here to see the lights.”
“The lights are better from the viewpoint,” she said. “You have to walk up the track.”
I laughed again, and after a second, she did, too. I was still laughing when I kissed her, when I felt the shape of her smile against my lips. Her hand was on my shoulder, and my hand was in her hair, cupping the back of her head. She tasted like sweet white wine and lemon, and her mouth was delicious.
Around us, the sky darkened, and pinpricks of light began to shine against the cityscape. The black arms of the harbour stretched wide, and beyond the lumpy form of the Otago Peninsula, the sea was blacker still. In the car, though, my lips traced over Daisy’s perfumed skin, finding her ear, and I felt her shiver. My fingers rubbed against the silk of her hair, and her own hand was at the back of my neck, soft and strong and all the way female. I whispered in her ear, “This is how we do it,” nibbled a little, and she moaned. Then I worked my way slowly back to her mouth and kissed her again. Not a bit how I would’ve as a teenager. How I would as a man. My tongue traced the bow of her upper lip, and I told her, “This is my favorite.” Then I bit the plump curve of lower lip, keeping it gentle, and said, “Except for this. Open your mouth for me, baby. Let me kiss you right.”
She did it. Tentatively, and the power and the tenderness coursed through my body like wine. I kept it slow, kept it easy, both my hands around her head now. Touching my tongue to hers, and feeling the charge in her, because I’d been right. There was a current running between us, bright and warm as gold.
I kissed her until I felt her body go pliant, until she was kissing me, too. Her tongue a little bolder, her breath a little quicker, her hand gripping my shoulder and holding on. Until she started making those little noises in the back of her throat that a woman just couldn’t help, and grabbing me harder. I left her mouth, then, and drifted my slow way over her cheek, down to her neck.
When I kissed her there, in the tender spot under her ear, she jumped. And gasped. I asked, “How does that feel?”
“G-good,” she said. “Do it some more.” So I smiled against her smooth, almond-scented skin and did it. I kissed her neck until she was shifting in her seat and grabbing my head. Until she was moaning.
The windows had long since fogged up, and I was uncomfortable as hell. Halfway over the console, hard enough to pound nails, my hands itching to slip her filmy little blouse all the way off, to put my hands and mouth all over her.
I didn’t. I kissed her neck, and I trailed my fingers around the side of her head and brushed them down her throat, along the delicate hollow above her collarbone, over her shoulder, slipping under her blouse. By the time I got my fingers on the sensitive skin under her shoulder, just above her breasts, she was gasping, and I was biting just a little.
She was trying to say something, and I wasn’t listening. The blood was pounding in my head, and everywhere else, too, because my hand was slipping farther down. My fingers gliding delicately along, going under the silky little thing she was wearing beneath that blouse. Coming closer. Circling, because I didn’t want to touch her yet. Not … quite … yet.
And then the moment when I did.
Daisy
I was getting felt up in a carpark. And it felt good.
He still wasn’t grabbing. He was just touching. His fingers light, rubbing over my nipple, which was so hard, it almost hurt. His mouth was still at my neck, his teeth grazing me there. I was being devoured, one bite at a time. Overwhelmed. I couldn’t think anymore.
I said, “Gray.”
“Mm?” His head came back up, and he sucked my lower lip into his mouth, then held the back of my head tighter and plunged his tongue in deeper. He kept doing it, and I was riding that motion, that sensation. The electric shocks from his hand on my breast, his tongue in my mouth, stabbing straight down my body. My trousers feeling much too confining, because I wanted his hand there, too.
“Gray,” I said again.
He stopped kissing