Page 23 of Hey Girl
My skittish little inexperienced virgin ass got held against a Greek God’s chiselled body for the first time and I missed it!
He held me against his powerful chest and princess carried me - at least I hope, if it was a fireman carry that would be okay too though - and I don’t even get the pleasure of remembering it! And oh! Oh!! He saw my bedroom! Where I sleep and dream about naughty shit!
And what if I talked?! I don’t know if I’m a sleep talker, or if I snore! What if I did both while he carried me?! Or farted!?
Well there goes that prospect, not that I was considering it or anything. He probably laid me down like a gentleman and whenI snored, farted, and called him Daddy in my sleep, took off out of here like his ass was on fire.
And oh, how long have I been out? Iggy could have singed himself in the sun.
Hastily setting the pretty rock down on my side table, I shoot out of the doorway and down to the hall and skitter to a stop when I find the aforementioned rock lord sitting on my couch with Iggy swaddled in my afghan and cradled in one of his bulging tatted biceps while Impractical Jokers babbles on the TV.
“Oh hey, you’re awake.” He grins at me and I feel every muscle and bone in my body lock up.
My heart beats faster and harder and I feel a warm tingling in my face, which is usually a sign I’m going to pass out, which, dear God, please not again, as he clicks the TV off with the remote and sets down the bundle of Iggy.
“Wh-wh-wh-wh-,” I stammer out, trying to lock my lips around the words. When I’m caught off guard, my control over my stutter goes out the window.
“I-I-I… wh-wh-...how-wh-wh-whuuuhhh…”
Oh God, he’s standing. One dark, impeccably sharp eyebrow is slanted over his narrowed eyes as he comes closer.
I continue to panic, and before I can blink, warm, capable hands are encapsulating my face and a set of warm, soft lips are engulfing mine.
“Mmmmph…” Is all I can manage this time as I take in the feel of someone’s mouth on mine.
It’s freaky and scary, it’s unexpected, it’s invasive and unfamiliar and… I fucking love it. Oh my lord, I love the hell out of this.
Chris’s lips move in a beautiful rhythm that I’m sure only a musician could master - though I have no basis for comparison. Every molecule in my skin comes to life in a way that both scaresthe shit out of and thrills me simultaneously. I think I like the combination along with the warmth and the intimate contact.
I feel a tender flutter in my lady parts as they pulse to life, and just a hint of wetness against my lips as Chris’s tongue slips out a little before he hesitantly pulls away and looks at me, his hands still holding my face and his thumb gliding soothingly across my jawbone.
All the breath leaves my lungs from between my lips, like a demon leaving my body.
“What the hell was that?” I ask up at him.
And why the hell did that question not come out in a choppy stutter?
“Your mouth looked like it was out of control, so I gave it something to do,” he explains, tilting his head sideways with an arched eyebrow.
I draw in a couple of small, sharp breaths, trying to replenish my air supply without hyperventilating.
Chris Richards of Turn it Up is in my home, and he just kissed me. He sat on my cream-colored couch with my cat, watching TV.
“Y-y-,” I stop and take a second so I can speak properly. Looks like that kiss only temporarily exorcised my speech impediment. “You’re still here,” I state, still slightly out of breath.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure you were okay after my mom’s freaky drug tea,” he responds, finally releasing me and resting his hands on his hips. I can’t help but note that I miss the warmth they were giving my face. “I didn’t know she was going to do that, I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.”
Now, kiss me again, and never fucking stop.
Great, I have an addiction.
“So, I know you’ve knocked out enough daily, out-of-your-comfort-zone challenges to last you until next month at least,” he begins on a heavy breath. “But I’m going to ask you again, since I’d say we also blasted through a few barriers… will you be my girlfriend?”
I tighten my diaphragm to push my answer out without a hitch. “No.”
“Why not?” He furrows his brow. “I’ll hold open doors and remember our anniversary and shit. Well. I’ll try to remember our anniversary, anyway. I’ll set up an alarm on my cell, and it’ll remind me a month before, and then a week before, and then two days before, and…”