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Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was how long it had been since I'd been with a woman. I didn't know what it was, but I pulled Emma toward me and kissed her. This time, it was no accident. She kissed me back, fully and completely, her tongue pushing past my lips. I ran my hands through her hair and relished the feel of her firm little body pressed tightly to mine. The taste of her mouth lingered in mine and the scent of her filled my nose. It was a heady mix and one that made my body feel like it had caught fire.
I lifted her up, turning and setting her down on the counter behind us, still kissing her. Though tempted to let my hands explore her body, I kept them on her hips afraid to get too handsy. In case she changed her mind, I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.
Then she surprised me when she took my hands in hers and placed them on her breasts, breaking our kiss and staring into my eyes as she did so.
“I want you to touch me. I want you to feel my body,” she said, her voice breathy. “I want you to kiss me. And most of all, I want you to fuck me.”
My head was spinning. Yes, I wanted her. God, I wanted her with every fiber of my being. To be inside of her, to feel her naked, firm, young body against mine would be absolute heaven. But I had to think, to keep my head. I couldn't be stupid about this. She was, after all, my next-door-neighbor's daughter and my babysitter. Was I taking advantage of her? If her father found out, would he see it any other way?
Before I could answer my own questions, however, Emma pulled me closer to her, wrapping those strong legs around my waist and kissed me again. There was fire and purpose in her kiss. It was powerful and overwhelming.
She dotted soft kisses down my neck, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again. “Yes, Marcus. Please touch me.”
My hands were still on her breasts, so I kneaded them gently. She moaned, her head falling forward on my chest, as I teased her nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top. She shuddered against me, and when she lifted her head, I saw the look of pleasure in her eyes. But even more than that, I saw the look of absolute need in them.
She wanted me.
I wanted her. God, I wanted her.
“You said you were a virgin?” I said, my voice cracking.
She nodded. “Yes, I am,” she said. “I was saving myself for someone special, and I want you to be my first.”
Oh God. The idea of how tight she'd be made my erection ache against my jeans. The thought of being her first filled me with indescribable feelings. But could I bear the responsibility of being her first? Did she really want her first time to be with me, in my kitchen, while we were both tipsy? Was that really the way she'd envisioned her first time?
Back in my college days, I wouldn't have hesitated to rip her clothes off in a heartbeat. I would have had her on that counter over and over again and not thought twice about it. But the fact of the matter was, I wasn't back in my college days. Not even close. I was a grown man, an older man. And the last thing I wanted to do was ruin what should be a special memory for a special girl.
Being a responsible adult sucked sometimes.
“Emma, listen,” I said. “I don't want your first time to be like this. You've waited for a reason, it should be special. And I don't think what we're about to do here is exactly special.”
Her eyes were wide and filled with something that looked like hurt as she stared at me. “But I want this, Marcus,” she said. “God, I've wanted this for so long. Please, just be with me. Am I not pretty enough for you? Is that it?”
“No, trust me, that's not it at all. Not even close, Emma,” I said, stroking her cheek. Her skin was so soft and so warm. “And trust me, I want to do this. I want nothing more than to make love to you, but-”
“But what?” she said, her tone getting defensive. “You're afraid I can't make my own decisions, is that? Or that I'm a stupid little girl who's acting on an impulse that I'm going to regret?”
“No, that's not it at all,” I said. “I just don't want your first time to be in my kitchen. Not like this. It should be in a bed, it should be romantic, not a quickie on the countertop after having too much wine. ”
“But I want my first time to be with you,” she said. “The details don't matter. It's you who would make it special for me.”
I took a deep breath. All this time, I'd been looking for a woman like Emma, someone who was sweet, someone who was good with my kids. Someone I enjoyed spending time with. I'd been looking for somebody like Emma, instead of looking at Emma herself.
And I didn't want to screw this up.
I kissed her gently, holding her face in my hands and gave her a soft smile. She looked back at me with expectant and yet, disappointed eyes. It was as if she knew I was going to put an end to this and she was trying to come up with a reason for me not to.
“Then let's do this right,” I said. “Let's not rush things. Let me make it perfect for you. If you still want to do this, let's get together next weekend. The kids can go to their grandparents again and we can make it perfect for you. You deserve that.”
Her eyes filled with tears and I could see that she was disappointed but still hopeful. She looked at me, giving me a weak smile, and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for being so amazing to me.”
She kissed me as I helped her hop down from the countertop. My body ached with need, but I knew I'd done the right thing. If she still wanted to move forward, after a week of thinking about it, we'd see what happened. It allowed us both to step back, take a breath, and really think about doing what we were considering doing. It was a big decision for her, and for myself as well.
I had a massive case of blue balls, but in my heart, I knew I'd done the right thing. As much as it pained me to admit.
