Chapter One: Kissing

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Ophelia:

It started with Luke helping me with my math homework. It's my worst subject and I hate it. He, on the other hand, did really well in math in high-school. He's a really patient tutor and I think I'm starting to understand that whole thing about graphing quadratics and solving polynomials.

Except, somehow we end up making-out on his bed. He sits with his back to the headboard, propped up with pillows, and I stay perched on his lap with my legs tucked behind me and we just... well... kiss.

Kissing Luke is my favourite thing in the whole universe. Better than ice-cream, better than fro-yo. Even, I'll admit, better than Jane Austen. Now that was a frightening realization, let me tell you.

He keeps his hands on my waist usually. Sometimes runs them through my hair, pushes it away from my face. Sometimes he'll keep a hand resting on the small of my back, on my shoulder-blades, or he'll hold my face, brush a rough thumb across my cheek, my jaw.

I like touching him, too. He just feels so... good. So perfect. His body is tall and lean and firm and hard... I wrap my arms around his neck sometimes, or sift them through the soft, dark waves of his tousled hair, or let them float across his shoulders, or rest my palms against the top of his chest.

When Luke and I kiss, every part of me lights up, a thousand times brighter than normal. My entire body just hums. My insides turn all soft and fluttery, and goosebumps break out all over my skin, and heat pools low in my abdomen, and everything tingles and ignites and gets all warm and mushy...

His lips are so soft. When he first kissed me, we just used our lips, pressed them together, moved them softly against each other. Took a small break for air before our mouths met again. It felt so nice, especially because I could tell, from how gentle but firm and tender his kisses were that he cares about me, that he likes me and that I mean something to him.

But then, at some point, my lips parted and my mouth opened a little. And then he started using his tongue.

Oh my God. His tongue is warm and soft and wet and he sweeps it gently across my lips, slips it into my mouth, brushes it against my tongue, my teeth. I taste more of him this way.

And of course, I use my tongue, too. I know he likes it. A lot, I think. I kinda nudge and stroke his tongue with mine. A little here and there, in between the twisting movement of our lips. He tastes like... like Luke.

Like my boyfriend.

He's my boyfriend. Best. Boyfriend. Ever.

And... the sounds he makes? So hot. Small, low groans, teeny rough growls from the back of his throat, short little breaths.

When we kiss each other, our mouths make these soft, slick wet noises together.

My favourite is when he nips gently at my lips with his lips, or with his teeth. On occasion, he'll give my bottom lip a soft bite and then suck it into the warm of his mouth. I always let out this stupid whimpering sound, I can't help it, and there's a stab of burning heat that lights up at the centre of me, makes me feel so... womanly.

The last couple times, he's started kissing my neck. I really like that. I tilt my head back and he winds his fingers into my hair. His lips trail down my jaw, caress the column of my neck, like a faint, tickling whisper.

His tongue darts out to slide across my skin and then his lips press firmly against where my pulse is racing. Grazes his teeth there a little. Oh... he gives the tender flesh of my neck a hard suck and a breathy, surprised gasp escapes me, and my body arches into him.

I can feel him beneath me, in front of me, against me... He exudes heat. It rolls in waves off his strong body.

He floats his mouth down to my collar, presses a hot, wet kiss to where my shoulder meet my neck and then gives me a soft bite there, his breath so warm and humid... And the little bit of dark, rough scruff that coats his jaw scrapes so deliciously against my skin... I grasp onto his t-shirt maybe a little too hard and my hips tremble as so many sensations burst inside me, hot and cold and soft and prickly and wow.

He makes a gruff humming noise with his head buried in my shoulder and then his big hands drift down to hold onto my hips, a little lower than he usually grabs me. He keeps me still when all I want to do is squirm against him, wiggle a little to ease the growing discomfort in the pit of my gut.

"Ophelia, baby. We should..." He presses his forehead to mine before resting his head back against the headboard, licking his lips, letting out a deep breath.

He is so, so gorgeous. After we make-out he looks even better. His hair is usually so messy and his cheeks get all flushed and his lips go pinker, fuller.

His brown eyes become darker when he kisses me. He looks at me and his pupils expand, and if I'm looking into his eyes I can watch the second it happens and it's mesmerizing.

He holds my face in his hands so his palms press into my cheeks, looks at me with that hooded gaze of his that he gets after we kiss like this. The expression he wears... it's like, tired but energized and dazed but awake and...

I lean forward so I can feel his mouth on mine again but he keeps me at a distance with his hands holding my head.

I don't want to stop. I love the way my body feels when I'm kissing him and holding him and touching him, when he's kissing me and holding me and touching me.

He combs my hair back, rests his forehead against mine, nudges our noses together. "We should probably... finish your homework, right?"

