6. SOPHIA
6
SOPHIA
Fireworks is the wrong word to describe that first kiss. It’s so—non-descriptive.
Time seems to slow down as our lips meet, softly at first, like a butterfly alighting on a flower. I can feel the warmth of his breath and taste a hint of alcohol lingering on his lips.
I allow my fingers to find their way to the nape of his neck, playing with soft strands of his hair that hang down.
He gently places one hand on my waist, pulling me closer as the crash of the waves reverberates in the background.
His lips are surprisingly pliable, soft, responsive, not at all what I expected given his otherwise firm body.
It takes a moment for my mind to catch up with what my body is doing.
This—this kiss is purely spontaneous and unplanned.
It’s like I’m operating on remote control.
I like it.
This is freedom like I’ve never experienced.
It’s like as soon as I processed his words, I realized I needed to take it easy, and everything would work out. A flood of emotions engulfed my brain.
I don’t want it to stop.
“Come on,” he says softly, taking my hand once again, leading me toward a long pier that leads out into the ocean.
Ducking beneath the structure, he opens a large chest concealed beneath and withdraws a folded tartan blanket.
At first, I think he’s going to wrap it around me in an attempt to keep me warm, despite the fact that the breeze blowing in from offshore is quite warm.
Instead, he spreads it out beside the pier and motions for me to sit down upon it.
So considerate.
As he lowers himself down beside me, he searches my face. For permission perhaps?
I answer with a soft smile, and my lips again search out his.
The desire that was sweeping through me now was something I had never experienced before. Still, I force myself to slow down and let it happen naturally.
Capturing me in his embrace once again, he pulls me tighter, one hand snaking around the back of my neck to untie my dress.
Releasing his grip slightly, the bodice falls away from my breasts, their milky whiteness contrasting with my darkly tanned skin.
I’ve always been a little self-conscious about the size of my breasts. I’m not what you would call well-endowed, but at this point, I don’t care.
Ethan doesn’t seem to mind either, as his lips find my delicate nipples, rapidly coming to attention in the warm night air.
I moan softly as he begins to thrash at one hardened nub with his tongue.
I run my nails lightly along his back over the fabric of his shirt, urging him on. “Umm, baby, yes,” I purr, “Oh, just like that.”
I clutch at his expensive polo, awkwardly trying to pull it off him despite the fact that his head is still buried in my chest. I finally manage to get it over his head, forcing him to break off his attention.
He shakes his hair out and gives me a sly grin.
Gently pushing me back, he lies down beside me, propping himself up on one elbow, and uses his index finger to lightly trace intricate figures on my leg, starting at my knee and moving ever higher.
My anticipation grows as he moves upward, higher and higher, dragging the hem of my dress up with his hand.
This is so much more tender than my dream. I never imagined he could be this gentle and caring.
My breath catches in my throat as his fingertip grazes a particularly sensitive part of my inner thigh.
He catches my reaction and looks up at me, his eyes flashing in the moonlight.
His touch finds the crease between my thigh and pubic mound, causing me to jump.
He switches tactics, beginning to describe small circles around my most sacred place, never quite touching it, his hands barely skimming over the surface of my pink bikini panties.
By now, I’m squirming, wordlessly begging him to just get it over with and fuck me.
As if sensing my need, he shifts his position and gently lifts the hem of my skirt, bunching it around my waist.
Hooking his fingers around the waistband of my panties he pulls them down and whisks them around my ankles, dropping them beside me.
I fully expect him to satiate the raging fire inside me, but he’s not finished just yet.
His mouth replaces his fingers, his tongue running along my slit, as I clutch his head, my fingers entwined in his hair.
His teeth nip at my clit, just enough to draw strangled yelps from deep within my throat.
God, I can’t take any more of this!
Once again, seemingly sensing my need, he removes his pants and shorts, earning me a much-needed reprieve, no matter how brief.
He climbs between my legs and slides into me, slowly, almost achingly as I savor the sensation like I would a fine wine.
Our lips meet again.
He isn’t particularly large, but he fits just perfectly as if we were molded specifically for each other.
