by Rae Kennedy
“Yep.”
“I don’t know yet. But we had a good time so I have no reason not to.”
I nod. “And?”
“And...yes, I kissed her.”
My stomach twists into a knot.
“Why do you need to know this?” he asks.
“What kind of kiss was it? Like, was it on the cheek? Or the kind you’d give to your grandma? Was there tongue? Or was it a full-on exchange of what could amount to be liters of spit?”
He looks at me, tilting his head, lips parted in a confused and stunned sort of expression. After a minute when he’s concluded that I’m actually serious and, moreover, that I’m not going to move on until he answers the question, he responds. “Um... on the lips but no tongue?”
I nod. That’s an acceptable answer. I don’t think I can confess that I’m harboring secret sexy feelings for him knowing he’s really into someone else.
“What about you? Did you and Wes kiss?”
“You’re not allowed to ask questions right now.” I was just about to get to the subject of Wes, anyway.
“Shit, Rosenbaum.”
I twist to face him, kicking my sandals off and then tucking my feet up under me. “I want to tell you about what happened with Wes—”
He straightens, his whole body posture going rigid. “What happened with Wes?”
I roll my eyes. “I literally just said that’s what I was about to tell you. Chill out.”
Eric relaxes back against the couch but he still looks tense, his large hands in balls at his knees.
“What I wanted to tell you—well, the first thing I wanted to tell you, there are a couple things—is that after the date with Wes, I realized that while he is very kind and sweet and handsome and basically perfect in every way and that he should hypothetically be everything I could ever want—he and I are not right for each other.”
Eric has one eye squinted at me. “Wait—huh?”
“I had a perfectly good time with him and he was gentlemanly and all, but there just wasn’t a spark between us. And at the end of the date, when he asked me if I wanted to go out again I told him that I think we’re better as friends. So that’s that. And, no, we did not kiss, to answer your question earlier.”
I study him for any signs of relief or happiness. I mean, if he likes me back, this should be good news. But he just looks surprised and puzzled.
“So, you’re not into Wes anymore? Just like that? The whole we’re meant to be together fate stuff—just gone?”
“Basically, yeah.” I let out a breath.
“Wow.” He rubs his palms up and down his jean-clad thighs. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted. That’s a real bummer.” Eric picks my feet up and puts them over his lap. He moves his warm hands gently over them, applying gentle pressure along the arches with his thumbs.
I lie back and enjoy the sensation of his hands on me. Even if it’s only on my feet, probably the least sexy part of my body, though I did paint my toes red for the date yesterday.
“It is a bummer,” I sigh. “I just didn’t feel any chemistry with him. I guess I’ve known the chemistry wasn’t right for a while now, but I didn’t want to admit it. Certainly not sexual chemistry, and that’s pretty important to have with someone you’re dating, don’t you think? I mean, I miss having a boyfriend. It’s been so long. I miss having sex. Shit, I miss orgasms.” Stop talking, Kyla! “Sorry I’m babbling and oversharing. You don’t need to know about my orgasms—or lack thereof.” Goddammit, Kyla, shut up!
“Um, right.” Eric’s cheeks are pink. Adorably pink. It makes me want to reach up and touch his face to see how warm I made him. “Do you want to watch something for bit?” he asks, his voice low.
“Sure. As long as you keep rubbing my feet.”
“Deal.”
He puts on more cartoons, Invader Zim this time, and keeps rubbing my feet in little circles. I close my eyes. It feels so good. I arch against the couch, little sighs escaping my throat. I probably have a dopey smile on my face too.
“What’s the other thing you wanted to tell me?” Eric asks after a while of quiet.
“Huh?”
“You said there were a couple things you wanted to tell me. The first was about Wes. What’s the second thing?”
I stiffen. Oh yeah. Should I tell him? I should tell him. I want to tell him...but at the same time, I really don’t want to tell him. What if he freaks out? What if he only thinks of me like a little sister and now is totally weirded out and uncomfortable around me and doesn’t invite me over to hang out and, even more importantly, what if he stops rubbing my feet? When in doubt, just deny, right?
“I didn’t say there was anything else. That’s it.”
“You definitely said there was more.”
“Well, if there was something else at the time, I’ve forgotten it so it must not have been very important.”
He considers me for a moment, his hands going still. “All right. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“You said you haven’t orgasmed in a while and I get that you’ve been single and all, but—you know you don’t need to have a partner to orgasm, right?”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Haven’t been able to come that way, either.”
“Oh. And please, call me Dr. Obvious.”
I roll my eyes again.
“Is this where I offer you my free cunnilingus services?”
My eyes widen and I sit up instantly. “Excuse me?” My heart is pounding. The fuck did he just say?
“I was kidding.” Eric puts his hands up and tries to look innocent. Zim laughs maniacally in the background.
Holy fuck, is that what a heart attack feels like? My pulse is still racing. I settle back down on the couch. “Remember when I told you I didn’t think you were that funny? This is one of those times.”
“You’re right. Sorry. It was a bad joke.” He goes back to rubbing my feet, the callouses on the pads of his fingers tickling my toes.
