We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (12 page)

Quinn looked like a disco ball in his sparkly, open-collared shirt and shiny silver bell bottoms. Round rose-tinted sunglasses partially hid his blue eyes.

I think Ben dressed as Bob Ross. His curly hair looked extra poofy above his denim suit. Yes, he wore a denim blazer and matching slacks. Leave it to Alex P. Keaton to find a denim suit.

All together, we looked like a bad mashup of seventies television shows.

“I can’t believe anyone ever thought these clothes were cool.” Gil ran his hand over the rough texture on his arm.

“Are you kidding? This is the best invention ever.” I spun around. “If it had pockets, I’d live in these things. Stylish, yet airy and breathable.”

“There’s nothing breathable about these pants.” Quinn’s bell bottoms were the tightest fitting, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination man pants I’d ever seen.

“I’ve never understood guys and their need to let their penises
breathe
?” I used air-quotes to demonstrate my doubt. “Your lungs aren’t attached to your genitals.”

“It’s more about containment and the ability for things to, um . . .” Gil paused.

“Listen, things move around and need their space,” Ben explained for him.

“Didn’t you learn this stuff in your biology class?” Quinn asked.

“She was too busy flirting with our professor.” Maggie nudged me.

Quinn made a face. “Old Driscoll?”

“No, the hot, super young grad student who subbed for him. Where have you been?” I set him straight. Figuratively of course.

“Super hot, young grad student? And you didn’t share?” Quinn mock glared at me.

I contemplated telling them about my plans after the party. I needed to get them to the bar, but didn’t want the teasing that would ensue for the next couple of hours in between now and then.

“He’s on our team, Quinn. Sorry.”

“How do you know?” He raised his eyebrow at me.

Maggie huffed. “It may have been a biology class, but there was a lot of chemistry. All of it aimed at Selah.”

Really? “There was?”

“You were too busy trying to play coy to catch him staring at you.”

Hmm, news to me. I didn’t think I could play coy.

Before everyone got too drunk for the second act of the night, I made my suggestion. They all agreed, with the caveat we kept our costumes on.

“We’ll match the interior.”

“It’s not Halloween, Quinn.” I really didn’t need to show up wearing a muumuu. I was ninety-nine-point-nine-percent sure Jason had been joking about finding Mrs. Roper in any way hot, but I guess I would find out.

Fellow students as well as townies packed the bar. We definitely stood out like flamingos in our brightly colored polyester among all the jeans and plaid.

The booths were full and tables overcrowded. I scanned the room for Jason, but couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of us through the crowd. Being short sucked in these situations. My current view consisted mostly of Gil’s back and the buttons of some random guy’s flannel.

The crowd waiting at the bar counted five people deep around the stools. Dehydration while waiting for our drinks became a real probability. Sighing, I resigned myself I’d never find Jason.

A warm hand grabbed my wrist and then long fingers interwove with mine. I glanced around at my friends—all hands were accounted for. The fingers tugged me backward, into flannel guy.

I caught my balance and twisted to see Jason smiling at me over his shoulder as he pulled me through the crowd.

Before I could question where he was taking me, he shouldered the backdoor open into a dim alley. He spun me around and pushed me against the cold bricks of the building.

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth from the first day of class.”

I gasped and his lips crashed into mine. Not hesitant. Not asking for permission. Claiming. Demanding. Owning.

His hands framed my face, angling it to go deeper. This wasn’t bumbling exploration like high school. He used his tongue as a weapon to conquer me.

My fingers clenched in his soft hair, pulling, tugging, tethering me to him. I wanted to claw at his skin, leave behind marks. I needed to feel his flesh between my teeth. I had to touch all of him. If I didn’t, I might have imploded from sexual frustration.

The door we’d exited opened, spilling noise from the bar into the quiet. A guy dumped a bag into the dumpster across the alley. If he saw us, we didn’t shock him enough to comment.

Jason ducked his head into my neck, gently nipping the exposed skin. “I like this dress.”

His kiss had disarmed me. I’d completely forgotten what I was wearing.

“Most guys had a thing for Chrissy or even Janet on Three’s Company, but I find the one guy who had the hots for Mrs. Roper.”

“Maybe she didn’t wear anything else underneath for easy access.” His hands drifted to my hips and bunched the fabric, slowly lifting it high enough so he could reach skin. “Are you naked underneath this?”

I didn’t need to answer him when his fingertips skimmed along the edge of my underwear.

“Ah, too bad.” He traced the border between skin and lace.

“They come off,” I stated the obvious in a breathy plea.

“I imagine they do.” The tip of his finger slipped underneath the material.

