Tamsin Page 13

  His response comes in less than a minute.

  Me too. I want all my body parts intact when I take you out next Saturday.

  My heart skips a beat, and I press a palm to my cheek to see if my skin is as warm as it feels.

  It is.

  When are you getting back to Hart?

  I hope that doesn’t sound too eager, or like I’m expecting to see him before class on Tuesday. But I’m less worried about that than I was a few minutes ago.

  It’s kind of nice to text a guy without parsing your words and worrying how he’ll take them.

  We’re staying overnight and coming back tomorrow. What are you doing this weekend? Do you have a lot of work?

  Medium. I’ve got a test on Wednesday and an essay due Friday, and I just found out the theater department is doing Romeo and Juliet in December. Auditions are next Sunday but I’m starting to prep now. Charlie is going for Romeo, so we’re going to join forces and do a scene together.

  You’ll do great. But it’s too bad they’re not doing The Tempest. You could do a gender-bending thing and audition for Prospero.

  I smile as I type my response.

  I thought you said you didn’t remember anything about The Tempest. How did you know the speech I did was Prospero?

  I read the play on the bus this morning.

  He did?

  You did?

  Yep. It’s pretty good. I like that thing Ferdinand says to Miranda in Act III.

  I’m about to ask which thing he means when a second text comes.

  Hear my soul speak. The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.

  I stare at my phone. That’s one of the most romantic lines in Shakespeare, which is a really high bar.

  My heart is pounding. It takes a few tries for me to type a response.

  That’s a good line. I’m glad you enjoyed the play. We should go see it sometime.

  I’d like that.

  My heart is still pounding. What I’m feeling now is too intense. I need to end the conversation before I say too much.

  I’d better get started on my essay. Rikki’s at her desk working like a dog and she’s making me feel guilty.

  Have a good night, Tamsin.

  You too.

  I’ll see you Tuesday.

  See you then.

  I put the phone down on my bed. Then, because I’m already tempted to text him again, I slide it under the pillow and out of sight.

  Then I lean over, grab my Complete Works of William Shakespeare from the bookcase beside my bed, and open to The Tempest.

  I read Act III, Scene 1, about twenty times.

  * * *

  I don’t know how I get through the next week.

  I’m so focused on Saturday night it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. I manage somehow, but it feels like I’ve had a few drinks and I’m keeping it together just enough to pass for sober.

  Daniel and I are almost formal with each other during Experiments in Drama. Izzy doesn’t say anything about it on Tuesday, but she asks what the hell is wrong with me as we’re leaving class Thursday night.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can hardly even look at Daniel. Don’t you guys have a date on Saturday? If you don’t like him, you shouldn’t go out with him. I don’t care how hot he is.”

  That makes me smile. “He is pretty hot, isn’t he.”

  “Yeah. But if you don’t enjoy being with him you shouldn’t go out with him. And anyway, a guy that good-looking has to be a serious player. I was sort of hoping you’d end your celibate period with someone you could really fall in love with. You deserve that.”

  As I look over at Izzy, I’m suddenly filled with affection. I stop in the middle of the quad and throw my arms around her.

  “Argh! Cut it out.”

  “I won’t cut it out,” I say, squeezing her harder. “You’re such a good friend.”

  “Stop hugging me! You know I’m not a hugger.”

  “Yes, I know. But I’m working to change that one hug at a time.”

  * * *

  Saturday night finally comes. I’m so keyed up Rikki says she can’t stand it anymore, and she leaves to go to the library.

  Now I’m alone with twenty minutes until Daniel gets here. I put on Tom Waits, but I decide that’s too obvious. Then I put on Jeremy Enigk because he’s Christian, amazing, and also obscure enough that Daniel might not have heard of him.

  I look at myself in the mirror for what has to be the ten thousandth time. I really did it up tonight—a vintage green satin cocktail dress with a black leather belt. And because thinking about Daniel makes me feel very, very naughty, I’m also wearing thigh-high fishnet stockings and black spike heels.

  My hair is loose and I’ve got on dangly green earrings. No necklace or other jewelry, but I’m wearing fingerless fishnet gloves to match my stockings.

  A knock on the door. My heart is all aflutter, which is a phrase I’ve never even thought before this moment.

  I tell myself to get it together and open the door.

  Daniel’s wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen him dressed so casually, and now I understand why.

  If he walked around looking like this every day, he’d be too busy beating women off with a stick to get anything done.

  “Wow,” he says to me. “You look incredible.”

  “So do you.”

  Then we just stand there, staring at each other.

  “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, his voice a little husky. “I got flowers for you but I forgot to bring them. I also can’t remember the restaurant I’m taking you to. But I made a reservation, so if I look in my phone history I should be able to figure it out.”

  I start to smile. “Are you saying you can’t think straight around me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Well, join the club. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall through a manhole or get run over this week.”

  There’s a foot of space between us, but it doesn’t feel like air. It feels like something thick and luscious and honeyed.

  There’s no first move. He doesn’t go in for a kiss, and neither do I.

  It’s more like spontaneous combustion.

