“So, Radha... to
what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.
She gave herself
some time to prepare her nerve-racking reply. “I like you. I've
liked you for a long time. And I knew you did this kind of thing.”
“Okay.” He took
a sip of tea. “Tell me what it is you're looking for.”
“Just....”
If you can't even say the words, how can you go through
with it? “Something casual.
Everything but romance.”
To
that he nodded. His lack of response made her nervous, so she filled
in his blanks for him. “I'm just trying to change. I thought
something like this might be good for me. Put a new perspective on
things. If you'd rather not, that's fine.” Part of her wanted him
to dismiss her. Oh, Jesus, I hope you don't, though.
“I think I rather
would,” he said. “You just have to be up front to me about
everything. Tell me when I'm going too far. Tell me what you want.
What you don't want. How you're feeling. Be honest when I ask you
what you're thinking. That's all I need. Sound good?”
Somehow she felt
like she was agreeing to a job she wasn't entirely qualified for. She
gave a shaky nod and took another gulp of tea to wash down the lump
in her throat.
He smiled. “So
would you rather just talk tonight, or are you interested in sex?”
She spilled some of
her tea on her top. “Crap!”
Ian was up and
halfway to the kitchen before she could even think to ask for a
towel. He came back with one, half dry, half wet, and handed it to
her. “Thank you,” she said with a grumble, dabbing at the stain
and patting it dry with the other end.
“I'll get you a
shirt to wear,” he said, then disappeared down the adjacent hall to
his room. Radha froze and stared in his direction. Her heart started
to pound.
Deep end. Better
than toe-dipping. No cold feet.
She stood on shaky
legs, put the towel on the coffee table, and followed after him.
He was returning to
the living room, shirt in hand, when she reached his doorway. They
almost bumped into each other, but neither backed away. She allowed
herself for the first time to really look at him: he had a very
unnoticeable birthmark just above his bellybutton to the left, a bit
of hair on his chest, and a slight bend in his nose like it had been
broken once, but not badly. There was a rather large scar mostly
hiding just underneath his eyebrow—she reached up to trace it.
“Where did you get that?”
He did not smile.
“Run-in.”
“Oh?”
“You should see
the other guy.”
She cracked a smile
that faded quickly when he leaned in. “Do you want to put this
off?”
Her eyes stayed
locked on his lips. They were red, thin, soft-looking. His breath
made her skin tingle. “No.”
At first he simply
brushed his lips over hers. Instantly she felt it between her legs,
then her entire body tightened. Still he refused to complete the
kiss, just hovering at the threshold. So she took the initiative and
leaned in by a modicum.
He sighed against
her, dropped the shirt, and slowly wrapped his arms around her
middle. Not sure where her hands belonged, she held them at his hips,
slowly hooking her thumbs in the belt loops as he began to nibble on
her bottom lip.
This is actually
happening. She really didn't
think it would—getting into a friends with benefits arrangement or
getting into one with Ian. Ian.
Those were his hands grabbing at the hem of her shirt, his tongue
that was subtly massaging her lip. Her jaw opened of it's own accord
and a moan she didn't know she was holding slipped past her. He
kissed differently than she was used to—he was gentle yet a touch
forceful, and he navigated her in ways that never even occurred to
her. As she returned his enthusiasm, he slowly lifted her shirt.
He broke the kiss as
he reached the underside of her bra. “Don't want to keep you”—a
feathery kiss—“in these wet clothes”—another peck—“do
we?”
No comments:
Post a Comment