Someone to love, p.4

Someone to Love, page 4

 

Someone to Love
 


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  One I didn’t even know I wanted.

  Cruise

  Kenny and I leave the tree lot, one bushy evergreen richer, and enjoy the ride home, still hopped up on that lip-lock we shared. I’ve kissed my fair share of girls. I’ve logged some mileage with these lips, and swear to God have never experienced an out of body experience like the one Kenny just provided. Maybe it had to do with the fact I’m aroused as hell at the thought of touching a virgin, guiding her down some dark carnal path, but whatever it was, it sealed itself in my memory as a holy shit moment.

  We arrive at the house and I pull backward into the driveway, trying to ignore the fact I just took out the border garden my mother planted last spring. In my defense, a blanket of snow dusted the ground in the time it took to get to the tree lot and back. Parking in reverse was never my forte, although I’d never confess to being anything short of an ace behind the wheel.

  I glance over at Kenny with her hair slightly wet from the snow, the skin on her chest quivering, and the breath escapes my lungs like it were a building on fire.

  Damn she’s hot. I blink a quick smile and pat her on the knee like some perverted uncle.

  “Let’s do this,” I say.

  Kenny helps me drag down the furry monster that once stood proud as a card-carrying member of the forest and is now reduced to living room décor for all of one night. But I don’t mind. I can’t remember the last time I had a tree with the exception of living in the bed and breakfast with Mom and Molly.

  “It smells so good!” She inhales deeply as her lids flutter. She looks as if she’s about to have an enriched sexual experience, and with me a good ten feet away, missing out on all the fun.

  “Sure does. God’s perfume,” I say, dragging it into the house and leaning it against the wall farthest from the fireplace. No use in burning down our love shack before giving it the proper conjugal usage.

  I step back and lose myself just staring at Kenny.

  “What?” She bites down on her lip, and her hip juts out like she’s making me an offer. For a girl who claims to never have had more than one drunken kiss, Kenny sure knows how to bring the heat without trying. And what the hell am I saying, conjugal usage? Kenny isn’t one of the tramps I pick up on my nightly panty raids down on sorority row. I’m pretty sure this is one fountain of youth and beauty I won’t be tapping anytime soon. The nice guy in me won’t allow it. I’d like to take that part of me out back and knock the shit out of him with a shovel—bury him in the process for morphing into a bleeding heart without my permission.

  Kenny comes in close with those pale, sky-washed eyes, and I have a hard time catching my breath.

  “Boy, you’re quiet,” she whispers.

  “Just enjoying the view.” God’s honest truth right there. Kenny is a goddess who should be admired by the entire human race. “So what are we going to do with this thing?” I dig a smile in the side of my cheek and try to pull her in the way I do with other girls. But for her, my heart skips a beat, and I’m not sure I like what this means—not sure I’ve ever felt this before.

  “Come on.” She pulls me down to the carpet, and we lean back admiring its crooked form.

  It’s comfortable like this with Kenny. I push into her shoulder playfully, and she reciprocates with a bubbling laugh.

  “You kissed me,” she whispers, looking up from under a thicket of lashes.

  “Only because your lips were begging for it.”

  “You wish.” Her cheeks fill with color like maybe they were begging for it after all.

  Kenny locks those steel-colored eyes over mine and doesn’t let go. For a second I envision straddling her—hell, her straddling me with that impossibly perfect body, her warm limbs wrapped around my back like a bow.

  A wave of heat washes over me, and I glance down at the bare stump of the tree in an effort to deflect the hard-on in my jeans rising to salute her.

  “You think we should decorate it?” She rakes her foot over mine, and an electrical jolt fires up to my groin.

  Yes, with a condom, I want to say. Instead, I opt for something more appropriate and likely to happen. “My mom probably has an entire crate of ornaments she’d gladly gift us.” I tap her foot with mine and feel a surge bullet through me once again. I’m fascinated by the physiological effect she has the power to invoke. Obviously sex with someone as physically charged as Kenny would kill me instantly. But what the hell, I say get the paddles ready boys. I’m going in on a suicide mission.

  For a moment, I envision myself stretched out on a gurney with my dick smoking.

