You should know about something I hadn’t yet shared.
See, I was not exactly experienced in the boy department. I’d had a few dates here and there, some kissing, some groping but other than that, nothing.
Yes, I was a twenty-six year old virgin.
Many women would be embarrassed by this. Not me. I had no interest in sex, relationships, romance and I had no time for it. I was out to save the world, or at least save a few kids. And anyway, people in my life had sad and awful ways of dying on me, Park being the latest. I had to guard my heart and I did, like a vicious, trained Rottweiler.
My body tensed and I tried hard not to react but the kiss was nice. I liked his hands on me, even if they were holding me down, and I liked his heat.
Then his tongue touched my lips and I felt a strong, pleasant tingle strike me between my legs. I opened my mouth to say something, get him off me but his tongue slid inside. He slanted his head and the kiss got serious.
I was not experienced but I could tell he was good at it, mainly because I melted, my lips fitted themselves to his and I kissed him back.
His mouth disengaged from mine but he kept kissing me, lightly, softly, then he said against my mouth, “I wanna know about Cordova.”
I shook my head, not only in a “no” to his request but also to clear it and he kissed me again. The between-the-legs-tingle strengthened and emanated out through my body and my mind muddled again, focused only on what his mouth was doing to me. My wrists pressed against his, not to get away but so I could touch him.
I wanted to touch him, needed it.
His grip tightened, likely thinking I was trying to struggle even though I was kissing him back.
His mouth came away just a fraction and he spoke against my lips again. “Who taught you to shoot?”
I was breathing heavily and I just stared at him, trying to clear my head.
“Who’s in on this with you?” he asked.
I kept silent.
“Who’re you after?” he persisted.
“Please get off me,” I said softly.
He shook his head, his lips turned up a bit and he kissed me again.
I lost any clarity that I had gained with his mouth not on mine and kissed him back, struggling against his hands at my wrists. His mouth moved away, down my cheek to my ear and he said, “I’ll keep this up all day. You’re gonna talk to me, Jules.”
I twisted my head and, don’t ask me why, I was just driven by something I couldn’t control, I touched the tip of my tongue to his neck.
This caused an interesting response. His knees slid down so his body came to rest on top of mine and his hands let go of my wrists. My arms went around him immediately. He brought his lips to mine again and his kiss changed.
This wasn’t a muddle-your-mind, get-you-talking kiss, this was something entirely different.
My body reacted instantly, softening, melding itself to him and one of my hands went under his shirt, my fingers tracing the hard muscle and soft skin of his back above the waistband of his jeans then they slid up the indentation of his spine.
He made a noise, low in his throat that shot straight through my body and pounded between my legs.
He rolled to his side, taking me with him, kissing me, hot, hungry; his hands gliding over the satin of my nightie. I could feel the calluses on his fingers snagging at the material and, for some reason, this thrilled me.
His leg moved. He pushed a hard thigh between mine and his hand slid down my back, over my bottom, up the back of my thigh, lifting my leg at my knee and hooking it around his hip. Then his thigh pressed up between my legs.
It was then the phone beside my bed rang.
Vance ignored it, so did I. We kept kissing, Vance using his talented tongue, then he’d give me soft, quick kisses, then he’d use his tongue again. My hands moved up his back, feeling him and pressing him to me at the same time.
I hadn’t gone the way of voicemail. I still had an answering machine mainly because I liked to see it blinking on the very odd occasion that someone phoned me.
My voice could be heard asking the caller to leave a message as Vance and I kissed and groped, totally oblivious to the sound.