Heat

He placed a kiss on my shoulder, lingered there as his heart slowed.

“I didn’t know it was going to do that,” I said suddenly, voicing my thoughts.

He stiffened—not much, just a little—and leaned just far enough away to bring my eyes into focus.

“You didn’t know what was going to do what?”

“Your…” I hesitated, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. It was strange, I didn’t mind doing it, but talking about it made me feel squeamish and uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, determined to soldier on and not be a ninny. So I said bravely, “I didn’t know your ejaculate was going to shoot out like that.”

His eyebrows jumped and he gave me a surprised, crooked smile. “My ejaculate?”

“Yes. Like a cannon blast of semen, and there was—is—a lot of it. It’s everywhere.”

Martin gave a surprised laugh, looking at me like I was weird and wonderful.

But then he sobered suddenly and asked, “Are you…are you uncomfortable?” He shifted like he was going to grab one of the washcloths folded neatly on the dryer.

“No. Not particularly. But it’s getting a little cold.”

He stared at me. I stared back. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, how to let his penis go, because my hand was still around it. So I tried stroking him again. He winced, jumped away, and gulped air.

“Kaitlyn, no, no, don’t do that.”

“Sorry. I didn’t…I mean, I don’t know what to do after…”

He exhaled, placed his hands on his hips, and dropped his chin to his chest, but not before I saw his small smile.

Meanwhile, I did what I think anyone would do in my situation. I leaned back on the washing machine and gave him a good once-over because Martin Sandeke was naked. He was completely naked. And he was crazy beautiful. I’m not an idiot, so of course I was going to exploit this moment.

I sighed then bit my lip, because I was still aroused and he was naked. This was more pre-bedtime imagery for the win.

He lifted his head at the sound, his eyes moving over my body with what felt like a hungry compulsion. He must’ve noticed me doing the same because he smirked. Martin sauntered forward, grabbed a washcloth and wiped off my stomach and chest, taking more time and care than necessary.

At some point during his careful ministrations I began to feel inhibited—not because I was ashamed of my body—because I wasn’t used to being on display. I wasn’t used to being looked at while naked, with desire or otherwise. I’d always been modest, and therefore, as he tossed the dirty washcloth to the floor I moved to cover myself.

Martin intercepted, then covered my hands with his, halting my progress.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m covering up.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I glanced around the room, feeling oddly embarrassed, then answered with simple honesty, “Because I’m not used to this, to being exposed like this.”

Martin released my hand and I finished tying the strap, but then he slipped his fingers into the cup of my bikini and massaged, caressed, possessed—almost like he was communicating that it didn’t matter whether I covered myself. My body was his to touch how he liked. This was confusing because it thrilled me. I felt dominated and I liked it. He loomed, hovering, peering down at me, all tall and strong and powerful…and naked.

“You have the most luscious breasts.” He whispered this, then nipped at my lips, his tongue darting out to taste them.

“Oh? The most?” I panted.

I felt his smirk return. “Yes. The most.”

“Luscious?”

“And delicious.”

“Really? Are they flavored?”

“Yes. Kaitlyn flavored…and now Martin flavored. I wonder what the rest of you tastes like.”

My eyes flickered to the door behind him as sounds of partygoers being loud and ruckusy ebbed and flowed, cutting through this little world we’d created in the laundry room. I gathered a deep breath, swallowing down my desire. I’d already ventured quite far out of my comfort zone for one night. I needed time to think and regroup.

So I shook my head, returning my eyes to Martin’s. “No, no. I’m good.”

He lifted a single eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You’re…good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That was fun…watching you and, um, touching you during. I’m good.”

He studied me, his eyes narrowing. “What if I’m not good?”

I glanced to one side, then the other, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t be good. “Did I not do it right?”

“No, no. Not at all. You did great. That’s not what I meant. What if…” He paused, his eyes moving down the length of me, blazing a path that left goosebumps in its wake. He reached for my hand and brought my middle finger to his mouth. I was transfixed as he sucked it into his mouth, his tongue swirling. I moaned. I did. Because the inside of his mouth felt like the gateway to heaven.

“Oh, Martin, what are you doing?”

He withdrew my finger and rubbed the pad of it back and forth over his bottom lip. “I need to taste you, Kaitlyn. I want to fuck you with my tongue.”

I shivered convulsively and had no idea how to respond to that, so I said, “I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“Say yes. Say: Yes, Martin. I want you to fuck me…with your tongue.”

“I don’t think my mouth can say those words out loud. I’m not that outgoing.”

He grinned, bringing my knuckles to his mouth and slipping the aforementioned tongue against the back of my middle and index finger, licking the space between them where they joined. I gasped because the spot seemed to be a wormhole; he’d bent time and space creating a shortcut to my clitoris.

I yanked my hand away, hopped off the machine, abruptly standing, forcing him to take a step back. He moved to reach for me but I placed two hands on his chest—stupid perfect chest—holding him at bay.

“Just…just give me a minute.”

“Kaitlyn—”

“No, no, no. I need a minute.”

“Let me—”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that, okay?”

He caged me in, his hands on the machine behind me. “You seemed ready for it earlier.” His voice was teasing, held sensual promise that my pants really liked. I think my pants are the president of the Martin Sandeke sensual promise fan club.

I shook my head, staring up at him, my words rushing out of me. “I wasn’t. I mean, I wanted to and I want you to, but I don’t think I’m ready…yet. I mean I just had my first orgasm yesterday afternoon. We just kissed for the first time on Friday. Friday. I can’t move this fast. I need time to acclimate to changes, process what they mean.”

His scorching gaze subdued, grew thoughtful, and he straightened, giving me space.

I continued, “If I keep giving in while we’re in the moment then none of this has meaning.”

This last statement seemed to make a huge difference. He rocked back on his feet then took two steps away; to my surprise, he was nodding. “That makes sense.”

I clasped my hands and returned his nod. “It does, right? I mean, we could jump each other’s bones now, in this laundry room, but what would it really mean? It would feel good—really, really good—but—”

“But it wouldn’t have meaning for you,” he finished for me, his eyes searching mine. Martin’s voice deepened and his gaze grew open and earnest. “I want it to have meaning, Parker. And I’m fine with waiting for some things, but I still need to touch you.”

I gave him a little smile, my hands on my hips. I felt a tad silly standing in front of him, talking about giving meaning to physical intimacy while the barest remnants of his sperm dried on my stomach and chest.

“And I still need you to touch me, Martin. That’s part of this whole dating thing…I think. The point is, we’re trying to figure it out, right? And I think we can.”

“Good.” He rushed forward, like he needed to be close. His hands moved to touch my waist, stalled, then settled benignly on my shoulders. “Good. We’re on the same page.”

“Good.” I grinned, feeling excited.

It was, I realized, the first time I’d truly entertained the possibility that things might actually work between us. Before this moment I’d kept my guard up, trying to prove the null hypothesis, ready for Martin to mess up or for him to realize his interest in me was transitory and misplaced.

He must’ve seen some shift in my expression because his answering smile was soft and hopeful.

He asked, “You want to have some tacos?”

“What? Here? Now? They have tacos?”

“Yeah.” Martin’s eyes skated over my face and they lit at my delight. “They have a taco bar.”

“Oh my God.” I stared at him for a beat, my mouth agape, then nodded vehemently and declared, “Best party ever!”

CHAPTER 2

Chemistry of the Environment

I woke up the next morning struck by a sudden idea of super genius.

Actually, it was almost noon when I woke up, so I guess I woke up the next afternoon struck by a sudden idea of super genius.