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“Jesus, Jo Ellen,” he rasped, his breathing hard and labored. “Look, sweetie, you are falling-down drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
She frowned. She knew exactly what she was doing. Didn’t she? “I’m trying to feel your penis.”
A choking sound gurgled from his chest. “Okay, so you know what you’re doing then. But do you know who you’re doing it with?”
Again, she frowned, but this time she wasn’t sure how to answer. She knew him. She knew she knew him, had known him her entire life. He was safe, reliable, and trustworthy. But for some reason, his name escaped her.
“You have a boyfriend,” he told her. “Remember?”
“Travis.” Yes, there was a name she knew. Pleased she could remember at least that, she once again reached for the penis she wanted to investigate.
But the penis’s meanie owner remained intent about not letting her near him.
She felt more than saw him nod. “That’s right,” he congratulated her as he dodged her fingers, jerking his hips backward. “Travis is your boyfriend. And I’m not Travis.”
Her brow puckered. “I know that. Travis isn’t nearly this big.”
“Christ!” He choked out an incredulous cough. “Don’t say things like that.”
“But it’s true,” she was adamant to reveal. “He’s itty bitty compared to you.” She shivered, and moved closer to him for comfort. “Though it hurts enough when he shoves inside me. Can’t imagine what you’d feel like.”
“Oh, God.” His big, warm body quivered. “Why’d you have to go and tell me that?”
Jo Ellen crinkled her brow some more, trying to think up an answer, but he cupped her face, distracting her. His fingers weren’t soft and smooth like Travis’s. They were big, strong fingers, full of calluses and cuts, yet he held her jaw so gently she melted against him.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I would never hurt you, Jo Ellen.” His urgent, desperate voice compelled her to believe him. “Doesn’t matter how big they get, it’s never supposed to hurt. Got it?”
His words, the tone of his voice, the glide of his fingers on her face triggered something deep inside her, arousing and stirring her to life. She wanted to test his theory.
“Show me.” Making one last effort to grasp his package, she whined out a frustrated groan when he wouldn’t let her near him. So, instead she tipped her mouth up and kissed his lips, deciding one way or another, she would derive some pleasure from this man.
He went absolutely still. Rigidly still.
Jo Ellen didn’t much like how he just stood there, not participating. His mouth was soft; she wanted to know what it was capable of doing. She leaned in closer, pressing her stomach against his erection and nudging her tongue between his teeth.
As if sucking in oxygen, he gave up the fight and drew her tongue in, tangling it with his own. His muscles tightened, and he yanked her flush to him, pressing her closer than they’d already been grinding together. Slanting his face and aligning their mouths, he threaded his fingers through her hair and held her head steady while his tongue thrust against hers.
She went dizzy and had to cling to him to stay upright. The boy was truly and simply a poetic kisser. The rhythm and flow of his mouth caused music and verse to sprout inside her. She suddenly understood how so many artists found inspiration for their creations. Singers, painters, sculptors, authors; their work must originate from physical acts just like this.
Moaning, she held on for dear life, her body begging for more, eager to become his masterpiece.
He kissed her long and thorough, taking as much as he gave. When he finally came up for air, her knees felt like boiled noodles, too limp to support her. She knew she was only standing because he held her upright and tight against him.
She loved the sensation of her tingling lips and curling toes. Letting out a sigh, she closed her eyes and cuddled into him. “Better kisser than Travis too.”
He jerked. “Damn it.” Abruptly setting her away from him, he propped her against the wall of the house and turned away to fist his hands against his temples. Seconds dragged by as his shoulders heaved, showing her how heavily he was breathing. Cursing softly under his breath, he finally spun to the back door, bent once to pick up a key off the ground and tucked it into her pocket without looking at her before he pushed open the entrance.
Jo Ellen’s bottom lip pooched. “Is that it?” She didn’t want this to be over yet. She wanted his mouth and hands on her again.
Their time together was limited. For some reason, she instinctively realized this would end soon. Any moment now, she was going to wake up from her delicious dream, and reality would return. She’d go back to being plain, boring Jo Ellen Rawlings, girlfriend to Travis, who kissed badly, wore too much cologne, and hurt her whenever he loved her.
Her marvelous kissing phantom turned back only to sigh and set his hands on his hips, studying her like a disapproving parent. He shook his head sadly. “You’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow, are you?”
She didn’t see how she could ever forget his soft mouth and gentle, calloused hands, or his wonderful smell. But as she met his gaze in the moonlight, she realized he must be right. Her mind was already so hazy; she was destined to forget their magical kiss.
Disheartened by the thought, she sniffed out a miserable sigh. He looked similarly despondent, so she reached out and tenderly brushed his shaggy blond hair across his forehead and out of his piercing brown eyes.
The muscles in his face relaxed; his stern glare gentled into a tender smile. “God, you’re so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. Even when you look like someone just killed your dog. It breaks my heart to see you sad.”
