by Jillian Dodd
Actually, I’m exhausted.
Emotionally exhausted.
“You need to come with me then,” he says with a grin, as he leads me into the bedroom then out a set of French doors to a screened-in porch with a big, padded hammock blowing in the breeze. “Best place in the house for a nap.”
We snuggle up together in the hammock and I immediately fall asleep.
I'm awakened by his stirring. My face is right by his neck, so I kiss it. Other than my giving him a single kiss at the football game, I really haven't initiated stuff with him. I've been letting him kiss me. But after his comment, his feeling like Whitney didn’t really want him, I figure he needs to feel wanted, so I kiss up his neck and toss my leg across his.
He laughs. “You realize we just slept together.”
“Yeah, I guess we did. Shh . . . don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
He runs his hand like he did in the picture, gently pulling my hair off my face. “I think you need to keep doing that,” he says, pulling me fully on top of him. I kiss gently down his neck, then kiss a little harder, then softer. I’m sorta teasing him and it seems to be driving him nuts.
I sit up, my knees straddling him, and kiss down his chest, then run my hands in a little tickle down his sides.
He laughs and squirms a bit, but I can feel that other parts of his body have just jumped to attention.
He goes, “Mhhm,” then grabs me, and tries to flip me over. He apparently wants on top of me, but uh, yeah, I think he maybe forgot we’re in a hammock because he rolls up over the side of it. The hammock flips. He falls onto the floor on his back, and I land right on top of him.
“Shit,” he mutters, but then laughs. “Real smooth, huh?”
I reply with a deep slow kiss.
Then he flips me over, pinning me against the rug under his weight. He kisses my neck and down my chest. He unties my bikini top, takes in what he sees, kisses what he saw. My body is responding, enjoying everything he does to me. He maneuvers himself between my legs and rocks his hips against mine.
I’m hot and, honestly, I am a bit shocked at how much I want him.
But we can’t. I cannot. We said we were going to take it slow. And this, wonderful though it may be, is not moving slow.
“Dawson,” I manage to breathe out.
“Hmm?” He smiles at me and kisses my nose.
“I thought we were gonna take things slow?”
“Maybe we should rethink that.”
God, he's dreamy.
I squint my eyes at him in fake irritation.
He kisses me again, then says, “No, you’re right.”
But what he says and what he does are two entirely different things.
He kisses me deeply again, runs his hands through my hair, then down my back, his hands stopping on my butt and pulling it towards him, making his pelvis slam into mine. His hardness pushes on what little there is of my bikini bottoms.
We keep kissing. Our hips move together like we’re having sex, even though there are two thin layers of fabric between us.
I’m getting extremely worked up. And it’s obvious he is as well.
It feels so damn good that I don’t want to him to stop.
But one of us needs to use our head.
“Dawson.”
“Don't worry. We're not. Not yet anyways.” Then he gets up, snatching his hardness away from me.
I’m left lying on the floor, my body saying, But wait!!!!! My mouth may have been saying no, but my body majorly disagrees. It wants to pull him back down on top of me.
He reaches his hand out and pulls me up as I retie my top. Then he backs away slightly, leans down, and studies my tattoo. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo. Bad girl moment?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the symbol for chaos.”
“Chaos, huh? Interesting. So does that mean you like to cause chaos?”
“No. It’s from a quote. Life is divine chaos.”
“I like it.”
“I used to like it.”
“You don’t now?”
I roll my eyes. “The surfer has a matching one.”
“That’s probably fitting, considering.”
“Yeah, probably.”
We drink a little more, eat a little more, relax a little more.
The punch has officially caught up with me.
We’re both a little tipsy.
Well, I’m maybe kinda drunk.
I’m also feeling a little naughty.
I drag him back to the bedroom and start attacking him.
I kiss him, take off his polo, undo his shorts, and slide them off him.
He stops me from untying my bikini.
“Keatyn, we talked about this. We’re not gonna do stuff when we’re drunk. We’ll wait.”
I laugh at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
But then I give him a devilish grin, drop down on my knees in front of him, and look up at him in question.
His face breaks out in a huge grin. “Oh. Uh, well, that’d probably be okay.”
Sunday, September 4th
So, um, about last night.
Too fucking early.
Wake up to sunlight streaming in the windows. Look at the clock. It’s freaking sunrise-early.
I feel a bit fuzzy, confused about where I am, and thirsty. I look down and see I slept in my bikini.
Dawson walks out of the bathroom, wearing only board shorts, and that dark, gorgeous body of his is looking sexier than ever. While Riley only has a four pack, Dawson’s got a full six. Almost eight, if that’s even possible. His chest is totally ripped. And quite yummy.
“So, the early bird gets the surf. Us guys always go out and try to surf at sunrise, then we come back and eat a huge-ass breakfast. Come with us. Or do you want to sleep some more? The girls always sleep in.”
“I slept in my swimsuit?”
He sits on the bed next to me and grins. “Yeah. You remember last night? You were pretty tipsy, maybe drunk. I don’t know. I haven’t drunk with you enough yet to be sure. You were kinda naughty though. Do you remember that part?”
