Syria's Seduction: A New Adult Introduction to the Boudoir Sessions Series (3 page)

Syria slid back into the booth, startled when her skirt shifted and her bare bottom brushed the cool vinyl. She couldn’t wait for him to find out what she’d done, to slide his hand up her thigh and discover the secret. A fire licked between her legs, just imagining it. “Now why would I do that?”

He shrugged. “It happens. I can be pushy.” He pointed to another glass of cider. “I got you another one, as an apology for molesting your hand.”

She picked up the glass and took a small sip. “Apology accepted.” She screwed up her courage, feeling the alcohol loosening the tension in her belly. “As long as I get my turn.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to lick my fingers?”

“Or something.” She assessed him, trying to be brave. What did she like best? His eyes, blue and intense. The spiky thick hair, gold on the tips. The lips, full and soft. No, not a kiss, not yet. His jaw. She liked his jaw.

Syria willed her hand not to shake as she reached out to touch him, the line from his chin to his neck, chiseled and hard. She ran her thumb along the edge, feeling the light stubble there. She’d never been this intimate with anyone. The closest she came to boys was forced dances during PE when they’d learned Do Si Do and Allemande Left.

He turned his face and kissed her palm again, lifting his hand to press hers in place. “This is pretty intense,” he said. “I just met you this afternoon.”

“I get the idea that this comes naturally to you.”

“Not that often.” He watched her over her arm, leading to his neck. “You’re pretty damn beautiful, you know.”

Syria shook her head. “Not hardly.”

He pulled her hand down but held on to it. “I’m a professional. I know these things.”

“I’m sure you can do miracles in Photoshop.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Not necessary. Not with you.”

Syria looked away. “You don’t have to flatter me. I think you’ve already lured me into your trap.”

He let go of her hand. “Is that what you think? I’m just coming on to you?”

Syria’s face flamed. Of course she’d thought that. “No!”

Anthony exhaled in a long slow rush. “I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Being around women that make me nervous.”

She made him nervous? “You were fine around Sharon.”

“Are you kidding? I thought she’d never leave. You saved my skin out there. Normally I have a girl assistant, someone as chaperone.”

Syria reached back for his hand, trying to smooth things over. “I’m glad I was there. This was a crappy day, and you rescued it.”

He relaxed again then. “I think our fried pickles are arriving.”

The watched the waitress approach with a red basket.

“You’re convincing me to do the craziest things,” Syria said.

“Good.” Anthony picked up a spear of breaded pickle, then immediately dropped it. “Hot!”

Syria flashed with boldness. She grasped his hand and kissed the fingers, then touched one with her tongue. She tasted salt and the crumbs of the breading. Heat flashed through her midsection, tingling her breasts and settling between her legs, and without panties, the warmth made her feel sticky and wet.

Anthony swallowed, his breath measured as his chest rose and fell. “I’m going owe a debt to Sharon for dragging me to that park today.”

Syria slid her lips off the end of his fingers, feeling absolutely on fire. “Me too,” she said.

They stared at the basket then, heat wafting off the pickles. “I think I need to drink more,” Anthony said, taking a long pull on his beer.

“Me too.” Syria lifted the cider and drained a fourth of the glass, already feeling the effects, giddy and loose and good.

“You should eat a pickle,” Anthony said.

Syria burst out laughing. “That’s just about the worst double entendre I’ve ever heard.”

Anthony wiggled his eyebrows. “But they are so long and hot.”

Syria picked up a spear and bit into it. “It spurt juice on me!” she said.

“Money shot!” Anthony picked up another.

“I didn’t know you were into pickles,” she said, laughing.

“Baby, I swing all ways.”

Syria began to relax. This was how she’d always imagined a date to be. Life felt like it was beginning right now.

Anthony ordered the ribs, and they finished off the pickles. He sat back. “Have you done any photography? You seemed to pick up on the light and shadows pretty fast.”

Syria shook her head. “I don’t even own a camera other than what’s on my phone.”

“We could make a day of learning. I should photograph you and we could practice.” His blue eyes bore into hers. “I’d love to shoot you.”

