"Let's walk," he said.
He turned, and I was by his
side. My head reached his shoulders — the
top
of my head! Waves rumbled a few
blocks away. Cold, Atlantic waves. I'd wet my feet in them once and
regretted it dearly. Dani had told me that the water was warmer in
the summer. I didn't believe her.
We passed a few apartments — mine included.
(It wasn't really an apartment. I rented a garret of someone's
house.) We were headed for the beach. The full moon lit up Dorian's
left bicep. Small goose-pimples had formed on it.
"You're cold?" I asked.
He flicked his cigarette away, shook his
head.
We got to the wall by the shingle-beach and
sat on it. No one else was around, only a few cars parked here and
there overnight. I looked over the wall. It would be a painful fall
if someone was to go over, but not high enough to kill them.
Looking back at the street I saw three- and four-story buildings
blocking my view from anything interesting. Two or three apartment
lights were one. For a second it seemed like one of them had a
Peeping Tom, but when I looked again, the drapes were drawn.
Seaford was a sleepy town, generally. And at just-after-one A.M.,
few people were ever awake, especially on a weeknight.
I felt like a little kid at school, waiting
for her first kiss.
And then that kiss came. Strong and
forceful. And so did the hand, up my thigh, and the other straight
to my breast.
Instinctively I pushed him away, but only
slightly. It had not even been much of a push, more of a resistance
with my lips. His breath tasted of tobacco and spearmint. Not
altogether unpleasant, but not a bed of roses either.
I let him touch my leg, his hand was high on
my left thigh now. I remembered these kinds of kisses at school —
uncomfortable, not particularly romantic, but enough to get the
pulse going, maybe even a bit of a thrill. That's what this felt
like. I'd play along. What had I expected, after all? (And I was
still waiting for that "drink" he'd said we'd be going for
tonight...)
Dorian's lips were unyielding and his kiss a
little over-enthusiastic. He fondled my left breast firmly but,
sadly, it ended up hurting more than making me hot. Safe, however,
I did feel. I mean, out here, on this wall, easily a hundred
apartments within earshot should I scream, nothing was going to
happen.
I didn't, however, like the feeling that all
the pleasure of tonight was going to be on his part, because, to
get me hot, he was gonna have to try a lot fucking harder — and he
was going to have to slow the fuck down!
He pushed into me with his impatient tongue.
It fired in and out and left and right so that I couldn't even get
my own tongue in edgewise! His weight pushed me back and my right
hand went against the gravelly wall-top, holding me up.
No, this was not going right. I didn't mind
a little fondling. Heck, I knew how far this was going to go —
somehow, we'd both end up coming, I hoped; at least he would for
sure... — but this lap-dog licking was getting a little heavy.
Whatever happened to smooth and confident Dorian?
Oh, right, that smoothness is just to pick
girls up, not where it really counts: At the after-party.
The small stones dug into my right hand as I
held myself up. Dorian seemed to practically want to lie down on
top of me on this stony wall so I'd end up with frickin bruises on
my skin or something. One thing I did know, never let an
unconfident man know how bad he is at turning you on... (I don't
even know where I learned that.)
I put my hand on his chest, pushed him
gently away, but smiled coyly at the same time. I heaved in a
breath, trying my damnedest to look sexy, or to look like a tease.
I took a quick survey of the area, still empty. Peeping Tom had
turned the lights off.
I licked my bottom lip. Dorian's chest
heaved and his confident grin had been replaced by a hungry thirst
of a look. His mouth was open, his breath quick.
Nope, this wasn't going to run as it had run
with Conall. Dorian wasn't going to take charge here — at least,
not very well. If I left it up to him he'd probably have me naked
and my clothes torn right on the cement floor!
Too much porn, buddy. You watch way too much
porn.
He rubbed my thigh up and
down, desperately.
Oh, fucking,
Christ!
Then he took his other hand and did
the same, up and down like I was a frickin ruler ready to pick up
paper with the static electricity!
