’d start them off learning on a sturdier clay body, like stoneware. It has some grit in the clay, which helps the clay hold its form better and is more forgiving to mistakes. Porcelain has minimal grit, so it’s like working with room-temperature butter. It can collapse on you with one minor mistake.”
“So why do you use it?”
“Because it’s my favorite clay to work with.” She turned on the wheel, which started spinning at a fast speed. Then she moved her hands together—one over the other forming an X shape—and brought her hands down on the clay.
“Why is that?” I intrigued by this whole new world that I wasn’t familiar with.
“Well, I love the delicate pieces that porcelain creates, and well ...” she paused and I thought I saw her cheeks flush the stunning peach glow that always made me feel odd inside.
“What is it?” I asked, wondering why she was blushing.
“I love how it feels in my hands when I’m on the wheel—it’s buttery smooth and cool to the touch. It feels almost seductive.” There was a pure expression of happiness on her face as her hands gracefully placed pressure on the clay that was now a cone shape as it spun on high speed on the wheel.
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure I understood half the words she had said, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I don’t know why, but I was really enjoying this moment with her, watching her work on something she was so passionate about, and listening to her talk about it.
“Let me show you first. As a beginner, watching is just as important—you learn a lot from watching. I’m going to make a simple cup, and then I’ll help you with yours.”
“Good idea,” I agreed quickly.
So for the next fifteen minutes, I watched her hands move effortlessly with the wet clay spinning on the wheel as it transformed into an elegant cup before my eyes. She talked me through everything she was doing, explaining what she was doing, and why she was doing it. I watched her in awe as she moved. When she finally stopped the wheel when her cup was finished, I watched as she pulled out a wire tool and rang it through the bottom of the cup a few times, and then effortlessly transferred the cup onto a small flat piece of wood.
“So we’ll need to let this clay dry a little before we can trim the rough edges and make designs on it,” she explained as she placed the wood holding the cup onto a table near the open window where a gentle breeze was drifting in.
Then she turned back to me and gave me a wicked smile.
“What?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously at her.
“Now, it’s your turn.” There was a gleam in her eyes, like she was in on a joke that I wasn’t aware of.
I chuckled. “How hard can it be?”
I saw a smirk on her face that caused the cute little dimple above the left corner of her lips to appear. “Well it comes more naturally to some than others,” she replied vaguely.
“Well, I will tell you that I was quite a master at Play-Doh at the tender age of eight.”
She laughed, and it was one of those warm laughs that caused something to stir inside me—something that I wasn’t familiar with.
“Okay, wise ass. Let’s see what you can do,” she challenged as she handed me the remaining orange-size ball of clay.
I took the clay confidently from her and threw it on the wheel, like I had seen her do half an hour earlier. But unlike what I had seen with her clay, mine did not land in the center of the wheel. Instead, my aim must have been off, because the clay landed in the yellow tray that was underneath the wheel.
I heard Alexis stifle a giggle as she turned her face away from me.
“I meant to do that.”
“Right.” I could clearly see the amused expression on her face.
“I just wanted to hear that beautiful laugh of yours.” I winked at her as she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t use me as an excuse for your failures,” she teased.
“Ouch.” I feigned a hurt expression as I carefully threw the clay on the center of the wheel.
Ignoring my comment, she moved to my side. “Okay, you should grab some of the water from the bucket to wet the clay. Now you want to start spinning the wheel at a decent speed, not too fast though or you’ll lose control of the wheel.”
I obeyed and grabbed some water with my hands and wet the surface of the clay. Then I flipped the switch to the potter’s wheel and waited for the wheel to start spinning.
Nothing.
Why isn’t it moving?
I sneaked a quick glance at Alexis and she had another smirk on her face.
Damnit, what am I not doing right?
“I think you’re looking for the foot pedal.”
“I knew that.” I saw the foot pedal by my right foot and stepped on it.
When the wheel started to move, I placed my wet hands over the clay and instantly knew why Alexis liked to use porcelain—it felt amazing in my hands—wet, cool, and silky soft. I looked up at her as she smiled at me and immediately wondered if she would be this wet and silky soft to the touch. I was immediately turned on as my thoughts drifted to her naked body and the warm wetness between her thighs.
Just then, Alexis’s laughter broke through my sexual daydream of her. When I came back to reality, I realized what she was
laughing at. Somehow I must have spun the wheel too fast without realizing it and most of the clay was no longer on my wheel. Instead, it was spattered all over my apron and face.
“I would have loved to see you at work during your Play-Doh days,” she said before breaking into a fit of laughter.
“Okay, so maybe this is a lot harder than you made it look.” I looked up at her and a smirk spread across my face. “But I blame it on you.” And before she could stop me, I grabbed her hand with my wet clay-covered hand and pulled her down toward me.
She shrieked in surprised as she landed on my lap. “You just got clay all over me,” she complained. But from the tone of her voice, I knew she didn’t care.
“Well, I was so distracted with you, I ended up getting clay all over me.” My hand moved behind her neck. “So now, we’re even.” I pulled her face closer toward me and found myself mesmerized by her warm hazel eyes. I leaned down and kissed her—soft at first as I teased her lips gently with mine, but deeper with every passing second as my mouth moved with growing urgency as an insatiable hunger built inside of me. I heard her gasp for air as we finally pulled away from each other. I ran my hands down her back and under her shirt. My blood quickened as I felt her silky-soft skin against my callus hands, and I knew what—and who—I wanted to be doing at that moment.
I heard her sharp intake of breath as my hands reached for her bra hook, and I knew that I had it in the bag—she was ripe for the picking.
But to my surprise, when I began to unhook her bra, she grabbed my arms and shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” I was completely thrown off by what had just happened.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready,” she whispered. I heard the unevenness in her breathing and I knew she wanted me. But why this then?
“But I thought you wanted this?”
“Maybe eventually if things go well,” she began as she looked up at me hopefully, “But I just don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”
Her words shocked me, and for a brief second, she left me speechless. Then I saw the clock hanging on the wall and an idea came to me.