Chapter 25 [M]
Billie moved from the counter top. She leaned against the nearest doorway, overhearing John exchange a few words with the person on the other side. It went silent a moment later and she heard the noise of a cart as it was rolled into the apartment. Their dinner was obviously placed within the lidded silver trays and she smiled at the presentation. Before advancing further John looked to her with a smile.
"Go make yourself comfortable, let me set up." He sounded excited and proud of what he had done. She moved into the next room, leaning then against the arm of the sofa to keep an eye on him. He divided the trays, leaving some on the counters in the kitchen, and picked up plates and silverware from an organized and uncluttered cupboard and brought them to the little table in the living room. He set two places, finishing each side with a wineglass. "Come sit," he called to her quietly.
She rose and moved to the table, smiling as she sat in one of the chairs. John still moved around her, filling the glasses and placing a dish of food in front of her and on his side. He went back to the kitchen for salt and pepper in tiny shakers and other condiments so that soon the table became cluttered. Just when he began to slow he remembered with an audible "oh" and went to the kitchen again. He brought back with him two candles and fit them into the table, drawing a match and lighting them both. He sauntered further into the living room and touched a radio, pleasant melodies flooding out a second later. Billie watched him in amusement, he disappearing just one more time and while he was gone the lights dimmed.
"Okay," he breathed, standing near the table and running his hands over his shirt. "What else do we need? Can I get you anything?"
Her smile twitched to a smirk and when she attempted an alluring voice she had no idea the effect it had on him. "Sit down."
Holding his breath he obeyed. Slipping into the table across from her he could look at nothing else. In the candlelight her eyes held a new kind of spark. When she looked at him there was intent in her gaze, the likes of which he had not seen before. He felt overpowered and dumb with it. In just one look she had managed to flip the positions in the room- she was in control now.
"Thank you," she told him. His skin looked extra warm in the yellow glow, the contours of his face yearning to be touched. "This looks..." and for the first time her eyes went from his and down to the food in front of her. "...expensive."
"You deserve it."
Her gaze went up to his in another smirk before she took a bite of the food. It tasted as good as it looked. He had ordered gourmet quality meals, and several courses of them. Every so often, even if they were in the middle of an easy conversation, John would rise and bring in the next course. His movements were jerky and nervous; he felt so in her presence and didn't know how to mask or eliminate it. After the first course Billie began to pace herself and take smaller portions.
"I don't know if I can finish," she told him, guilty that he'd spent so much time and money on a meal for any of it to go to waste.
"Don't worry, doll. Eat what you want, don't worry about the rest."
She starred at him. He too was only half-heatedly attempting to eat his dinner. He had gone to great lengths to pull such a thing off for her. She thought that his generosity and care were equal, if not more so, to his physical beauty. While watching him he met her eyes frequently. Blushing she looked away and tried to focus on something else.
"You haven't touched your drink," she observed, sounding to care much more than she really did. He smirked, seeing that she hadn't either, but picking another point to reply on.
"I probably should or you might spill it all over me again."
He spoke with a smile and laughter in his voice. Billie knew he was teasing, and enjoying it thoroughly, and mocked offense. Her mouth opened wide but as she tried to hold seriousness she let out a giggle. "That was an accident."
"A good accident," he added quietly with dark eyes.
"A very good accident."
They were both remembering that night, the time they had first met. She had been clumsy but now it was a reminder of how well it had paid off. In that moment she was tired of the dinner taking place, it being nothing but a distraction, and wanted to move past those formal steps until she could freely be with him. Her voice came out sultry again but this time without effort. "Let's move on to dessert."
Catching her meaning, or what he imagined it to be, a lopsided smirk spread on his lips. He stood silently and cleared the table. When he returned with dessert it was on a single plate for them to share. Tiramisu. He asked if she liked it, which she did and he could see the satisfaction in her eyes. Inwardly he cheered himself for making an agreeable decision. However, when he sat down again she seemed more interested in him than the dessert.
"May I take my usual seat?"
It was his turn to feel satisfied. Her voice, so light and curious, held so much power. When he scooted back some she rose and let herself into his open lap. They were physically close again and in the darkness it made things seem even more intimate. Their arms once again went around each other, and Billie leaned into the table to retrieve a fork. She took the first bite of the treat, smiling at the rich and sweet texture. He watched her lips and how the cake disappeared in her mouth and took a deep breath. When she filled her fork again she brought it to his mouth to taste.