Syria could feel her face growing hot. “Normal things? Or like Sharon?”

He sucked in a breath. “You willing to do boudoir?”

She tried to stay bold, willing her voice not to waver. “What does it entail?”

“Anything you want. You can wear normal clothes.” He hesitated. “Or none.”

“I don’t think I could do that in the middle of the day.”

Anthony nodded. “That was too crazy.” He glanced back up at her. “But I do know a more private place.”

Syria’s stomach flipped. “Where is that?”

“Down by the lake. The grass grows pretty high. It’s nice.”

“Do you shoot there?” She imagined a running list of girls who’d been lured there.

“Nope, not ever. I used to fish there with my dad.”

“But, what about people? If someone came up, I would just...” Heck, even having Anthony look at her seemed too crazy.

“We could go at dawn, super early.” He picked up her hand again. “I’m totally nervous, just thinking about it. We don’t have to do it. We can do normal things for a while, get to know each other. It’s sort of crazy. Forget I said it.”

Disappointment welled up in her. If she didn’t do it now, she might not ever. Her mom might ask too many questions. She might chicken out. He might change his mind. “No, let’s do it tomorrow.”

“Really?” His smile lit up their dark space.

The waitress brought the ribs to them, and Syria was relieved for the distraction. The meat looked delicious, bathed in a thick sauce. “I guess there’s no easy way to do this.”

Anthony cut the ribs apart. “Just pick them up and go.” He lifted one of the ribs and kissed it, getting sauce on his lips. “Now I’m tasty meat.”

Syria laughed, shaking her head, but she pressed one of the ribs to her mouth as well. “And now so am I.”

They sat there a moment, grinning foolishly at each other, when he leaned in. “Can I?” he asked.

She nodded, watching him come closer to her in slow motion. When she’d imagined her first kiss, over and over again after watching romantic movies or walking up on other high school couples making out in cars, she couldn’t have actually pictured the booth, the ribs, and the sticky honey-barbecue.

They came together, gently, a bit slippery with the sauce. He laughed a little against her, then flicked his tongue out and cleaned her. He was gentle, just brushing against her, and her heart has hammering so hard she was certain he could hear it. Then he pressed in, sliding her lips apart, angling across her, and everything began shooting sparks, seriously — sparks, just like in cartoons when fireworks went off.

She gasped for breath and he broke the kiss a moment, his mouth on her cheek. Everything felt on fire, from her face to her breasts to her belly and thighs. She wanted more of it, endless amounts.

Syria felt him pulling away but moved with him, keeping him close, and turning her face so their lips met again. This seemed to set something off in him, as the new kiss was even more intense, his tongue deep into her mouth, hungry, licking at her.

When she gasped again, he let her go, looking down at the forgotten ribs. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at barbecue the same again.”

Syria forced her breathing to slow. She wanted to be anywhere else, but they had details — food, checks, payment, where to go and what to do. She would call her mom, tell her she was staying over at Jennifer’s. Her mom wouldn’t question it. Syria had never gone on so much as a date.

“Can we get these to go, you think?” she asked, and hoped Anthony wouldn’t think she was some sort of slut.

“Forget them.” He dumped several bills on the table and slid out his side. “Let’s get out of here.”

He reached for her hand and helped her out of the booth. “I live very close to here.” He suddenly looked doubtful. “Are you okay with that?”

“Sure.” Hell, she was okay with anything at this point. She’d call her mother on the way.

“You can follow me.” He led her out the door.

Syria looked back at their table, already feeling wistful. She’d have to come back here again. She had a feeling her life had changed at that very booth.

They pulled up to a duplex, a little on the shabby side, but respectable enough. Anthony jumped from his car, rushing to open her door. “It’s probably messy. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Syria got out of her car. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I have a roommate, but he’s off visiting his parents in Arkansas. I’ll blame anything embarrassing on him.”

Syria laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

He took her hand to lead her up the path, but the wind decided to gust. Syria tried to catch her skirt, but with her purse in one hand and the other in Anthony’s, it got away from her.

