Page 35 of Not Your Valentine
Just a quick kiss, a kiss that leaves me wanting more. And from the mischievous smile playing on his lips, he knows it.
I can’t help glaring at him, and he laughs.
There are many more interesting things to see, many more interesting things to watch Taylor discover. We keep holding hands, and every now and then, one of us pulls the other in for a kiss.
This sort of thing works much better when there’s no big height difference to navigate.
He leads me away from the installations and the crowd, and he kisses me even more thoroughly than before. He presses me up against a brick building, one hand braced on the wall, the other grabbing my ass beneath my jacket. When I let out a squeak of surprise, he pulls away, but I pull him right back.
This kiss is hornier, for lack of a better word, than the others. The first time, amongst all the lights, it seemed almost romantic, but this kiss doesn’t feel like that. Although it’s been less than an hour since our first kiss, I’m already looking forward to cataloguing all the different ways he can kiss me.
He shifts one of his legs between mine, and the pressure is very welcome. One of my hands scrambles under his jacket, then under his shirt, desperate to touch warm skin; I release a shuddering exhale as I find it. I squirm against his leg, and when I shift my position just a little, I feel his erection.
A month ago, making Taylor hot for me wasn’t something I desired, but that’s changed. I growl in frustration because neither of us lives in the building that we’re leaning against. When I roll my hips, he hisses. I am the focus of his attention, and I feel honored…and at the same time, my head fills with filthy thoughts of him kneeling in front of me.
After all, I now have some idea of what he can do with his mouth.
At last, he pulls away and looks at me with unfocused eyes. I moan in protest, but I can’t blame him. If we kept going, we’d probably do something that would lead to frostbite on my ass. (Can you get frostbite on your ass? Would it be weird if I googled that later?)
“We should, uh, keep walking,” he says.
It takes a lot of effort to peel myself away from that wall, but at last, I do, and I hold his hand as we walk through the rest of the Distillery District. We pass a few more interesting installations, including one of Arctic animals.
We’re standing on the cobblestones when someone says, “Hey! Taylor!”
It’s a friend of his from badminton, and when Taylor introduces me as his girlfriend, even though he doesn’t have to say that in front of his friends and family, I feel stupidly pleased.
After a brief conversation, Taylor says we have to get going.
“I didn’t want you to freeze,” he says as we head away from the lights. “Where do you want to go for dinner? There’s a ramen place not too far from here, if you’re interested.”
Ramen sounds good to me.
We don’t kiss again after we leave the Distillery District, but we still hold hands, and there are more casual touches than there would otherwise be.
And I don’t think it’s just part of our act.
I can feel myself smiling more over dinner than I normally would, savoring the broth even more than usual. I’m unbothered by the fact that the tables are tightly packed and the stools aren’t the most comfortable, even though such things often annoy me.
We get on the subway and head north together, but he has to transfer at Bloor-Yonge. One reckless part of me nearly asks him to come back to my place, but instead, I give him a peck on the lips. He smiles at me more warmly than I’ve ever seen him smile at anything else, although that might just be my imagination.
When the bus takes longer to arrive than it should, it doesn’t bother me much, either. I spend the time making an Instagram post, though I leave out the best pictures—the ones I took of Taylor admiring the lights. Selfishly, I want those just for me.
At home, I change into my pajamas, and before I close my eyes, I flip through the photos once more. I wonder if I could have a real relationship again…if it was with someone like Taylor.
It’s the first time I’ve considered such a thing in a long, long time.
Chapter 12
That night, I dream about kissing Taylor against a brick wall, but rather than being surrounded by the wintery city, we’re surrounded by a Martian landscape with a single six-foot-tall toadstool.
Not that I give two shits about the landscape—or the fact that little green men in a spaceship are approaching—because Taylor is stripping off my clothes and getting down on his knees in front of me and…
I wake up cursing. I have to pee really, really badly.
I use the washroom and head back to bed. It’s six thirty, which is an awkward time. Not long before I usually wake up during the week, but I rarely get out of bed until eight on the weekends. I hope I’ll be able to sleep for another hour or two, but I’m not counting on it.
When I turn onto my stomach and squirm against the bed, I decide I need to take care of my little problem. I reach into my night table and pull out my dildo, which I rarely use, but it’s what I want today.
