I can’t hear past the rush of blood in my ears. My pulse is pounding, my breath is shallow, my skin is on fire. And then his mouth descends.
He brushes his lips against mine, softly at first. Back and forth. His body sways to the same rhythm, back and forth, rocking against me in an innocent yet incredibly erotic manner. Part of me wants him to touch me. Part of me knows what will happen if he does. But knowing that he won’t heightens even the most insignificant contact.
I feel his lips part. Mine do the same. He increases the pressure until his mouth rests firmly against mine. Still, his body sways back and forth the tiniest bit.
His tongue slides along the inside edge of my lower lip. I open my mouth wider. I feel it slip further inside, teasing the tip of mine. He licks at it, slowly, like he’s savoring it. I feel the action of his tongue deep in my stomach, as if he’s licking me in other places.
My body’s screaming. I feel pressure building, as though I might explode. And it’s only from a kiss.
But I know I won’t. I never do.
He tilts his head and thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth, tangling with mine. I don’t hear his moan. I feel it. It tingles on my lips and it vibrates through my body like sound down a tuning fork.
He pulls back. His kiss is light once more, teasing, until it’s over. Completely.
Alec lifts his head and stares down into my face. His eyes are hypnotic pools of ink in the lamplight.
“Thank you for a pleasurable evening,” he says quietly. He takes one step back and reaches for my hand. He turns it palm up and brushes my fingers before bringing my wrist to his mouth. He presses his lips to my skin. For a moment, I feel his tongue against the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. Just a flicker, as though he’s tasting. I think of his earlier comment about my taste. “Good night,” he whispers.
I watch as Alec walks to the door, opens it and, without a backward glance, disappears into the night.
********
It’s 3 a.m. and I’m restless.
I’m conflicted about…everything. But what seems to be bothering me most is opposing feelings of relief and disappointment.
Alec made no mention of seeing me again. At least not specific plans anyway. And it’s driving me crazy.
I should be thankful. If he disappears, it would spare me pain and embarrassment. Quite a bit of pain and embarrassment, actually. And that’s good. And healthy. And wise.
But part of me doesn’t care about any of that. Part of me doesn’t care about what’s smart or what makes sense. Part of me doesn’t want him to disappear. Against my better judgment, I want to explore him, to see just how Mason-like he really is. To uncover the irresistible mystery of the man from my head come to life.
Irritated, I fling back the covers and get out of bed, padding quietly to the kitchen. Jinx stirs and jumps up on the counter, arching his back for the stroke he knows is coming. Obligingly, I rub my hand down his spine. He purrs loudly. The sound reminds me of the noise Alec made, the one in the back of his throat when he was kissing me. He almost purred. It gives me chills just thinking about it.
After he left, I tried to write, but I couldn’t wrap my head around my characters. Daire and Mason are suddenly too real, their story too…factual. I found it too hard to separate the Mason in my imagination from the Alec in my world.
I grab the milk and a packet of hot cocoa and set them on the counter. I pour a coffee mug two-thirds full of milk and stick it in the microwave for two minutes. When it’s not quite boiling, I take it out, tear open the cocoa packet and dump in the contents. A puff of powder rises up to tease my nose with the sweet scent of chocolate. This is my one go-to, cure-all for insomnia.
As I stir the mixture, I hear a muted blip. It’s the sound of a text coming in.
“Who could that be, Jinxy?”
My pulse leaps with the hope that it’s Alec. I try to curb my elation by reminding myself of the strong possibility that it’s not, but still, I’m excited as I cross the room.
I hurry to my phone, which is still in the clutch I took to the fundraiser. I must be much more distracted than I thought to forget about my phone.
I punch the button and slide my finger across the screen. Even though I was preparing myself, I can’t help but feel disappointed when I see Chris’s picture.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I mutter into the quiet.
You and me. Tomorrow. Seabrook Island. The turtles are in.
I don’t bother to respond. The instant she realizes I’m awake, she’ll call me with a thousand questions about Alec. And right now, I don’t have answers.
********
I glance at my phone for the thousandth time. 10:46. I squeeze more lotion into my palm and rub it onto my legs.
I’m antsy. Chris is coming to get me at noon. After my therapy session.
I sigh just thinking about it. I’ve almost talked myself into asking for Dr. B’s opinion on the Mason/Alec situation. Last night, long after my cocoa should’ve worked, I tossed and turned in bed, wrestling over the wisdom of following my insane desire for Mason into some crazy thing with Alec.
On the one hand, it has danger and heartache written all over it. But on the other hand, what if Chris is right? What if I need this?
After a cup of coffee to revitalize myself this morning, a cup which had zero effect on my sleepy brain, I still had no answers, so I took a shower. I mulled as I shaved. The result was supposed to be an answer. Instead, I stepped out of the shower with everything from ankle to armpit shaved slick as a whistle.
Now, as I smooth lotion over my lightly tanned, hairless skin, I have no better idea what to do about Alec. If he even wants to see me again, that is.
With a growl, I try to force the situation from my mind, focusing instead on getting out my supplies for an at-home mani/pedi. I figure I’ll have just enough time to squeeze in a quick one after my appointment, but before Chris comes to get me.
I dump it all on the bed and check the time again. It’s 10:54.
My phone rings and I jump. Once again, my first thought is that it might be Alec. As it did before, my heart races with hope and optimism. But also just as it did before, my pulse plummets with disappointment when I see that it’s not.
It’s just Ari, my publicist.
It can’t be a good sign that I’m acting like a crazy-stupid school girl already.
Pushing aside thoughts of Alec, I answer.
“Good morning.”
“Well, good morning to you,” Ari says pleasantly enough. “Why don’t we keep it that way. You just go ahead and say ‘yes’ and I won’t waste your time with details.”