He buried his lips (teeth?) into my neck,
hit a bone (I think) and made the left side of my body cringe.
No, Dorian wasn't mean, or
even rough really, and I felt no danger from him. He was, well,
just not so smooth. He kissed away, open mouthed, lips slavering
all over my neck...
Are you trying to make
me a goddamned vampire, dude?
I giggled, pushed him away gently (again!)
with both hands this time, kept that same coy-sexy-Kylie-Jenner
thing going with my eyes. I was getting good at that now.
I felt him push against my arms, trying to
get onto me.
Time to end this! As a
mayday action I fired my hand to his crotch... There we go. That
slowed him down. He gave a smile. Just like a puppy dog.
Oh, brother...
I couldn't
believe this was happening. But it was. And it could have been
worse. And I was glad I'd ended up on this wall (long way down, now
that I looked at it) with over-eager-beaver here rather than with
someone else, someone more sinister. I hadn't been with a man in
six months, and I knew I'd have to get my feet wet
sometime.
I rubbed up, and
I
kissed his neck. I had
to take control here.
I rubbed him harder, up and down. My hand
got hot from the friction on his jeans. My own skin was now cool.
As Dorian's eyes fluttered and he groaned, I turned my head to the
ocean and watched the waves as they crashed.
Dorian spread his legs wider. "Ooh, I like
the way you do that," he said.
I barely heard him.
I kept on rubbing. I felt
like goddamned mother goose now.
Damn it,
would you just come already...
The moon lit a line down
the center of the silver sea. A wave broke. Dorian gave a throaty
groan that went on for long. My only thought, when he was done,
was
thank goodness I got none of it on my
hands
.
He looked at me with puppy eyes. Green puppy
eyes that showed nothing but a big kid in a big body. He'd make
someone happy someday. I'm sure he would. But not me. Not today.
Not any other day either. Or so I thought...
"Wow, that was brilliant," he said. I
smiled. When had I become this? When had I started pretending
things, letting those more naïve than myself believe something that
wasn't true?
"Yeah, it was," I said, the words slipping
from my mouth like seawater from an open clam.
"Let me make
you
come now," he said to
me, his hands blasting in the direction of my crotch even before
he'd finished speaking. I blocked him, smiled again. (Smiling, that
was a good trick, I noticed...)
"Nah, it's fine," I said to
him. And then I kissed him on the lips, just as a small goodbye for
the night. He was calmer now, his tongue less eager. His kiss was
even gentle in some way.
Talk about
frustrated!
The surprising softness of his
lips, and his less agitated state, kept me kissing him a little
more than I'd planned. Dorian had been transformed from a
bloodhound on the trail of a rabbit to someone who, in this very
moment, gave me a little comfort...
I kissed him even more. I kissed him so much
more, and he kissed me back, that I felt myself now disappearing
into him. We kissed even longer. My eyes started closing. They
didn't close completely on their own, they weren't forcing
themselves down, my chest wasn't thumping hard and my skin wasn't
on fire but, still, they closed...
Dorian's tongue was now soft, moist on my
own, it curled around mine slowly and mine curled around his. I
felt myself — as if willed by some other force which wasn't mine —
move an inch closer to him. And then another.
Again without force, my right hand went to
his cheek, then to his chest. A big, manly chest. I moved it down
to his stomach. It wasn't steel-hard, not hard as rock, but it was
fit, manly. My hand moved to his thigh.
The waves crashed more quietly now, their
sound being relegated to second place in favor of Dorian's rhythmic
breaths. And then his hand — his hard, rough-skinned hand — moved
against my cheek.
And I felt my first chill, down from that
same cheek, to the side of my body, then to my ass and out my
toes.
My skin warmed, my insides warmed. As my
body eased into that hard wall (it really was very hard, and my
left butt-cheek was on a pebble of some sort) I noticed, only then,
that I'd been tense, absolutely tense.