“Yeah, I do, but then it gets kinda blurry—not because I was drunk, more because I was just so tired. Yesterday was a long day.”
“You were tired. You told me Kool-Aid makes you sleepy. Then you snuggled up next to me and crashed. Maybe even snored a little.”
“Oh, gosh. That’s embarrassing.”
“Naw, it’s cute. And you’re such a little snuggler.”
“I’m really not a snuggler.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“No, I’m really not. It usually makes me feel kinda claustrophobic.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, all I know is you were glued to my side all night. My right arm’s still numb. So if you wanna go, get dressed and meet us down there okay?”
“Okay.”
I get up, pee, brush my teeth, throw on a different bikini and a rash guard, spf my face, pull my hair back into a ponytail, grab my flip flops, and head down the beach.
They’re just getting the boards down there when I arrive.
We have fun playing around in the surf.
I make Dawson tell Riley what he’s doing wrong. He grudgingly agrees, then looks like a proud parent when Riley rides a wave all the way to shore. He runs over to him, high fives him, and is like, Riles, dude, that was awesome.
And he wasn’t kidding when he said they come back and eat a big breakfast. I don’t think I’ve seen this much food consumed in one place. Apparently, growing boys can eat a whole freaking lot. Their cook set out plate after plate of bacon, eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes, biscuits, gravy, sausage, and they drank at least three gallons of milk.
I sit there just watching the frenzy.
Riley says to me, “Dude you need to eat more. We need to fatten you up a little.”
Dawson stops lifting the fork to his
mouth. “Naw, she looks damn good in a bikini. Perfect, if you ask me.”
And that pretty much made my whole day.
We’re walking over to play tennis when Dawson says, “So, um, about last night.”
“Last night was great. The sunset was amazing, and the partying, and hot tubbing. I’m having so much fun. Thanks for inviting me.”
He kicks his racquet gently with his foot. “Uh, I was sorta referring to after that.”
“After that?” And I’m thinking after that we went to bed. Oh. After that. “Oh. What about it?”
“What about it?” His eyes get big, like I could be so nonchalant about it. “Hands down. The. Hottest. Thing. Ever.”
He’s so cute, and so excited about this. You’d think we were talking about cars or Xbox or something. But what did Grandpa’s ranch hand say about boys? They have two moods, hungry and horny. So if you see a boy without an erection, you should go make him a sandwich. That made Grandpa laugh, and Grandma say, Keatyn, don’t you dare listen to them. You tell them to make their own damn sandwiches.
I say, “Really?”
He suppresses a big smile. “You. Down on your knees. Uh, yeah.”
I’m pretty surprised by this, considering his summer in whoredom.
“Hmm. Well, good. Does that mean it’d be okay if I wanted to get down on my knees again sometime?”
Dallas walks up behind me. “And just what are you going to do down on your knees, Kiki?”
“Look for seashells, what else?” I sass back.
Dawson chokes down his Kool-Aid laughing, but as soon as Dallas walks away, I have to ask. “I don’t get why it was so hot. I mean, I’ve heard about your summer.”
“It was just different. I actually like you. I didn’t ask you to, and it was a surprise.”
“And you like being surprised?”
“Like that? Hell, yeah.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” I say with a smirk, my mind going to naughty places it should so not be going. But Dawson’s hair is blowing in the breeze and his mouth is curled into a very sexy grin. Plus he smells like cocoa butter and the ocean. Which reminds me of home. And Brooklyn. “You know, I can see now why my mom says you have to date different people, so you know what’s good and bad in a relationship. Like you said, you worshiped Whitney, then dated her. Same with me. I crushed on the Keats guy. I did stuff with him because I wanted to make him like me. This feels different. I feel like we like each other.”
He grabs my hand. “I do like you. And you’re right, we both thought our past relationships were so amazing.”
“And they weren’t, really, were they?”
“No, not really. I’ve been sorta kicking myself for spending so much time whining about me and Whitney breaking up. Now I feel stupid because I see everyone was right, and I’ve been kind of a jerk to everyone lately.”
I smile. “Not to me. Well, except for the worst kiss ever.”
I sit down on a bench next to the tennis court and admire a container full of pink tea roses. “These are so gorgeous,” I say, leaning down to smell them.
Dawson sits down next to me and says, “So, Keatie . . .”
“Keatie?”
“Yep. That’s what I’m gonna call you. A combination of cutie and Keatyn. You’re my little Keatie.”
I smile at him.
Ohmigawd! Is that not just the most adorable thing ever?
“It’s cute.”
“No, you’re cute.”
He gives me a sweet kiss then pulls me up and says, “Ready to play some tennis?”
“Sure, but you’re gonna lose.”
His hormones kick into overdrive.
11pm
After dinner, everyone sits outside, chatting and drinking.
We watch the sun go down from the side deck and at that moment, while I am wrapped tightly in Dawson’s strong arms, I have a flash of clarity.
It all feels so right, and I decide that I will be quite content without a surfer, a player, or a Hottie God in my life.
We move the party back to the pool/hot tub area, turn the music up, dance around, and have fun.
