Kiss the Girl

by Tara Sivec

  His thumb flicks faster over my clit, and I fling my arm back around his head, gripping his neck tightly as my hips rock against his hand.

  “Yes, yes, fucking hell . . .” I moan loudly, squeezing my eyes closed as my body hovers at the brink of orgasm.

  Eric plunges inside me as deep as possible one last time and holds his hand still as my release flies out of me. I feel myself clamping down around his fingers with each and every pulse of pleasure that rocks through me. I scream his name, and I’m pretty sure I draw blood with as hard as my nails are scratching against the skin of his arm and against the back of his neck.

  He doesn’t stop pulling every ounce of this mind-blowing orgasm out of me, his thumb circling my clit lazily until my body falls forward and I collapse on top of my arms, which are now resting on a pile of crushed up chips and angel hair pasta.

  Eric moves his hand out from beneath my skirt and leans down, placing a kiss on the back of my neck.

  “Are all the nerves gone now?” he asks.

  “Pshaw. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nerves? What nerves?” I mumble with my cheek pressed into a package of Chips Ahoy! cookies.

  He laughs softly, grabbing my hips, hauling me off the counter and turning me around to face him, pulling my body flush against his. I immediately feel that he is still hard as a rock, and I feel a little bad making jokes right now. Blue balls are no laughing matter. Men can die from that shit.

  “Come on, let’s go to the bedroom and have sex and get rid of this problem that’s currently poking me in the stomach,” I tell him, grabbing his hand off my hip and pulling him with me as I turn away from the counter.

  He jerks me to a halt and pulls me back against him.

  “Nope. That was just for you. Not until you trust that I’m not gonna hurt you or mess this up,” he says softly, staring down into my eyes.

  Fuck. Does he WANT me to cry?

  “I—I do trust you. I just . . .”

  “You’ve got voices in your head that won’t shut the fuck up. I know. I’m trying like hell to kick their ass,” he tells me with a gentle smile.

  “I’m getting there. Like the wise hooker played by Julia Roberts once said, the bad stuff is always easier to believe.”

  Eric reaches a hand up between us and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead with the tips of his fingers, pushing it back behind my ear.

  “Then I guess I need to work harder on giving you nothing but good stuff.”

  “Well, what you just gave me against this counter was mighty fine. I could handle a little more of that,” I reply with a smirk.

  “I think I can arrange that. But first, grab the cookies, pretzels, and peanut M&M’s, and I’ll grab the cream cheese from the fridge,” he tells me, giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose as he heads over to the fridge.

  “Cream cheese?” I question, turning around and reaching for everything he wants from the counter.

  “Uh, to dip the pretzels in, obviously,” he scoffs, giving me his back as he opens the fridge door.

  “Oh, Jesus, I think I just came again,” I mutter.

  He laughs, nodding his head towards the living room.

  “Come on, let’s go over to my boat. Derrick needs some love, and I’ve got seven episodes of Tiny House Hunters on the DVR I need to catch up on.”

  As soon as he says that, I take all the items in my arms and slam them to the ground.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?! You literally just got done talking about not hurting me!” I shout angrily.

  Eric whirls around, looking at me, then the stuff on the floor, and back up to me.

  “What’s happening right now?”

  “What’s happening? WHAT’S HAPPENING?! I’m tiny house angry, Eric, that’s what’s happening. I cannot believe you would betray me this way. Who the fuck are these people that think they can move into a two-hundred-square-foot home with a kitchen that doubles as a living room that doubles as a bathroom?” I complain, throwing my hands up in the air. “Oh, look how hipster and cool we are by downsizing everything! I make clothes for goats and he’s in a mariachi band so we need you to build us a tiny home that will have room for his ninety-five-piece drum set and my six-thousand balls of yarn and seventeen wooden goat models, and also have room to entertain!”

  Bending down, I snatch up the cookies, pretzels, and M&M’s and smack them down on the counter one by one.

