“You bet.”
We ease into kissing again with a few simple pecks. Those tiny seeds bloom into a field of bright sunflowers. He slides one of my bathing suit straps down. Presses his mouth to my collarbone. When I let out a little sigh, he slides his hands to my waist and further down to cup my bottom.
“Can I ask a question?” I pant, my breath ragged. “Why is it you’re supposed to be teaching me how to make a guy feel good, but you’re doing all the work?”
He gives me a smile that’s all mine. “Lesson number one: you’ll know a guy’s worth it when he can’t keep his hands off you.”
A New Way to Breathe
The week leading up to regionals, I can’t keep my hands off him.
We don’t touch each other at practice, obviously, but the minute we’re alone, I am all over him. Monday night my parents are catering a retirement party at a law firm, so I go over to Levi’s house to mooch some of Oma’s beef stew.
After we finish second helpings, he passes me a tiny envelope. I carefully open it to find a Batman valentine that says:
To: Magpie From: Levi
I smile. “Why’d you get me this?”
“Oma bought me some valentines to give out at school. I guess she doesn’t know that kids don’t exchange them past fifth grade.”
“Aww,” I say. “Now I feel bad. I didn’t get you one.”
Wheel of Fortune is blaring from the TV room, which means Oma and Opa are properly distracted by Pat Sajak and Vanna White. So I scooch around to Levi’s side of the table.
“Here’s your valentine, Batman,” I say, and press my lips to his. When I pull back to look at him, he gives me a quizzical look but doesn’t object when I dive back in for more.
“Am I doing this right?” I ask between kisses.
His eyes flare. “Guys like it when girls take initiative…so yeah, this is pretty hot.” He twines our fingers together and tugs me closer so that I’m straddling his lap, his chest rising and falling as he works to catch his breath. But I don’t let him catch it—I kiss the daylights out of him.
The next day in study hall, Levi and I grab our usual spot in the back corner near a sunny window overlooking the soccer field. I like this table because somebody etched into it: math is a tempestuous lover.
Georgia and Hunter have study hall during a different period, so it’s just me and Levi. I’m working on the first draft of an essay for my English class, and he’s making faces at his biology book.
“I don’t see why I have to do this,” he complains. “I already got into college. Besides, I am an expert.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Definitely. I’ve been teaching you all about biology.” His eyes sweep the library. No one is looking our way, not even the librarian who constantly shushes me. Levi reaches over to grip my knee, sweeping his hand up my leg, gently playing my inner thigh like piano keys. Mouth at my ear, he whispers, “The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone.”
His fingertips leave me trembling in their wake. I breathe deeply, to try to calm myself, but Levi undoes me. Taking his hand, I stand and lead him back into the stacks, peeking over my shoulder to make sure no one’s following us. When we reach the books on business, I figure it’s safe (because who would want to read about taxes?), and I get up on tiptoes and kiss his neck.
His arms come around me, drawing my body close.
“The thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone,” I whispersing, and he brings two fingers to my jaw, turning my head so our lips can meet. He moans softly as we kiss, gripping my hips. His warm, soft mouth glides against mine. My heart thumps. My knees go weak. My hands need to touch him everywhere. My, my, my.
The bell rings loudly. We jump apart.
At first we both make freaked-out eyes at each other, because we got totally carried away at school, but then he starts to laugh.
“Yep,” he says, straightening his sweatshirt and smoothing his hair. “Definitely don’t need any more biology lessons.”
That night at my house, we’re sitting on the den couch doing homework. He’s reading Fahrenheit 451 for English and I’m doing my calculus, which I do not understand in the least and I’m hoping will click real soon. Reclining against the armrest, I put my feet in his lap. Yeah, it’s forward of me, but he’s just so cute and it seems only fair after he riled me up in study hall today. He looks down at my socks for a long moment, then rests a hand on top of them.
We keep working in silence. When I rub my foot along his thigh, he responds by massaging it. His thumb grazes my arch, sending shivers up my spine.
“What are your parents doing?” he asks.
“Event over at the chamber of commerce.”
“Do you know how long they’ll be gone?”
“Another hour, I think.”
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?”