Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
RILEY
I’m shaken out of my shock when I realize Addison is standing up, and my hand shoots out to stop her. “Don’t go,” I plea, clutching her wrist.
She looks as dazed as I feel, even though she’s the one who... who was about to kiss me. She was about to kiss me.
And I wanted her to.
I did. But in the moment, I panicked.
Now she’s standing over me and sliding her hand out of my grasp. “I’m sorry. I read everything wrong. I thought—But I shouldn’t have—I’ll just, uh...”
“Don’t go,” I say again. “Please. Please stay.”
Her eyes scan the room—like maybe I could be talking to someone else—before landing back on me, confusion swirling in the warm brown depths. “But...”
I stand, coming around the piano bench so we’re on the same side. I reach for her again, slower, less frantic this time. More deliberate. And when I curl my fingers around her wrist, she doesn’t pull away. “You didn’t read it wrong.”
“I didn’t?” Her voice comes out breathless now.
Shaking my head, my heart pounding out a scary rhythm, I find the courage to admit the truth. “No, you didn’t. I want to. But I can’t here, okay?”
I’ve learned my lesson about kissing in public spaces. Even if the likelihood of someone walking in here is very low.
She came in, though. She found me. I didn’t know I needed to be found, but I’m starting to think I did. I’m starting to think she found me in more ways than one.
“Will you come up to my room with me?” I ask. My heart is still beating too fast, but I can feel her pulse through her wrist, and it’s fast too. That’s comforting, knowing I’m not in this big, nerve-wracking moment alone.
For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything. But her skin is warm under my touch, and somehow, it starts to calm me. It causes a warmth to travel up my own arm and to my chest, where it swirls around and mixes with my nerves. It makes me want.
Although her eyes still hold confusion, I see the desire building there too, mirroring my own.
Then she asks, “Are you sure?”
I nod, turning for the doors. She lets me pull her along. I feel powerful now, but that feeling is dampened when we exit the ballroom and I have to drop her hand. She doesn’t seem to mind, at least. The look she gives me lets me know she understands.
“Why don’t you go up first,” she suggests, “and I’ll wait a few minutes before I follow.”
I agree, because it’s the smart thing to do. As I make my way alone up the inn’s stairs, though, without the comfort and reassurance her presence gives me, my nerves come back in full force. What am I doing?
The reality is that I don’t know what I’m doing. I know what I’m trying to do, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it. I have no clue how this works.
I don’t know what’s about to happen next, but when Addison knocks quietly on my door and I open it for her to slip inside, I know with a fierce certainty that whatever it is, I want it.
“Hi,” she says, as if she hasn’t seen me in days, rather than two minutes.
I laugh, feeling light and buoyant, sort of like I’m floating on a cloud. “Hi.”
We’re still standing by the door, and she hasn’t closed the couple feet of space between us. “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she says.
But I don’t let her say any more. I stride forward without giving myself time to second guess anything. My hands land on her waist, and our eyes lock for a split-second before we’re both slowly closing them.
I don’t know exactly who kisses who first, and I don’t think it matters. Because her lips are a soft but insistent pressure on mine and her hand is on the small of my back, keeping me in place against her. Her other hand comes up to the side of my neck, her thumb running over my pulse point.
My hands curl into fists in the material of her T-shirt. I’m grasping it like I don’t want to let her get away. But she’s not going anywhere.
She’s kissing me, and kissing me, and kissing me. Her tongue teases at my lips, and I part them for her, happily letting her in. But it’s a natural give and take. I push my way into her mouth, and we go back and forth like that until my lips are tingling.
I reluctantly pull away, needing to take a breath. “Wow,” I say. Like an idiot.
Addison laughs, but it’s gentle, sweet, and kind. It’s everything she is but pretends not to be. I can’t help but laugh a little too.
Then she says, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
And suddenly, nothing’s funny anymore. Suddenly, I need to be closer to her.
This time, when I move in to kiss her, I use perhaps more force than necessary, and I end up backing her into the door.
She doesn’t seem to mind though. This time, one of her hands tangles in my hair and the other slides up my ribs.
Her thigh ends up wedged between my legs, and I rock against it instinctually.
