Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

Chapter Two: We meet again.

I let the scalding water cascade down my body until it rushed past my feet and down the drain in a soapy clockwise cyclone. It felt good. The water. My body. The daydreams I was having about her, of her fingers tripping over my skin, making me do things, making me feel things. Things I'd never done or felt before.

If it weren't for the woman in the shower stall beside me, I'd be doing some of those things right now.

My hair twisted up in the towel that sat balanced on my head, my body wrapped up in the oversized terry cloth bathrobe, I padded back to my dorm room to get ready for my…I wasn't sure what to call it...date, I guess, with Bette.

I felt giddy. Positively like a virgin bride, no, better than a virgin bride, because I'd already had what I thought I might be getting again.

Her.

More of her.

I picked out my favorite pair of jeans, a silky royal blue t-shirt, and a pair of heels. After applying make up, drying my hair, straightening my hair, I checked myself in the mirror.

God. It was so obvious; written all over my face, my flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, swollen lips, never-ending smile. I was hopeless.

Hopelessly infatuated.

I turned to take in the side view, making a face because I wasn't entirely okay with what I saw, but I didn't have time to change, so I'd just have to deal with it. I grabbed my keys and jacket and headed out the door. I was meeting her at the French Meadow, a restaurant near campus, and I didn't want to be late.

I flashed my fake I.D. at the waitress and she nodded disinterestedly, having performed her perfunctory duty to check my age before pouring the Pinot Grigio into my waiting glass. Bette had already been sitting there, the bottle of wine chilling beside the table, her glass already half drunk.

"I'm notorious for being early," she offered by way of explanation as I took the seat across from her.

She was stunning, her mocha skin glowing in the half-light, her dark eyes sparkling as the yellow flame from the candle danced and skipped across them. Her curly hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her smile, her lips. God, I couldn't stop staring at them.

She smiled, shifting in her seat, a soft chuckle spilling from her lips. She folded her hands in front of her, resting her chin on them, cocking her head. "You'll need to stop doing that, Kate, if we're going to get through dinner."

Her voice was like velvet.

I quirked an eyebrow, "Doing what?" I asked, my eyes rising to meet hers and I blushed.

She laughed, and I melted.

"That. Staring at me. At my lips." She leaned forward. "It makes me want to do dirty things to you."

I'm sure my mouth fell open because she was laughing again, her whole face brightening, her eyes a reflection of wanton desire. She reached across the table, her perfectly manicured fingers tracing a line over the back of my hand. Her voice low, she whispered, "Very dirty things."

I swallowed, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, rising there too, and I took a sip of my wine, my eyes still locked on hers. I set the glass down.

"I think I'd like that."

Day Two

I stretched and yawned, my eyes blinking open as I oriented myself to time and place. I rolled over.

And, she smiled at me.

"Good morning, Kate" she purred, her face resting softly on the pillow. She was laying on her stomach, her arms tucked beneath her, the sheet covering her from the waist down, and my eyes naturally wandered to the dip in her back, the delicious place where her smooth russet skin rearranged itself into two small dimples. I wanted to kiss them, to dip my tongue into them and taste her salty flesh.

I smiled, rolling to my side, tucking one hand beneath the pillow, the other I let fall in front of me on the sheet. "Good morning," I replied, my voice a hoarse whisper.

She reached out and took my hand with hers, her eyes never leaving mine. She gently caressed my fingers, my palm, the back of my hand, before she raised her head and took my forefinger into her mouth.

I gasped, my belly contracting as she gently sucked, swirling my finger around with her tongue. She must have surely tasted herself on it, because it was that finger that had been inside of her last night.

I wiggled beneath the sheets at the thought of it, of her sweaty writhing body beneath me, my fingers deeply inside of her, my thumb coaxing her, drawing the sharp orgasm from her body, feeling it cascade around my hand as she came, my name spilling from her lips over and over as though it were some holy Gregorian chant.

I watched with hooded eyes her slow seduction of my finger, my lips parting, my vision unfocused, my heart speeding up like a runaway freight train, and I sighed.

I had no idea what we were doing. I had no idea where this was going. But, for the first time in my nineteen years, I felt liberated. Free. Alive.

And, I liked it.