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Vaughn
I want to devour. I want to savor. I want to kiss Kendall until she’s breathless and touch her through her clothes until she begs me to strip them away, but at the same time, I want to flip her around, drag her panties aside, and pump an orgasm into her so hard and fast all she can do is cling to my desk and bite her lip to keep from screaming my name. I’m damn near paralyzed by the competing urges, but then she sighs.
It’s not a worried sigh, or a stop sigh. It’s the kind of sigh a woman reserves for the first taste of imported chocolate. This sigh says she wants to enjoy every sweet moment. It slides down my throat and feeds the animal inside me made of greed and hunger just enough to stop it from running wild. I soften our kiss, brush my lips over one corner of her mouth, the other, and then use the tip of my tongue to tease the sensitive crevice. I’m doing my best to make her think about other sensitive crevices my tongue could tease and making myself insanely hard in the process.
“More,” she murmurs. “I need more.” She opens her lips wider under mine.
Just like that, the animal is straining the leash. I plunge headlong back into the kiss, mouth fused to mouth. With one hand on her jaw, I slide my tongue inside and taste every part of her I can reach. After one long, compliant moment, she surges forward and gives me the same treatment, her quick mouth trapping my tongue, sucking furiously as I withdraw.
“I can make you come,” I whisper, slipping my fingers just inside her underwear. They’re damp. Thirst prickles the back of my throat. “The way I just kissed you? I want to kiss your pussy just like that, until it’s as wet and swollen as your lips. Keep kissing and licking until you come for me.”
Her heart pounds next to mine, almost as hard and fast as my own. Her stomach quivers against my abs. I’m sure she can feel the ridge of my hard-on jutting against her thigh. There’s no concealing it at this point.
“Right here, right now,” I add.
“Okay,” she breathes out.
Someone pounds on the door and she nearly startles off the edge of the desk. I keep hold of her, bury my face in her hair, while from the other side of the door, Dylan calls, “We’ve got a shitload of people out here, birthday boy, and you fuck like my grandpa. Have your private party later.”
I groan and slowly withdraw my hand. Having a houseful of people who assume we’re in my office, knocking out a birthday bang, kinda kills the mood. Also, it sends a message I don’t want to send, to Kendall or anyone else. She isn’t some random girl I snuck off with for a quick thrill. This thing between us might be temporary, but it’s not random. In fact, the last status update from Kendall was It’s complicated, and we should probably have a heart-to-heart about that before orgasms are exchanged, not after. Right now, however, the moment could use a little humor. I take a step back to give her some space, and say, “Two things. One”—I hold up a finger—“I’m going to kill my roommate. Two”—I extend a second finger—“I do not fuck like Dylan’s grandfather.”
She looks up from straightening her dress and smiles. “I really wouldn’t know.”
Where has this girl been all my life? I slide her hair over her shoulder and kiss the curve of her neck. “He’s in his seventies and has a pacemaker; I’m in my prime and there’s nothing wrong with my heart. Give me a chance later and I’ll prove it to you.”
“You’re on.”
Grateful she’s cosigned for picking up later where we left off, I take her hand and lead us back to the party. Music is thumping. All around me, people smile, laugh, flirt, and talk, but I’m not switching gears so easily. It’s not just because I was two seconds from spreading Kendall’s legs and sucking the best birthday present she could possibly give me right out of her clit. We agreed on later, and I can deal with the anticipation. Talking to Kendall about my sister is what’s thrown me a curve. I rarely mention Andie. Most of the time when people hear about a loss like that they murmur “sorry” and try to steer the conversation in a different direction fast, but Kendall didn’t. She didn’t treat it like a wrong turn into a dark tunnel and immediately look for a way out. She stuck around. She shined a light. And some of that light has stayed with me.
Everybody else is sipping drinks and enjoying the lingering traces of sunset. It’s not quite an inner circle, but it’s tight enough that I know at least one person in every three.
I see my agent’s assistant, Molly, and her boyfriend. A few model friends I’ve worked with. A couple of Matt’s classmates from the Academy. Matt sits next to Amber on the sectional, deep in a conversation. This is much smaller than some of our Saturday night blowouts, but I like the quieter vibe. No Becca. No mood swings or illegal party favors. Everybody’s chill.
Everyone except Kendall. I’m not sure why, but she’s a ball of nerves. The fingers entwined with mine practically clench with tension. I’d like to call it sexual tension—a residual effect of Dylan interrupting us—because God knows I have plenty of my own to go with hers. But it feels like more.
Dylan nabs a fresh pitcher from the bar and then walks to the open end of the sectional and sits down. Two girls immediately bookend him, and he fills their drinks. My cell vibrates from the back pocket of my shorts. I’ve already received birthday calls from my mom and dad. I got a gift basket from my agent. Everyone else is here, but I pull my phone out anyway and glance at the screen.
A text reads, Happy birthday, sexy! It’s from Becca.
I haven’t heard from her since she left for New York, but she hasn’t missed my birthday for the past five years, so the wish is appreciated. Maybe we can salvage a friendship from the shipwreck of whatever we were, moving forward. Thx, I text back and start to put my phone away. An immediate vibration stops me. I look at the screen.
I have a surprise for you.
Uh-oh. I don’t want any surprises.
The phone vibrates with an incoming text. Knock-knock!
At the same time, the doorbell rings. Fuck.
Dylan sets the pitcher down and slides past me. “I got it.”
I want to say, “Don’t,” but there’s no point. I didn’t expect Becca, didn’t invite her, but as Kendall stares up at me with trusting eyes I feel exactly like the jerk I didn’t want to be.
I hear the front door open. Dylan’s voice carries. “Can I see your invitation?”
“I have an open invitation,” Becca replies.
And then she swoops onto the patio, wearing a straw cowboy hat, lethally high-heeled sandals, and a sprayed-on gold tank dress. The clingy fabric certifies she’s not wearing a stitch more than what we see. She spots me and ambles over, graceful despite the shoes. Kendall stiffens and tries to tug her hand away. I firm my grip. Becca’s come-and-get-me smile fades as she notices Kendall and our linked hands. Her stride slows.