This is what I needed, what I deserve. I don’t feel the need to apologize to myself.
He picks up his rhythm, fucking me with a slow and steady pace as the sea oats scattered along the dunes sway in the breeze. This was nothing like my first time in the sand.
He seems to know exactly what I want. Sometimes a woman wants it rough and hard, other times, especially when you’re just getting to know someone, you want it gentle and loving.
A familiar tingle begins to creep into my belly and down my thighs. I want it to last, to have it build.
I thrust back at him, matching his pace. A rush of sensations builds inside me, ready to burst forth. My breathing grows ragged.
“Ooo, yeah, Ethan, like that. Fuck me, baby. Make me come.”
He kisses me deeply again, quickening his pace. “Fuck yeah,” he groans, “gonna come.”
A kaleidoscope explodes in my head, a million colors bursting simultaneously. It is without a doubt the most intense climax I ever experienced, juices gushing forth and soaking the blanket.
Ethan isn’t far behind, now grunting deeply with every thrust. “Oh, yeah,” he cries as his own orgasm overtakes him.
I lay there afterward, the two of us, listening to the pounding of the surf as we drift in and out of awareness on the edge of sleep.
“I think we may have ruined your blanket,” I murmur playfully, feeling a patch of wetness under my ass.
I pull Ethan’s arm around me in a safe embrace.
I’m restless and can’t sleep.
After leaving Ethan’s house, the reality of what we had done hits me—hard.
What had I been thinking?
When I arrived at my brother’s house, sitting there was the man I despised, and yet, by the end of the night we ended up fucking.
Oh, I enjoyed it. A lot. And that was part of the problem.
What do I know about Ethan really?
Was he even being honest when we were talking earlier, or was that just a ploy to fuck me?
I wanted to believe he really cared, but what we had done didn’t jibe with what people said about him.
I really opened up to him in more than one way, and now I’m kicking myself for not being more cautious.
Getting up, I grab my phone and head downstairs, scrolling through my contacts.
“Hello,” a groggy voice on the other end responds as I hold the phone up to my ear.
“Mel, it’s me.”
“Fuck, Soph, it’s ...” a pause, “it’s 2:30, what the fuck?”
"Sorry, I can’t sleep, I had to talk to somebody.”
“No, it’s alright,” she replies, sounding suddenly alert. “What’s up?”
Melanie and I had been friends since middle school. Anytime I needed her, she was there. We always had each other’s backs. Forever.
“Um, I did something tonight I probably shouldn’t have.”
“Uh-oh, sounds serious,” she responds. “Let’s have it.”
“I uh ... I slept with Ethan Blackwood,” I say sheepishly.
“Fuck!” she replies, obviously shocked! “He didn’t rape you, did he?”
“No,” I reply emphatically. “In fact ... I kinda enjoyed it.”
“OK, backup,” she says. I can almost picture her shaking her head, her wild mane of black curls flying. “Don’t you hate him?”
“I thought I did. I thought we all did. I dunno, we just kind of …” I trail off at a loss for exactly what happened.
“You know what he did to my sister, right?” she says, the anger in her voice clear.
I do know the story. Maybe not all of it, but Melanie’s older sister had a fling with Ethan back in high school. I was still too young at the time to understand exactly what had happened, but it didn’t end well.
Something about him being controlling and wanting her to do a bunch of kinky stuff that she didn’t go into detail about. Probably why I had that dream I had about him.
“Well, look, who knows, maybe being in the military changed him. Maybe he’s a better person now.”
“Yeah, I thought about that.” I say. “It’s a possibility, I guess, but I think he’s still kind of under the sway of his parents, and you know how they are. He definitely seems different than he was before he went away.”
“Maybe so,” she replies, her voice wary. “I can’t forgive him for the way he treated my sister, but if I can’t dissuade you, just be careful, that’s all I ask.”
“Thanks, Mel,” I tell her before hanging up.
I go back upstairs and sit on the edge of my bed. I feel a little bit better, but as I turn over the events on the beach in my mind, I keep coming back to one thing.
Right before we made love, there was something about that gleam in his eyes, something that wasn’t quite right. Was it passion – or danger?