Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I suck softly.
He groans against my mouth.
I reach for his t-shirt instinctively. Fuck, the vibrations of his groan against my throat. I need that. It's terrifying how much I need that.
I dig my hands into his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt is in the way, but I can still feel the heat of his skin, the hardness of his muscles.
Gently, I scrape my teeth against his lip.
There. I pull back with a sigh.
His eyes flutter open. His expression stays dazed. It's quick, a few seconds, but I feel it everywhere.
"Good?" I ask.
"Harder," he says.
Why does that sound so good on his lips? "Fifty percent?"
"A hundred."
I nod, close my eyes, bring my lips to his again. Practice. I repeat it like a mantra. This isn’t real. This is a training exercise.
The world disappears as I kiss him. What practice? This doesn't feel like a rehearsal. It feels real.
Desire fills my body, but it doesn't overwhelm me. Even as I wrap my lips around his, even as he groans against my throat, even as he brings his hand to my waist.
I scrape my teeth against his lips with the same softness.
Then a little harder.
Harder.
Hard enough, he groans against my mouth again.
Enough he pulls me onto his lap.
I forget about the lesson. I part my lips for his tongue. I bring my hand to his hair, hold his head against mine as I kiss him back.
I'm not sure who's leading anymore. Only that I need to kiss him forever.
For the first time in forever, I'm completely in my body, feeling every ounce of want. Maybe the first time since it happened.
It's different than it was with my ex. I didn't want him the way I want this.
The way I want my best friend.
Fuck.
I find a hint of sense, break our kiss, slide off his lap.
"Shit." He blinks his eyes open. "I got carried away."
"Don't apologize," I say.
"No, Val… I shouldn't have—" He looks around the room, like he'll find the rest of his sentence hidden behind one of the fake palm trees.
"We're practicing." Okay, the word has officially lost all meaning. I carry on anyway. "And you said I shouldn't plan things. I should feel them."
He nods.
"That's all we're doing." Let's practice some more back in my room. With less clothes. Well, less clothes for you, at least. "Like with the cucumber."
His laugh breaks the tension in the air. "Not the cucumber."
"Your demonstration was helpful."
"Is that what… shit, what was his name?"
"The one who benefited from your knowledge? Or the one after?"
"Did the other guy not benefit from my knowledge?"
"I had more hands-on experience at that point." Ah, high school. When it was normal to kiss and touch and not expect anything more than that. Not that I ever felt normal.
Dare smiles, but there's something off about it. "How much?"
"First my weight gain. Now, my number of partners. What's next? My social security number?"
"I know your social security number."
"How?"
"Your mom made me memorize it when we went to New York," he says. "In case something happened to you."
"How would that help?"
He shrugs. "She was worried."
"Okay, what personal thing are you going to ask next?"
"I asked the amount of practice," he says. "Not the number of guys. I know your number."
"You do not."
"It's not hard to count that high."
"Lucky for me I kept it under ten," I say.
He holds up both hands. "Very." Then he holds up four fingers. One for each guy I touched.
There's no need to debate whether or not The Incident counts. I'd touched him before. We were dating. Casually, sure, but still dating.
On our second date, we got too drunk at a party, a common freshman experience at UCSD. It's not a party school, exactly, but it's a big school with plenty of parties. We hooked up. And, yeah, I only wanted to kiss, but I wasn't against touching him, exactly.
I didn't really consider it an invasion.
No, that happened later. The night he offered to walk me home and I thought, what a gentleman, he's sweet when he's sober.
Even when we watched a movie together.
But after that—
After that, things were different.
"Val." Dare's hand brushes mine. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I was just… thinking."
"What did I say?"
"Nothing."
"Val." Concern drips into his voice.
"Really, I'm just… It's more about sex and power and men and… it's not you."
He takes my hand. Runs his thumb over the space between my thumb and forefinger. "Look at me."
I do.
"Talk to me."
I open my mouth to speak, but words don't come out. They never do. I barely talk about this in therapy. Dare knows. He knows enough. But I've never given him the play-by-play.
I never even told him who it was.
That it was a guy I'd touched before.
A guy I wanted.
I'd asked for Dare's advice on our date. On what to do, how to tell him I wanted to move slowly, if that would be a total boner killer or not.