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“Was it too soon for you?” I question, feeling a little out of control. From just one kiss. She doesn’t realize, I’m asking us both, because I haven’t kissed anyone in so very long.
She shakes her head, smoothing a fingertip over my bottom lip, eyes holding mine. “No,” she breathes. “That felt really good.”
I smile, unsure what to say. It felt good for me too, and as I suspected, that little high is tethered to guilt.
“I almost called you.” She leans back and returns to eating her donut, keeping our hands linked. “Last night, I almost called you. But… I felt…” she sips the coffee after her last bite, wincing a little like it burned her.
“Hold the cup,” I advise. She grabs it as I use my free hand to pop the lid off, then slide the cup my way, and blow the steamy surface, cooling it down.
After a minute, I pass it back to her. “Try it now.”
She takes a sip, smiling at me with wet lips. “Perfect.”
“It’s okay that you didn’t call.” Then, because it’s so true, I say, “You’re very strong.” I mean those words, but I don’t like how they make her eyes wet, so I grab her hand a little tighter, this time adjusting us so we’re palm to palm. My heart jumps a little at the contact, and warmth rises up the back of my neck. Our hands being pressed together, her taste still in my mouth, goddamn it, I’ve missed this feeling. And shit do I like Scarlett.
“I’m not strong, though. A stronger person would’ve left a long time ago.”
I take a moment, carefully mulling over the question on my tongue. But I don’t get to ask, because she adds, “But that’s a story for a different day.” Tipping her head toward the window where plants eat up the space, she jokes, “Don’t wanna kill the plants with my sadness.”
Just knowing she thought of calling me has me sitting a bit taller.
We walk back to Crave together, and I watch her car fade into the sherbet horizon, and head back to my room at the house.
There is an unshakable, big, bold move swallowing all of my other thoughts as I lie on my back in bed, watching the old ceiling fan.
She almost called me. What if next time she doesn’t even get the chance to almost call? I think about that kiss as I settle in my bed that night, and while I don’t touch myself, I want to.
And that’s new, too.
thirteen
scarlett
I’m beyond ready to finish what I started when I woke up.
Today is the first day since dropping out of school and starting to work for Pete that I have woken up with hope. I’m not gonna go so far as to say I woke up smiling, because I still feel off. But Cohen. He makes me feel like me again, he makes me feel like a healthy normal woman, but also feel special and seen. He gives me hope, but I’m nervous, gaslighting myself by reminding myself,all beginnings are good.
And I can’t lie and say I didn’t think things were good with Pete to begin with.
But even so. A part of me then knew something was off. He was always pushing for a little more even after I’d asked him to stop, always egging me on when I got frustrated, and never quite hearing my preferences when it came to scheduling my scenes.
I lick my lips as I stretch my feet through the sheets, trying to find the taste of Cohen’s kiss. It’s gone, but I close my eyes and play it back. Imagining his fingers beneath my chin has my body shuddering. I’ve never been with a man that touches and speaks to me with so much tenderness and care.
Blinking up at the streaks of light dancing across the ceiling as early morning kisses day, I let my hand wander beneath the covers. I find my pussy. It’s warm, and with my fingers splayed over the cotton fabric, I can feel I’m swollen. Neediness rolls through my belly, seeping into my groin just from replaying that kiss. While I have no clue what will come of it, I slip my fingers under the elastic.
“Ohh.” I let out a soft moan as I spread myself with two fingers, slickness immediately coating them. It’s been so long since I’ve been aroused for real so I lie there, playing with the discovery for a minute, remembering the enjoyable things about intimacy, the happy things about good sex. Even at Crave, there are times where I want to be aroused, where an erotic scene really does speak to me, but I just… can’t get there.
Now, though, with the memory of those thick fingers curled beneath my chin, the imprint of his lips against mine—I think it’s possible; I think I could have an actual orgasm.
I find my clit, swollen and tender, and begin to stroke it. The pads of my fingers barely graze as I tease and pleasure myself.
With my other hand, I push my long hair away from my neck as my body begins to heat, and lift the hem of my old t-shirt until my bare belly and breasts are exposed. Looking over the terrain of my nearly nude body, heat tears through me at the sight. My nipples, stiff peaks, my belly coated in a thin layer of sweat, my hand stashed between my legs, kneading an ache—I feel sexy.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I take one of my breasts in my palm, kneading the way I love when I’m with a partner. I’ve always liked my tits played with, my nipples sucked and teased. I squeeze, moaning at the delicious pressure, imagining it’s his hand… not mine. Slowly, I push my fingers inside, my cunt immediately tightening around the intrusion. Panting, I alternate between plunging inside and massaging my clit, the combination of the two my absolute favorite.
I’m so wet that my tiny empty bedroom echoes with the sounds of my arousal, my moans bouncing off the walls, surrounding me, intensifying everything.
My toes curl and my legs straighten, the start of an orgasm creeping up my spine. I keep my fingers over my clit and play with the sticky wetness, tapping and stroking, grabbing my other breast.
