Emotionally exhausted.
“You need to come with me then,” he says with a grin, as he leads me into the bedroom then out a set of French doors to a screened-in porch with a big, padded hammock blowing in the breeze. “Best place in the house for a nap.”
We snuggle up together in the hammock and I immediately fall asleep.
I'm awakened by his stirring. My face is right by his neck, so I kiss it. Other than my giving him a single kiss at the football game, I really haven't initiated stuff with him. I've been letting him kiss me. But after his comment, his feeling like Whitney didn’t really want him, I figure he needs to feel wanted, so I kiss up his neck and toss my leg across his.
He laughs. “You realize we just slept together.”
“Yeah, I guess we did. Shh . . . don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
He runs his hand like he did in the picture, gently pulling my hair off my face. “I think you need to keep doing that,” he says, pulling me fully on top of him. I kiss gently down his neck, then kiss a little harder, then softer. I’m sorta teasing him and it seems to be driving him nuts.
I sit up, my knees straddling him, and kiss down his chest, then run my hands in a little tickle down his sides.
He laughs and squirms a bit, but I can feel that other parts of his body have just jumped to attention.
He goes, “Mhhm,” then grabs me, and tries to flip me over. He apparently wants on top of me, but uh, yeah, I think he maybe forgot we’re in a hammock because he rolls up over the side of it. The hammock flips. He falls onto the floor on his back, and I land right on top of him.
“Shit,” he mutters, but then laughs. “Real smooth, huh?”
I reply with a deep slow kiss.
Then he flips me over, pinning me against the rug under his weight. He kisses my neck and down my chest. He unties my bikini top, takes in what he sees, kisses what he saw. My body is responding, enjoying everything he does to me. He maneuvers himself between my legs and rocks his hips against mine.
I’m hot and, honestly, I am a bit shocked at how much I want him.
But we can’t. I cannot. We said we were going to take it slow. And this, wonderful though it may be, is not moving slow.
“Dawson,” I manage to breathe out.
“Hmm?” He smiles at me and kisses my nose.
“I thought we were gonna take things slow?”
“Maybe we should rethink that.”
God, he's dreamy.
I squint my eyes at him in fake irritation.
He kisses me again, then says, “No, you’re right.”
But what he says and what he does are two entirely different things.
He kisses me deeply again, runs his hands through my hair, then down my back, his hands stopping on my butt and pulling it towards him, making his pelvis slam into mine. His hardness pushes on what little there is of my bikini bottoms.
We keep kissing. Our hips move together like we’re having sex, even though there are two thin layers of fabric between us.
I’m getting extremely worked up. And it’s obvious he is as well.
It feels so damn good that I don’t want to him to stop.
But one of us needs to use our head.
“Dawson.”
“Don't worry. We're not. Not yet anyways.” Then he gets up, snatching his hardness away from me.
I’m left lying on the floor, my body saying, But wait!!!!! My mouth may have been saying no, but my body majorly disagrees. It wants to pull him back down on top of me.
He reaches his hand out and pulls me up as I retie my top. Then he backs away slightly, leans down, and studies my tattoo. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo. Bad girl moment?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the symbol for chaos.”
“Chaos, huh? Interesting. So does that mean you like to cause chaos?”
“No. It’s from a quote. Life is divine chaos.”
“I like it.”
“I used to like it.”
“You don’t now?”
I roll my eyes. “The surfer has a matching one.”
“That’s probably fitting, considering.”
“Yeah, probably.”
We drink a little more, eat a little more, relax a little more.
The punch has officially caught up with me.
We’re both a little tipsy.
Well, I’m maybe kinda drunk.
I’m also feeling a little naughty.
I drag him back to the bedroom and start attacking him.
I kiss him, take off his polo, undo his shorts, and slide them off him.
He stops me from untying my bikini.
“Keatyn, we talked about this. We’re not gonna do stuff when we’re drunk. We’ll wait.”
I laugh at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
But then I give him a devilish grin, drop down on my knees in front of him, and look up at him in question.
His face breaks out in a huge grin. “Oh. Uh, well, that’d probably be okay.”
Sunday, September 4th
So, um, about last night.
Too fucking early.