I will always remember the first time we kissed. The photography of that moment is bright and clear. Her lips tasted of sweet warm wine, cheeks rosy with the heat of the fire. It amused me, how tentative and shy she was; unable to make the first move herself. Instead, I was left to make bold progress. Did she know then how little I cared what others knew? While she found such advances brave, I didnât look at it quite the same.
My thoughts drifted to scenes of touching her the entire night. I had subtly been maneuvering myself until we sat together near the fire pit. When she was turned away, perhaps listening to a friend, I couldnât help but turn my gaze toward her. I indulged in long, languid looks that stroked her curves slowly; all the way down her thighs and finally to her ankles. Envisioning her without clothes, I almost felt ashamed.
Drawing her in slowly, I was quick to find the curve of her hip with my fingertips. Trying not to grin, I pulled her close with a rough, quick tug. In the same motion, I slipped my bare hand beneath the hem of her sweater. Stroking the indentation of her waist with my fingertips, I remember how she blushed. To disguise our motions, she dropped her arm casually and turned towards me. The pose was one of schoolgirls, with many top secrets to exchange.
In dreams I had found that same tantalizing curvature of her waist with my mouth, exploring it with the flat of my tongue pressed firmly against her skin. Still, I realized that the first step would be my mouth on hers. With my arm firm around her back I felt her melt against me. I remained silent as I sorted out my thoughts, setting aside lustful mutterings in favor of appropriate whispers.
Resisting the urge to draw her into my lap, I instead took in a slow, deep breath. Finding myself content to nuzzle against her hair, I took in mouthfuls of her scent. At last, dropping my head I nudged her hair aside to find the shell of her ear, whispering in low tones.
âCan I kiss you?â My tremble was apparent as I raised my free hand to brush the hair from her shoulder. The words sounded rough, as if I needed to clear my throat. The ache to clench her to me was deep in my bones, the desire to press my mouth against hers ⌠with or without her permission. For a moment, I even thought of adding the word please. It was not something I often offered in lighthearted antics. My love was not lighthearted, and I refused to play her as if she were but a dalliance.
There was a pause, her hand finding mine. Weaving our fingers together, there was a subtle shake of her head. A word was upon her lips, escaping just before my mouth was against hers. Stopping just short of the completed kiss, it was all I could do to turn away.
âWaitâŚâ She whispered. It was a pleading, her eyes darting to a nearby shadow. Her man stood nearby in the doorway, half his shoulder turned towards us. He was pretending to care what a friend said nearby; it wasnât a surprise when he attempted to casually turn and glance our way. Our eyes briefly met and even now I can still feel the weight of his gaze. The challenge in my gaze was left to burn as he turned back to his own conversation.
Inhaling slowly, I thought of drawing my hand away. It felt suddenly uncomfortable, my palms sweaty. I was thirteen again, hiding my girlfriendâs hand against my thigh. Feeling ashamed, my throat was contracted as I attempted to swallow unspoken words. It didnât work.
âAre you going to tell him, or am I going to be a secret forever?â I couldnât help but challenge her, knowing that she was weak at the moment. To deny myself the evil pleasure of prodding her when I knew she was in this particular state of mind was just too hard. Finding myself not above the thought of playing dirty, I drew our entwined hands up to my mouth.
Running my tongue over her knuckle, wriggling the tip against the creases where our flesh met; finally I found her middle finger. My eyes were locked on hers as I ran the tip of my tongue over the tip of her middle finger. Sliding it into my mouth, the motions were painted with obvious innuendo; I circled and sucked on her finger⌠just as I longed to suck on her clit. Her lips parting, it was bliss watching her try and deny that she wanted the same.
âI will tell himâŚâ The words were always left in that endless limbo of preparation and time. It was never going to be convenient, no matter how hard she tried to arrange it.
My early promise not to force a decision from her had often come back to bite me in the ass; the pain of not having her all to myself becoming something of an odd comfort. Call me a masochist but I often enjoyed it. It made me the suffering artist, the other woman.