NEEDING TO SHAKE off the melancholy from our conversation over the world’s hottest burgers, I invite Boone back to my apartment.
When we arrive, I skip the pretense we’re going to spend the evening having polite conversation on my tiny settee and I lead him directly to my bedroom. Sitting on the side of my bed, I expect him to join me.
Instead, he leans against the wall, gently dragging his index finger across the top of his lips, studying me.
He hasn’t touched me. Yet my skin flames with heated anticipation.
He approaches, slowly.
On the outside I’m still. Inside, my heart gallops and blood races through my veins as my pulse quickens.
He triggers my flight instinct with his slow, steady pace. Somehow I remain seated on the edge of the bed.
“Lucy.” My name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. “What am I going to do with you?”
The tension between us is off the charts.
Honestly, he could tickle me or kiss me. Either one and I’ll probably scream. I half expect him to pounce, closing the distance between us in a single move.
Of course he doesn’t, because Boone never does what I think he will.
A few feet away, he stops and yanks his shirt over his head. The soft cotton drops to the ground.
Out of reach, I’d have to stand to touch him unless I use my foot.
“Are you going to stare or get naked?” His low chuckle and wicked smile break some of the tension between us.
After kicking off my shoes, I stand to rid myself of my shorts. I feel granules slide down my legs as I strip off my clothes. In the moment, I forgot about the gypsum.
“I need a shower.” I shake and more white powder dusts my wood floor.
He drops his shorts and the same thing happens by his feet. “Can I join you?”
Leaving a trail of gypsum behind us, we strip off the rest of our own clothes and each other’s. He kisses my shoulder while undoing the clasp of my bra. It falls to the floor, spilling more white powder.
I lean into the shower to turn on the faucets and Boone slowly peels off my underwear. Willing to do the same for him, I turn around and slip my fingers in the band of his boxers, bending at the waist to drag them down his thighs. Once free from its cotton confines, his thick cock bobs to attention. I give it a quick lick.
Boone’s eyes burn a deep emerald before he closes them. Empowered by the effect I have on him, I sit on the edge of the tub and suck him into my mouth.
His moan of pleasure encourages me. With my hand wrapped around the base, I lick and suck as much as I can, using my hand to stroke the rest.
“Lucy,” he murmurs. “I want to be inside of you.”
I release him to say, “I’m still sandy.”
“Then let’s continue this in the shower.”
He grabs a condom and sets the foil packet on the shelf next to my bath products.
We rinse and then he spends a long time lathering me with body wash. I do the same for him, paying special attention to stroking his shaft with my soapy hands, letting them wander to his balls. He grows even harder in my hand until the tip is an angry deep red. We rinse again before he pins me to the wall, lifting my arms above my head and grinding against me.
I want to live in this shower with him forever, as long as the water stays hot.
After teasing him with my mouth and hands, I expect him to be fast and rough, but once again, he doesn’t do what I assume. He makes love to me with slow, steady thrusts, drawing out my pleasure quietly and deliberately until I’m a writhing, slippery mess before finally taking me over the edge with him into simultaneous orgasms. The unicorn of orgasms, and before this moment, completely mythical to me.
Still warm and damp from our long, hot shower sex, we collapse on my bed.
“What happened to your tattoo?” He sweeps his tongue around my nipple, then places a open kiss to the swell of my breast over my heart.
“Huh? I don’t have any tattoos.” My stomach drops. Is he confusing me with another lover?
“I thought I saw one here.” He kisses my skin to mark the spot. “The first night we ran into each other at Pete’s.”
“Are you sure it was me?” I ask, squirming under the tickle of his breath over my nipple.
“Yes. It looked like a sun.” With his tongue, he traces a circle and then lines on my skin.
I swear my heart stops beating. He saw the symbol. That’s why he was doodling it on the napkin.
“No idea.” My voice cracks with the lie.
“Hmm,” he hums around my right nipple. “My mistake.”
In spite of having his mouth against my chest, he doesn’t notice the erratic thumping.
My breath shudders when I inhale and I hope he misinterprets it as passion.
Fear mixes with relief.
If he drew what he thought was my tattoo, he probably has no clue about the symbol’s deeper meaning to me. Or its possible connection to aliens.
“How old are you?” I ask to change the subject.
He peers up at me from where he’s kissing a path to my stomach. “Thirty. Why?”
“No reason. I’ll be twenty-eight in December,” I tell him even though he didn’t ask.
“My birthday is in May.” He places kisses around my belly button. “Am I doing this backwards again?”
“Driving me crazy with your mouth? No, I liked the direction you were going before.” I run my fingers through his dark waves, confused by my sudden need to chat.
“I meant the dating business. We’re naked and about to have sex, I hope, but we’re also having a conversation. Should we talk first? I’m not sure how good I am at multi-tasking.” He drops a kiss to my hip, then crawls up my body and places a soft, sweet kiss on my mouth.
“You asked a question, I answered.” Blinking, I try to focus on his eyes when he’s so close.
“Then you asked me how old I am, and I told you. That’s what I meant by conversation. The back and forth. You talk, I talk.” He drops a kiss on one cheek and then the other.
“I like your way better.” I kiss his chin. “We say something, and then follow it with a kiss.” I kiss the soft skin behind his jaw, below his ear.
His body jerks and he moans. “That tickles.”
I nip his earlobe. “What about that?”
He rolls his hips, rubbing the tip of his erection against my thigh. “Doesn’t tickle.”
I kiss or bite various places on his body and he tells me how it feels. His inner elbows are surprisingly ticklish, as is the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Not ticklish over his ribs or his ankle.
Losing ourselves in the exploration of each other’s bodies, we forget to ask more questions about each other.
And that suits me just fine.