Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

Previously...

I kissed her like it was our last time, deliberate and thoughtful, almost meditative, her taste, her scent, sending my thoughts spinning into the ether, replaced by the raw, primal ache that always overtook me when she kissed me like this.

And then the thought skittered past my brain like an infestation and I pulled away, holding her face with both hands, searching her eyes, looking for the awful truth.

"God, Bette. Are you…breaking up with me?"

Chapter Twenty-Six: Again, But This Time With Feeling.

"No. Oh, Kate," she whispered, her voice strangled and hoarse. "No, I'm just, it's just," she smiled, her gaze dropping to my lips. "You're just so extraordinary. Sometimes you take my breath away."

I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.

But in my relief, I failed to notice when her eyes darted to her lap, her lip quivering, her expression uncertain and troubled. All I'd heard was no. No, she wasn't breaking up with me. No, we weren't over. No, I wasn't losing her. At that moment, nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

I kissed her with a renewed fervor, a comforted passion, my tongue exploring her mouth, tracing the dangerous ridge of her teeth before pulling her lower lip between my own, nipping, playing, mischievous and erotic. She moaned and I sipped it up, inching closer to her, my hand wandering to her breast, cupping it over the thin fabric of her silken blouse, enjoying the sharp intake of breath as she shuddered beneath my touch.

She slipped one hand between my legs, her fingers curling against me, teasing me, coaxing me, and it wasn't long before I felt the familiar tug of pleasure unfurl itself from my center, rippling throughout my body; pangs of ecstasy licking between my legs, urging me to do something, now.

Right now.

She'd slipped her hand beneath my t-shirt, under my bra, her fingers pinching my already erect nipple, pulling and twisting, her palm massaging me as we kissed. I inhaled her scent, vanilla and lavender, her taste, sweet like honey, her touch, thrilling, erotic, primal.

She crossed the short expanse between us, straddling my lap, reaching beside me for the lever to lower my seat and I reclined to an almost horizontal position. She was ravenous, looking down at me with a cat-like hunger, her mocha skin softly illuminated by the moonlight, her hair framing her face, wild and untamed, her eyes a dark pool of lust, of mischief, of deep-down need.

I pulled her towards me, my hands roaming beneath her blouse, my fingers tripping over her ribcage as her tongue explored the warm, wanting cavern of my mouth. I completely forgot that we were in a car, that anyone could walk by at any minute and see us. I didn't care. I only wanted her, needed her.

She yanked my t-shirt up and over my head, pushing my bra up to expose my breasts. And then she ravaged me, her tongue, her teeth teasing my nipples as her hands quickly unzipped my jeans, plunging between my legs, finding me wet and already aroused, ready.

She entered me.

I cried out, my words being swallowed by her as her mouth descended upon me, her tongue teasing my lips apart, coaxing me, taunting me, loving me.

At least, at the time, that's what I thought it was.

She thrust her fingers in and out of me, her thumb pressing against my clit, and I felt like I could break apart, shatter into a million sharp pieces, willingly damaged by her dangerous touch, her carnal attentions.

I wanted her to come with me. I reached for the waistband of her jeans, quickly unbuttoning them, tugging on the zipper, slipping my hand beneath her silken underwear.

She was wet, she was so wet, and when my fingers found her, she paused as all of the breath escaped her lungs in one long, slow exhale, my name ascending her throat at the last like an exclamation point.

I circled her clit, savoring the feel of her soft flesh against my fingertips, the downy hair that tickled my palm, her scent, primal, sexy, drawing me to her like a moth to light.

She was making me crazy.

With eager, nimble fingers, coaxing hands, swollen lips, stimulated flesh, we fucked each other, establishing a synchronous rhythm. She gazed at me, her eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed, then open, as though she were in a battle with herself between wanting to concentrate on her attentions to me, and savoring what I was doing to her.

I watched. I watched her, even as I felt myself spiral, break apart, sharp pain and pleasure rippling through me, even as the orgasm licked at the edge of my shore, I watched her. And I knew, I knew when she was going to come.

At last, furiously, we came together, holding our breath, crying out, a string of Oh Gods and Oh fucks rising in the air between us, from her, from me, I didn't know. I could feel her contractions against my hand, even as I shuddered against my own, and as each wave of my orgasm receded, only to be replaced by another, I pressed my palm against her, enjoying each violent surge of hers.

When we were done, our bodies still humming, still pulsing, she positioned her elbows on the seat behind me, her face inches from my own, her eyes searching mine, her mouth curved into a wicked grin. My heart still thundering in my chest, aftershocks of the orgasm surfing between my legs, I arched up to meet her, savoring the soft press of her lips against mine, the sweet flavor of her tongue as it danced over my teeth, playful and curious. I opened my eyes and saw fireworks, a red and blue glow enveloping the interior of the car.

And, then I realized.

The cops.

We both jumped, startled, our hearts racing, girlish laughter on top of hurried grunts as we scrambled to put our clothes together.

"Shit!" I spat. "Bette, where's my shirt?"

"Here." She reached into the back and handed it to me before returning to her seat, her fingers combing through her hair, straightening her blouse.

Fortunately for us, the windows were completely fogged up. There was no way anyone could have seen into the car. "Bette," I asked, shrugging into my t-shirt as I pulled the lever to incline my seat. "Can you cry on cue?"

"What?" she asked, her face a mask of confusion. She glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, wiping her mouth with the pad of her middle finger.

We heard the footsteps approach, a flashlight shine through the drivers side window. A pair of knuckles tapping against the glass.

"Start crying!" I ordered.

Bette smiled, understanding my play, and pushed the button to roll down the window. She rearranged her face into lines of worry, sadness, blinking furiously to produce crocodile tears. I sat with my hands folded limply in my lap, offering my most innocent, most concerned, most I-am-an-obeyer-of-the-law look that I possibly could.

The overweight officer leaned forward, peering through the open car window, shining his flashlight at my chest before turning to address Bette. "Ladies," he growled. "What's going on here?"

Bette sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her forefinger. "I'm sorry, officer. Nothing. I'm, I had to put my cat to sleep today, and," she gestured towards me "I was very upset driving home from the vet. So, we decided to stop and talk." She looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering. "Are we not allowed to park here?"

He regarded us, his steely eyes shifting from Bette to me, and then back to Bette. "This park closes in twenty minutes," he growled, shutting off his flashlight. "Make sure you're gone by then."

Bette nodded. "Yes, sir."

As we heard the crunch of his boots recede, we broke into gales of muffled laughter, our eyes wide, tears streaming down our cheeks. We held our hands over our mouths as we watched the officer drive away, and then Bette planted her lips on mine in an amused kiss.

"Where'd you learn that one, Kate?" She asked, pulling on her seatbelt before turning over the engine.

I leaned back, propping one foot against the dashboard as I nibbled on my index finger. "Let's just say I spent a few years in High School learning how to get my way out of trouble with the cops."

Bette arched her eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Really?" She bit her lower lip as she put the car in gear, looking over her shoulder before pulling out of the parking spot. "You were a bad girl, huh?"

I laughed, my mind wandering back to some of the boys I'd dated, most of them acts of rebellion against my parents. "I had my wild child days," I confirmed.

Bette reached over, grasping my hand in hers. "Well," she started, a devilish glint in her eye, "I hope those days aren't over," she whispered, her gaze briefly falling to my lips before she returned her focus to the road.

"Oh, no," I affirmed, a wicked grin curling one corner of my mouth. "Definitely not over."