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My heart sinks. OK, I’ve gone too far. He doesn’t find me attractive, and this will be the cold dose of reality my mother says I sometimes need when I used to misbehave. Not every boy is trying to get into your pants just because you’re a blonde. So get over yourself. Besides, he didn’t really deny that he was gay. He may prefer brunettes. Or someone more intellectual, more artistic, more –
I freeze.
He is leaning very close to me now, and his hand lightly touches my cheek. His eyes are large and magnificent and reflecting every single known color in the universe.
He says in a strangled whisper, “You have no idea . . . just no idea how much I want to . . . how much I’m trying to stop thinking about . . . ”
I seize the moment.
I dart my lips forward and engage his mouth in a kiss. The moment our lips clash, my skin becomes electrified. His lips are oh-so-soft and oh-so-nuanced. I taste the faint traces of coffee on them, and indeed, that was what he drank at breakfast. I drink in his contact, the delicious moment of being in such close proximity to him.
I meant it to be a quick kiss. More like a peck – to show him I find him sexually attractive and that I would be open to more before my visit is over. That is, if he would like to explore any further.
But his reaction astonishes me.
Instead of the quick, chaste kiss I envisioned, his mouth opens against mine. His tongue hungrily slips inside my mouth and roams thickly against the landscape of my palate. He licks my tongue, my teeth – stroking each smooth, round molar as though it’s an erogenous zone.
I moan despite myself. A rush of heat crests between my legs. His tongue dips across the back of my throat. He’s practically drowning in my mouth, devouring me like some voracious animal who hasn’t kissed a woman in years. His hands grasp my waist, my hips, wandering up, up, up, to pause at the swell of my breasts.
I want him so much to touch me. I want him to grab my aching mounds and squeeze my nipples. I want him to rip the clothes off me and lower me down to that soft, leaf-strewn ground beneath the shady umbrella created by the trees – with the wind softly rustling their tops – and press his body against mine. I want him to part my thighs and grind his hips against mine.
I want to see his manhood. I want to kiss and taste and suckle his cock. I want him to do things to me that only a man can do to a woman. I’m aroused now. Visibly so. My skin is flushed and the color is high on my cheeks. There’s an ache within my pelvic region that can only spell a brimming, overwhelming need.
But he stops – as if he has come to his senses.
He withdraws his luscious tongue.
I immediately feel a withdrawal, as though my life force is being pulled away from me towards him. I have never been so magnetized by a man before. I believe it’s a culmination of his beauty, his sophistication, the fact that I know he is much more than he portrays himself to be, and that element of danger unknown lurking beneath his seemingly normal fa?ade.
I’m breathing very hard, and so is he. Across the divide between our bodies, we gaze at each other in confusion. My heart is drumming a war tune in my chest, and his eyes are inexplicably filled with an emotion that I can only describe as pain.
Pain . . . but why?
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I shouldn’t have done that. Forget it ever happened.”
I reach out with my hand to touch his face, but he flinches. He quickly scrambles to his feet. A few stray leaves spiral to the ground from his lap.
Suddenly, it’s as if he needs to get away from me as urgently as possible, as if I’m a contagion.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Abruptly, he turns and strides quickly away down the slope where we came. I am left sprawling on the ground, my desire unquenched, my blood roaring in my ears like the combined falls of Niagara and Angel, my disappointment flooding me in an engulfing tide.
What am I doing?
10
When I finally trek back to the house, Ethan is nowhere to be seen. I make myself as noiseless as possible, not wanting to disturb whatever equilibrium this house has managed to maintain for years.
Too late for that, don’t you think?
I make to ascend the stairway, but the low rumble of voices creeps to me from beyond the back patio.
I pause.
I would not be my reporter self if I didn’t attempt to eavesdrop. My mind is still reeling from Ethan’s rejection. I tell myself it’s not rejection. If his kiss is anything to go by, he wants me as much as I want him. And yet, something is holding him back.
I pad softly in the direction of the patio and flatten myself against the wall to listen. Ethan is speaking to Jeffrey in soft, tortured tones.
“I couldn’t help myself. God, I wanted to restrain myself so bad . . . but when she came on to me, something inside me exploded.”