His jaw dropped. “Did I just see —” He decided not to say anything else, but spun her around so her back was against the car. He pressed against her, his mouth seeking hers. She could feel his erection pressing against her thighs. That had been easy. She had no frame of reference for size, although she knew bigger was supposedly better. In her case, maybe something smaller might be better for the task. She didn’t know if she should tell him she was a virgin, if that would freak him out or if he’d be more careful.

He deepened this kiss and her thoughts erased. His hands slid down her arms and moved to her waist, squeezing her. His thumbs grazed against the bottom of her breasts and she sucked in a breath. Everything was so intense. She didn’t see how she could contain it all.

Anthony reached down, past her hips, gathering up the material to her skirt and lifting it up. When his hand grazed her bare thigh, she jumped. “I thought I saw something,” he whispered.

His fingers traveled up and up, shifting toward the middle.

Syria thought she would die if he didn’t touch her soon, feeling frantic and needy. She hadn’t masturbated much, even though she’d tried. It didn’t do anything for her but make her feel silly. She should have read up on it, or something. She didn’t know what she was missing, really, and even though a book or movie might make her feel hot and tingly, she hadn’t been sure what to do about it. It just hadn’t come naturally to her.

But Anthony’s hand traveling there was like fire. He reached the puff of hair and smiled against her mouth. “Syria, you surprise me constantly. You act so innocent, but then you do something crazy.”

His finger delved into her folds, and Syria thought she’d collapse. Her legs turned to ash, and she had to hold on to Anthony’s shoulders. He stroked her, first diving deeply in, then seeming to seek something, opening her so wide that the cool air hit her skin in places she’d never thought would be exposed to the night.

Then he found what he was looking for and began to work it harder. Pleasure splintered through Syria and she heard herself cry out. She wanted to be embarrassed but it was too much, moving so fast. She was spiraling up, and needed more and more. She didn’t want to be outside anymore, standing by his car, but somewhere that she could focus on this, understand it, see where it led.

She kissed him harder. “Can we go in?”

He released her and she sagged in relief, still holding on to him. “Yes,” he said, tugging keys from his pocket, taking her hand again, and leading her to the porch.

Then they were inside, his place smelling of stale pizza and dust, but she didn’t care. She hoped he’d take her straight to his bed. “Where is your room?” she asked.

“Through here.” They went down the dimly lit hall but when he reached for the bedroom overhead light switch, she stopped him. “Do you have something less harsh?”

He nodded and hunted around in a corner, working by the light from the hall. She could make out a cluster of stands, and he powered on a big black box. A studio flash, and the diffused light from the front panel gave the room a soft glow. “That good?” he asked.

“Perfect.” She set her purse on the floor, nervous now that she was here. Still so many hurdles. Her virginity. Condoms. Fear curdled in her belly. Her mother had gotten pregnant by a stranger. It was the one thing she had really impressed upon Syria, taking care of that, never falling for lies.

“I’m not on the pill or anything,” she blurted.

Anthony came back to her and grasped her elbow. “I’ll take care of it.”

One thing down. Syria exhaled. “There’s one other thing.”

He pulled her into an embrace, tucking her head against his shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just be here until morning, and then see if you still want to do the shoot.”

“I know. I just wanted to tell you that I am a virgin.”

Anthony’s breath rushed out. “Wow.”

Crap, now he was freaked out. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s got to go eventually, right? I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

He continued to hold on to her, his breath warm against her neck. She wondered if he still wanted her, but at least she could tell THAT. She shifted a little so her hips was more firmly nestled against his pelvis.

Oh yes. She could feel it.

He sucked in a breath, as if he knew she’d made that contact on purpose. She wasn’t sure which she wanted more, to try touching him, or to get him to touch her again. Well, he had started things. She could make the next move.

Syria snaked her hand between them, pressing her palm against the long bulge. He was angled to one side, trapped in the khaki pants. That couldn’t be comfortable. She reached for his belt, trying not to let her jangling nerves slow her down. “May I?” she asked him this time.

He nodded against her hair.

She tugged the leather strip out and pulled on the buckle. Rather than just leave it hanging there, she slid it, slowly and leisurely, out of all the loops.