I take a few deep breaths to try and steady myself and sound as unaffected as possible. “No shit, it was a bad joke. But I'm not surprised. All of your jokes are bad.”
He pinches me behind my knee and I yelp in surprise.
“Take that back,” he says with a playful smirk.
“No.”
He squeezes and pinches my knees again and I am squirming and kicking because it fucking tickles and I can’t tell him to stop because I am laughing and can barely breathe.
He stops his torture. “How about now?”
“Fine,” I relent. “Not all of your jokes are stupid.”
He moves his hands off my knees and back down to my feet, a slightly too-smug look on his face.
“Just most of them,” I add quickly.
He shoots me back a narrow glare but his lips are twitching.
I turn back to the TV, fixing my eyes on the screen like the show is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
“I don’t feel any foot rubbing. You’re not going to stop are you? We had a deal.” I don’t look at him but bounce my feet in his lap as he quietly chuckles and starts massaging again.
We’re in the middle of the third episode when his hands start to move farther up my calves, rubbing up over the sensitive skin on the backs of my knees and then he starts kneading just above there. I unconsciously scoot down the couch toward him so he has better access to my legs.
As his fingers dig into my thighs, my heartbeat quickens and I feel warm all over. The massage feels so nice I have to make sure I don’t start moaning or purring like a cat.
“That feels nice.” My eyelids flutter closed and I let out a long sigh. “You’re good with your hands.” I want to slap my palm over my face. You’re good with your hands? Am I flirting or...?
“I’m better with my mouth.”
I snap my head up, my eyes shooting open. Is he flirting back or is he just messing with me? He has the nerve to wink.
“Okay,
now you’re just teasing me and your jokes aren’t funny.”
“I’m teasing you?” He quirks his chin, his hands dangerously hot on my mid-thighs. “What if it wasn’t a joke?” He’s quiet when he says it.
And there goes my heart pounding again. “What do you mean? Stop fucking with me, Gallagher, or I'm going to have a cardiac episode at nineteen.”
“I mean”—his voice is almost raspy as he continues—“I would help you out—if you wanted.” His gaze travels down my body, his dark brown eyes big, his cheeks flushing red. “If you were that hard up, I could make you come.”
I decide to ignore the whole being hard up part, because, let’s face it—I am. I sit up, removing my legs from his lap, swallowing hard as I do.
“Are you being serious right now?” My heart is thumping in my chest.
We look at each other for a moment like we’re assessing a chess board, deciding which move to make next.
“Let’s just forget about it.” Eric shifts in his seat and turns back to the show.
I sit in my corner of the couch with my knees bent to the side and try not to think about his words.
I’m better with my mouth.
Maybe I should just go home. Maybe give Chris Pine another try. But I can’t let it go. Was he actually offering to get me off? To go down on me? He told me he loves eating pussy—does he genuinely enjoy it so much that it doesn’t matter who it’s with? Did he offer for his own enjoyment, or does he actually want to do for me? The thought of his mouth on me has my body tingling and I'm getting hot and achy between my thighs thinking about it.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“You’ll have to be more specific. As a doctor, I know a lot of things.”
I bite my lip. “How do you know you’d be able to make me come?”
He turns toward me. His lips are parted and I think his breathing is faster. “I just know.”
“But how do you know?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never gone down on a girl and not made her come.” He says it very matter-of-factly.
“Really? That’s a bold statement. I guess that would make you pretty confident in your pussy-eating skills. But are you sure? I mean, girls fake it all the time and most guys have no idea. I’ve never faked it. Either I came or I didn’t and I never hid it so he could sit in his own guilt if he didn’t satisfy me. Of course, I’ve only been with teenage guys and they’re mostly pretty selfish in that aspect or completely oblivious to the female orgasm altogether. They definitely wouldn’t know if it was fake or real.” Here I am, blabbering about orgasms again. Jesus.
Eric’s smirking again. “Well, I’m not oblivious. I can tell when it’s happening and I know for a fact I could make you come.”
I try to hold my breath to keep my voice steady. “I don’t think you could. It’s nothing against you, but it’s been impossible lately. It’s like my body forgot how.”
He leans toward me. “Your body doesn’t have much to do with it. It’s all about your mind. And if you let me, I’d definitely make you come.”
“If I let you? So if I said yes right now, you’d go down on me?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I would.”
“But would you... Do you want to?”
He moves closer, licking his lips. “Ky, I would eat you out and love every second of it.” He doesn’t break eye contact as he says it and I can feel every word like a caress against my skin.
I swallow thickly. My throat feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. I've never been easily embarrassed or prone to blushing and I’m grateful for that, because if I were, I’d be blushing something fierce right now.
“And if you did, would you expect me to go down on you after?”
The image of him taking out his hard cock and feeding it to my open and willing mouth makes my stomach clench and my thighs tingle.
“No. You don’t have to do anything after.” He glances down to my mouth and I imagine he’s picturing the same thing. “But there is one thing I’d like you to do for me before.”
“What’s that?”
“Kiss me.”
“You want to kiss me?”
“No. I want you to kiss me.”