  “I just love that our kitchen table is also the ladder we need to get up to our fucking loft bed and the kids have their own loft bed right across from ours so I can see them all the time!” I say in an infuriated, high-pitched voice. “If you can see them in your fucking tiny house loft, they can also see you, SUSAN. They can see you swallowing Jeremy’s dick after bedtime when they’re supposed to be asleep!”

  I can see Eric biting down on his bottom lip trying really hard not to laugh, and it just irritates me even more.

  “You think you know a guy and then this happens,” I mutter.

  “Is this the typical kind of crazy you warned me about, or have we moved onto the murder-y kind of crazy? Should I hide all the sharp objects?” he chuckles.

  “Don’t make me tiny house angry, Eric,” I warn him, turning around, grabbing the junk food and marching across the room and right past him towards the stairs.

  “Noted,” he says, following right behind me. “Do you get this angry over any other reality shows I should know about? Are you gonna burn my boat down if I admit I like The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?”

  “Piss off,” I growl, stomping up the stairs.

  Eric lets out a full belly laugh behind me, and I sigh.

  If he can handle my crazy, looks like this fairy tale bullshit should be a piece of cake.

  Chapter 19: I’m Crying in a Goddamn Mall

  “Stop standing there looking constipated. Twirl around. We need to see the full effect.”

  Crossing my arms in front of me, I glare at Cindy.

  “I am not twirling. I do not twirl, asshole,” I say through clenched teeth. “When I called you this morning and said I had something important to tell you and we should go somewhere to celebrate, I didn’t expect you to pick me up and drive me straight to hell.”

  As soon as Cindy and Belle picked me up, I announced to them that I spoke to PJ and had him put me on the schedule tonight to dance at Charming’s. I made him swear not to say anything to Cindy or Vincent because I wanted to be the first one to tell her and Belle. I immediately regretted that decision when they both started screaming so loudly in the car, I almost opened the door and jumped out into oncoming traffic. I assumed that by their excitement, they would take me somewhere special. Like a bar so we could day drink. Or maybe the shooting range. You know, something I would actually enjoy that didn’t make me want to shove a rusty fork in my eye.

  Cindy shakes her head at me and huffs, getting up from the chair right outside the dressing room I just emerged from to walk over to me.

  “The mall is not hell. Everyone loves shopping.”

  “Everyone does not love shopping. Especially shopping in a fucking mall. There are too many people and I hate people. Especially people who think all this bright, fluorescent lighting and funhouse mirrors make you look good. And Jesus, this music they’re playing. I feel like I’ve been dragged to a rave against my will,” I complain.

  “In a recent study, only twenty-nine percent of women actually admit to enjoying going out to buy something to wear,” Belle pipes up.

  “Do you ladies need help with anything? Are you looking for something special?”

  A perky teenager pops into the doorway of the dressing-room area, giving us a big perky smile that makes me want to punch her in the throat.

  “This isn’t rocket science, Karen. If something doesn’t fit, we’re perfectly capable of walking over to a table and grabbing something else. And no, I’m not looking for something special. I’m looking for something ordinary and boring,” I retort.

  She quickly
scurries away, and Cindy rolls her eyes at me.

  “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

  “Because I can. This is your fault. You should have known better than to bring me to this hell on earth.”

  “I thought you loved shopping. You have more clothes and shoes than anyone I know,” she replies, tugging on the hem of the green, open-shoulder, lace-trimmed top she made me try on until I smack her hands away.

  “I love shopping online, where perky teenagers aren’t judging me,” I mutter.

  “But, you can’t try that stuff on. What do you do if it doesn’t fit?” Belle asks, staring at me with wide eyes, as if I just said I like kicking puppies for sport.

  “If it doesn’t fit, it sits in my closet forever mocking me, because returning something online is the kind of hassle I don’t need in my life. Or, I let one of you two dicks wear it,” I remind them, thinking about all the ordering mishaps I’ve made that benefited them back when they didn’t own anything even remotely sexy.

  “Just turn around and let us see how good your ass looks in these jeans,” she orders, grabbing my arms and forcing me to turn around.

