Page 18 of Text Me A Kiss

“A thrift store,” he mused, glancing around the cluttered, ill-organized shelves and bins. “Not where I would expect to find up-and-coming fine artists.”

“It’s not, is it? There can be some pretty interesting stuff here. I know a Juilliard student who got a Stradivarius violin at this thrift store. Well, maybe not a Stradivarius. But a really expensive, quality violin.”

“Hm.” Pridamant rubbed the material of a blue shirt that was fluffy and stringy at the same time between his fingers. “What’s the Stradivarius of ballet?”

“Huh.” What even was this thing? A long sock? A scarf? I put the unidentifiable length of fabric back on the shelf my curiosity had urged me to take it from. “Expensive pointe shoes, maybe? But companies usually provide those, and they give their dancers somewhere between 30 and 120 pairs a year because they tear up pretty fast no matter the brand. Like you really need a pair per performance.”

“Well, let’s see what we can find.”

And so, the hunt started. We walked all through the large store, sometimes together and sometimes apart until one would call the other over to see one thing or another. We never did find the Stradivarius of ballet, but the smile never left Pridamant’s face and I ended up dancing between racks of clothing along to the music. Ages had passed since I had just been in such a wonderful, joyful mood and had so much fun.

Before we even left the thrift store and went to our first bar, I could feel the change in our interactions. A lingering glance here, a not-so-accidental touch there—and then, after the first drinks we clinked together in the bar, some touching that wasn’t so accidental.

Like when I scooted my stool away from the one next to it just a little to escape the foul odor that clung to the stained jacket of a guy who sat down. Pridamant’s hand had been near my knee, but moving my chair just happened to push his hand up my thigh. His hand left a handprint of warmth where it touched.

How did that heat get between my legs?

And then there was that other time. “What’s that?” Pridamant asked, gently brushing my hair aside to look just under my right ear.

“Birthmark. Birthmark,” I repeated louder when he shook his head, projecting my voice above the noise. “Do you have one?”

“On my right side right above my hip. It looks like—okay then,” he ended in surprise, moving his elbow to make it easier for me to lift his shirt.

I touched the darker bits of his skin, searching for patterns. “Shapeless blobs?”

“I prefer to say it looks like Hawaii, but I guess.”

My fingers lingered just a little longer. I pulled away, and his skin followed my touch before the shirt settled back over the mark.

Then, sometime after the third drink, we couldn’t stop touching. I clung to his arm as he called to the bartender for another drink, and he couldn’t seem to detach his hand from its place dangerously low on my hips long enough to take both drinks at once. Instead of lifting my hand off his arm to brush a bit of white fluff from my jacket out of his short beard, I trailed my fingers all the way up his arm to his face and intentionally missed the bit of fluff twice.

Hold up. I had drunk a few drinks by now and I hadn’t tried to stand up in a while, but if I did, I would just be tipsy. I wasn’t drunk, and I wasn’t trashy when I drank—except that I was well on my way to turning into one of those girls that just couldn’t wait until they got home.

Besides, I knew how I wanted this night to end.

“Hey, do you want to head out?” The dregs of my last drink swirled at the bottoms of the ice cubes in my glass.

The fingers on my thigh tightened in a one-two-three-four-five motion. “Out?”

“Like…. Do you want to come to my place?” I didn’t think I could manage more suggestiveness. Yesterday, I’d made him wait, partially just to see how he’d take it.

Today, I wanted sex. I wanted to know him physically. To know all of him.

And I knew he wanted me. He’d been telling me not-so-subtly all day.

He told me again in the way he stood and offered me a hand. His hands told me in the taxi on the way back to Juilliard as they inched closer and closer to places they couldn’t touch in public. His eyes told me every time a streetlamp flashed by and hinted at their lust.

It was dark on the street outside my apartment building’s side door, and I fumbled with the keys. Pridamant’s hands all over my sides and stubble scratching at the side of my cheek had nothing to do with my sudden inability to open doors….

Pridamant pushed me through the door to my apartment as soon as I got it open. I heard it shut, but I didn’t know which of us had done it. I didn’t know which of us was which. As one, we fell onto the bed, and I managed to regain a tiny bit of self through the tangle of limbs and undulating of bodies and congratulate myself for not folding up the sofa bed this morning.

The pillow cushioned my head as my back hit the bed, created a gap between our bodies that Pridamant instantly closed. His hard chest trapped me beneath him, pressing against my jacket against my shirt against my breasts—

Why was I still wearing clothes? My hands grabbed his jaw, forcing his lips from my neck to my own lips. Passionate, aggressive, I used a barrage of kisses to force him away from me enough to shrug off my jacket. God, his body felt so good against my hands…. I made a little soft moaning sound, tugging at the clothes that kept our bodies apart.

The ghost of Pridamant’s kiss lingered against my lips as he sat up, pulling shirt and jacket over his head without unzipping the jacket. Darkness enveloped the room, hiding the grooves of his toned abs and pecs from me, but I’d seen those before. Picture after picture had shown me the firm body underneath the business suits and casual clothes. Darkness didn’t matter. I didn’t need to see the body that made my hips squirm.

I needed to touch it. Every inch needed to belong to me.