Her hand against my shoulder stilled me, and I shook myself internally. Stop.
I drew back, but before I could interpret what she needed, she sat up and slid one leg to the other side of my hip and leaned over me, into me, and I dragged her down to kiss her, my hands smoothing over her shoulders and down her back. She rocked against me and there was no containing the groan that movement yielded, a coarse rumbling deep in my chest that spurred her on. Mouth angled and open, fostering intense, mind-blowing kisses, she rocked forward again, and my fingers found and freed the hooks of her bra and tugged the straps down. Grasping her waist, I pulled her higher and sucked a nipple into my mouth. Goddamn if she wasn’t sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted.
Her arms wobbled as she panted her satisfaction, and I rolled her under me, sweeping my tongue over the other breast, teasing the nipple to a hard nub before sucking it deep. My fingers forked into her hair at the nape, holding her mouth to be kissed as I stroked my opposite palm down her side and returned my mouth to hers. When she arched against me, I unbuttoned her jeans and pinched the zipper between my fingers.
Breaking the kiss, she gasped, ‘Wait,’ and I went motionless, watching her. She panted, looking up at me, a worried crease touching her forehead.
‘Stop?’ I asked, and she nodded, catching her swollen lip in her mouth. ‘Stop everything, or just go no further?’
She paused before answering, and I wanted to tell her how far I would go to give her exactly what she needed – that I would do, or not do, whatever she wanted from me.
Her answer was almost inaudible. ‘Just … just no further.’
My body geared up for a battle of restraint, but my mind rejoiced. ‘Done.’ I pulled her back into my arms and kept my hands and mouth above her waist or over her jeans, clasping her hips to drag her along my thigh, creating strokes of friction and employing the benefits of gravity. She minded none of it.
I turned her on to her stomach and moved her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck, and she sighed, relaxing. The soft hairs tickled my nose and I smiled, running my tongue over the small rise of each vertebra, moving lower as I knelt over her, massaging with long strokes of my hands – over her hips and thighs, to her calves and back up. I squeezed her hip and she giggled, so I pressed a kiss to her mid-back and flipped her over, sucking a nipple into my mouth. Her laughter cut short and she plunged her hands into my hair and held me, trembling.
Sliding to her side, I didn’t have to coax her to follow – she turned with me, alongside me, dipping her knee between my legs as we kissed. My hand inched from her hip to her thigh, prodding her, begging just enough room to sink between us. She shifted and I slipped my fingers between her legs. ‘This okay?’ I asked, and she nodded and pressed against me, her small fingers tight round my bicep.
I stroked the tips of my fingers over the denim and she moaned in response. Come, baby, I urged silently and leaned to kiss her, stretching her mouth wide and sinking into her. Heat radiated from her body against my hand, and I knew her imagination was filling in the blanks as my tongue thrust into her warm mouth and my fingers found the exact spot to orbit in gentle, measured circles, the exact pressure that tumbled her over the brink.
When she fell, she tore her mouth from mine and muffled her cries against my shoulder, her nails scoring my arms. Her breathing slowed and softened, and she shuddered one final time as I withdrew my hand.
Moments later, she touched her fingers to the button of my jeans. Without raising her eyes, she said, ‘I should, um …’
I tipped her chin and stared into those blue, blue depths. ‘Leave me something to anticipate,’ I whispered, kissing her gently.
17
Landon
‘You were just a rebound,’ Clark Richards said, Monday morning, right before the homeroom bell rang. ‘Don’t you get it, Maxfield? Yeah, I f**ked up – but I came to my senses. She’s mine. Girls like Melody don’t stick with guys like you, freak.’
Guys like you.
Under his arm, Melody stared at the hallway tiles and said nothing. No explanation. No see ya. Nothing.
‘Want me to kick his ass?’ Boyce asked when I threw a metal, lidded trash can in the men’s room ten minutes later, denting a stall door and nearly knocking it off its hinges.
Hands gripping the sink’s edge and swearing I would not cry or puke or scream the obscenities rolling through my brain, I shook my head, once. Clark Richards was just being the dick he’d always been.
Melody was the one I let inside. If anyone’s ass should be kicked, it should be mine.
I woke up in my bed the next day with no idea how I got there. My phone was dead, so I didn’t know what time it was, but there was light under the pantry door and the house was quiet. The previous school day was a blur, and the hours after dark, blank. I closed my eyes and concentrated.
Boyce and I had skipped out after shop and he drove to the beach, which was still littered with remnants of spring breakers – wrappers, plastic bags, cans, the occasional abandoned beach towel or bikini top. The sky was light grey. Overcast. We sat on the rock near one of our usual hangouts and stared out over the water.
Boats motored across my line of vision, but my eyes wouldn’t follow anything. A family with a blanket, picnic basket and cooler had staked out a spot near the water. Brother and sister were the same size – twins, maybe. Preschool age. They kept daring each other to submerge in the still-cool water. They’d each taken a few turns darting up to it. Neither got further than their ankles before tearing back out like there were ice cubes in the water.