  “You could bounce a quarter off of that thing!” Belle chirps, cocking her head to the side and staring at my ass. “I’m so jealous. I wish I had more junk in my trunk and looked that good in skinny jeans.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop being so obvious with the compliments. When I told you guys I finally managed to get my self-confidence back all on my own, that doesn’t mean I need you to feed my ego to make sure I don’t change my mind,” I explain. “I did it. I’ve officially shut off the voices in my head, and I feel good about myself. I don’t know how I did it or when it happened exactly, but I finally got rid of my insecurities.”

  Belle and Cindy share a look, both of them trying to hide their smiles, and I roll my eyes.

  “I saw that. What was that look for?” I demand, pointing at both of them.

  “Don’t get us wrong, we’re really happy you’re ready to strip. And so proud of you that you finally look in the mirror and see what we’ve seen all along. But . . . you’re seriously saying you don’t know how you got your self-confidence back?” Belle raises her eyebrows at me as Cindy snickers.

  “Fine. You want me to say it was because of those stupid articles you sent me? Sure. We’ll go with that,” I tell them with a roll of my eyes.

  “It’s just . . . you know, Eric.” She shrugs.

  “What about Eric? He has nothing to do with this.”

  They don’t even bother to try to hide their amusement at this point. They both throw their heads back and laugh.

  “Okay, fine. He’s given me the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my entire life. He likes me and I like him. That’s got nothing to do with me finally pulling my head out of my ass.” I stomp into the dressing room and whip the shirt off my head, tossing it onto the bench attached to the wall.

  Yes, I’m changing with the door wide open. There are no other customers back here at the moment anyway. And besides, I’m going to be taking my clothes off for an entire club packed with people tonight. Might as well get used to it now.

  Belle and Cindy both stand in the open doorway of the dressing room, watching me shimmy out of the skinny jeans and kick them to the side, both of them wearing amused smiles that are pissing me off more than the perky teenager from a few minutes ago.

  “Should we tell her?” Cindy asks Belle as I grab my jeans shorts from the bench and pull them on.

  “I mean, what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t clue her in?” Belle asks. “According to a recent article on ’Lil Pick Me Up, while ego-flattering friends are great to have, it’s counterproductive in the long run. You don’t want ‘yes’ people to feed you lies and tell you all the bullshit you want to hear. If you really wish to grow, change, and be successful in life, it takes real friends to be straight with you. No bullshit. No fluffy words. No beating around the bush.”

  Cindy nods as I snatch my T-shirt from the bench and yank it down over my head.

  “And we really want is for her to be successful in life. We’d be doing her a disservice if we let her keep thinking she did this all on her own.”

  “Will you two dipshits stop talking about me like I’m not standing right here?” I complain, crossing my arms in front of me and tapping my foot against the hardwood floor.

  “Listen, I’m all for the feminist agenda and lifting each other up and supporting each other and not needing a man to validate us,” Belle starts. “And it’s true, you needed to take charge and get out of your own head, just like Cindy needed to learn how to stop being a prude and loosen up, and I needed to find my sexuality and live my own life instead of what my father wanted me to do. You needed to realize that the things Sebastian said to you were all bullshit and to find yourself again, because you’re the only one who has to live inside your own head, and not one of us can ever know what that truly feels like or what it did to you. But, I kind of think you’re missing the fact that Eric had a little hand in helping you get there and deserves a tiny bit of credit. Just like PJ did for Cindy and Vincent did for me. It’s okay to admit they helped us, and it doesn’t make our transformations any less powerful that they did.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Orgasms aren’t the key to building self-confidence. Sure, they’re amazing, but that’s not why I’m ready to strip. And yes, I like the guy and he makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and he’s given me some nice compliments, but I got here all on my own without the help of a fucking man, no matter how sweet and hot he is.”

  I quickly think back to all the time Eric and I have spent together, wondering what in the actual hell these two are thinking. Yes, having a guy interested in me and not scared off by my crazy is a definite perk, but there’s no fucking way he’s the one responsible for the way I feel. I read through the stupid articles Belle and Cindy sent me. I made some changes in my life accordingly, and now I’m back to my old self. That’s it. End of story.

