Page 26 of Goode Vibrations
Even her lips were beautiful. Plump, with a deep Cupid’s bow, naturally pink. Delicate and kissable.
I had no hope of not kissing her. Futile to even consider it. She was soft; her skin was warm where her arm touched mine, where her hand slid up my bicep. Her breasts spilled sideways out of her shirt, and if she moved just so either way, one or the other would spill out. I wouldn’t complain if they did, but I wasn’t going to push my luck by helping them along. Not yet, anyway. For now, I slowly let gravity pull my mouth closer to hers, and she blinked up at me, held my gaze, and then her lips parted with a sigh as the last paper-thin millimeter vanished, and I felt her mouth on mine, wet warmth melding and melting on me, and her sigh turned to a murmur turned to a moan as the kiss gradually deepened.
Her palm floated up my arm, over my shoulder, graced into my hair and held me into the kiss, pulled me closer. Hers was the first tongue to quest out, but I eagerly met hers with my own, and then somehow our bodies were melting together, clothed but melding, fitting just so, angles into curves, softness into muscle.
How long did we just kiss? I don’t know. Time stopped. Melted along with my lips on hers, my chest against hers, her hip against mine. The only thing that didn’t melt was my cock, becoming a hard ridge between us—and her nipples, pebbling against my chest.
I wanted…
A complicated thing.
To delve into this, with this woman. To know how she tasted, every inch of her. To plummet into pleasure with her. Here, in the predawn gray, with bear tracks dimpling the grass mere feet away, with pink staining the horizon.
But for once in my fucked-up life, I didn’t want to rush into it.
Always before I’ve been after getting to the good bits right off. Kiss to touch to come, goodbye. Not because I don’t care or don’t want to know, but because I haven’t got the capacity to care, to know a person beyond hello and goodbye. Beyond the shape of curves and sounds of sighs, beyond a sleeping form under covers of a dim hotel room as I shoulder my bag, leaving the keycards by the TV, paying for the room as I leave.
Just jumping into the rough exploration of naked flesh as fast as I can get her there, into what makes her scream hardest, soonest.
Because if all I’ve got is the moment, let’s make the best of it before the next bend in the metaphorical road calls me onward.
As it always does.
Yet here I am, with a willing woman under me, kissing me fit to devour, all but silently begging me to strip her naked and show her what she’s been missing all this time…and I find myself slowing us down.
Resisting the siren song of her breast as it sags with heavy natural weight nearly out of the side of her tank top, resisting the slip of her thigh between mine.
Wanting to enjoy the ascent to the peak, not just the mountaintop high.
I pulled away from the kiss, and she was baffled. “Errol? I…I thought…”
I was just as confused, and now I had to make sense of it to her. Leaning up on an elbow, I made no bones about devouring the allure of her curves with my eyes. “Poppy, I…”
She bit her lower lip, fingers brushing at wayward locks of my hair. Familiar, intimate, affectionate—delirium-inducing. “I wasn’t going to stop, Errol.”
“I know.” I was still hunting for an explanation that would make sense.
“So why’d you…why’d you stop?”
“I…it’s…” I sighed in frustration. “Not sure how to explain it, honestly.”
“Well, try, before I start feeling rejected. And pro-tip, I don’t deal with rejection well, buddy.”
I sucked in a slow breath, held it. Stared down at her—golden skin bathed in the soft pink of new dawn light, black hair like an ink spill on the pillow under her head, molten cocoa eyes searching mine, not hiding her confusion or desire, the generous cleft of her cleavage taunting me, sideboob swell on either side of her tank top strap drawing my eyes and begging for my lips and my palms, her floral print skirt hiked up around her knees, blanket shoved aside, bare feet cute and sliding against her calves and my knee.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” I breathed, the truth drawn from my lips. I brushed a fingertip over her forehead, sliding a thick sheaf of black hair aside. “I’m always rushing into things,” I said. “Always running from one thing to another. I never stay anywhere long. Never hang around any one person for long. But for some reason, with you, I don’t want to rush right into things. I can’t explain it even to myself, Poppy. But the truth, as best I can verbalize it, is that I want to enjoy the process of getting there, with you. I don’t know what that means. I just know I’ve never met anyone as fascinating or as beautiful as you, and I know I probably will never meet anyone like you again, and I want to just…I don’t know how to put it…savorwhat we have for as long as we have it.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “That’s a good explanation.” Something haunted flickered through her expression, however.
“What?”
She shook her head, faking innocent confusion. “What, what?”
I sat up, and so did she. We sat facing each other—I was sitting crisscross and she had her knees hugged to her chest. “I saw that look. Dunno what it meant, but it wasn’t nothing.”
She laughed. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?” A sigh. “It’s just…weird. Because I was thinking the same thing. And it’s just weird. I’ve nevernotwanted to rush into things before. And it’s weird to think about, and weirder to talk about.”
“So, how about I make some coffee and we can do one of two things—ignore it, sweep it under the rug so to speak and not worry about it and just go with it since we both feel the same way—whatever that is and whatever it means.” I shrugged. “Or we can hash it out and just deal with the weirdness.”