I smack his shoulder. “Smartass.”
He chuckles. “Call me old-fashioned, but it seems weird to me to kiss your pussy lips before kissing your actual lips.”
We’re closer now. I wonder if he notices my breasts heaving along with my quickening breaths. He’s serious. About all of it. And the ache, the need, the anticipation is already blossoming between my legs.
We sit across from each other. Not moving. He’s smiling just enough to show the edges of his teeth.
“Come here.” He says it like a dare, cocking his chin. “Kiss me.”
CHAPTER 16
I stare at him, unblinking. All words caught in my throat.
We’re quiet. For minutes. Unmoving as we sit across the couch.
“Forget about it,” he finally says. “It was just a dumb idea. I shouldn’t have even said anything. Another episode?” His voice is extra light as he points the remote at the screen which is asking us if we would like to continue watching or turn it off.
“Um, sure. Maybe just one more.” It’s starting to get late, the night sky glowing dark blue through the large front windows is the only source of light other than the television.
We sit facing forward through the next episode, watching in silence. My eyes are glued to the screen but they aren’t focused on anything. I don’t know what’s going on in the show. I haven’t heard a single word. All I can think about is Eric.
Kiss me.
He’s sitting right there. So close. But to lean over and kiss him? He might as well be across a canyon. That’s how crazy it feels. How scary. How dangerous. My pulse is rapid. Loud in my ears. I want to kiss him.
Fuck, I can do this. I’m Kyla ‘dat ass’ Rosenbaum.
But I can’t move.
The end credits start to roll and Eric shuts it off.
This is it. Either do this now or go home and obsessively think about what would have happened if I had.
I’m up on my knees, moving toward him, vaguely aware that there’s a big, bold line flashing in front of me, and I’m about to cross it. If I keep going, we’ll never be able to go back.
Am I actually doing this?
He looks up just as I’m closing in, a little furrow in his brow.
“Wha—”
I place my hands on either side of his head and focusing in on that little freckle on his upper lip, I lower my face to his.
I expect the kiss to be nice. I expect to kiss a willing, pliable mouth. But the instant my lips touch Eric’s, he kisses me back. His lips are full and soft. I pull away quickly, unsure of myself.
He looks a little shocked. Should I not have done it? His lips are parted. He’s stunned silent. Then his gaze flickers to my mouth and his eyes go hooded as he reaches a hand to my face and pulls me back to him.
He kisses me again. Eagerly. Expertly. My lips are parted and our tongues meet. The first tentative taste is sweet and slow. I want more. He moves his hand to wrap around the back of my neck, holding me close as he sweeps his tongue in deeper. Our mouths mingle, and little groans of pleasure vibrate from his chest.
He takes my knee with his other hand and pulls my leg over so that I'm straddling his lap, and then his hands are at my back, rubbing up my spine and down my ribs. The kiss becomes even more urgent until we’re a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth, sucking and licking and nipping and moaning. My body is completely melted against his.
I move my fingers into his hair and tug at his bottom lip with my teeth. I love his sharp intake of air and how his lips are swollen from our kissing and how he hisses my name as he slides his hands down over my shorts to squeeze my ass. I’m heated and out of breath. Then his strong hands lift my butt and he’s turning us and laying me down.
I’m panting when he breaks the kiss. His warm fingers play at my waist
band, brushing along the sensitive skin below my belly button.
“Can I take these off?” His voice is hoarse.
“Yes.”
He undoes the button and zipper of my jean shorts and I lift my hips as he pulls them down. I'm left in my striped cotton panties, lying on Eric’s couch while he skims his hands over my bare thighs, a devious glint of excitement in his eyes.
“I want to make you come. Do you want me to?”
I nod, unable to speak.
It doesn’t seem real—to be doing this with Eric. Anticipation buzzes through my body as he lowers his lips to the inside of my knee. He spreads my legs and kisses up higher—soft little kisses on the delicate skin of my inner thighs. I still can’t believe this is happening. Eric is going to eat me out. A rush of heat pools between my legs and my stomach. My legs are quivering.
Eric looks up at me, his lips still soft against my trembling thigh. “Are we still good?”
“Mm hmm. Keep going.” My shaky voice betrays my nerves, though.
He kisses me again lightly, farther up toward the apex of my thighs. “Have you not had someone do this for you before?” he asks, still looking at my face.
“I have. Only one of my exes, actually. But he never did it for very long.”
“So you’ve never come like this?”
“No.”
He rubs his nose along my panties and then presses his lips to my mound, his breath hot through the fabric.
“Do you touch yourself often?”
“Um, yes.”
“Every day?”
“Usually, yes.”
“Mm.” He kisses over my underwear, down toward my center.
I spread wider for him. Then he rubs his knuckle up and down my slit, through my panties, and I can feel myself warming. I hold my breath so I don’t gasp when he hooks that finger inside my panties and drags the knuckle along my skin, tracing the seam of my pussy. Now he knows how wet I am for him.
“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” He pulls the thin fabric over so that I’m bared to him. My most private, sensitive, pink flesh glistening just inches away from his face. He moves in slowly.