Something flashes in her eyes. “Yeah, I liked thesex.”
She says the last word low, almost husky, lingering on the sound. Something’s pulling us closer together, and I don’t know if it’s gravity, or whiskey, or just the magnetism of skin on skin, but she doesn’t seem to want to stop it and I don’t know if I can. Her nearness is somehow making me feel hot and cold at the same time. When she pulls her lip between her teeth, I have to stifle agroan.
I need adistraction.
“Dare.” My voice is rushed, urgent. “I pickdare.”
She blinks, her eyes hooded, lashes impossiblythick.
“Kissme.”
I could laugh. I could look down at her chest and say, ‘You didn’t specify where,’ or make some other asshole remark. I could break this tension and walk out thedoor.
She runs her tongue along her bottom lip and then my hands are in her hair, her mouth is on my mouth, and the gap between us is gone, obliterated, filled with her curves and the smell of her skin. She parts her lips and I taste her on my tongue, feel her hands fisting themselves in myshirt.
I stop thinking. My doubts fall away and the only thing my brain seems to be capable of right now is asking for more. Demanding it. I wrap my hand around her thigh and pull her leg over me so she straddles my lap on the couch. My lips don’t leave hers for a second as my grip slides up her hip and under the hem of her shirt, fingers tracing the path of herspine.
She wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me even harder and grinding herself against me. The pressure makes us both frantic, reaching for every inch of skin we can find. When we break apart to gasp for air, she presses her forehead to mine, her eyesclosed.
“I didn’t know I wanted this,” she breathes. “Then that day, in the studio, I...I’d never seen you like that, and it made mefeel...”
I can’t help it. The opportunity is just tooperfect.
“Christina,” I say, in the lowest voice I can manage, “do I give you that...favourite brafeeling?”
Her head tilts back and for a moment she just stares, the beginnings of either a scowl or a laugh forming on her face. I wonder if she’s about to kiss me again or punch me in thearm.
She doesboth.
I feel her laughing against my lips and I pull her down on the couch so she’s resting on top of me, her hair falling around us. The only thing separating her chest from mine is a few thin layers of fabric. She braces herself with one hand while reaching down to tug at my shirt with theother.
Then the door of the apartment flies open, crashing into the wall, and a tangle of arms and legs lurches inside, accompanied by heavy breathing and moans. A guy and a girl are now crushed up against the wall of the entryway, going at each other like it’s their last five minutes on earth. The dude doesn’t even have a shirton.
“Foda-se!” shouts Christina, sitting up and jumping off the couch before I can even register what’s goingon.
She keeps yelling in Portuguese until there’s a noise like a suction cup and the female half of the intertwined duo turns her head towards the livingroom.
I catch the words “Desculpe, Chrissy,” before they’re trading phrases back and forth so fast that keeping up with who’s speaking feels like following a ping pong match. My brain is still reeling from the past few minutes, and I don’t even wonder who these people are or what they’re doing here. All I can think about is how hot Christina sounds speaking Portuguese, and how soon it will be until I have her back on top ofme.
After some more rapid fire dialogue, the girl separates herself from the guy and pulls him by the hand towards the bedrooms. They both glance at me as they pass, and I lift my hand in a wave, still lying on my back on the couch. The girl giggles and her eyes drop to my jeans. I look down and realize I’m still basically pitching a tent inthem.
Christina noticestoo.
“Subtle,” she says in a flattone.
“Hey, they’re the ones who burst into the room half nakedalready.”
She sits down in the chair I was using earlier and sighs. “They arealwayshaving sex. I honestly don’t know how they find time to go to work. Or sleep.MeuDeus.”
I sit up, noting the fact that she’s chosen not to join me on the couch again. The magnetism that drew us together just a few moments ago has shifted, pushing us apart instead of pulling us closer. We sit in silence, each waiting for the other to move first and decide what happensnext.
“It’s late,” I sayfinally.
“Yeah.”
“I shouldgo.”
She doesn’t move to stop me as I get up from the couch. I’m pulling my shoes on at the door when she walks over and leans against thewall.
“You didn’t drive, didyou?”
“Nah. I’ll get anUber.”
She nods, avoiding my eye. I pull the door open and feel her hand come to rest on my arm. When I look at her, her face is drawn, determined, like she’s trying to convince herself ofsomething.
“We had a lot of whiskey tonight.” She says it in the tone of an explanation. It almost comes across as anapology.
“Yeah, Dominguez,” I agree. “We had a lot ofwhiskey.”