  I pluck my phone out and shoot a quick text to mom before I get off track and end up dry humping the evergreen just to keep from going insane.

  “Ornaments are just what we need.” She shifts and appraises me as if seeing me for the very first time. She looks up at me with those bowtie lips, and my insides come to life in a flaming ball of fire.

  Shit. I’m not used to this. I haven’t had a real girl over in so long—ever in fact, and it’s quickly becoming obvious my body doesn’t know what it’s supposed to do with her. Hell, I know what it demands to do with her—and most of those things aren’t legal in any of the fifty states.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” she says, lying on her back. “What turned you onto women en masse?”

  I roll onto my elbow and take her in from this aerial vantage point.

  “You’re a beautiful species. Can you blame me?” I won’t be filling her in on my heartbreak anytime soon. Besides, I’m over that. This is the new me, the one that doesn’t need assurances, just a pocket full of condoms and I’m good to go.

  She adjusts herself and her chest ripples in all the right places, eliciting a groan from me in the process. I can feel the old me wanting to burst through and make Kenny my own in a far more intimate way than any of the long string of girls I’ve reduced to body parts in the last several months. But body parts in and of themselves are fun, and having your balls handed to you spiked on a stiletto, not so much.

  “Well I think you’re a beautiful species.” She nestles in a little closer. I can feel her gunning for another kiss, but she’s too shy to go there on her own.

  She kicks off her shoes exposing her glossy red toenails. Kenny rolls into me with her hip seductively hiked, her shoulder turned in until it looks as if she’s downright posing. My body starts in on the shakes, and my breathing picks up pace. I bow into her like a warning and she doesn’t resist the effort. Instead, her eyes enlarge, and her breathing becomes erratic, letting me know she wants it. I close my eyes and go in for the kill.

  “So”—she bolts up as if waking from a bad dream—“we should roll some ideas around for our experiment. You know, set some ground rules.”

  “Our experiment?” I slouch after having my lips shot down like an incoming missile.

  “Yeah, you know.” She pushes her shoulder against mine and that same surge of electricity vibrates through my chest. “You’re my fearless leader. You’re going to teach me the ropes”—she ticks her head toward the leash on the floor—“literally.”

  “You really want to do this?” A thin rail of disappointment speeds through me. I thought maybe she’d cave, decide that she’s a one-man woman and maybe, just maybe, that man could’ve been me.

  “Yes.” She pushes it out as if she’s unsure. “I mean, only if you’re interested. If you find me repulsive, I could look elsewhere for instruction.” Her lips twitch under the duress of her words, as if she meant it as a joke and had a reality check that stunted her ego.

  “I definitely don’t find you repulsive, nor am I willing to relinquish my star pupil. Trust me, I’ll have you bedding your way through fraternity row by New Years’.”

  She ticks her head back rebuffing the idea.

  Knew it. She’s a big phony.

  A smile twitches on my lips, but I won’t give it.

  “New Years’?” She shakes her head. “How about Valentine’s Day? That might be a nice touch. I’m
sentimental that way.” She gives an impish grin.

  I’m quick to do the math. “Nine weeks without sex? What planet are you from?”

  She opens her mouth to protest, and I place a finger over her butter soft lips.

  “I’m teasing.” I trace the outline of her mouth as she arches back with pleasure. “I haven’t forgotten your virginal standing. And believe me when I say, I’ll prepare you well.” I pull my finger down her neck, and she gives an uncontrollable shiver.

  “I’d hate to take up too much of your time.” She looks down forlorn for a moment, like maybe she wouldn’t mind taking up a little more of my time than she’s letting on. “I mean, you know, I’d hate for the scoreboard on your bedpost to go stale because of me.”

  I drink Kenny down with her wide-eyed innocence, her spectacular level of vulnerability that sends my testosterone into overdrive.

  “The scoreboard should probably take a breather. I was thinking about taking a break, anyway. That way I can hone in all my efforts on you.” I stop shy of any sexual illustrations that were begging to fly from my lips. There’s no way I’m going to feed her to the masses at Garrison or anywhere else. I’ll simply teach her a thing or two about the male anatomy. Hell, maybe she’ll like this slice of genetic pie enough to want to stick around—come back for seconds, over and over again.

