13. Rickie
Rickie
Plato said: “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” And maybe he was talking about sex. Because I’m learning a lot about Daphne right now. How she tastes, and how eagerly she moves against me as we touch and tease each other.
But she has trust issues. So I’m not going to strip her down and bang her under the stars. Even if I want to.
Badly.
I pull her a little closer against my chest nonetheless. I drop kisses down the smooth skin of her neck, and her answering gasp of appreciation is all I need in this world. Her hand wanders reverently across my bare back, venturing down to my ass. And I smile into our next kiss.
I used to be the kind of guy who could hook up and think nothing of it. Parties were for cruising. Names were optional. But I’m not that guy anymore. This is big for me. The desire coursing through my veins is a wondrous thing. I’ll never take it for granted again.
Daphne’s kisses mean more to me than she will ever guess. I’d forgotten how this feels—the heat of skin against skin, and the electric sizzle of my nerves every time she finds a new place to caress.
I kiss her deeply, and she moans, needing this just as much as I do. My tense, angry girl has finally let herself loose in my arms. It’s beautiful the way she shivers under my tongue. There are a couple of layers of clothing between us. But the heat of her core is unmistakable against my cock.
Reaching under her skirt, I palm the back of her thigh and then drag my fingertips upward. She’s so responsive. Each new inch of skin that I claim makes her quiver. Her ass feels exquisite in my hand. So I can’t resist tugging her a little more firmly onto my body.
God , I’ve missed sex . Our tongues tangle and tease. And Daphne begins to ride me slowly. It’s sweet agony. My dick strains against these shorts, desperate to get closer to the action.
Daphne’s clever fingers squeeze between our bodies, and she toys with the button of my shorts.
Nope. I’m not going there yet. So I gently steer her hand away, placing it on my chest instead.
She groans in frustration. I’ve clearly created a monster—a long-legged, sweet-smelling sex-monster. Her smooth fingers move on to teasing my nipples. And I really want to lay her out on this blanket and fuck her like a beast.
Our kisses grow desperate. I haven’t felt so wild, so free with myself in a long time. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Hot kisses in the cool night air, and the whisper of the breeze in the grass.
Daphne moves against me hungrily. I slip my hand beneath her skirt, squeezing her ass, and she moans against my tongue. So I slide my fingers past the elastic of her panties, all the way down between her legs, cupping the heat of her core with my palm.
“Rickie,” she pants, and my name on her lips is like a drug.
“Let go, sweetheart.” I let my fingers slide and tease. She’s so wet for me. I feel like a sex god. “I’ve got you.”
She drops her face into my neck and issues a whispered curse.
“Shhh, beautiful girl,” I say as she rides my hand.
Her mouth traces my neck, and we both shiver. Then she lets out a beautiful whimper and clenches around my naughty fingers.
“Fuck, you are so lovely.” My voice is raw with unfulfilled desire. “So hot.” I force oxygen into my lungs as she sags against me.
“Oh j-jeez,” she stammers. And then she lets out a gasp, and a long, sweet moan, before collapsing against my body.
“Nice,” I whisper, holding her snugly. It isn’t easy for Daphne to set aside her control. I know this. We breathe into the stillness, our hearts thumping together. My dick is as hard as one of the fence posts I worked with today in the back meadow. But I don’t even mind. It makes me feel alive.
I lean in and kiss her swollen lips again. Slowly.
And then my phone lights up on the blanket, pinging with a text. Twice.
Daphne pulls away suddenly.
“Ignore it,” I say.
But she doesn’t. She removes herself from my embrace. The damn phone pings again. And then I hear a screen door slam in the distance. “Rickieeeee!” Chastity calls. “Are you out here?”
Daphne slides off my lap and stands up, looking flustered. She plucks her backpack off the grass.
“Hey now.” I rise on unsteady legs. “No need to bolt.”
“But we…Actually, just me . I—” She gulps.
I bite back a smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Fine.” The words are like machine gunfire.
“Are you going to play poker with us? Sounds like Dylan and Chastity are still up after all.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She hitches her pack onto one shoulder. Then she looks down at herself and straightens her skirt with frantic motions. “I’ve…got to go.”
“You look fine. Perfect, actually.” I lift my hands to her hair and smooth it out of her face. Then I place a soft kiss onto her cheekbone.
She lets out a breathy sigh and hurries away toward the house.
I watch her go, feeling both wistful and victorious at the same time.
* * *
For days after our epic makeout session, I barely get within ten paces of Daphne. This is her choice, not mine. She chooses chores at the opposite end of the farm from wherever I'm working. She sits at the other end of the dining table.
A less confident man might worry that he'd lost his touch. But she’s still sneaking looks at me, and I see how it is—the poor girl just can't handle the indescribable hotness that arises when we’re near each other.
So I’m patient. Again. And after three days, I finally run into her in the upstairs bathroom one night when we both pick the same moment to brush our teeth.
"Hey there, stranger,” I say, leaning against the door frame.
"Hey, McFly, she says, bending over the sink to spit.
"I could swear you’ve been avoiding me."
She dries her mouth. “Yup. Absolutely.”
Her honesty catches me by surprise, and I laugh out loud. “Okay, usually people lie about that."
"Why, to save your ego? That thing is made of titanium.”
She kills me. “Fair enough. But I still don't know why you'd avoid me. Seems like you should come back for more.”
“Sure, no problem.” She folds the hand towel and sets it primly back onto the bar. “But I only get drunk about twice a year. Does December work for you?”
“Huh. And here I thought you were a woman of science.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” She picks up her hairbrush and frowns at me in the mirror.
“There’s a flaw in your logic, baby girl. If I was only attractive to you when you're drunk, then you wouldn't have to avoid me when you're sober.”
She rolls her eyes in the mirror as she begins to brush. Now that I know how soft her hair feels between my fingers, I definitely need more.
“I think you just can't handle the hotness,” I say.
“Of you?” she sniffs.
“No baby. Of us . There's something there, and you like to pretend there isn’t.”
Daphne is finished with her hair, which is a shame, because I was really enjoying living vicariously through that brush. “I’m just being smart. You and I are a terrible idea.”
“Why? Give me three reasons.”
She holds up a finger. “One, I gave up men. Second, we're roommates, and that’s awkward.”
That’s true, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
“And three, I gave up men.”
I snort. “Are you into women?”
“Nope.”
“Bummer. There goes that threesome I was planning for us.”
“Too bad.” She stalks past me and leaves the bathroom.
Although I see her checking out my bare chest in the mirror as she goes. Her mouth might be telling me that it’s not going to happen. But her eyes tell a different story.