  Daniel spins us around, backing me up against the door he just closed. His hands are on either side of my head, his body caging me in.

  His lips are everywhere. My hair, my cheeks, my shoulders, my neck, and finally my mouth again.

  I’ve been craving the taste of him for so long. But now that we’re finally kissing, it’s not enough. I’m ravenous.

  He seems to feel the same. He bites my lower lip and then licks where he bit, and I feel a whimper come from deep in my throat.

  When he pulls back, his eyes are wild.

  I feel as wild as he looks. I feel half savage, and the thought of doing anything but this is impossible.

  “Daniel,” I manage to say. “I really, really appreciate the work you put into planning our date. But I’m not hungry and I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to leave this room. I just want to—”

  He cuts me off with another kiss. This one is deep and wet and carnal, his tongue thrusting against mine.

  It doesn’t seem possible that I could come from just a kiss, but damn, my panties are already wet.

  And then, just as I’m feeling frantic, he slows down.

  The stroke of his tongue turns deliberate and sensual. His hands were braced against the door, but now they slide into my hair.

  My scalp prickles so intensely it feels like an electric shock.

  His hands move to my shoulders. He breaks our kiss, but only so he can kiss me again.

  And again.

  His hands drift up a little, and now his thumbs are caressing my throat.

  The skin there is so sensitive. His hands, strong and powerful, remind me how vulnerable I am. How open.

  And all I want to do is open more.

  I ar
ch my neck back, and he kisses the hollow above my collar bone. Then he drags his mouth up to the hollow beneath my jaw.

  Then, suddenly, his hands and his mouth are gone. My eyes flutter open as he falls to his knees in front of me.

  His gaze locks with mine. His head is level with my breasts, and it’s obvious that this fact has not escaped him.

  His hands circle my waist. Then they slide up over the green satin covering my ribcage.

  I can’t seem to catch my breath. If I don’t get some oxygen soon I—

  A pause. A beat. And then, so slowly I almost pass out, his hands move to cover my breasts.

  I’m not wearing a bra. There’s only one layer of material between his palms and my bare skin.

  I’ve been with a lot of guys. Twenty-three, to be exact. And for most of them, my breasts were a brief stopover on the way to Sextown.

  Not for Daniel.

  He’s looking. He’s touching. He’s practically worshipping.

  His thumbs move over my nipples, and I didn’t know it was physically possible for them to get any harder. They’re doing their best to poke through my dress, and if Daniel keeps stroking them like that it may happen.

  Finally he releases my nipples from their sweet torture, but only so he can hook his thumbs under my spaghetti straps and slide them off my shoulders. He pulls my bodice down, slowly, until I’m naked from the waist up.

  “Tamsin,” he whispers.

  Then he leans forward and takes my right breast in his mouth.

  Oh, God.

  My hands have to go somewhere, and they find their way to the back of Daniel’s head. I hold him close as he lashes my nipple with his tongue again and again and again.

  He pulls back and blows cool air on my skin, and I shiver all over. Then he covers my right breast with his warm palm and puts his mouth on my left nipple.

  Oh, God.

  When he bites down, a bolt of electricity shoots straight between my legs.

  My hands slide through his hair as he pulls back again. This time he’s got his sights set on my belt. He unfastens it, slowly, and lets it drop to the floor.

  Then his hands go to my waist. He tugs my dress down over my hips, and in the next second I’m standing in a puddle of green satin.

  I’m breathing like I’ve been running. My knees are weak. And Daniel is looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

  His gaze travels from my patent-leather heels to my thigh-high fishnets, and comes to rest on my black mesh panties.

  “Holy fuck.”

  My breath comes out in a whoosh.

  “That sounds pretty blasphemous, Bowman.”

  He circles my ankles and then draws his hands up, slowly, to my thighs. He stops at the top of my fishnets, his thumbs stroking the bare skin above my stockings and below my panties.

  “How do these stay up?” he asks softly.

  “The same way I’m standing right now,” I tell him, my voice trembling. “Sheer willpower.”

  He looks up, and when our eyes meet it’s like the earth cracking.

  “You’re having trouble staying on your feet?”

  I nod.

  “We can’t have that.”

  And before I know what’s happening, he’s got one arm behind my knees and the other around my shoulders and he’s carrying me toward the bed.

  Judging by the effort it takes him, I weigh about as much as a kitten.

  I lock my arms around his neck and whisper in his ear, “I’m kind of digging this whole gender role thing.”

  Then I take his earlobe between my teeth and bite down.

  He gasps, and his hold on me tightens. Then the two of us are falling, tumbling, plummeting onto my bed in a tangle of arms and legs and my puffy blue comforter.

  Somehow we end up in the perfect position. I’m on my back and he’s above me, his hips cradled between my thighs. My breasts are crushed beneath his chest, my hands are gripping his shoulders, and we’re kissing, kissing, kissing like we’ll never stop.

  His body on mine. His mouth on my mouth. Our lips, our teeth, our tongues, our breath. Then he pulls back, breaking the kiss, but only so he can bite my neck.

