Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

Chapter Twenty: Wet.

Day Ten

I heard the shower turn on and immediately swept the expanse of the mattress beside me.

She was gone.

I smiled.

I tiptoed into the bathroom, the silhouette of her naked body against the shower curtain already sending shards of pleasure throughout my aching sex. I opened the curtain, my heart thudding against my ribcage.

She looked up, a bar of soap in one hand, a loofah sponge in the other. And, then she smiled, drawing me into the shower with her. She dropped the soap and the sponge; they landed at our feet, swirling around in the water that cycloned there, and she wrapped her arms around my waist, her mouth urgent against mine, her tongue relentless and daring.

I was already so wet, so ready, the pleasurable throbbing at my center compelling me to grab her hand and shove it between my legs. I ached for her, needed her, wanted her.

I didn't have to ask, or tell, or command, or beg. She knew just what to do.

She fucked me.

Right there, in the shower, she fucked me with her fingers. Using her thumb to coax my clit, tease it, bring me higher and higher, closer to release. I clutched at her, my fingers digging into her flesh, leaving angry red marks from my too-long nails. I raised one leg and wrapped it around her, my mouth at her throat, my lips and teeth and tongue ravishing her, the moans and sharp breaths coming from her mouth a reward of my eager ministrations.

She shoved me against the hard tile of the wall, the warm water cascading over my body, her fingers still plunging in and out of me, her thumb circling my clit, and I thought that I would surely break apart, shatter into a million sharp pieces all over her well-tiled bathroom, satiated, happy, vibrating pieces.

I climbed higher and higher, could barely keep my breath, could barely stay upright, my legs wanting to give in, even as they held me up with a strength I didn't know I had.

She moved her free hand to my left breast, covering it with her palm and then teasing the nipple with her fingers, pinching it, twisting, its rise and stiffening a prize of her effort. She lowered her head, curling her lips around my nipple, sucking, licking, blowing on it.

And, then.

She bit me.

I cried out, arcing my back towards her, my hands grabbing either side of her head until she let go, and rose up to meet me. Her breath was warm and inviting, smelling of coffee and vanilla, her tongue probing, erotic, waltzing from my mouth to hers, then back to mine where it engaged in a dangerous, furious, carnal dance.

My belly contracted, the orgasm just on the other side of ugh, and I bucked wildly against her hand, a long loud string of dirty words coasting past my lips, echoing around the small bathroom, ringing in our ears. That must have turned her on, because in spite of the heat from the shower, her whole body broke out into a sea of very wet goose bumps and she moaned in my ear, her tongue darting out to lave its shell. She ground her hips against me, her hand still urgently coaxing me, and I was close, so close.

And, then I came, plummeted over the edge by my name dripping from her lips, her seductive voice as smooth as velvet, 'Kate, come for me, Kate.'

I held on, my arms wrapped tightly around her torso, my breasts smashed with hers, her nipples like hard round gumdrops against my chest, and, as I cried out with each glorious wave of the orgasm, I could feel her biting into my shoulder, the ridge of her teeth dangerous, playful, raw and primal. She clamped down, not so hard that she drew blood, but hard enough that it sent a sharp stinging sensation through the soft flesh of my shoulder. I imagined the bite marks that would be left there and another ripple of pleasure coursed through me like the aftershock of an earthquake.

And then, suddenly, inexplicably, catching me completely by surprise, an 'I love you' bubbled up from my throat and tumbled past my lips; unbidden, unexpected, but there it was, honest, open, hanging in the air between us as though suspended there by forces greater than I.

I blinked, shocked that I'd just said it, less shocked that I felt it, not expecting her to reply, necessarily, but not expecting silence, either, which was what she gave me. I had felt her flinch, though, just the slightest jerk, barely noticeable, but it was there. It was telling me what I didn't want to know.

So, I ignored it.

As I came down from the orgasm, my body still shuddering with pleasure, I slipped my hand between her legs, my fingers finding her wet and soft, ready. But, she curled her fingers around my wrist, placing her lips softly on my ear.

"No time, Kate," she whispered. "I'm running late."

I stopped, felt my body go rigid, my cheeks grow hot. "Oh," I whispered. "Oh."

She framed my face with her hands, her lips soft on mine as she kissed me, and then she leaned back to gaze into my eyes, her fingers still caressing my face. She must have sensed my confusion. "I loved this," she explained. "I did. You surprised me, Kate."

I smiled, reaching for her waist, trying to pull her towards me.

"But, I have a meeting I have to get to. And, I can't be late."

I dropped my hands to my sides, trying to hide my disappointment. "Oh, okay." I stammered. "Okay. I'll let you finish."

