Just Let Go.... Kathleen O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ appreciated the art of kissing until the first time she’d touched his lips with her own.

      It had been fire.

      After she finally caught her breath, his hot mouth tracked her slim neck, following the line of her collarbone, down to where the pulse was drumming at her throat. She wound their hands together, her rose-tipped nails in sharp contrast to the dirt beneath his. But she didn’t mind. She loved the way his big hands touched her, hesitantly, reverently like she were his altar. God would probably strike her dead for comparing the carnal arts—or nearly carnal arts, she corrected—to a place of holy worship, but Gillian knew her biology and if God didn’t want teenagers running amok, he wouldn’t have juiced them with roller-coaster hormones, like hers.

      Not willing to wait any longer, she pulled him on top of her, feeling the rangy strength, the tensile bunching of muscles that seemed poised like a cougar ready to spring. Gillian knew she was playing fast and loose, but tonight the iron-clad Gillian Wanamaker will was noticeably absent. For once, she wanted to nibble at the apple, but not just with any man. Only him.

      “I’ve made up my mind,” she whispered in his ear, feathering kisses along the jaw.

      “About what?” he whispered back, his hand sliding slyly down her blouse, touching her with that same nervous intensity. “About this?” he asked, his fingers tip-toeing across her nipples, touching them, then falling away. She drew in a breath at the exquisite sensations, the burst of heat, the feeling that she was about to explode.

      “You shouldn’t do that,” she protested without a lick of sincerity, pushing her breasts farther into his hand, marveling at the fit. Gillian worked very hard at most things, being good included, but when she was near him, it was like summer lightning. Surprising, beautiful and dangerous. Gillian loved herself some summer lightning.

      He smiled at her then, surprising, beautiful, dangerous. Then his hands worked the buttons on her shirt with both speed and dexterity that proved he was a boy who knew his way around a bra. She liked that about him, that confidence he kept stored away.

      At school, his shoulders were always down, his eyes somewhere beyond the horizon. She knew he was whip-smart, but he’d never asked to be called on in class, he never opted to read aloud. In gym, he was fast, his movements quicker than most, but wasn’t on any team. In fact, most people didn’t give him the time of day—except for “those girls.” Those girls gave him everything he wanted…or so everyone said.

      Tramps, that was her momma’s description, and before you could say, “Gillian is a tramp,” her blouse was open and he was staring at her bare chest with lusty-eyed awe. In the face of such absolute adoration, it was hard to be shameful. Besides, Gillian believed that adoration was meant to be graciously acknowledged, not ignored. The moon winked down on them, the buffalo grass tickling the backs of her bare knees, and she watched the sharp lines of hunger in his face. He wasn’t a boy who openly showed need, and she loved that it was her who made him want.

      Carefully his hands traced the circles of her nipples, the outlines where rosy pink met baby’s-butt white. At first, she assumed this was part of the adoration ritual, but soon she realized the delicious truth of the matter. These little touches were invading her from the outside in, zipping through her skin, her nerves. In their wake, a wave of pressure was building in her belly, growing stronger, dropping lower until she could feel the tight heartbeat between her thighs.

      “Take me to the prom.” She spoke urgently, not the sophisticated invitation that she’d rehearsed in her mind. But right this second, her mind was preoccupied with those tight little circles he was drawing on her, the way he caught his lip between his teeth in what had to be a painful manner.

      As if sensing her difficulties, his fingers stilled over her breast, resting there possessively. “Hell, no. Nobody’s ever going to see me in some stupid prom duds. Not even for you, Gilly.”

      The words kick-started her brain. Rejection is what some might call it. Others, notably of Gillian’s persuasion, considered such talk a challenge, and one to be welcomed—before being clobbered, of course. Pride and prudence battled it out in her head, but prudence never stood a chance. “Go with me,” she urged, putting her hand over his, inviting him to prom, inviting him to more.

      There was a moment when his fingers tightened on her own aching skin, when his eyes darkened with the secrets she wanted to know, but then everything stopped.

      “No way, Gillian. Let’s drive to Austin. Find a hotel. Stay all weekend. Maybe longer. Maybe forever.” He looked away as he spoke, his face turned to the line of mesquite trees, not appreciating anything, the lurid nakedness of her breasts, the genius of her plans, and if Gillian hadn’t put so much time and effort into both, she probably would have been a little more reasonable.

      “Austin? I don’t know anybody there. I want to be here. Home. At my senior prom. It’ll be fun watching all the faces when we walk in.”

      He pulled away, leaving her alone on the ground. “I can tell you about the faces.” His voice was almost angry. “The boys will be drooling, their dicks in their eyes. The girls will pretend they don’t care, but they do.” Still not looking at her, he plucked a blade of grass, and put it to his lips and blew. The breathy whistle cut through the silence, as if he didn’t care what anyone thought, but Gillian knew better. Everybody cared, some just buried it deeper than others.

      “You think the girls won’t be jealous of me?” she asked, in her best girlfriend’s voice. “You don’t ever notice the crowd that gathers at Dot’s when you’re working at the shop with your shirt off?”

      A dark flush rose on his cheeks. “Maybe.”

      Pleased with his reaction, she drew closer, until the strong tendons of his arm were hard against her breast, until the warmth of his body filled her with electricity, like she was touching the live wire and feeling the shock. She liked that touch. She needed that touch. “Come with me.”

      He sat motionless, unmoved by her plea, and silently she swore. There was a very precise list of things that Gillian wanted with a white-hot passion: a summer job at the bank, class salutatorian, the gold tiara at the senior prom and this boy.

      So what price was she willing to pay? It was an age-old question that women had battled since the dawn of time.

      Never one to hesitate, she closed her eyes, and threw caution to the wind, although technically there was no wind, not even a courage-bolstering breeze. Slowly she pulled her blouse from her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. His gaze lifted to her bare chest and stayed there. The dangerous hunger returned and somewhere in her mind, summer lightning flashed, dazzling her. Just like magic, the breeze began to blow, tossing her caution even further afield.

      “You trying to bribe me?” he asked in an unsteady voice.

      She smiled, slow and a little unsteady herself. “Is it working?”

      Gently he lowered her to the ground, and his mouth took her own. It was a long and hungry kiss that involved grinding tongues and grinding hips, and when his hands touched her brazen nipples, they weren’t so gentle, weren’t so tender. This was pain, the most beautiful sort of pain. Desire. She squeezed her lips shut, silencing her cries, silencing her moans.

      He was heavy on top of her, and she could feel him, all of him, thick and throbbing and full of baby-making sperm. Before she could contemplate the consequences even further, he put his mouth to her breast and suckled, pulling hard. Wickedly hard. Her eyes drifted closed, trying not to be too slutty and give away the entire farm, but Gillian was no tease, neither. СКАЧАТЬ