Page 67 of Light Up The Night
Chapter 11
CADENCE
The early June night air is warm and the sky is so full of stars one could lose count in a space no larger than one's palm. Beneath me, the blanket is a thick, if somewhat scratchy, barrier between me and the cold metal of the truck bed.
Riley is a bulky presence above me, beside me. He radiates warmth and exudes desire and patience and strength.
I am nervous—I have no clue what to expect. Kissing is not at all as I had imagined, in the few times I even endeavoured to direct my imagination toward that end. My skin tingles in anticipation of his touch, and my belly flutters and flips.
I want this.
Badly.
What I have not said to Riley, as I am not certain he would not take it the wrong way, is that this is an opportunity I will not squander—not knowing what the future holds, I cannot be certain a chance such as this will ever come to me again. I am aware that that sounds…well…opportunistic, and perhaps it is. But such is my reality. I am here with a man who desires me. Who seems to care for me, at least to some degree. I may never find anyone like Riley again, or anyone who could want me for me, who could see me the way he does.
I push this line of thought out of my mind—it is worrisome and frightening to consider. If I allow myself to continue down that mental vector, I may never leave this place or this man, and I would eventually resent him if that happened. Imustgo to South Sudan. I could not live with myself if I did not.
Yet so much of my heart, when I leave, will remain here. I can see that, even now.
Mercifully, Riley chooses this moment, when my mind is whirling and conflicted, to touch his lips ever so gently to mine. My mind does not go blank—it will take more than that, I fear— but the chaotic maelstrom of conflicting needs and desires quiets enough that I can tune in on him, focus on his lips on mine.
His lips are warm and smooth and slippery. I tilt my head slightly and find a better angle, and the soft, warm slip of his lips on mine is delightful—a barrage of sensations: the wetness, the warmth, the slippery slide of our mouths moving, the hot waft of his breath, the press of his nose alongside mine. His body is large and hard and hot. His tongue creases the seam of my closed mouth, and I open for him, and his tongue drives into my mouth; this is almost overpowering.
The intrusion of his tongue in my mouth is alien, slithering on mine, stuttering past my teeth, grazing over my lips. I feel his kiss in every cell of my body. It warms me from the inside out, creates a bizarre, unfamiliar pressure in my belly. It pushes a hunger through me, but not for food. My mind is asking a dozen questions all at once:
Will he touch me, now?
Does he want to?
Is he only doing this because I asked him to?
Does he really think I am gorgeous as he keeps saying?
Which part of my body will he touch first?
Will I enjoy it as much as I do his kisses?
Are my breasts large enough? Men prefer women with oversized breasts, I believe, and mine are not especially large, though they are not small, either.
Will he attempt to make me orgasm?
Will I be able to?
What will it feel like?
Will I like it?
What if it hurts?
The way my university roommate screamed, cried, groaned, grunted, whimpered, and otherwise carried on when cavorting in bed with her boyfriend, I always got the impression sex must be very painful. When I asked her about this, however, she laughed uproariously and would only say that it does not and should not hurt, and that I would only be able to understand if I were to experience it for myself.
What about Riley's body? I have only seen the male form nude in clinical settings, never personally. I have never seen an erect penis before.
What would it feel like to touch his penis?
What if I hurt him, somehow?
What if he does not enjoy the way I touch him?
