It Begins With a Kiss
It begins, of course, with a kiss, with the faintest press of my lips between her eyes, and then another, just below the line of her hair. My hand splays across the small of her back, and I hold her there, hold her closer, wanting the moment to last forever. She’s intoxicating, warm and comforting, and her scent fills my lungs, her soap and shampoo, her skin and her hair, a drug wound up tight around that primitive, pleasurable part of my brain.
The scent is called Jacqueline, and I have missed it for far too long.
I don’t know how long I breathe her, only that she holds me just as close, only that she breathes me, too, only that her short, dark hair feels softer than silk against my cheek when she nuzzles at the edge of my jaw. She stands up on tiptoe, bringing my kisses lower, to her nose, to her lips, and her eyes sparkle in amusement, silent laughter at my gentle touch. It’s a challenge, or maybe an invitation; her body presses against me, light as a dream, daring me to pick her up, daring me to catch her against the wall and kiss her hard, daring me to leave her flushed and gasping for breath.
She’s just a little bit too tempting, and I cradle her in my arms, cupping her pert little rear in my hand. “If you keep doing this, one day you’ll lose more than just your breath,” I whisper, and she purrs her contentment back at me.
I feel her nibble on my ear, tracing her tongue around its the edge. “Some nights, you’re ready to lose it all.”
A knife-edged frisson of arousal races up my spine, splintering into a little burst of excitement beneath her tongue. It has a name, and it is Jacqueline. I whisper it against her neck, unable to say any more.
We cuddle on a mess of pillows, feeding one another. The strawberries I dip into confectioner’s sugar, admiring their crystalline sparkle before pressing them between her lips. She makes tangelos open like flowers, spreading their segments like petals, and we pluck them away, one at a time. They burst into flavor as we bite them, full of juice, wetting our lips and fingers. Jacqueline suckles mine clean, and I nip gently at hers, and then at her lips. At first I’m only barely kissing her, tasting the wetness on her lips with a stroke of my tongue, but each time she melts against me, just a little closer, and each time I kiss her just a little more deeply.
Before the second tangelo disappears, I barely even notice the citrus anymore. Something else compels me, something sweeter than any nectar. It is the taste of Jacqueline, Jacqueline and her desire, and even as I taste her, my hunger only grows.
The last bite of fruit is hers, but she shakes her head, smiling as she takes it from the plate. “For you,” she says, squirming beneath me. She bares her neck to me, once she’s comfortable, and bright, golden-orange juice drips from between her fingers. It spatters against her naked skin, pooling against her collarbone, and a single fat droplet begins its long, lonely journey down her body, disappearing beneath her blouse.
“Jacqueline,” I whisper. “Jacqueline. It’s such an honor.”
She answers in her stifled, musical whimpers as I begin to lap the juice away from her throat. Her buttons are clumsy beneath my trembling, excited fingers, but soon I ease away her shirt, and then the bra beneath, enchanted by the milky smooth skin I reveal. I hadn’t dreamed it could be so soft, or her scent so much more feminine. Tiny, pink nipples cap her small, perfect breasts, coming to attention as I circle them with my fingers, coating them in the nectar I’ve stolen from her skin.
In turn I nurse from each one, bathing them with my tongue and slow, suckling kisses. I draw no milk from her, only low, gasping moans, and she curls her fingers into my hair, holding me close. “Jacqueline,” I whisper, teasing her skin with the warm caress of air. “So very perfect.”
I creep downwards, exploring the long, taut muscles of her belly, my sweet, liquid guide fading into the faint, natural taste of her skin. My kisses are careful, barely an inch apart, and long enough to feel her grow hot beneath my lips and hands. A shiver runs up her spine as I come to the low rise of her jeans, lingering there a moment longer.
“Jacqueline?” I look up to her, unsure of how much further she wants to go. My heart pounds against the wall of my chest. She swallows hard and nods, hooking my fingers into her waistband.
The buttons on her fly open as I pull them apart, counting their slow, inevitable pops, counting one… two… three. She gasps as I peel the denim from her hips, twisting away from me in a playful, reflexive tease. A warm, appreciative growl escapes my throat, and I wrestle her back, holding her close, under my weight. Her panties are cotton, boy-cut and snug around her hips, the worn, soft black edged in pink. I hadn’t imagined her wearing these, not under those practical tomboy clothes, but suddenly I can’t think of her any other way.
I can feel her through the fabric, and taste her, too, when I guide her legs apart and lean downwards for the kiss. It makes her blush, exactly the way she did the first time I held her, exactly the same way she did when we slept together, still dressed but closer than we’d ever felt before. A harder kiss makes her blush a little more, but it’s the tentative brush of my tongue that makes her squeal. It’s the tart little hint of dampness I find that shakes my control, that reminds me of how painfully much I’ve wanted her, and for how very long.
The months of waiting come down hard, her scent and her taste and her warm tenderness too close, too much to resist. My world dissolves into Jacqueline. It dissolves into her nails digging into my skin, into the cold night air I feel as she pulls my shirt over my head. It dissolves into the soft rough denim and the smooth muscled thighs, into those impossibly perfect tan, writhing against the jeans left around her ankles. Most of all it dissolves into her voice, into her sweet little yelp as I nip her through her panties, her panting, babbling encouragement as I take the fabric in my teeth, and then her low, feral moan as I slide them down her thighs and creep back up, lapping at her warm, newly-naked skin. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life.
I want to enjoy her a little longer, to nuzzle into her neat little delta of soft, dark-chocolate fuzz, but she pulls me up into a kiss, squeezing me closer as she tastes herself on my lips. “I’m ready now,” she purrs.
Suddenly I remember how tiny she feels in my arms, how delicate she seems sometimes. “This is forever, you know.”
“Yes.” She bites at the corner of her lip, considering. For a moment she looks up at me through her lashes, and I almost expect her to stop me. We’ve stopped before. She loves to tease.
This isn’t a tease, though, not this time, not tonight, not after the year we’ve been together. I feel her hands drift down my sides, long-fingered, gently eager as they undo my pants, pushing them down, over my hips.
She leans up, her voice just barely a purr against my ear, a breath of agony, a whisper of release. “That’s why it’s with you.” I feel her squeeze me close again, and she settles back against the pillows, her eyes glittering with silent anticipation.
And so the night begins, of course, with a kiss.
Yay eloquence!!