Welcome to part three. Thank you tremendously to those of you who've left ratings and comments. I really appreciate it.
We stood under a streetlight outside the bar. We hadn't spoken since we'd kissed. I didn't want to break whatever spell we were under. Emily stood with me, body pressed against mine, my hand in hers.
"That was...", she breathed, and leaned her head against my chest.
"Yeah, it was. It really was." I stroked her hair. "Can I walk you home?"
She jerked away from me like she'd been scalded.
"What?" I said.
"Do you honestly think I'm letting you drive tonight?" she growled. "Either you're staying with me or I'm sitting in your car and not letting you go until morning."
I couldn't help myself. If our roles were reversed she'd have done the same thing. I knew that like I knew the sun would rise in the east.
"Well," I said, "my car is pretty comfy."
Ish pre-ey comfy.
We'd gotten comfy-drunk and starting to sound like it.
"Shut up," she said. "Stupid boy. Let's go, come on."
Her place wasn't far. We could practically see it from where we were standing. That didn't stop her from sliding her hand into the back pocket of my jeans – so she could help guide me, of course. And it was a lovely summer night, a breeze stirring the warm air. Didn't stop me from curling my arm around her – for warmth, I said. What kind of friend would she be if I got lost? What kind of buddy would I be if she got cold? These are the kinds of silly fictions we told ourselves sometimes that summer.
Just for something to say, I said, "tell me about your roommates. Is it going to be alright, me coming over?"
"Yeah," she said, hand squeezing, leaning on me. "It's fine. 's Friday. They, like, play a pirate game every Friday. Together. All three of them. It's like date night."
"So it's cool? Wait, like actual date night?"
"Yeah. They're poly, I guess. It's a new thing. How I got their spare room. Guess they didn't need it anymore. You don't have an issue with that, right?"
I slid my hand down her side, resting it on her hip, pulling her closer to me. Not that there was far to go. She'd pressed herself pretty tightly against my side.
"Not at all. How's that work?"
"So it's Max, Jordi and Serah. Max and Serah have been best friends forever. Jordi's Max's boyfriend. He's bi, Max is mostly gay. Serah had a crush on Jordi. It's the current year. They decided to try it out. Scratch some itches or whatever."
"I guess it's going pretty well," I said, "if she's moved out of her room."
"I guess so," Emily laughed, a drunken chortle vibrating against me. "You would not believe the noises they make."
I couldn't help laughing too.
"Don't worry," she said, squeezing my ass hard. "On Pirate Night they have their headphones in. They won't hear anything."
And I pulled her to a stop. We were close to the building she'd pointed out.
"Emily." I said, hands on her shoulders, eyes on her face, desperately wanting to kiss her, desperately wanting to fuck her, to make love to her.
Dangerous distinction to make
, the thought flashed through my mind. "Are you sure about this? I mean, really sure. I need you to be sure." I knew I wasn't sober, and if I wasn't, she wasn't either. But I had to ask. "I want you
so fucking badly
. But I can't risk hurting you."
"You won't," she whispered. "You won't. Unless I want you to." And she kissed me hard, quick and fast, tongue snaking past my lips to slide across my teeth. And before I could properly kiss her back, pull her to me, possess her mouth like I wanted to, she'd pulled back, grabbing my hands, pulling me towards the building, up the stairs. My hands were on her as she fumbled for her keys, sliding across her flat stomach, exploring the gap between buttons in her loose-fitting top, breathing in the smell of her hair, trying desperately not to overstep, keeping my hands off her small boobs, the zipper of those denim shorts. And she pressed back against me, hard ass against me, encouraging me to go where I wanted. The key went in the door, the door swung open, and we piled inside.
**
"Hi." "Hey." "Hello."
So there we were, standing in a foyer open to a kitchen on the right, a stair covered in fuzzy carpeting on the left. We were standing on a LIVE LAUGH LOVE floor mat – ironic or not, I didn't know yet. The rest of the floor, a wide-open space filled with computers. Tough to tell in my state how many there actually were. At least six, I thought, with more monitors than I could count easily. There's a stack of pizza boxes on a table, and three faces turned in our direction.
Emily's top had come untucked – I'm sure I had nothing to do with that. My hand was underneath, caressing the smooth flesh of her stomach. Her arm tugged at my back, pulling me into her. I don't think any of the watchers had any illusions about what they were looking at: two horny kids, desperate for each other. It made their insouciance that much more annoying.
At least Emily was cool about it, not that I'd expected anything different.
"Hey guys. This is Ducky, from work. We had a couple at Lannigan's so he's staying over."
"Hey everyone," I managed. "Sorry to bother."
"No problem," said one of the boys. "Have good sex."
"We going for a fort," demanded the girl; Serah, presumably. "Or doing another voyage? And can one of you bitches get me another Coke?"
"Have fun on the high seas," Emily said, and we scampered up the stairs, barely making it through the bedroom door.