  “He literally went down the list of things you should do to help someone with low self-esteem and checked each and every one of them off. How are you not seeing this?” Cindy asks with a shake of her head.

  I scoff at her and she continues.

  “He went with you to goat yoga.”

  “Uh, he strong-armed his way into going with me just to piss me off,” I remind her.

  “No, he was being supportive. He knew yoga was out of your comfort zone, and he offered to go with you so you didn’t have to do it alone.”

  I shake my head at her, grabbing my purse from the hook on the wall and pushing my way past the two of them.

  “He organized a karaoke night for you,” Belle says, following behind me as I quickly make my way out of the store.

  “He told you guys to take me to a bar to let off some steam. It just so happened to have karaoke, and he was fucking lucky I could sing and didn’t make an ass of myself,” I grumble while the two of them scurry to catch up to me.

  “He knew you were a damn good singer, because he’d heard you doing it. He specifically found a bar that was doing karaoke that night and told us that’s the one we had to take you to, so you could get up on that stage and kick ass. He knew that crowd would go wild for you as soon as they heard your voice, and they did. They cheered and clapped and made you feel like a fucking rock star,” Cindy explains.

  My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest as I continue walking through the mall, having no idea where the fuck I’m going, just knowing I need to keep my legs moving or I might sit down on the floor, hug my legs to my chest and start rocking back and forth.

  “He asked you to teach him how to strip,” Belle states as each store I walk past becomes a blur because I’m moving so quickly.

  “Because he had the asinine idea of trying out to be a male stripper for PJ’s stupid all-male revue!” I argue.

  “There is no all-male revue.” Cindy laughs. “When you told me about that, I kept my m
outh shut because I already knew what he was doing. Item number two in the article I read about how to help someone build back their self-confidence—Genuinely ask for their advice and have them teach you how to do something they’re knowledgeable about.”

  My heart is beating so fast right now I feel like I might have a heart attack, but I keep walking, seeing the food court up in the distance. The only thing I like about malls is the food court filled with every unhealthy food item you can think of. I need Chinese. And a soft pretzel with cream cheese. And six dozen freshly baked cookies from Mrs. Fields. And a trough of cheese fries sprinkled with a pound of crumbled crispy bacon.

  “He took you to the flea market,” Belle states.

  “Ha!” I laugh loudly. “Everyone knows I have a thing for antiques. That wasn’t some hidden agenda. He was just being nice and knew I’d like it there.”

  Cindy grabs my arm, forcing me to stop moving and trying to beat all the ninety-year-old power walkers circling the area.

  “Items number eleven and twelve on the list: Be interested in something the other person is passionate about, and recognize them for their hard work,” she tells me with a smile. “He got you to tell him all about antiques and how shopping for them works. He really got into it and enjoyed it and almost got his ass kicked by a jewelry dealer.”

  “And he told you what you’ve done with the Naughty Princess Club is amazing and how proud he is of you for all your hard work,” Belle adds.

  Right now I’m seriously regretting giving these two a play-by-play of everything Eric and I have done together the last few weeks. The room starts to spin and I press my hand against my chest, wondering if this is what it feels like to have a panic attack. My chest is getting tight, and I’m having a hard time taking air into my lungs.

  “You think you have to be this hard-ass, independent woman who can take care of everything on her own, but you don’t. You have people around you who love you and want to help you, especially Eric,” Belle says, rubbing her hand against my back when I bend over and press my palms to my knees to try to remember how to breathe. “He knows you. Better than you know yourself. Better even than Cindy and I know you, since we just kept flat-out telling you that you were crazy for thinking you were anything but perfect. We did the obvious things. We came right out and told you what we thought you needed to hear to help you, and sent you articles. But Eric, he did it subtly. He did it quietly, and without you even knowing what was going on. And look at you: You’re confident. You feel good about yourself. And you’re ready to move forward with the next chapter of your life.”