Home > Coming Up for Air (Hundred Oaks)(19)

Coming Up for Air (Hundred Oaks)(19)
Author: Miranda Kenneally

He sets his novel on the coffee table, plucks the calculus book from my fingers, and tosses it on the floor. Then he pushes me back on the couch and teases my neck with his lips.

“I have lesson number two for you,” he says.

“What is it?” I gasp.

“I’m gonna teach you what happens when you feel up a guy with your foot.”

He slides a hand under my shirt. I’m wearing a sports bra, which is so not sexy. Shit. Why am I not wearing something lacy and pretty? He caresses me gently, though, which helps me to relax and somewhat forget about my bra. I pull the knit cap from his head to weave my fingers through his soft hair.

Our lips meet as we get tangled up on the couch. My breathing races when his fingertips trail over my stomach. After pulling the sweatshirt over his head, I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. His back is strong under my exploring fingers, his skin smooth beneath his T-shirt. My hand moves from his back to stomach, gently tracing that line of hair pointing down from his belly button. It makes him gasp and shudder, and I love it.

He talks constantly: you feel great, you’re so pretty, should we take a snack break?

I giggle along with him at that one, our featherlight kisses growing harder and more intense.

I’m squirming beneath him and feel dampness between my legs, and it’s like he knows because he whispers in my ear, “I’m going to touch you, okay?” His fingers trickle to the top of my yoga pants. My entire body is trembling with electricity. Him touching me down there is a lot more personal than anything else we’ve done, but my body wants it. I freak out again when I remember I’m wearing cotton underwear and not something silky or lacy. At least they are black.

“Okay,” I say quietly, sucking in a deep breath.

“Tell me if you have second thoughts,” he says, sounding as nervous—and excited—as I am.

He pushes past my waistband, gently grazing against me through my underwear. It feels so good, better than I imagined. His breathing is shaky as he edges my panties to the side and begins to explore the skin where I’m most sensitive. When he enters me, his finger feels bigger than I figured it would.

“Eee!” I yelp.

He immediately pulls his hand away. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Sorry, it just felt a little different than I expected.”

We can’t seem to meet each other’s eyes. He sits back up, putting space between us, his face blazing red and confused.

“Wait,” I say. “Can we try it again?”

“You’re sure? You should never do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

I touch his strong chest. “I want to.”

He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in places. Without looking directly at me, he squeezes back down between me and the couch. He caresses my back and thighs, trails kisses down my neck and whispers things in my ear: your body is incredible, relax, do you like this?

Our skin grows damp as we make out, and a full-body tremor rushes through me. When his hand dips into my panties this time, I’m ready. Wanting. Aching. His fingers move inside my underwear until I’m as shaky as he is.

“Levi,” I say, gasping into his mouth. “I need…I need—”

“I know.” He gazes into my eyes, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “You’re close.”

How can he know my body better than I do? I decide to ignore that he has experience with other girls and focus on right here, right now, until an intense tingly feeling zaps through my body and a blinding, hot white light fills my eyes with stars.

So that’s what I’ve been waiting for.

“Wow,” I pant, dizzy, and he grins.

I relax against the armrest. He rocks back onto his haunches, kneeling between my legs, and sweeps his hair back with both hands.

We stare at each other, panting like we sprinted a mile.

“Um, shouldn’t I do something for you?”

His breathing is still a little frantic. “You already did.”

My eyes drift to the front of his shorts. He is ready to go.

“You don’t want me to spank you?” I ask, and he erupts in laughter. My joke kills the tension, at least for a few seconds. Then I lick my lips and take another peek at his shorts. I reach to touch him, but he takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles.

“Not tonight,” he says.

“Another time?”

He doesn’t answer, just slides down next to me, and spoons me from behind. His warm breath tickles the back of my neck.

“That bad?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“Was I that bad?”

“Mags, don’t be silly. Can’t you feel how turned on I am?”

It’d be hard to miss the bulge pressing against my lower back. “Then why’d we stop?”

He doesn’t answer. He sweeps my hair away from my neck, and lays his chin there, lips close to my pulse. I think about what we just did. I screeched “Eee!” in front of him. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that would be with another guy. I’m glad it happened with Levi, someone I feel safe with.

But the experience gap between us is so clear. Levi lost his virginity to an older girl when he was fifteen at a swim meet in Miami. He knows what he’s doing. Meanwhile, I’m squealing.

He and I lie in silence until my heartbeat returns to normal, and that’s when the front door opens and shuts.

Levi quickly sits up and grabs for his tennis shoes. I twist my shirt and yoga pants into place and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail. His cheeks are still red when we walk into the kitchen where Mom and Dad are bickering.

“I told you no one would appreciate the secret sauce,” Mom says. “We’re not McDonald’s.”

“I know, I know,” Dad says. “We’re—”

“King’s Royal Engagements,” Levi and I say in unison.

My parents smile at us, and Mom looks from me to Levi, pausing on our faces longer than usual. My best friend’s skin is still flushed from making out. Is mine? Mom regards us skeptically, like that time in junior high we stayed out at the lake way past dark and didn’t answer our cell phones.

Levi, thank the heavens, breaks the tension. “You got any of that secret sauce left?” he asks, and within a minute Dad is serving him up a cocktail plate packed with tenderloin and a reddish-orange sauce.

Levi tastes it, then starts chowing down enthusiastically. “It’s your aioli sauce. Why not just call it that?”

Mom sighs. “That’s what I said.”

“Because I thought secret sauce sounded mysterious,” Dad says.

“Mom’s right,” I say. “It sounds like McDonald’s, which isn’t exclusive enough for King’s Royal Engagements.”

“You could call it ‘Not your mother’s aioli sauce,’” Levi suggests.

Dad snaps and points at him. “You’re on to something.”

Mom and I groan.

She checks her watch. “Shouldn’t you two be getting to bed? You’re gonna be tired in the morning.”

Being a swimmer means having the bedtime of an elementary schooler. “I’ll walk Levi out,” I say.

After he takes a final bite of tenderloin and collects his books and backpack, I lead him to the front hall. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He glances over my shoulder into the house, then leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. Our breath mingles together, hot in the cool February air.

“Why’d you stop me before?” I ask.

“Because I worried if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads toward his truck, not looking back.

• • •

When Coach told us a USA Swimming representative was coming to speak with the elite swimmers at our club, he failed to mention the Knoxville Krakens and Memphis Marines were coming too.

USA Swimming wants to keep an eye on the talent all over the country, but it’s easier for them to meet with us on a state level. That’s why Susan Kennedy is meeting three regional club teams here in Nashville after school today.

   
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