down and held my hand. Flutter butterflies, flutter. His fingers interlaced mine and gave them a squeeze. I dared to look over at him and when I did, he was staring back at me. “Is this okay?” he whispered, even though we were the only two down there.
I nodded my head and gave him a smile, squeezing his hand back. I tried not to look too giddy at the mere fact of hand holding. What was I–– in sixth grade again? Our attention went back to the movie, with Henry’s thumb stroking my hand ever so slightly. My toes were tingling.
About halfway through Henry let go of my hand, and the cold crept around my fingers that were used to his warm palm protecting them. It was crazy how that one gesture deflated me so much. “I have to go to the bathroom. Do you mind if I pause it?” he asked, remote in the hand that was just holding mine.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I answered, and he got up and I could hear his footsteps on the stairs. I pulled my phone out of my purse which was beside the couch, and hastily thumbed a text to Lila. Dinner=amazing. At Henry’s watching movie. Might stay???
Her immediate reply: Holy shit girl. Stay stay!!! Naughty ;)
We’re not being naughty. Holding hands. Will text later. Don’t wait up!
NAUGHTY! From all of us. Good luck!
Great, so she was with the girls. Who now probably all thought we were rounding third base. Hand holding did not equal naughty! And who would do that on a second date? Well, probably Carmen and Emma, but certainly not Hannah and probably not Lila. And not me. Definitely not me...but Henry was looking good. And was obviously sweet and charming and I thought he was into me. What would be the harm? Damn! Could he really be weakening my resolve? No funny business on the second date. Really, not even the third. Maybe the fourth. I had to stay strong.
That resolve lasted until our first kiss. When Henry came back from the bathroom, we shifted positions on the couch. Instead of sitting up we laid down, Henry in back with one arm draped over me, hand once again holding mine. At some point during the movie, I felt the urge to turn my head and look at Henry. He was staring at me again, and then we were kissing. Who started it? I thought it was him, but I came to find out later that he swore it was me. It didn’t matter. What mattered was his lips were on mine and I was melting into his body. I’ve had first kisses with guys before, but none like the experience with Henry. I didn’t want to ever let up.
The first was slow and sensual, where my brain was still trying to catch up with my body. The second was less timid, more tongue, and I felt a small moan escape my mouth. Embarrassing or hot, it was a toss-up. The third was powerful, where I grabbed the back of Henry’s head and brought him closer with urgency, and he grabbed my hips and pulled me into him. He was excited. And holy shit was I excited. And feeling naughty. All resolve of third and fourth dates went out the window. I wanted Henry Landon.
The movie was long forgotten as we finally pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes, slightly out of breath. My bottom lip was sore from where he had bit down softly, which had only turned me on more. I struggled to sit up and Henry followed suit. I swung my legs around so I was straddling him and we were face to face. I grabbed his head again and pulled him towards me, lips on lips once again. He touched a palm to the top of my head, a gesture that cried out with intimacy and emotion. Goosebumps flew up around my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
Adrenaline and lust went surging through my body, and I boldly started to undo the buttons on my shirt. To my surprise Henry stopped me, placing his hands over mine and halting my motion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling stupid suddenly. He didn’t want me. Why didn’t he want me?
“Maybe we should get back to the movie,” he said, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
I tore my body off his, once again sitting up on the couch next to him. My thoughts