The sugar and coca and hints of coffee instantly took affect in his mouth. Something that sweet and rich could almost cause a physical reaction. It might have been the chocolate; he'd heard that it could sometimes act as an aphrodisiac. She too had chewed and swallowed the treat and he couldn't help but imagine what her mouth tasted like in just that moment. He tried to distract himself.
"You know..." he mumbled as he finished his bite and she continued to eat. "...I recall you saying you were going to speak Indian to me."
She laughed. "'Speak Indian?'" She remembered too but before giving in gave him a briefing of the facts. It was the Menominee language and it was somewhat like speaking Algonquian. He wouldn't exactly know what that meant, nor would he know the similarities and differences. He wouldn't even be aware if all that she said was incorrect, but she thought it important to give him the basics.
"Alright. Let's start with..." She leaned back in his lap and reached over the table, picking up the filled wineglass. She held the glass between both of them and shook the cup gently in her hand, the liquid inside swirling. "Nepew."
He smiled at the pleasant sound of her voice. Her accent could easily dispel French as well as this Native tongue. "Wine?"
"No," she shook her head and swirled the dark liquid again, attempting to make a point. She held the glass higher, as if it were helping any, and brought it closer to his face to emphasize.
"...liquid?" he guessed and her shoulders dropped in defeat.
"Water," she explained, putting the glass safely back on the table. He chuckled lightly, hoping she wasn't done. For Billie the game had just begun. This time she retrieved a fork from the table and held it up for him to see. "Sūniyan."
He smirked as the words became more intricate, looking from her pouted lips when she pronounced the word to the object she held up. His answer was obvious. "Fork."
Again she shook her head, tapping the thing to get her point across. "Utensil?"
"No," she giggled, putting the fork back upon the table. "Silver. It could also mean money, but, silver..."
In the background he tried to repeat the word, pronouncing it incorrectly. She said it again for him and he tried another time. They both starting snickering at his attempts, Billie leaning in closer. She touched his cheeks with her fingertips, moving them as he spoke to demonstrate where to put the emphasis. They were being so close and playful that he started to realize within himself that it was getting harder to hold back. They broke apart with smiles, she turning away from him to fill the fork with a bite of cake. When she faced him again she brought the dessert to his lips where he consumed the sweetness.
" Mīcehswan."
As he chewed his face scrunched in confusion. "They have a word for Tiramisu?"
She threw back her head in a gentle but definite laugh. Her neck exposed long and bare in front of him, he wishing once again to trail that surface with his lips. "No! That meant 'food.'"
When she looked at him his eyes were dark again but glittering in the flame. He had that stare. He was thinking many thoughts, all that she would never know and none she could even guess. Under his eyes his lips were drawn in a smirk and as she observed them she saw little remnants of the dessert on the side of his lips. Her hand outstretched and her thumb wiped away the crumbs, taking an extra moment even after the crumbs were removed to trace his lip with her finger. She felt the breath leave his nose, his general breathing becoming deeper.
John reached up himself. He touched the hand that held the fingers that touched him. He did not pull her away but kept her to him, bringing her fingers to cover more of his lips. He kissed her fingertips, once, twice. It felt as though her breath caught within her chest. His eyes went from being heavy lidded to suddenly piercing into hers. His hand twisted her own around, bringing her knuckles and the back of her hand to be slowly kissed next.
"And what's the word for this?" he whispered, continuing to pucker his lips against her skin.
Seconds passed that seemed like days. She couldn't think whether or not she knew the answer to his question. Her body moved before her mind, her hand coming up and touching his cheek. His skin was smooth and soft- he must have shaved just moments before picking her up. From the second that she leaned in she had stopped thinking completely; urge had taken over and she had made the decision to follow through.
Her lips touched his and John felt everything in the room and time itself slow. The horns and rhythms playing on the radio were completely forgotten. The fact that she had made the move first stunned him with pleasure. Had he been able to think he would have realized that he may never had been able to do so himself and her lead was what he was really anticipating and relying upon. Their lips puckered, pushed and pressed against each other for some moments. When they separated it was barely at all and it created no distance between them but was just an effort to arrange their mouths.