  “So, I guess you’ll be my first.” She leans in and her breasts ripple out of her low-cut sweater. I try to keep my eyes level to hers, but it’s like holding up a battleship.

  “I guess I will.”

  I’m mesmerized by this goddess before me. The idea of being with Kenny, of touching her heated skin to mine, burying myself inside her, sends blood rushing to places that will make for an interesting conversation in a few minutes, and I start to sweat.

  What the hell has me so rattled? I do this all the time. It’s practically a vocation I’m participating in on the side. I’ve completed a forensics exchange with an indiscriminate number of women every week for the last seven months, and not once have I felt like a schoolboy about to ask the prettiest girl in school to prom. Kendall Jordan simply wants me to teach her the fine art of screwing her way around campus—nothing more, nothing less.

  “Where should we start?” Say bedroom.

  I lean in and wait for a reply.

  “Maybe take it sort of slow.” She winces. “Maybe we can start with a movie?” She shrinks a little when she says it, and I wrestle back a laugh that demands to bark from my lungs.

  “A movie.” I nod. Seated in opposite ends of the theater I’m suspecting.

  “Yes.” She closes her eyes a moment. “Then, we’ll round out the bases. What exactly are the bases?”

  “First base.” I run my finger over her bee-stung lips. “Second base.” I drop my hand just shy of her left boob then back up. “Third base is holding me naked.” I give the impression of a wicked smile. “With the lights on.”

  “Is not.” She scoffs.

  “It can be. Anyway it’s just a step away from turning in your v-card, so use your imagination. We can employ the leashes if you like.”

  “No thanks.” She’s quick to reject the idea. “That’s an advanced field of sexual aerodynamics I am far from ready for.”

  There’s a brief knock at the door before it swings open. I keep meaning to take the key away from my mother.

  Mom drops an industrial sized plastic storage bin onto the floor with the words X-Mas scrawled across the side. She gawks over at the two of us like she’s never seen a creature quite like Kenny before—and I’m damn sure she hasn’t.

  “You have company!” Her frizzy blond mane has ballooned twice its size, and she’s donned her signature leopard print coat for the occasion. Kenny jumps up and is quick to greet her. I can’t remember the last time Mom met a girl I was with, although technically I’m not with Kenny. I’m little more than a talking dildo at this point, but I accept the challenge. In fact, right about now, I’m feeling kind of lucky for hitting the party last night and embroiling myself in an agreement with one of the hottest girls on both the East and West Coast.

  I hop over. “Mom this is Kenny. Kenny, this is Samantha, my mother.”

  “Oh please, call me Sam.” Mom lunges into her with an awkward hug and for the first time I do believe my mother is getting more action with a girl I’m “with” than I am. “Hey”—she dips into her purse and pulls out a little pink envelope—“I happen to own the hottest salon this side of New York City. Why don’t you come down and get the works, on me!”

  Kenny takes up the envelope and peers inside. “Wow, thank you! I’ve never been to a salon before. My mom usually cuts my hair.” She plucks at an errant strand, and it shines like glass in the light.

  “Dear God, child—you have been abused!” Mom rattles out a laugh that ends in a cough, which seems par for the course these days. She’s running herself ragged, and if she doesn’t watch it, she’ll end up taking a nice long dirt nap to make up for the lost shuteye. “Molly’s with Brayden.” Mom frowns at me. Brayden is my seventeen-year-old sister’s boyfriend, and neither of us approve too much of Brayden. “I’m headed out to see Aunt Donna. Wanna come?” She presents the offer to both Kenny and I.

  “Thank you,” Kenny says, “but I promised my mom I’d spend it with her friend Jackie.” She looks to me. “I told Pennington I’d be there.”

  “Jackie Alexander?” Mom arches a brow at the news. “Suit yourself. Sounds like a waste of a perfectly good Christmas if you ask me.” She makes a face. “Ta-ta for now.” She waves, making her way down the driveway and groans when she sees what my Michelin’s have reduced her marigolds to.

  “I guess she doesn’t care for the Alexanders,” Kenny muses, tucking a lock of hair between her lips like a beautiful black rose.