Dawson says to me, “Be right back. I’m gonna grab a couple more beers.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have any more.”
“Why not? I’m not drunk or anything. Are you feeling it?”
“I’m feeling it, but I’m just maybe a little tipsy. I feel perfect.”
“Okay?” He gives me a questioning look.
“I was kinda thinking that I’d like to not get—um, remember how we said if we do stuff that we didn’t want to only because we’re drunk?”
He beams. “So, you’re thinking us about doing stuff?” I can tell he is quite excited by this prospect.
“I wanna do some stuff. Don’t you?”
He kisses me. “Are you kidding me? It’s all I’ve thought about all day.” He stares at me for a second and figures he better not waste his opportunity. “You know, I’ve had about enough of the outdoors for one day, how about you?”
He tells everyone we’re tired and drags me into the house.
Then I think his hormones kick into overdrive.
He kisses me, like, fast, hard, long, intensely deep kisses. He pushes me up against the counter in the kitchen, holding my hips tightly in his hands. He kisses hard down my neck and then strips off my shirt and tosses it on the floor.
Then he walks me backward through the house while still kissing me, quickly working his way back to the bedroom. He pushes me against a wall in the hallway, where he pulls his own shirt off, then unties my bikini top, his warm, naked chest pressing against me as he shoves his tongue deeply into my mouth. I suck on it recklessly.
We finally get to the bedroom, where he quickly shuts and locks the door, then pushes me up against it. He’s kissing me and, like, ravishing me. I feel like I’m living a hot romance novel. And this is the kind of thing I have always pictured.
Always dreamed of.
A boy who wants me so bad he can barely stand it.
A boy who pushes me hard against the door and kisses me like he means it. A boy who takes my wrists and holds them above my head, pinning me to the door as he sucks his way down my chest. A boy who kisses me so deeply it makes my head spin. A boy whose one free hand feels like ten because it is everywhere on my body.
It was nothing like this with Brooklyn. And nothing like this with Cush. If Cush was hot, then Dawson is molten lava hot. Molten lava that seems to be rolling through every part of me.
We frantically finish undressing each other.
Kissing. Hugging. Sucking. Breathing.
At this point, I think my hormones kick in too, and honestly I’m thinking, Just do me, keep going, don’t stop. I’ve never felt such desire in my life.
But just when I’m ready to speed things up, he decides to slow them down.
He’s wearing nothing and all that’s protecting my virtue is my little bikini bottoms.
He kisses me more slowly now, but somehow his slow kisses are still very intense. Like he’s tasting me. His lips feel like fire on my skin. And I know only one thing is going to put out the fire burning inside me.
He kisses my shoulder, my chest, my stomach, and then slowly strips away what little clothing is left on me. With his teeth.
I can’t even tell you how hot I am.
Especially now that he’s back to a full-scale assault on my body.
He’s kissing, touching, rubbing, licking, well, everything.
Everywhere.
And it feels very, very good.
I feel like he’s standing outside my front door, knocking on it. No. Make that ringing the doorbell, repeatedly. RING. RING. RING! And I want to invite him in. I really want to. My body is definitely in agreement with me on this. My body has been pleading its case, begging, Please, please, can he please come in and play? Be our new friend and make us feel incredible? But my brain is arguing back, saying, You have only known him for a week. You want to le
t this virtual stranger in? Shouldn’t you be in love with him? What if you get pregnant? What if he’s just using you? What if this ruins everything?
Then my body yells at my brain and says, Shut up! Seriously, shut up! I don’t freaking care if he’s using us. I want him NOW! Freaking, right now!!!
My body wins this round. My brain shuts up for a bit and lets us feel.
He moves between my legs and, oh, gosh, what he’s doing feels pretty amazing, and pretty soon I’m trembling and breathing hard with pleasure.
And I really don’t think I can take much more.
My body is screaming, OMFFFFFGGGG! LET THIS BOY IN, NOW!
I say breathlessly, “Dawson . . .”
He stops and looks at me, tilts his head in question.
I bite my lip and give my head a little nod.
A barely perceptible teeny little yes nod.
And invite him in.
Monday, September 5th
Should I feel cheap?
Early.
Get woken up by the sun gleaming through the sheer curtains at 6:42. We didn’t get much sleep last night. Turns out my body was one hundred percent right. Dawson did need to be our friend. And he was a very fun play date. He visited more than once. And my body and my brain were both waiting for him eagerly at the door every time, saying, Welcome back! Come on in!
Like the rugs when you walk in Wal-Mart.
And speaking of Wal-Mart, should I feel cheap?
Sleazy? Stupid?
I sort of want to blame Brooklyn for this. Last time he pissed me off, I turned around and slept with Cush. But I can only blame myself.
And Dawson’s hotness. I could not resist him.
I think back to the scripts I used to write. About a boy wanting me so badly. About him ravishing my body. Throwing me on the bed. Being just a little rough and in control.
Shit.
But I suppose that’s the thing about sleeping with someone; it feels right at the time, but there are always repercussions. Repercussions that my mind couldn’t seem to come up with last night.
Like, you never know what’s gonna happen after he leaves.
Will he ever want to visit my house again?