I stopped breathing for a moment, letting the sensation of his touch roll over my skin. I bit my lip to stop a moan from escaping my mouth when he pressed himself against me. That was no lip balm. Nor was it a pack of Lifesavers or quarters.

I trailed my hands down his arms, examining the biceps I’d been fascinated with for two months. They were as hard and sculpted as I’d imagined. I’d spent hours, days, and weeks fantasizing about them. Now I was touching him. I almost pinched myself to make sure it was real, but losing contact with him would’ve been a bad idea.

Leaving a trail of small, open kisses along my jaw, he found his way back to my mouth. His kisses became softer, longer. The pent up frustration left him. We fell into a rhythm. Our mouths, his hips, my hips, his fingers exploring me synched into a singular experience. My entire body hummed with building anticipation. My breasts ached to be touched. Everything clamored and screamed for attention from him. He was every boy band member rolled into one and my body acted like his adoring, screaming fan.

Instead of waiting for him to read my mind, I placed his hand over my nipple, pressing his flesh into mine so he could feel how he affected me. He responded by rolling the bud between his fingers, sending a fresh wave of electricity between my legs.

I sought out a new, faster beat with more friction, more pressure. More something. I closed my eyes to concentrate on his touch. I’d never been touched like this, with such self-assurance and deliberate focus.

“I will make you come right here, right now, if you ask nicely.” He nipped my ear lobe as his breath warmed my neck. “Or if you’re willing to delay your gratification, we could go back to my apartment.”

Yes and yes, please? I could ask nicely. Or beg. I wasn’t above begging at this point. If he asked me to purr like a kitten, I would have. Anything to make him finish what he started.

“Why not both?” I whispered, unable to focus on the thought of stopping the wave of pleasure about to crash over me. “I’m close.”

“I know.”

A shift of his fingers, a pinch of my nipple, and I fell into an abyss of sensation. Sweet goddess of orgasms and bliss. The man knew what he was doing.

“Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover” ~ Sophie B. Hawkins

“HOW DID YOU
know I was close back there?” I sat in the passenger seat of his VW Rabbit on the drive north to Seattle.

“Miss Elmore, you should be able to answer your own question. Did I teach you nothing about biology?”

I thought about it for a second. “Tell me. It’ll be hotter coming from your mouth. I like it when you go all scientific.”

He stretched his arm over the gearshift to rest his hand on my thigh. His fingers traced the pattern of my dress. “Your breath became shallow, your nipples engorged and extended, a flush bloomed on your chest and neck, and that’s only what I saw with my eyes. My fingers told me more. Your vulva puffed and your clitoris swelled with excitement. I could feel how slick you became. How your body opened for my fingers, preparing itself for penetration.”

I could have done without the terms engorged and vulva, but his frank, honest description of what he experienced and witnessed was all kinds of hot. Much hotter than slang terms guys in high school used. None of them could find a clitoris even using a map. Or had their finger placed directly on it. They were all about insertion and screwing. Literally.

I fell back into the pillows on Jason’s bed. His mouth on my sex was almost too much. He knew what he was doing.

This wasn’t fumbling around in new territory. No random jabs or pokes. Nothing about his movements felt awkward.

Part of me wanted to find the woman, or women, who taught him how to do this. No man was born knowing a woman’s body like he played mine right now. Most needed a beacon like a little pink lighthouse sitting at the apex, beaming its light into the darkness. Or tiny versions of those guys at the airport with their mini light sabers guiding the penis into the vagina.

Then again, Jason did teach biology. Maybe he lied when he said he’d never taught human sexuality before. He could be a natural. Or an amazingly quick learner.

His tongue pressed against me, sending sparks of pleasure firing throughout my body.

Or a damn genius.

His mouth began to gently suck while his fingers explored. No, not explored. Claimed me.

My hands curled into the pillows. I wanted to pull his hair. Hard. Some part of me wanted to inflict a little pain to balance out the pleasure he gave me.

From my center, energy crackled and snapped through my body out to my fingers and toes. My muscles coiled and tightened.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

“Vulva!” I yelled, clamping my thighs around his head.

Oh, oh, oh, no.

No. No. No.

Maybe he didn’t hear me because of the thigh-muffs.

Who was I kidding?

Everyone in his building, and maybe out on the street probably heard me. Vulva echoed down the hall, the stairs, ringing off of the brick buildings along the parked cars, scaring flocks of birds from the trees. Children stopped playing in the park and looked around in confusion before their mother’s hands covered their ears. Dogs howled out their own version of vulva. Ruh-ra, ruh-ra.