Is he seriously thinking about my math homework when we're kissing? Really?

Here I am, unable to form logical thought because of the fireworks and butterflies and rainbows and unicorns... unable to focus on anything except him, his mouth, his hands, his body.

And he's thinking about math homework.

"You'd rather finish my math homework than make-out with me?" My voice sounds so breathless and hoarse and confused.

A short, low growling sound, and then something like a pained moan. He raises an eyebrow at me, leans back against the dark wooden slab behind him. "No, Feelz. Of course not, it's..." He sifts a hand distractedly through his hair and his arm flexes a little, tan and smooth and contoured with lean muscle.

Watching his body move like that makes me want to kiss him some more.

I bite my lip and his eyes immediately float down to my mouth. By now I think I know that when he looks at my mouth it's because he's thinking about kissing me.

I rest my hands against his solid chest, tip forward so my face is closer to his. His hands fly back down to hold my hips and I love the way that feels, too. A strangled sound rumbles at the back of his throat. "Fee. Baby. I... love kissing you. Maybe... too much, you know? Sometimes we need to... uh... take a break and do other things, otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?"

He closes his eyes, takes a couple measured breaths. "Otherwise," he eventually says, "We might... move too fast. You know. Get too..." He shakes his head, and he looks like he's blushing. "Damn. Come on, Ophelia, help me out here. I'm trying to be responsible."

"Responsible, because..."

He stares back at me, a mixture of awe and disbelief on his face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

I purse my lips. He's acting like there's something so obvious he's trying to tell me and I'm not getting it. "I'm not sure what you're saying, Luke. We were... kissing, and it felt really good, and..." I can't help it when my mouth turns up into a little bit of a pout. "And then suddenly you were talking about my math homework. I don't..."

"Oh, Feelz," he breathes. "Sweetheart." He shakes his head, scrubs a hand across the lower-half of his face. Closes his eyes, again, as if it's easier not to look at me. "Listen, Fee. We should probably... talk. About... you know. This... stuff that we're... um. Doing."

"Kissing?"

"Yeah. Kissing."

Well, he told me he likes kissing me, didn't he?

"What do we need to talk about?" I ask softly. My brain isn't... really too interested in having a serious conversation right now, you know?

I press myself closer to him, shift a little in his lap so I can wind my arms around his waist, rest my head in the crook of his shoulder. He grunts a little before his arms come around me too, pulling me towards him and hugging me. "Feelz," he mumbles against the top of my hair. "I'm gonna tell you something and I need you to listen carefully, okay? It's kinda important."

"I'm listening."

"Okay. Well... Kissing you is... amazing. So amazing."

"I agree."

"Good. So, the thing is... kissing isn't just... kissing? Like, when we're kissing... I can... um." I feel the ripple that passes through his body as he swallows. "I can feel you, and smell you, and... when you're sitting on my lap like this..."

"It's nice."

"Very nice," he agrees. He chuckles a little before continuing. "The thing is... damn. The thing is that it feels really good, right? Like, too good. Like..."

"Really good, Luke."

"Mhm." I can feel his abdomen rise and fall with his breaths as my chest crushes against him. Which also feels really nice. "And... I don't want to get carried away. Because, you're..." He clears his throat while his fingers press into my back, the pressure sending little zings of electricity through my blouse, through the rest of me. "Ah, hell. Feelz. When we make-out and you're sitting on my lap and I can feel you like this, it... it turns me on, baby. I don't wanna lose control and... take things too far, okay?"

Wait.

Me.

Ophelia Kathryn Stone.

Him.

Luke Wilson Rowley.

Kissing me... turns him on?

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh."

Instinctively, my eyes drift down between us to a part of his body that I really... haven't been thinking about. Is it just me or does it look... bigger?

He pulls me gently away from him, holds my face in those big rough man hands of his. "So, when I start talking about... math homework, it's because... things are getting a little too hot for me and we need to take a breather so I can calm down a little, okay?"

His words, his explanations, and everything they imply flips some kind of switch inside me.

Of course, Ophelia. Stupid. He's eighteen. Didn't you pay attention in sex-ed? I know you missed a class that time because you had the flu, but...

"Okay. I'll, um... move, now."

"That's, uh, a good idea."

Except now I'm busy thinking about Luke being turned on by me, and... me being turned on by him, and... Oh darn.

Why does everything feel so... warm?

Is it bad that suddenly I'm thinking about his... his, you know... thing?

And, is it bad that thinking about his thing makes me curious and restless and breathless?

Jane Austen didn't prepare me for this.

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A/N:

Who knew Gavin and Melanie would raise such a sexually-naïve teenager?

Two questions.

Number one: are sixteen years-olds really this naïve these days?

Number two: share your first kiss story with us!

XOXO Ami

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