When she bites at my bottom lip, the whimper I let out is so desperately needy, I should be embarrassed. But I’m not. I can’t be. The only thing I have room to feel right now is the burning hot desire that’s coursing through my body.
The fact that I have no experience with women doesn’t even seem relevant anymore. Because the difference here isn’t that she’s a woman when I’m used to men. The difference is that I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.
And I’ve never felt so wanted in return.
Especially not wanted for more than just my body. I’ve never felt so seen for who I am. Out of the stage outfits and makeup, out from under the spotlight.
She makes me feel like who I am off the stage is enough.
Soon she’s pushing me backward and I’m pulling her with me until we tumble onto the bed together.
We move up so our heads are resting on the pillows, then we lie facing each other.
There’s so little space between us that I feel her breath on my cheek each time she exhales. And I still want to be closer.
I slide my leg between hers and reach for her waist, dragging her in as I scoot myself toward her. At some point, I expect to get nervous, to start feeling unsure. But I’m not there yet. This is everything I’ve been wanting from her for weeks.
She cradles my face with one hand as she leans in to kiss me, rolling us at the same time so that I’m on my back and she’s half on top of me.
This puts her thigh on top of mine, pressing down.
The weight of her body settles over me like a comforting blanket.
I wish I could wrap her all the way around me.
I want to protest when her lips leave mine, but then she’s trailing them down my neck, making me shiver.
She kisses and licks a path over my skin, from my neck to my collarbone to my chest, until she’s nibbling at the tops of my breasts right above the neckline of my dress.
I’m ready to beg for more, feeling like I’d do anything in this moment to get her to touch me.
Then she pulls back enough to stare down at me, and she asks, “Is this okay?”
The words to tell her that it’s more than okay get stuck in my throat, tangled around all my emotions.
“I...”
“It’s okay if you want to slow down,” she says, trailing one finger lightly along my shoulder and tucking it underneath the thin strap of my dress. That small action suggests the opposite of slowing down. It suggests more. And it matches what I want.
I want more.
“I don’t need to slow down,” I manage to say. “I’m good.”
She smiles at me, and I surge up to kiss the smile off her mouth.
I bring my hand to the back of her head to pull her back down with me.
Her hair is up in the little ponytail she always wears when she’s at work, and I tug at the elastic until it comes out.
I toss it carelessly to the bed, then relish in the feel of running my fingers through her soft strands.
She goes back to kissing and sucking at my neck, less gentle this time. I’m glad she knows I’m not fragile. I do what feels good, squeezing the nape of her neck, pulling a bit on her hair, as she continues to worship me.
When her hand travels down to cup my breast over my dress, a tiny moan slips from my lips.
This encourages her to keep going, squeezing and letting her thumb graze across my nipple.
I shiver again, my whole body feeling like a live wire now.
Everywhere she touches me, even the innocent places like my shoulders and back, sends a zap of electricity down between my legs.
What is happening to me? I feel like a virginal teenager all over again. I don’t understand how she has this strong of an effect on me, but it’s hard to pretend she doesn’t.
I can’t keep myself from squirming underneath her, from trying to press closer, into her hands, against her body. And I can’t hold back the noises I’m making, the gasps and moans.
At some point, I realize that I’m just lying here uselessly, letting her do everything. But I want to touch her too. I want to trace her curves with my fingers the way I’ve been tracing them with my eyes every chance I get.
As we kiss, I run my hand down her back, resting for a minute in the dip of it, right above her ass. And then I give in to the urge to go farther, to let my hand find her ass and squeeze. This earns me a little moan from her that I swallow down, feeling inexplicably pleased with myself.
I wish she wasn’t wearing jean shorts, because I want to feel her, not denim. But I don’t know if I’m brave enough to make that happen. I’ve never been particularly good at asking for what I want.
Addison, thankfully, doesn’t seem to have the same issue. She rucks up the hem of my dress with both hands, her thumbs sweeping along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Can I?” she asks, gazing at me with unmistakable lust in her eyes.
Seeing the way she wants me like I want her makes me feel validated and kind of powerful.
For a second, I question if I’m ready for this. My brain is finally catching up to my body, and a hint of nerves start to itch at me.