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She kisses me like she’s been thinking of this as long as I have, like this kiss has been building from the first day we saw each other. She kisses me like there’s no space between us.
And there isn’t—not much.
I’m not trying to escalate things. I’m not even really thinking about it. But when she smoothes her palm down my chest, my hand creeps up by her side, sliding up until I find the fabric of her bra.
Under other circumstances, I might rip it off. But I don’t want to freak her out. I cup her breast in the palm of my hand.
She gasps instantly. I was already hard; with that, I find myself turning to stone. Needing, wanting, stone.
If I’m stone, she’s fire. Her hips grind into me as my thumb finds her nipple. My lips graze her neck. My tongue darts out and traces down her collarbone. I can’t even remember why I ever thought it was cold in here. It’s a fucking furnace. I pull her close.
She’s so fucking responsive. It’s hot beyond belief to watch her go up in flames on top of me, to watch how the smallest touch, the slightest pressure in the right place, gets her going.
I don’t have much of a thought process, but it goes something like yes, yes, more now.
And she must be thinking the same thing—thank God—because she takes her shirt off. She’s wearing a simple white cotton bra, no padding, and her nipples poke through. I lean forward and catch one in my mouth.
She likes it. She grinds against me. Her fingers clench on my shoulders, gripping tight, so fucking tight. I find her other breast—small enough that I can palm it with one hand, so that my fingers can explore every last inch.
She’s letting out little moans that seem to go straight to my dick.
“You,” I growl out, “have awesome tits.”
She freezes on top of me. And then, seconds later, she pulls away. “Don’t.” She reaches for her shirt. “Don’t lie to me. I have nonexistent boobs.”
I run my finger over her nipple. “Yeah? What’s this, then?”
She shivers.
“You have awesome tits,” I repeat. “I love touching them. Licking. Sucking. It makes me fucking wild to be able to drive you crazy like this. Tits are a fucking gift for sexual pleasure. So never tell me you have nonexistent boobs again. I think I just proved otherwise.”
She draws in a deep breath. Her eyes meet mine. She looks almost shattered.
And then she turns away. Before I can say anything else, she’s standing up and pulling her shirt back on.
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t meet my eyes, won’t even look in my direction. She grabs for her coat and checks her watch. “I have to go.”
“Tina.”
“I—I really have to go.” She grabs her keys. Her hands shake as she opens the door. And that’s the point when the blood rushing to my cock stops interfering with the functioning of my mind and I remember how this all started.
I want to do something stupid. Something risky. Something mind-numbingly idiotic.
That’s what she said. And then she kissed me.
5:07 PM
Are we okay?
8:13 PM
Tina?
8:57 PM
Hey.
I’m sure I said something stupid.
I’m sorry.
Just yell at me and I’ll make it right.
ok?
9:22 PM
What are you talking about?
I just remembered I had something to do.
9:25 PM
Bullshit.
10:33 PM
Fine. It’s bullshit.
But I want it to stay *my* bullshit.
Can we do that?
10:34 PM
I don’t know
can we?
10:34 PM
Argh. Be that way.
MAY we.
10:36 PM
I wasn’t correcting your grammar
I just honestly don’t know if that’s possible
11:04 PM
I prefer it when things are simple.
You’re not simple. I freaked out.
11:05 PM
You’re getting to me.
I don’t let people do that.
I’m sorry.
11:12 PM
I’ll take that.
11.
BLAKE
When I walk out of the kitchen at Zhen’s a few minutes after ten on Monday, Tina is sitting at a table waiting for me. Her hands are folded and she’s sitting with perfect posture, like she’s an advertisement for some kind of ergonomic chair.
I stop.
Her eyes dart up to mine and then look away.
I come to stand by her. “Hi, you.”
We haven’t talked—or texted—since our brief exchange on Saturday night. And that’s okay. I can be patient.
I don’t pretend to understand her, but I understand this: Like me, she’s caught. She wants to be responsible. She doesn’t like losing control—even as little as we did together.
And I don’t want her terrified. I want her naked. I want her beneath me. And when she’s there, I want her to be sure.
She looks up at me. Our eyes meet. For a moment, they hold, and the memory of a few days ago, of Tina on top of me, flashes through me. A wave of want washes through me.
I tamp it down.
She stands. “Hi.” She’s trying for nonchalance. “I thought I’d give you a ride home.”
There’s nothing to say to that, but… “Thanks.”
I follow her to the car, slide into the passenger seat. She doesn’t say anything. At every light, she glances at me. When she catches me looking her way, she turns away swiftly. Every time. Finally, I make myself look out the window.
Liquor store. Cat food store. Group of college students, standing on the corner and smoking. The car is quiet; it’s late enough that there’s almost no other noise.
“My father always says,” Tina finally says into that silence, “that if you owe someone an apology, you should do something nice for them. I’m pretty sure I owe you an apology.”
I want to look at her, but somehow, I feel that’s a bad idea—that doing so will prevent her from saying whatever she’s going to say.
“There was a guy first semester of my sophomore year,” she finally says. “We had two classes together. We used to study.”
On the street to my right, I see three students stumble by.