  I cry out, arching my head back on the pillow.

  I make more sounds but nothing resembling words. He’s kissing his way down my throat to my breasts and I wish he’d bite me again.

  I wish he’d leave a mark I could carry forever.

  He lavishes attention on my breasts and I feel like a goddess. I slide my hands into his hair, gripping with my fingers until I must be hurting him.

  He doesn’t complain.

  Then he moves lower, kissing down my breastbone to my stomach.

  My muscles tense in anticipation. My whole body is quivering.

  He raises his head and looks at me. His eyes are dark and intense and so fucking sexy I almost come.

  “Is it weird that I want you to keep your shoes and stockings on?”

  I’ve never felt so lustful and so full of affection at the same time.

  “I dressed like this to turn you on. Are you telling me it worked?”

  “You could have worn full body armor and I’d be turned on. But yeah, it worked. I’m going to be fantasizing about you in fishnets for the rest of my life.”

  This boy is killing me.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll keep my shoes and stockings on if you take some stuff off.”

  He tenses up a little, and I remind myself of all the things he hasn’t done yet. The things I hope we do tonight.

  After a moment he asks, “How much do you want me to take off?”

  “As much as you want.”

  He hesitates another moment. Then he kicks off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor, and pulls off his T-shirt.

  I raise myself up on my elbows. He’s on his knees now, between my legs, and his bare chest looks like something out of a Playgirl calendar.

  “You’re making my mouth water,” I tell him.

  The hint of tension from before is gone.

  “Right back at you,” he says.

  Then he grabs my panties and pulls them down and off.

  I’ve never been with a guy who looks at my pussy like this—like it’s the most delicious thing on the menu. But from this moment forward, I never want to be with a guy who doesn’t.

  Daniel settles down between my legs and puts his hands on my hips.

  I’m so wet already. So aroused. Watching Daniel is almost too much, and I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t come just from looking at him.

  That’s when I feel his tongue.

  My fingers curl into the comforter. He hooks his arms under my knees and urges my legs apart—farther apart than he really needs them to be. Being spread open like this makes me feel deliciously helpless, and a rush of heat ignites my entire body.

  His mouth tortures and worships me at the same time. I start to writhe as the tension ratchets up, but his grip is like iron. I’m a prisoner to desire and all I can do is let Daniel carry me to the peak, higher and higher until—

  When the explosion comes I cry out. He took me so high I fall forever, floating on clouds of bliss.

  Coming down takes an eternity, but it’s not long enough. The sweetness of this moment is so intense I can’t move. I can’t speak. All I can do is ride the aftershocks as they ripple through me, tingling with voluptuous electricity.

  Daniel is kissing his way up my body. The pressure of his lips is soothing and thrilling at the same time, and every kiss feels like a drop of pure joy.

  When he settles down beside me, I open my eyes and look at him. His head is pillowed on his bent arm and his dark blue eyes gaze into mine. He reaches out, drawing the backs of his knuckles down my cheek.

  “God, you look so beautiful right now.”

  His voice is deep and husky, and sexy enough to melt any parts of me that aren’t already melted.

  “It’s the post-orgasmic glow,” I tell him. “It makes every girl look goo
d.” I pause. “Speaking of which, you weren’t kidding, were you?”

  “Kidding about what?”

  “You are very, very good at that.”

  He smiles. “Actually, I’ve never been that good before.”

  “What made this different?”

  “The person I was with.”

  That sweet sensation behind my breastbone is back. I shift onto my side to face him, pillowing my head on my arm to mirror his position.

  “I need a minute to recover from my shattering orgasm. But then I’d like to return the favor.”

  He goes still. The tension is subtle, but I’m so attuned to him right now I feel it.

  “Daniel,” I say softly, trying to feel my way through something I don’t understand. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. But when we were kissing, I could feel how hard you were. Can you tell me what’s going on? I really, really want to go down on you, and it seems like you want that too. Or at least your body does. Am I wrong?”

  The muscles in his throat jump as he swallows.

  “No. You’re not wrong.”

  “But?” I prompt after a moment.

  Another beat goes by. Then: “What we just did was so fucking perfect. I want to wallow in that for a while without worrying about my hang-ups.”

  I still don’t understand, and I’m worried about saying the wrong thing.

  “Hang-ups?”

  He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Well, I must have some hang-ups, right? I’m a twenty-year-old guy who’s never had a blow job. I’m surprised you don’t think I’m a freak.”

  “And I’m a twenty-year-old girl who’s slept with twenty-three people. I’m surprised you don’t think I’m a slut.”

  He turns his head to look at me again. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Isn’t it? Aren’t we talking about judging people for their sexual experience, whether it’s too much or too little or whatever stupid-ass thing someone might say?”

  He smiles at that. Then he turns onto his side again, facing me, and this time he reaches out to cup the side of my face.

  I didn’t know how much I missed his touch until I felt it again.

  “Maybe,” he says. “And you were right about something else. I really, really want you to go down on me. But not right now. You know what I’d like to do right now?”