How long had I been tense for? A week? Since
I'd arrived? Or since That Man had left, That Man who'd been my
love. The man I'd been thinking about all day, all night, every
second, before I'd met This Man in front of me now. This...boy.
This boy in a man's body whose size dwarfs my own and who is
kissing me, gently, oh so gently, moistening my lips and rubbing my
cheek...
I felt sad. Just like that.
So I kissed him some more. Suddenly I was
kissing Dorian Brant for reasons you shouldn't kiss another for. I
was kissing him for comfort from loss, kissing him to forget,
kissing him to feel as if the person I was really kissing...was
someone else.
Only I didn't know that then. Not
entirely.
Dorian made no effort to touch me anywhere
else other than my cheek. I wished he had. I wished he'd taken
control.
As our bodies synced in breath, and as the
minutes went by, lips upon lips, tongues twirling and playing,
moisture chilling on our cheeks as those tongues slipped just
briefly outside each other's lips, I moved his hand away from my
cheek, gently, slowly, to between my legs, on the outside.
Dorian was in control now. Not "experienced"
control, not learned control, just instinctual, manly control.
Big boy in a man's body.
He got up slowly, keeping
his lips to mine, and straddled the wall, his right leg dangling
above the sand below.
Hard
fall...
I pulled my lips from his, but not in a way
as to tell him it was over. No, not like that at all. Because it
wasn't. But I kept my eyes closed partly. Suddenly I was happy for
the badly lit street. Because the boy I was kissing was the boy I
had met in the bar earlier, but he also wasn't...
I also straddled the wall. I gazed into his
eyes, the moonlight blazing in his irises, green as a cup of Lemon
Tea.
I felt sad once again. And I didn't know
why...
The sadness made me, momentarily, forget to
control my motions. My mind drifted, as if it were being carried
away by the ocean wind, but Dorian was there, his hand now again at
my crotch, on the outside. And he pressed.
And
then
I felt it...
I clutched his shirt. This was familiar
territory. What was going on in my head here? What was this
"something" I was feeling?
He pressed again, and I felt it again...
What? The sensation was good, so good, but
it also wasn't —
He pressed a third time. Not hard, gentle,
above my pants, just a light push inwards.
My breath quickened. The howling wind blew
my hair behind my back and chilled my skin and, again, he pressed.
And he kept it there this time, pushing in, just lightly, holding
it there.
I squeezed my legs, felt
the stone wall dig into a spot below my right knee. I'd become
unaware that we'd been kissing, my mind, my aura —
everything
about me! —
focused completely on his fingers below, trying to capture this
"something" in the air every time he pushed against me, sending a
galvanizing pulse down my legs, and twisting my stomach.
Now
my eyes closed without will.
Now
my body tensed.
Now
I was swimming, in
something, somewhere, lost.
Press
. His hand slid inside my pants, into my lace underwear. I
hadn't even noticed.
He moved his fingers around the outside,
around my pubic hairs, just grazing the inside of the lips but not
entering me. We continued kissing, our tongues now moving without
thought and perfectly in sync.
And then he rubbed...
I gave a groan. An
unwilling groan. A deep, throaty groan that said all it needed to
say. And it said this:
This
is
good. This is
so
good.
And this is fear. And this is
uncertainty.
He moved just the tips of his two fingers to
only just inside me.
I groaned again. My head fell to his neck,
my arms wrapped around his broad body, and I let him finger me.
He moved inside, both
fingers now, as far as he could go. I lifted my pelvis as much as I
could to help him go deeper. My groaning and moaning had become
constant. My breathing was sharp and hot on his neck. I kissed him,
on the neck, feeling him thrust —
hard!
— into me, rubbing my clit with
his thumb and making me pulse, throb, waves shooting back and forth
and down and up and through my legs and —
"Oh, fuck," I said, the sound being a
mixture between real words and an unending moan.