I don't know, I think, remembering Thalia like a flash, the edge of concern in her expression before it ran, the brush of her fingertips over my cheek. Ellen's touch is gentle, but more definite. I'm not imagining it, couldn't be, the way I still feel I imagined Thalia's hand like a ghost against my skin. For whatever reason, maybe because we're both edging past tipsy or because we don't know each other and I'm not giving anything up, Ellen's not scared of me or bothered. I wonder what it means that Thalia might be, that I can spook something under that iron exterior. But I know what it means. There's something dangerous about giving a damn about someone and, I don't know how, but she does
( ... )
Just the feel of her leg against me like that drives me wild, and I tighten my grip on her thigh to keep her there. It's what I hoped for when I walked up to her, or on the way to it, but it's not what I expected. Even here where gorgeous women are a dime a dozen, there's no reason any of them should want to go anywhere with me or do anything. But here she is.
The ocean's so close, the sound of her gasp gets swallowed up by the waves or by me, I don't know which, but I can feel it. I stop kissing her so I can kiss her neck instead, soft skin catching briefly under my teeth. I could swear I'm shaking, but I think it might be inside my head or under my skin. It's impossible to know anymore, my head gone blank but for the rush of blood in my ears, indistinguishable from the water, and the constant, throbbing awareness that I want her. I want to push her down to the sand right now, forget that we're somewhere public. It's late. It doesn't matter. I hope this counts as the fun she was looking for. For me, it feels desperately serious.
This isn't vengeful. It isn't controlled by my need to have power over another person, but I'll admit that I like having the choice here, having the ability to decide what I want in this moment - not to mention every moment that's happened since I've been here. I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder, and there's a freedom in that. It's a feeling I want to keep preserving in any way I can, and if that involves the sensation of his skin under my hands, as they slip down from his shoulders and underneath the hem of the threadbare shirt, feeling skin and lean muscle beneath my fingertips.
My eyes linger closed as his mouth moves along my neck, lips and teeth alternating, and the graze of the latter has me clutching a little harder, thigh squeezing against his hip. I feel my center of balance tilting as I tip my head back and for once I don't care that I'm in this nice dress, out in the middle of the beach, standing in the dark. I'm not going to waste the energy to bother caring, not about anything else but this.
Somewhere along the way, all that uncertainty goes out the window, lost in the sound of the waves and her breathing and the taste of salt on her skin. It's hard not to feel more confident when a beautiful woman, barely more than a stranger, clutches at your skin that way, and the way her fingers drag under leaves me pressing into her fingers. It's relieving and maddening at once, a cool balm that reminds me the burning goes deeper than that.
My hand slides higher up her hip to the curve of her ass and I keep mouthing down, to the hollow of her throat and lower to the edge of the dress. Instinctively I stop there, even though I don't want to. Somehow it seems like a line I shouldn't be crossing, not because of her, but the dress itself, and I don't know why, but I can't think clear enough to ask questions of myself. Of her's a different story. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" I ask, muffled against her skin, trying not to beg her to say yes, yes, yes, berating myself for phrasing it so stupidly.
I can feel him pause and that snaps me out of it somewhat, my eyes fluttering open as the world blinks back into focus and I finally zero in on his face - or his forehead, more accurately, as he utters the words half-muffled against the hollow of my throat. I swallow, drag teeth across a slightly swollen lower lip and then pull back slightly to face him directly, nodding once.
"Okay," I softly tell him, though whether we're going is definitely still a question in the back of my mind. Still, there's not very many places on the island I haven't explored yet - other than the dinosaur territory, and I don't think he has any intentions of taking me there. My hand slips down to take hold of his, squeezing. It's almost too innocent in contrast to what we've just been doing, to his other hand still pressing against the small of my back.
After everything else, her hand in mine takes me by surprise. It's not even just the fact we've been standing out here making out and the gesture is an almost alarmingly tender one. It's everything before that, too, life before the island, life before tonight. It's not something that happens a lot for him, and I don't know how to feel about it except uncomfortable aware of my fingers and the instinctive worry about whether or not my palms are going to get all sweaty even though they aren't at the moment. It's a distinct possibility, the kind of thing you worry about without meaning to, because her opinion shouldn't matter since I barely know her, except it matters desperately.
"Okay," I echo, stepping reluctantly away. Reluctant until I remember why I asked, anyway, and then it's more hopeful than anything else as I lead her back toward the path. I don't know where we're going yet, which is as much reason as any to go slowly, even though I want to bolt forward and get there fast.
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The ocean's so close, the sound of her gasp gets swallowed up by the waves or by me, I don't know which, but I can feel it. I stop kissing her so I can kiss her neck instead, soft skin catching briefly under my teeth. I could swear I'm shaking, but I think it might be inside my head or under my skin. It's impossible to know anymore, my head gone blank but for the rush of blood in my ears, indistinguishable from the water, and the constant, throbbing awareness that I want her. I want to push her down to the sand right now, forget that we're somewhere public. It's late. It doesn't matter. I hope this counts as the fun she was looking for. For me, it feels desperately serious.
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My eyes linger closed as his mouth moves along my neck, lips and teeth alternating, and the graze of the latter has me clutching a little harder, thigh squeezing against his hip. I feel my center of balance tilting as I tip my head back and for once I don't care that I'm in this nice dress, out in the middle of the beach, standing in the dark. I'm not going to waste the energy to bother caring, not about anything else but this.
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My hand slides higher up her hip to the curve of her ass and I keep mouthing down, to the hollow of her throat and lower to the edge of the dress. Instinctively I stop there, even though I don't want to. Somehow it seems like a line I shouldn't be crossing, not because of her, but the dress itself, and I don't know why, but I can't think clear enough to ask questions of myself. Of her's a different story. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" I ask, muffled against her skin, trying not to beg her to say yes, yes, yes, berating myself for phrasing it so stupidly.
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"Okay," I softly tell him, though whether we're going is definitely still a question in the back of my mind. Still, there's not very many places on the island I haven't explored yet - other than the dinosaur territory, and I don't think he has any intentions of taking me there. My hand slips down to take hold of his, squeezing. It's almost too innocent in contrast to what we've just been doing, to his other hand still pressing against the small of my back.
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"Okay," I echo, stepping reluctantly away. Reluctant until I remember why I asked, anyway, and then it's more hopeful than anything else as I lead her back toward the path. I don't know where we're going yet, which is as much reason as any to go slowly, even though I want to bolt forward and get there fast.
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