  I don’t tell her that I don’t think too much of them either—that I’m biologically one of them.

  “I’ll give you a ride if you want,” I offer.

  “Sounds like a plan.” She glances up at the mistletoe hanging over the door and steps into me. “Butterfly or Eskimo?”

  “Foreign import.” I step in until I’m pressed against her. “I say we implement the French.”

  “Definitely French.” She pants into the fog until it encircles us like a wreath.

  I close my eyes and land myself over the soft pads of her lips. She swipes her tongue over mine and I lose it. Her clean scented perfume lures me in like opium. I dig my fingers into her lush hair before indulging in a series of kisses far more animal than either of us had bargained for.

  Seismic. Kissing Kenny shifts the landscape of everything I ever thought I knew about the lingual art in general. Kenny blows every kiss I’ve ever known off the map and pins her star high over the geography with perfect mouth-watering splendor. I’ve had sex that was less erotic. This was the pinnacle of wanting, a nirvana of passion—sublime in every way.

  Kenny brings the magic, the miracles—her kisses are better than wine and I can never get enough.

  4

  Kendall

  Familial Festivities

  Snow dances from the sky, dusting the windshield with miniature paper-like flakes as Cruise drives us up an elongated driveway in an opulent gated community. The Alexander estate looks gothic in appeal with its cathedral windows, its upright stone lions just feet from the entry.

  Cruise comes around and escorts me toward the tall mahogany doors. A pair of oversized tinfoil wreathes adorn the entry and manage to look slightly out of place among all the grandeur. But honestly, the only thing on my mind this past hour has been those heated kisses. My face still burns from their fire. I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, bumping against mine, and I replay it over and over like some muscular memory.

  Cruise gives a good strong knock, and we wait in awkward silence. He washes a quick glance over my body in a covert manner, and his chest expands in response to my curves.

  I wonder if he’s thought of those kisses—if he still feels me in his mou
th and how I measure up to the long line of girls who had been there before.

  Cruise leans toward me and fills the interim between us with his spiced cologne. “So, Pennington”—he pauses—“asshole or douchebag?”

  A voice emits from inside the house and the door rattles.

  “Douchebag,” I whisper.

  Cruise locks eyes with mine while giving a brief nod. It’s as if we’re bonding right here on the porch over, of all things, Pennington’s douchebag status.

  I hope Aunt Jackie won’t mind that I’ve brought someone along. Oddly enough, I know Cruise better than I do “Aunt Jackie.”

  The door swings open, revealing a woman dressed in gold lame from head to toe.

  “Well look what the cat dragged in!” She sings the opera-like greeting. Her long black hair is frayed at the edges, and she sports an over-processed tan that looks less St. Tropez and more Oompa Loompa. Her lips glow a pale pink as if she smeared them with toothpaste, and her eyes are powdered a vulgar shade of indigo frost. “And who the hell is this hot little cutie?” She leans back on her heels—it takes a moment for me to realize she directed the question to Cruise.

  “This would be your darling niece.” Cruise fans a hand over me as if I were a carnival prize. “I’m just giving her a ride.”

  “Oh my gawd! Andrew, come here! It’s Kendall! She’s drop dead gorg!” She pulls me into a rocking hug and does her best to smother me in her cushiony breasts. Her perfume lays over me thick and cloying like strong tea without any sweetness. “Look at you! All grown up.”

  I smile awkwardly at Cruise because mostly she’s propagating a lie. She’s never seen more than a dozen pictures of me.

  An oversized chandelier drips from the entry, and the room opens up to a sitting area. A supersized white Christmas tree, decorated with clear lights and strategically dispersed red bows, sits in front of the bay window. It’s beautiful in a sterile sort of way. I suppose once you amass a certain amount of wealth, you have sophisticated standards to abide by. Gone are the popcorn-strung Christmases and children’s art from yesteryear adorning the mantle. It’s as if the capital in your bank account bleaches the fun out of everything. Strangely, it’s just this sort of opulence I had been craving my whole life, and now that I see it with my own eyes, I’d trade it for that tiny brick house of Cruise’s and the bushy Douglas fir in a heartbeat. I might have already.

 

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