John accelerated the movements, his lips concentrating on the bottom of hers, sucking for a moment and then savoring. In turn she lightly parted her lips, the upper grazing across the remnants of a stubbly mustache that wanted to grow. His skin was moist but not entirely from her kisses. Daringly her tongue appeared and followed her lips, she tasting the light saltiness of his sweat. He could feel her lips hovering, her mouth open, and he waited a moment to feel the warmth of her breath release and then took her gaping mouth as an invitation. His tongue slid smoothly into her mouth, meeting her own and feeling electric sparks run through his body. As the kiss intensified he leaned forward, his long fingers curling into her hair as he cradled her head, an effort that caused the chair to screech against the floor from his heavy movement. John's other hand grasp at her side.
It was not as though Billie had never kissed before- she had, once, a young Native boy who lived on the same reservation. She assumed him to be her crush and they had kissed one another simply to see what it was like, and after the fact she felt safe to say he was merely a friend with little romantic attachment. The quality of her first kiss was lacking and more technical than emotional. Now it was as though she were learning the true meaning. What she did meant nothing if it wasn't accepted by him, and having his full attention and effort created the magical and rather numbing experience.
In the moments the muscle of her mouth tasted his and all the contours surrounding it Billie thought of nothing else. She did not imagine what Mary would think should she find them engaging in such an act, nor Audrey, nor her own mother. In the present those people hardly existed, if not for in a far dark corner of her consciousness that she had momentarily shut down. In his mouth she tasted his breath; coffee and extract of something sweet yet bitter, like liquor, and evaporating hints of the previous courses.
Their tongues did not just remain contained to the mouth but swiped at lips. Billie became more adventurous and John felt his own lips becoming captive to her flicks and sucks. His groin area swelled uncomfortably below him and his hands became more restless and anxious as she increased tempo with her mouth. The hand that fell from her hair caressed her neck and shoulder eagerly on its way down, the other rising and hovering near the curve of her chest. Every action he made, every daring advance, he imagined her stopping the whole thing, spitting him out of her mouth and slapping away his hands. When this did not happen after each move he made he became more and more astounded and aroused. He hardly knew what he was doing but it appeared to be right and if he thought about it too much he would become nervous and incapable.
His hands moved together, sliding high to the ridge of her breasts and then slowly down over them, feeling the smooth and taught muscles of her stomach below. As his hands crossed the softness of the small mass of breasts he groaned audibly against her mouth. Once Billie heard that she was taken to a new level. It was the biggest arousal she had, that male utter of sensitivity and passion. She had made him make that sound. She had power, sensuality and effect. She felt as much of a woman as he imagined her to be.
Another eagerness rushed through her. She leaned in to him, arching him backward as her teeth pressed, heavy with lust, upon his bottom lip. In her position on his lap she rose her lower body and adjusted to face him fully, swinging her legs to both sides of him, straddling his lap. At this same time she had captured his tongue with her teeth first, and when he arched his head back her lips sucked against its length, drawing it completely out of his mouth until she too released and leaned back. The action, mixed with her new positioning, was so sensual and affecting in its intention that he moaned again and involuntarily thrust his lower body upward.
His arousal was clear to her without the added convulsion that plunged it closer to her core. For the first time since the initial kiss their eyes met. Both of their breathing was heavy and labored. They had passed the kind of imaginary line where denial of any kind was relatively ridiculous. They were there and there was no turning back. Her hands lowered to rest against his chest as she eyed the view behind him. Her eyes stopped upon a clean and tightly made bed. Was that where they were to go? It looked looming and dangerous there in the darkness, still and intimidating and yet...comfortable. Dare she say appropriate.
Her gaze lingered so long on some outside source that John turned his head to see as well. All that greeted him was a darkened doorway and an even darker bedroom beyond. Bed. She was looking at the bed. His heart quickened in awe and exhilaration. He got a sudden flash of flesh and tangling limbs and abruptly found the present again in her curious and exquisite blue eyes. He gulped.
"We don-don't..." he stumbled. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "We don't have to..."
Her eyes parted from his to take one more gander at the bed. Some kind of deliberating must have been going on in her mind but really there was little of the sort. It was the first time he'd spoken since they had passed a point in their relationship and there was nothing to do but progress. In the second that her eyes flipped back toward his she leaned forward, answering him with a kiss.
Hungrily his lips attacked hers again. The gesture was more than understood. John leaned into her, pushing both of their bodies forward as he made to stand. The weight of her was hardly burdensome but he tucked a hand against her skirt to support her backside and rose. The muscles of own arms strained and surged to grab her while hers delicately wrapped around his neck. Their lips were still entwined. As he carried her to the bed their bodies brushed against the table and a light racket of crackling china tinkered behind them.