Chapter 4 — The First Line Crossed #6
Because she had been. I could see it in her eyes, in the way her body relaxed under mine, in the smile that spread across her face, slow, satisfied, wicked in its certainty.
I collapsed beside her, breath ragged, sweat cooling on my skin, my cock still half-hard inside her because my body hadn't gotten the message that we were done.
We lay there for a long moment, tangled in my sheets, the blue pool light painting stripes across our bodies, and the only sound was our breathing and the distant pulse of music through the walls.
My cum was leaking out of her, warm and wet against my thigh where our legs were still intertwined, and the reality of what we'd just done settled over me like something physical.
I'd crossed the line. The real line, not the pantry line, not the hand-job-in-front-of-her-family line.
The one that couldn't be walked back, explained away, or hidden behind responsible adult conversation.
I'd fucked Kiki Bishop. I'd come inside her.
I'd given her exactly what she asked for, and in doing so, I'd chosen her over every objection I'd been clinging to the entire Memorial Day weekend.
She turned toward me, golden hair spilling across my pillow, blue eyes soft in the half-light, and touched my face with fingers that didn't shake.
"God, baby. Was that real?" she asked, and the simple warmth in that single phrase nearly undid me all over again.
"So fucking real."
She smiled, that golden Bishop smile that contained absolutely zero regret, and curled into my side like she'd been doing it for years.
I expected the guilt to hit like a freight train.
That was the deal, right? You cross the line you swore you wouldn't cross, you fuck the girl her parents trust you with, and then the guilt comes down so hard it breaks your ribs.
I lay there with Kiki's weight warm against my chest, her golden hair spilled across my shoulder, and waited for the ceiling to cave in.
It didn't. The ceiling was just the ceiling, white and familiar, and the guilt I'd been carrying for days, the guilt that had lived in my chest all weekend, was nowhere to be found.
Instead, I felt peace. Clear, quiet, dangerous peace.
My cock had softened inside her, but I hadn't pulled out yet.
Couldn't bring myself to. Her pussy held me warm and snug, still pulsing around my shaft in slow, lazy contractions that made my balls ache even though I'd emptied everything I had into her.
Sweat cooled on my skin. My heart slowed to something close to normal.
The sheets under us were wrecked, twisted and damp, and the late-night lake air came through the open window carrying the sound of water against the dock.
Kiki sighed against my neck. A happy, satisfied sound, the kind a woman makes when she's gotten exactly what she wanted and has no intention of pretending otherwise.
She didn't pull away. She curled closer.
Her hand found my chest, fingers tracing the shape of my sternum, the ridge of my collarbone, the stubble on my jaw.
Each touch was slow, deliberate, like she was memorizing me by feel.
Her thumb brushed my lower lip, and I caught it between my teeth, just lightly, and she smiled against my skin.
She giggled. "That tickles."
"You taste too good to resist."
She lifted her head. Her blue eyes were soft, heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed pink, her mouth swollen from kissing. She looked like she'd been thoroughly fucked and was extremely pleased about it. Not ruined. Not taken. Given to. There was a difference, and it was written all over her face.
"You're thinking too loud," she said. "I can hear it."
"What am I thinking?"
"That you should feel guilty. That my dad's going to show up with a shotgun. That you just ruined everything good in your life." Her fingers traced the line of my eyebrow, gentle. "Am I close?"
"Pretty close."
She kissed me. Slow, warm, her tongue finding mine with the easy confidence of someone who'd been inside my mouth enough times now to know the territory. When she pulled back, her eyes were clear and certain.
"Mark's not coming. Nobody's coming. It's just us, and the lake, and the fact that I came back this summer knowing exactly what I wanted and finally stopped being afraid to admit it."
This summer. The clarity of it landed in my chest and sat there, warm and real.
Not a childish crush. Not some old fantasy I had failed to notice.
She had come back as an adult woman with an adult body and an adult mind, and she had chosen me with both eyes open, and now she was lying in my bed with my cum inside her, telling me about it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This summer," I said.
"Mm." She nodded, her hair tickling my chest. "This weekend.
You walked into my parents' kitchen looking like you belonged to the lake and I finally understood why every other guy felt like background noise.
" Her smile turned wicked. "Then you spent every minute since pretending you weren't looking at me every chance you got. "
"I was thirsty."
"You were hot. I was thirsty. Different kind of thirsty.
" She propped herself up on one elbow, her breasts pressing against my ribs, golden and full and marked with the faint red lines where my stubble had rubbed her.
"I watched you this week from our dock. On your boat.
In your model room doorway. Standing in the kitchen trying so hard to be honorable while your eyes kept giving you away.
And I kept thinking, that's the man. That's the one.
He's it for me. Not some boy at the lake. You."
"Because I was trying to do the right thing."
"You can stop trying now." Her hand slid down my stomach, fingers trailing through the sweat and cum drying on my skin, and wrapped around my cock where it was still half-hard inside her.
She squeezed gently, and I felt myself twitch against her palm.
"See? I'm the woman who just came three times on your cock and plans to do it at least fifty more times before Labor Day. "
The number hit me like a lightning strike. Fifty. Fifty more times. She said it with the same sweet, matter-of-fact certainty she used to ask for extra ranch at dinner, like she was ordering coffee, not outlining the sexual demolition of my summer.
"Fifty," I repeated.
"Minimum." Her fingers worked my cock slowly, pulling me back to full hardness inside her, and she bit her lower lip the way she did when she was pleased with herself.
"I did the math. There are, what, twelve weeks of summer?
That's basically once a day with some days off for recovery.
Though I don't plan to give you many days off.
" She leaned down and kissed the center of my chest. "Your heart's going crazy. I can feel it."
"It's the fifty."