“No, I guess not. Point of it is, when I got out of it, and I wasn’t alone and afraid and hurtin’ all the time, it was like comin’ alive for the first time. Just sayin’, I get it. Not the same, but I get what you mean.”
“How did you get out of it?” I ask.
He groans. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I’m all shared out. Only so much of that old shit I can dredge up in one night.”
I smile for him, even though my heart still hurts for all he has been through. “That is all right. You can share again another time.”
He wraps a large, rough, heavy hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. This time, it builds more slowly, a gentle questing at first. Just lips, just Kane’s hand at my nape, his other at my ribs, thumb rubbing just beneath the wire of my bra. For a while, then, it is only that. Kissing. Soft, slow. Not seeking to be more, not heating, not building.
It is me who builds it. I am impatient. I remember San Diego, I remember his touch, the fire, the pressure, the way it exploded in me and showed me a wondrous pleasure I never knew could exist, and I want it.
And I realize, when I slip my hands under his shirt and he groans, finally deepening the kiss, that he has been holding back. Waiting for me. So he can be sure it is me wanting it and not him taking something from me.
This puts a boldness in me, strong and overpowering, so much so that I have no choice but to let it consume me and control me. I pull away from the kiss, slide backward off of his lap and stand up.
“I wish to move this party to the tent,” I tell him.
He grins, stands up after me, moves past me and takes my hand, pulls me to the tent. It is so small inside that we can only lie down—it will be cramped, since Kane is so large. But it is sheltered and private. He goes in first, and I crawl in after him. He has a small LED lantern, small enough to fit in his now very stuffed saddlebags, but despite its small size it provides a very bright light. It illuminates the interior of the blue tent, bathing us both in white.
He leaves the opening of the tent ajar, removing his boots and socks, stuffing the socks into the opening of his boots so nothing can crawl in, leaving them just outside the tent. I do the same. Then, he zips the flap closed. The tent ceiling is low, and he is very tall, so he cannot sit upright fully, only recline on his elbows. He does this, watching me.
I am afraid to start things—I feel awkward, and I am unsure of what it says about me that I am so eager for the kissing and everything it leads to…the beyond. The more. I want it all, and the more I kiss him, the more I want thismore-ness.
I move to sit cross-legged next to him, and he just looks at me.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmurs.
I frown. “Only a penny?”
He laughs, a soft snort. “Just a phrase, darlin’. Means I wanna know what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours.”
I touch his hip, tracing the long, long bend of his leg. “I am thinking about how much I…want.” I struggle to allow myself the freedom to say exactly what I feel. “How badly I want you. The kissing. The touching. It feels like…oh, I do not know, Kane. Like a fire which cannot be quenched.” I watch my fingers running over the faded denim, hip to knee, knee to calf, back upward. “It is embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeat. “What do you mean, why?”
“I meanwhy? Why would you be embarrassed? It’s natural, normal, and right. You’re a twenty-three-year-old woman, a virgin, discovering her body for the first time. There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, honey.” He catches my hand, tangles our fingers. “It’s not embarrassing that you’re hot for it—it’s actually a major fuckin’ turn-on.”
“You have not touched me since San Diego. Not like…that.”
He frowns. “Don’t wanna rush you, babe. Don’t wanna pressure you. We’ve been traveling, sleeping outside. It’s all new for you, and I don’t wanna overload you with more than you can handle.” He looks at me, his eyes bluer in the light and the reflection of the tent. “I want you. You gotta know that, Anjalee. Fuck, I want….” He shakes his head. “It’d scare you stupid, you knew what I want.”
“Maybe it would not.” I hold his eyes with mine. “I am not delicate, Kane. I am not weak, or afraid, or unsure. I am naive and inexperienced, but I know what I want, and I know that what I want is to continue…this.” I squeeze his hand, bring it to my thigh. “I know I do not know what it is I want, but I know I want it. Does that make any sense?”
He nods. “So you’re sayin’ you don’t want me to hold back as much?”
“That is what I am saying, yes. I think it is still good to take it one step at a time, but…I suppose I want you to trust me to communicate to you if I am wanting to slow down the progression of things.”
His grin is hot, his eyes dancing. “I think I can handle that, darlin’.”
He reaches for me, hooking a finger in my beltloop, yanking me forward and off balance, into him. I cry out at the surprise of the movement, and then his mouth is upon mine, and this time it is not slow or soft or questing.
It is hot and wild, communicating his desire. Which is me. The fire of his kiss sends the heat down into me, and I catch alight. I give the fire all the oxygen it needs—I kiss him back. Hard. Lay on him, hands in his hair, on his shoulders. I am impatient with the distraction of his shirt, so I shove it up between us; he breaks long enough to rip it off, and I am glad to have his skin under my hands, his muscles to touch and to hold.
He progresses things again, and my heart begins to pound—he peels my shirt off, and his hands cover my breasts, cupping over my bra. I gasp, feeling my nipples harden under his palms. At my gasp, his hands travel around to my back. Pause, fingers tracing the outline of the strap, side to side, shoulder down to mid-back, where the clasp is.
He breaks the kiss, pulling away just enough to hold my eyes, waiting a beat. And then he frees the clasp in one smooth pinch. I inhale again, eyes wide. I curl my shoulders forward, letting the straps slide down my arms. He whisks the garment away, and I am bare for him.
