CHAPTER FOUR
DAPHNE
I held onto his arm as we walked. The night air was cool and refreshing, and I think I may have been sobering up…a little bit. We hadn’t walked far before he stopped at a two-story house that looked like it had been converted into walk-up apartments.
“This is me,” he said. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Oh no! I don’t…I mean, I…” I was suddenly afraid that “coffee” didn’t mean “coffee.” I don’t do random hook-ups in bars, but I was just drunk enough not to trust myself not to accept if he offered.
He laughed. “Coffee is the only thing on my mind,” he said. “Trust me.” When he looked at me with those soft, warm, green eyes, I did trust him. It might also be the four drinks on an empty stomach.
“Okay, maybe a coffee before I head home.”
Famous last words.
“Good,” he said, unlocking the bottom door. He let us in and we held onto each other and the wall as we made our way up the stairs to the second floor.
The heat and feel of his body on the narrow staircase overwhelmed all of my senses. If I’d had any left, I would have gone home right then. When he let go of my arm to unlock his apartment door, I was trembling.
He pushed the door open and said, “Welcome to my humble abode. Excuse the mess; I’m just moving in.” I stepped inside and looked around. There were boxes everywhere, but it wasn’t really a mess. It was more of an organized chaos.
“Where are you moving in from?”
“Boston,” he said, making his way to the small, open kitchen. I watched him make a pot of coffee. He filled out his jeans so nicely.
“Oh,” I said, not telling him I’d just moved from Boston, too. The next obvious question would be why and I was definitely not going to discuss that with a stranger.
“I have to pee.” That was the second time I’d spoken to this man about my bladder. That was another good reason for me to never drink again.
He laughed. I really liked the sound of it. I also loved the dimples and the little laugh lines around his eyes. “Follow me,” he said.
He led me a few steps down a short hall and we turned into what I could only assume was his bedroom. The bathroom was through the bedroom. Strange set up—and convenient if you were trying to get into a drunken girl’s pants.
I narrowed my eyes to let him know I was onto him. Unfortunately, my bladder was too full to back out. I wobbled into the bathroom and closed the door. There were still boxes on the counter in there, too. I thought about snooping through them, but he was probably still standing there waiting for me. I didn’t want to get caught.
I locked the door and pulled up my skirt. I started to sit down and suddenly remembered my panties. I pulled those down and sat. I did my business, washed my hands, and found the hot guy standing in the same spot waiting for me. I’m not sure why, but I suddenly blurted out,
“I don’t usually drink!”
He smiled knowingly and stepped towards me. “Neither do I,” he said. He was really close. Too close…yet, I didn’t want him to back up…not even a little bit. “I don’t usually do this, either.”
Before I could respond, he’d dipped his head down and our lips connected. He kissed me, tentatively at first, like he was waiting for me to pull away, or slap him. I didn’t do either.
The feel of his lips as they brushed across mine sent little jolts of electricity through me and started a fire in my belly. I did just the opposite of pulling away—I leaned into it and kissed him back. His lips were soft and full and tasted like sweet alcohol. I wanted more.
I let my lips fall open and I felt his tongue begin to probe my mouth. He tasted and licked and even sucked on my tongue as I melted into him. His strong arms were the only thing holding me up as my already woozy head became intoxicated by the touch and smell and taste of him.
When he pulled back to catch his breath and he looked at my face, I could see another chance for me to protest in his eyes. I knew that I should. But I didn’t want to. I wanted him. I’d never felt the kind of passion and need swelling up inside of me that I felt that night.
I moved back towards him, and this time when our lips met, there was nothing at all tentative about it. This was a hot, passionate kiss.
His hands were no longer content to sit chastely on my waist. They were roaming the curves of my body causing me to quiver all over. I wanted to feel them on my bare skin.
I wanted to feel him. I briefly wondered if I should tell him that I was a virgin, but as his hands covered my breasts and his fingers began to massage my nipples through my shirt, all rational thought became a thing of the past. The decision to walk out of there without my virginity was as good as cemented.
He ran his hands up to my face and cupped it. Then he pulled out of the kiss and drew his thumb across my lips, tracing the outline. It was intimate and sweet and they parted again of their own accord, a desperate sign of my desire.
I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't do this; I’ve never done this. I was just winging it. My body was driving me at that point. It was instinct.
He actually wimpered when I took his thumb between my lips. I brought my hand up and pressed the rest of his fingers to my lips and starting with the little one, I pressed each slowly against my mouth and kissed it, letting my mouth fall open a bit more with each one. He was watching me in a drunken state of awe, silent.
When I finished with his fingers, I pressed his open palm to my lips and drew them down to his wrist. I drew my tongue down along his arm and he moaned. His head dropped back and closed his eyes. I was encouraged, so I kept going. I licked back up the hard muscle of his arm until I reached his hand again. I took his index finger into my mouth and I sucked on it and then bit down very gently. His chest was heaving against me as I gave his wrist one last kiss and let go. He opened his eyes and locked them into mine.
“Dear God…” It was said in a reverent whisper, and it caused my entire body to convulse. I had my hands pressed into his hard chest now, and he was still staring at me. His eyes were a mixture of lust, desire, and something else that I couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe it was because I was drunk…maybe because I knew I would regret it myself…but he looked a little bit guilty.
I fleetingly wondered if he was married, but the thought was gone as he pulled me into him again and kissed me hungrily. Kissed may not even be the right word. It was more like possession. He possessed my mouth and devoured it as I willingly gave myself over to him.
I boldly slid my hands underneath his t-shirt as we kissed and slowly moved it up his body. When it got to his arms, he broke the kiss to pull it off over his head. The light from the moon was shining in through the window, and he looked like he should be posing for the cover of a romance novel.
His body was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Every muscle was hard and defined, like he’d been sculpted out of concrete. I let my hands roam across his chest, and my fingers happily traced the taut contours all the way down to the hard ripples of his abdomen.
“You’re beautiful,” I breathed out before I even realized I was speaking. He smiled, proving my point. He reached up and ran his hands through my long, blonde hair.
Then he put his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “No, you’re the one who is beautiful.” The feel of his warm breath and the vibrations of his voice sent goosebumps racing down my arms and my spine.
I stood on my tip toes and kissed him again. This kiss was even harder and more urgent. His teeth scraped along the outside of my bottom lip, and I whimpered.
He slid his hands down my sides then and around behind me, placing one on each cheek of my round butt, squeezing and massaging lightly through my skirt.
I was on auto-pilot. I reached up and unhooked the button on the side of it. It slid down and he moved his warm hands, letting it fall to the floor around my ankles. I gasped when I felt the heat of his hands on my waist underneath my blouse. He pushed it up and I pulled back slightly and raised my arms so that he could get it over my head.
His eyes roamed my body then, like a man who had been stranded alone on an island…or imprisoned only with other men. It was like I was the first woman he’d laid eyes on in quite some time.