Page 125 of The Bet
Only, Xavier’s kissing was nothing like her barely 13-year old boyfriend’s fumbling attempts. Xavier’s lips bruised, and brushed, and sucked, they teased, and ignited, and his fingers took her to blissful heights. She wanted him with a desperation that surprised her.
He paused at one point, then stood up and took his jacket off, and then smiled at her as he removed his thin fleece to reveal a t-shirt. She waited for that to come off, too, and the disappointment when he didn’t, coupled with the ache between her legs, made her kiss him all the harder when he lay back down on top of her.
He ground his hips into her, and she opened her legs wider, willing for him to touch her there, with his fingers, his lips, his mouth.
But it wasn’t happening.
The more he didn’t stray from her face and neck, the more she felt him up, cupping his toned buttocks in her hands, brushing her fingers over his soft jeans, and hard leather belt.
He looked down at her again his lips wet, and swollen, his expression teasing. She panted, and smiled, feeling loose and giddy all over, wanting more of him. As if he sensed her longing, his hand slipped under her yoga t-shirt, to the soft bandeau top and then to her nipple. His fingers teased there, rubbed, and twisted, and tweaked, but it was his mouth she ached for, his mouth and tongue, there, in place of his hands.
When he kissed her, his hand still playing and teasing her breast, she arched her back, and pressed her hands down harder, squeezing his butt, trying to get him closer to her. His tongue was so far down her mouth, she felt as if she was part of him, felt connected, the way two people were mid-orgasm, coming together in a sea of liquid arousal.
She heard the door burst open first, before Cara’s voice as she charged in. “Guess what Shelly did!” Followed by “Oh shit.”
Damn you, Cara.
Xavier stilled, then moved his head, his face an inch or so away from hers, their eyes locked together in disappointment. They didn’t move, didn’t answer her, didn’t acknowledge her.
“Sorry,” and then the door closed.
But the bubble had been broken. They stared at one another, and she became aware of her panting, and the weight of his hips and hardness pressing into hers. He shifted his body, adjusting himself, his elbows propped up on either side of her.
He made to move off, but she caged him in with her legs wrapped around him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, not willing to let him loose yet. He felt so good down there. If it was the closest she could get, of him, she was going to hold onto him a little longer.
“Izzy,” he groaned, into her mouth.
“Kiss me again,” she implored, and he did, brushing his lips gently over her neck and the sides of her face before bringing his lips close to hers. Close enough but not yet touching, he paused for a moment, and she inhaled his breath, the sensation making her dizzy. And then he kissed her, bruising her lips as he kissed her hard. He had surprised her, because the reputation that proceeded him didn’t seem to be anything like the man who seemed to take everything so slowly.
With a loud sigh, he moved off her, and lay on his side, propping his head up on his hand while his free hand skated under the t-shirt top and moved over her mid-riff. She was proud of her figure. Knew instinctively that he liked the feel of her tight stomach and her well-honed body. Yoga and not always having lots to eat, did that.
“I should go.”
“Already?” she said, using her best seductive voice. His hand moved from her mid-riff to her breast, and lay flat over it. She felt his heated touch, felt the throbbing reaction of her body, and the pulsating below.
“Unless you want me to stay?”
He was asking her?
“What do you think?”
His hand moved down, down, down, down, then rested just below the elastic waistband of her leggings. He was oblivious to the inferno raging a few inches below and she prayed that he would slide his hand lower, that he would slip his fingers inside her flimsy lace panties, and she held her breath, waiting.
But he did none of those things, and looked at her, instead. A look that was sad, and quiet, devoid of all the passion and longing they had just shared.
“What?” she asked, touching his cheek. “Why do you look so somber?”
He moved his hand away, then dropped a dry kiss on her lips.
A goddamn dry kiss.
“I should go.”
“With that tent pole in your jeans?” She propped herself up on her elbows, and stared at the large bulge in his jeans.
He stood between her legs, looking down at her. “That’s your fault, Laronde. Almost four months,” he said, letting out a breath.