I hurried out of the shower, grabbing the nearest towel to wrap around my dripping body, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Why had I felt so rejected? She did have a busy day ahead; I knew that she had to be at a meeting today, what was the big deal?

I toweled off and padded back to her bedroom, slipping into my clothes from the night before, a pair of faded jeans and a cornflower blue T-shirt. I wiggled my feet into flip-flops and angrily dragged a comb through my wet hair, chastising myself for feeling like a bad-tempered adolescent.

I heard the shower turn off, the curtain slide open, the door click closed.

Why had she closed the door?

I stared at it, as though willing it to open, feeling rejected and shut out, and then I shook my head, I was being stupid. Maybe she'd just closed it because the air coming in from the main room was cold.

That's not it, Kate. You know that's not it.

I bit the inside of my cheek and draped the damp towel on the hook protruding from her closet door, blinking back tears.

You said 'I love you.'

I found a hair tie on top of her dresser and pulled my long locks into a pony tail, then I shrugged into my Stanford sweatshirt and walked towards the tiny kitchen, noticing that she'd already made a pot of coffee. I poured a cup, taking a sip and leaning against the counter, a heavy sigh tumbling past my lips.

And, she didn't say 'I love you' back, Kate.

The bathroom door opened and Bette breezed out, a waft of steam following her. She stopped when she saw me, smiling, the oversized white towel draping her body, hiding her curves. She looked like she wanted to say something but then thought better of it. She nodded, and then headed towards the bedroom area, opening her closet and pulling out a navy blue business suit and white blouse.

I watched her as she tentatively slipped out of the towel, her flawless mocha skin glistening and perfect, and I felt the familiar stirring between my legs. I tried to tamp it down.

She quickly dressed, her hair curling around her face as it air-dried, and when she slipped into a pair of high heels, she finally walked to me, standing in front of me.

"Will I see you later?" I asked, cursing the tremor in my voice, a betrayal of my sudden anxiety.

She shook her head, gently taking the mug from my hands and helping herself to a quick drink of my coffee. "I'm stuck in meetings all day, and then I have to sit in on a panel tonight at the CAC," she handed me the mug, her eyes meeting mine. "I'll call you when I'm done?"

I nodded mutely, desperately hoping my disappointment didn't show. I needed to study tonight, anyway, so this was just as well. Except why did I feel like I had a rock in my stomach? And why did it suddenly feel so weird between us? Like in the time it takes to blink your eye, something had shifted, something had changed between us, and I felt tentative, unsure, without hope.

She kissed me, and when we parted, she softly traced my lips with the pad of her thumb. "Tomorrow, okay? I want to take you to a new Indie film I heard about. You game?"

"Yeah. I'd like that," I replied, smiling, hoping the embarrassment in my cheeks didn't show.

"Good," she glanced at her wristwatch. "I need to go. Can I give you a ride to your dorm?"

I shook my head and set the mug down. "No, I um, I'm fine. I think I'll walk."

She glanced down at my feet, probably assessing that it was an awfully long walk for flip-flops. "You sure? It's not a problem."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I replied, shoving myself off of the counter and smiling at her, again, stupidly, fighting back against the gnawing uncertainty I was feeling. "I'll be fine," I reached out and tapped her elbow. "Hope your meetings go well."

Something flickered across her face, I couldn't tell what, but I knew I saw something.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "I really am sorry, Kate," she offered.

"Sorry?" I asked, desperately trying to be as nonchalant as I didn't feel. "For what?"

She stepped closer, invading my personal space. "For not being able to finish. You know, what you started this morning." She brushed her lips over mine, her breath warm and smelling like coffee. "But, I promise, we will pick up where we left off, okay?"

I chuckled, leaning into her, feeling just the slightest relief. "Okay."

She kissed me again, this time longer, her tongue roaming, curious, meeting mine in a languid ballet, and I felt my knees go weak, my mind tossing around the events of this morning, juggling them with the expertise of a carnival clown. A score of butterflies took flight in my stomach.

She pulled away, wiping her bottom lip with the tip of her finger, her eyes dancing in the sunlight. She moaned, a coy grin curling her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," she purred, her eyes full of promise. But, reflecting something else, as well. Something dark and sad, troubling, like a harbinger of pain.

But, I ignored it, too. Or, I tried to, at least.

I nodded, following her out the door. "Tomorrow," I blurted. "I'm already looking forward to it."

We journeyed silently down the hallway until we exited the front door of her building where she turned and hastily embraced me. We kissed, quickly, softly, almost as an afterthought, and then she slid into her car.

And, as she drove away, and I stood there feeling stupid and unexpectedly insignificant, I noted with a passing banality that her hair was still wet.

Which seemed like a silly thing to be noticing.

Except, for the fact, that, so was I.