We collapsed onto her bed, kicking the door shut as our mouths met in another tangle of teeth and tongues. She was on top of me, shoving at my shirt; I ran my hand along her back, sliding her shirt up, the other descending over one round, firm buttock, finding the warm seam in her jeans.
"Wait."
She kissed me harder, mumbling against my mouth, and I pulled her into me. I could feel her belt buckle against me, a hard reminder of the layers between us, as she ground down onto me, pressing against my length.
"Stop."
Somehow, the word penetrated the fog in my head. My hands froze, and I was suddenly cognizant of where they were – one high on her back, caressing her silken skin, the other rubbing at her slit through her shorts. She slid back, just enough to bring her face into focus above mine.
"Condom?"
Fuck
, I thought. "Fuck," I said. "No. I didn't think... I didn't think anything like this would happen."
"I didn't either," she said, smiling fondly if a little hazily. "I don't have – are you clean?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's been a bit. Haven't been with anyone since I tested last."
She grabbed my hand, moving it off her groin, pinning it to the mattress, interlacing her fingers with mine.
"Okay," she said, voice ragged. "Me too. I have an IUD. Okay?"
"Okay," I said. If she'd said
I'm fine having your babies
, or
you can't get pregnant in space
, I think I'd have agreed just the same. My mind was not in the driver's seat. Then she rolled off me, and I made a little noise of disbelief and loss and need as she got off the bed.
"Stay there," she said, breathing hard. "Sit up. Get your shoes off. Socks, too. And... just watch."
I sat on the edge of the bed, knees spread, picking at the knot in the laces of my boots. It's not easy to untie your shoes with an erection so hard it's painful and your eyes busy with a wonderful something else. She watched me, making sure I was watching her, and unbuckled her belt, sliding it through the loops of her shorts. She stepped close, looping it around my neck, bending to plant a kiss on me, then swaying away when I reached for her.
"Ah ah ah," she laughed. "Looky but no touchy right now, Mister Duck."
"Yes ma'am," I said. "Whatever you say."
"And get those shoes off. No shoes in the bed."
I bent back to my task, fiddling with the knots and laces by touch alone, not daring to take my eyes off her slim figure. She sauntered away, pulling off her boots and throwing them into the corner. Her hands vanished into her sleeves and into her top, and she tossed a bra, strapless and flesh-toned, into the corner after the boots. I pulled my own shoes off and placed them by the bed, socks following.
Then she came back, a full catwalk stalk, small hips swaying, crossing her legs with each step as she walked right up to me, standing between my knees. I could have grabbed her. I could have pulled her onto the bed, bruising her mouth with kisses, kneading her breasts, tearing away her shirt to get at her stiff nipples. I could have done all these things and she would have welcomed it and wanted more.
But I didn't.
She stared at me, predatory, fire in her eyes, biting her lip, tongue playing along it, tasting. Her hands played with the small buttons on her shirt.
"Unbutton me?", she whispered. "Please?"
I started at the bottom, trying not to touch her body, just the buttons and the fabric. I kept my eyes on hers, listening to her breathing quicken, watching her finger creep to her mouth. Her pink tongue touched its tip, and her white teeth bit down as I undid the last button, and she whirled away, elbows rising, hand dropping from her mouth, and suddenly her back was to me, her shirt was in my hands, and somehow I hadn't seen her chest at all, not a glimpse of a nipple or a soft small breast. She looked back through the tangle of her hair cascading past her shoulder, eyes tender, smoldering. Her hand went to the button on her denim shorts, and she opened it, and bent at the waist, feet together, an erotic duplicate of how I'd seen her that first day, and slid those shorts and a scrap of black cloth not much fuller than a string past her sculpted hamstrings, down her toned brown legs over her calves to her feet. She stepped out of them without straightening, backwards, towards me, tight ass and closed, secretive outer labia so close I could see her wetness glistening. I could smell the spicy-sweet musk, feel the heat from her lips. I could have tasted her.
But she'd said no touching.
My hands clenched in fists on my thighs, I blew a thin stream of air across the rosebud of her ring, down onto the cheek, across those lips I wanted so badly to taste, to bite, to lick, to kiss.
"Hmm," she moaned, standing straight, turning at the waist, gazing over her shoulder. For the first time I could see her breasts, nipples standing firmly to attention, jutting out hard as bullets, areolas nearly nonexistent. She had enough to fill my hands, I judged, and that was enough. In high school, the first lesbian I'd ever met had told me any boob larger than an apple was a waste. She wasn't right, but she wasn't wrong either.
She turned to face me, one hand rising to run a thumb across one of those stiff nubs, the other coming to rest lightly on her mound, fingers exploring the outer limits of her slit, the whole area made smooth and bare by laser, razor or wax.
"Fuck," she said, "I hope you eat pussy."
I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I didn't have time to. And she knew the answer anyway. She tackled me, pushing me down, crawling up my body, mounting my face, grinding herself into my mouth.
