A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(39)

I tremble just thinking about it.

When my fingers brush against a distended piece of flesh at the top, I realize it’s my clitoris. I brush it again, a soft sigh falling from my lips when I do so. I keep doing it, circling it. Rubbing it. My breath comes faster, and when I squeeze my thighs together around my hand, that feels even better. The pressure. The intensity.

I roll over onto my stomach, my hand still between my thighs, my fingers busy as I basically dry hump the bed. The heel of my hand. I rock against the mattress, my eyes flying open to catch my reflection yet again.

I’m a mess. My hair is in my eyes, my skin damp with sweat, my breasts swinging, my nipples hard. I arch my back and press my hips to the bed, grinding my palm against my clit and a choked sound leaves me.

Have you ever been kissed?

He whispers it in my ear in my imagination, his mouth brushing my skin. I shiver and shake my head, wishing he was the one who would kiss me first. His lips are soft and warm and that first glide of his tongue against mine…

He pushes my hand away and replaces it with his own, stroking me. He’s so confident. So in command of my body and I let him take control. Just like I always do with everyone and everything in my life.

With Crew, I don’t resent it though.

I want it.

I’m on my back once more, my fingers frantic, my breathing harsh as I seek out the unfamiliar sensation that I can feel growing inside me. It’s almost scary, how big it seems, how mysterious. Almost as if I don’t know what it is, yet I do.

But I’m not afraid. I chase after it, all the air sticking in my throat, my limbs straining, my legs shaking as I stroke and stroke, faster and faster. A gasp leaves me when I go completely still.

So fucking sexy, Birdy.

And then I’m quaking, my entire body consumed, a keening cry leaving my lips as the orgasm slams into me. It’s as if I have no control of my body and the climax stretches on for long, endless seconds. Just as fast as it hits, it’s gone, and I’m left a shaking, sweaty mess. Barely able to catch my breath, my heart beating so hard I swear I’m going into cardiac arrest.

That’s what all the fuss is about. Imagine what would happen if someone else gave me an orgasm? Like Crew?

I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining him in this bed with me, his mouth finding mine, his fingers between my thighs, working their magic.

“Oh God,” I whisper out loud, staring blindly at the ceiling.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with wanting a boy like Crew. Maybe I deserve to fall in love and go out on dates and kiss a boy for hours and let him touch me wherever he wants. What’s wrong with that?

Nothing. Nothing at all. Like Crew said, we’re just normal horny teenagers looking to get off.

I mean, that’s not something I would ever say, but he has a point.

Glancing around my room, I realize I’m not satisfied. I’m still restless. Even a little frustrated. I want to experience this feeling again.

I want it all.

With Crew.





FIFTEEN





WREN





I climb out of the car, wincing when the bitterly cold air hits my cheeks. It’s abnormally brisk, despite the bright sunshine overhead, and I probably didn’t dress right for the weather. I smooth my hands over the fitted leather skirt my mother bought me a few months ago that I immediately shoved into the back of my closet. I’ve never worn anything like this, so I don’t know what possessed her to think I’d wear it.

But I woke up this morning with a new resolve. I’m branching out. Doing new and different things. I don’t know exactly what those things are yet, but seeking independence is one of them. Hence the leather skirt, which really reveals nothing but still feels daring, along with the cream-colored cashmere turtleneck sweater, which emphasizes the size of my breasts. Normally I’d shy away from an outfit like this because I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

There’s nothing about this morning—or myself—that feels normal.

Like last night, when I skipped dinner completely and stayed locked away in my bedroom. I opened up my laptop and searched for porn sites, glancing around like I’d find someone watching me do something so forbidden before I watched a twenty-minute clip of a couple doing all sorts of things in a variety of sexual positions.

It was eye-opening. Undeniably arousing. When I watched the man go down on the woman, his lips and tongue and fingers everywhere, her hands in his hair clutching him close, I lost all control and masturbated again. Imagining someone was doing the same thing to me the entire time.

A certain someone with icy blue eyes and a shitty smile on his face as he watched me practically beg for him to do it. Just before he leaned down and dragged his tongue across my clit.

God, I’m a mess. Seriously. Why would I fantasize about him?

He’s the worst.

“Call or text me when you’re ready to be picked up, miss.” The driver hands me a business card with his phone number on it. “I’ll come right over when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” I offer him a smile and take the card from him, watching as he shuts the door. “I appreciate it.”

I turn away and head for the gallery entrance, making my way inside. I’m greeted by a friendly gallery assistant, a woman who looks only a few years older than I am, her eyes flaring with interest the longer she studies me.