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My knees weaken. It’s been so long. I’ve waited too long to feel like this, to feel whole again, complete. I grip his shoulders, pulling my body tighter against him. His tongue slides over the seam of my lips, seeking, requesting entry without words. I let him.
A ricochet of pleasure winds down my spine, a strange meld of ice and fire that leaves me breathless. He tastes like honey and citrus, a flavor as sinfully sweet as his kiss. Our mouths move in a dance, each of us giving and taking whatever the other has to offer.
His hands glide down my back, lower and lower until they clasp my bottom. He lifts me onto the countertop behind me. My legs straddle him, pressing into the firm evidence of his arousal. An ache tugs within me, teasing at the growing pulse between my thighs.
I have no idea what this man can do, but I am ready to find out.
* * *
I startle awake and squint through the misty haze of sleepiness.
Lyndsey is sitting on the chair at the opposite corner of our couch. Her knowing eyes shift from the television to me as she shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She’s trying to conceal her entertainment, but she’s not very subtle.
“So…” She pauses, her lip twitching in amusement. “How’d you sleep?”
My cheeks burn. “God, was it that bad?”
“Honey, I’m going to need some chocolate and a tinder date after listening to you.”
Ugh.I toss the blanket I’d fallen asleep on the couch with over my head and groan.
“Yep. That’s what you sounded like,” Lyndsey says. “I’m never going to be able to forget that sound.”
Silence. Some soft munching. A few lines from some cheesy Hallmark movie, and then, “So...who’s the guy?”
“Lyndsey, there is no guy,” I snap from under my blanket. I can’t face her right now. She’ll know I’m lying. She always knows.
“Well, you don’t normally have dreams likethatout of nowhere.”
I whip the blanket up off my head and prop myself up into a sitting position. “Maybe it was all the Prosecco from the night before. I don’t know.”
Lyndsey tosses a blonde ringlet over her shoulder and feigns offense. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But I’m glad you’re finally getting some, one way or another.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“Please, how can you not think about it?” she says. “Like ever?”
“I-I think about...it,” I stammer. Obviously, I think about it more than I should if I’m developing fantasies about a man whose name I don’t even know.
“Yeah. And what have you done about it? You’re the only twenty-one-year-old I know who still has their v-card. And I can understand if you wanted to wait for marriage or ‘the one’.” Lyndsey giggles when she says “the one,” shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth and continues staring intensely at the television. “But you don’t even try to make yourself available.”
I stare at the television screen. The woman on the TV is trying to achieve her dream of becoming the world’s greatest baker...or something like that. The hero opposite her is seemingly the only one who can help her reach those goals, even though she has what appears to be all the right skillset. So how does this help me feel any better?
This character on this show supposedly has everything she needs to be successful: a killer talent, a quirky group of friends and the drive and determination to move forward. But what? Her plans of total happiness are dead in the water unless she gets the hunky hero to help her out?
I’m being cynical. Again.
I’ve never had time for dating. I’ve never had to sit down and think about what I even want from a man. What would I even do if I saw someone I was interested in dating? If my recent escapades were anything to go by, I would simply scold them and question their dedication to complete strangers.
Ugh.Why did I even say that? What possessed me to think that was the most logical response?
I got nervous, I guess. And he triggered a sore subject with me.It’s ok to be passionate, but jeez, Aly. Know your audience.
“So what do I say?” I ask suddenly.
“To who?”
“Just in general. Like to a man. Or where would I even start with asking one out?”
