Girl Crush(25)
“Take your shoes off, I know your feet must be tired.” I wore heels every day. All day. Other than running in the morning, there was nothing else I’d rather be in. But if she wanted me to get more comfortable, I would. I lifted one foot at a time, like a flamingo, and pushed both shoes off with my pointer finger. I couldn’t bring myself to leave them where they were, so I set them neatly to the left of the door and turned back around.
“Wanna watch a movie?” She’d turned the television on in her bedroom and made herself comfy up against the headboard.
I crawled up the bed like I would have done if a man had been waiting for me. Her gaze heated, and her eyes widened just briefly. The way her skin flushed told me she liked it, and I rewarded her with a teasing grin. I didn’t have a clue what the hell I was doing, but I knew how to flirt. And I certainly knew how to gain someone’s attention—male or female.
Nervously, I swallowed the fear down and curled up at her side. She wrapped her arm around me and slid down, so we were face to face. I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever been this close to a woman, and I could feel my heart pounding, but the excitement that normally filled me and overrode my anxiety when I was body deep with a man wasn’t there. Staring into her eyes, I witnessed her admiration. I’d observed that same gaze time after time just before hooking up with a guy. And when she leaned in, she hesitated for a fraction of a second, and I closed my eyes.
Her lips met mine, they were soft and supple. Without sight, the kiss was no different than hundreds of others I’d experienced in my adult life. She gently turned and gradually opened her mouth. I followed her lead, and our tongues met in a gentle exchange. With each swipe, my mind drifted further from the reality that I was French kissing a woman and focused on the sensation alone. My hands drifted from the safety of her jean-clad hip and around her bottom. Hers moved and roamed along my side and down my thighs. The motions were the same, but everything felt different. Even when a man was tender, there was still a masculine edge to the sensation of his touch. I wanted to push that expectation aside and embrace the pleasure she brought to my body.
As Roxie deepened the kiss, I responded in kind, trying to move past the barrier preventing me from enjoying the experience. But my mind kept making comparisons to past lovers, and it was just different. I didn’t know if she could tell I hadn’t engaged emotionally, physically my body and hands went through the motions, but I hadn’t surrendered to the indulgence. She eased me onto my back and came with me, leaning over me in a lead position. Her hand crept under my shirt, and her fingers traveled up my abdomen and around my breast.
As I forced myself to let go, I kept my eyes closed when she broke the kiss and moved down my torso. Her lips touched my abs, and she shimmied my shirt up my tummy and then over my head. Everything she did felt good, but…off. My first time with a guy had been similar—awkward—but I knew once I ripped off the virgin Band-Aid, I could enjoy an orgasm given by anyone. Hell, I was willing to sleep with Justin just to reach that peak. My drive was high, and my thirst hadn’t been quenched in longer than I cared to admit. Dry humping her thigh in a bar had barely scratched the itch building between my legs.
The angel on my shoulder encouraged me to stop, trust my instincts, go against the grain. The devil on the other one threw caution to the wind and encouraged my hedonistic desire. I took the devil’s hand and his advice. The moment I reached down to unbutton my jeans, Roxie saw the green light and eased out of her clothing as well. Standing next to the bed, she reached behind her to undo her bra and let it fall to the floor while I watched. I took mine off. Then her lace panties. I had to stop myself from asking her where she’d gotten them and hoped I could check the label later. I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my own and then shimmied them down my thighs before kicking them to the floor with my toe.
Her skin was flawless, her breasts small but pert. The lines of her body were soft and curvy—feminine. But as my eyes traveled to her navel and then to her curly curtains, I stared in awe. Unaware I’d started moving, I found myself on my belly, with her next to the bed, and my eyes staring at the intricate hairstyle she sported on her Mounds of Venus.
Roxie giggled at my interest. “You okay down there?”
Those four words pulled me out of my haze…temporarily. “Who does your waxing?”
“I do it myself.” She was proud of the neatly designed trim job, as she should be. It was artwork. I couldn’t fathom how she even managed the details. Tweezers maybe. Fuck, that would be painful. It was bad enough to have your hair ripped from the follicle in large sheets, plucking them one by one to create a pattern other than a strip was impressive…or sadistic, I wasn’t sure which.
She pushed my head back, not knowing I was staring at her furry, pink mink dazzled by her muff. When I made eye contact again, her irises had glazed over with what I assumed could only be lust. I sat up on my knees, and she lay down on her back with her feet on either side of my legs. I now had a front row seat for Snatch of the Caribbean, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay for the show.
The longer I sat there, unmoving, the more she talked…clearly uncomfortable with me between her legs without any action taking place. But I didn’t know the protocol for this situation. And I hadn’t figured out why she got to go first. I wanted her to pitch—I’d catch. She could give me the lay of the land so I’d know how to reciprocate. Right now, I was blind in a field full of land mines.