Taste

She tasted like watermelon, and cherry, and a bitter undercurrent of alcohol. And Aki found himself instinctively tilting his head and angling his lips over hers in a new way, sliding his tongue deeper into her mouth and searching for that flavour was distinctly hers, beneath all the others.

There. A breathless groan, as his hand tightened reflexively in her hair. There she was, and he dragged her closer, needing the feel of her body against his to somehow heighten that subtle taste. He drew back for a breath, then tried a new angle, brushing his lips over hers, and teasingly flicking the tip of his tongue over them.

She made some noise, and he didn't know what it meant, but his hands tightened instinctively on her, sliding down to grasp her hips and lift. Then she was sitting on his thighs, her soft, smooth flesh pressed against the coarse material of his jeans as her skirt fell around her legs. It rode a little high, exposing her knees as they rested against his hips, and the new position put her mouth just a little higher than his. He adjusted instantly without thought, pressing up and tilting his head back slightly. And inadvertently pushing his hips snugly between her legs.

She gasped against his mouth, and he realized her hands were on his shoulders, but only because her fingers flexed, digging nails slightly into cloth and flesh.

She wasn't exactly kissing him back, but she wasn't struggling away from him either. He didn't know what that meant, and he couldn't think clear enough to try and figure it out.

This time the kiss deepened slowly, gathering speed as different passions pulled him in different directions. His hands slid from her hips to the small of her back, then pressed, pulling her close enough that her breasts pushed against his upper-chest.

She pulled away to pant again, and he thoughtlessly tilted his head, pressing lips and tongue against her throat, finding the taste of her stronger here. He moaned helplessly as his blood burned, and his teeth clenched gently, sending a twitch right through her body.

"A...Aki..."

And it was almost there, in her voice. She was clearly struggling to toss off sensation and think, and he couldn't allow it. She could not be allowed to struggle to the surface while he continued to drown. One hand instantly shot up and fisted in her hair, dragging her mouth back down to his, while the other fumbled with the hem of her skirt, then slid under. Without hesitation he dragged his hand up her thigh, then quickly slid his fingers to the apex of her legs.

She jerked, crying out against his mouth. But he didn't give her time to adjust, he didn't even think himself, just pressed his fingers deeper, feeling heat and moisture soaking through the thin cloth.

She turned her head away and panted, pushed slightly at his shoulders even while her fingers tightened and held on. She trembled, her breasts heaving slightly, and he opened heavy lashes to watch her. Her head turning helplessly from side to side as her hair tumbled down her back.

She's so beautiful. It was his first truly coherent thought since she neatly broke him with her question. His left hand slid a slow, sensuous path down her spine, to the small of her back, then he pushed down firmly, arching her hips slightly so his fingers pressed deeper against her.

And she's mine.

He hadn't understood everything she had said, but he had understood enough. Somewhere in her confession, there had been an admission.

At some point, very recently, she had turned her head to look at him, and she had not seen her brother. At some point, recently, the taste of him had been on her tongue, and it had been haunting her ever since.

And now she was hot and wet under his hands, there were words to be said, emotions that needed to be made clearer, and intentions that needed to be explained, but his instincts told him to stay on the attack. If he could make her come apart in his hands, if he could just make her reach out to him, then it would be harder for her to hide.

There was a battle here, but he felt almost jubilant. A battle meant he had a chance. Right or wrong, he was going to reach out for that chance with both hands.

And he was starting now.

Bracing his hand on her back, he gently lifted her off him, then lowered her to the futon. Her hands still clung to his shoulders, but he didn't mind. He wished his shirt gone so he could feel the sharp reality of her nails in his skin. He wanted her to mark him. He wanted physical evidence of her hands on his body.

Her hair sprawled in lazy tangles, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were hidden behind tightly clenched lashes. Her legs squeezed around his hand as he followed her down, drawing together at the knees, and he drew back enough to see. His lips parted on a low sound as he saw his own hand hidden under her skirt, and the soft material moving rhythmically as he touched her.

He really wanted to see.

Arching his wrist, he pushed the skirt up further, catching only a dim glimpse of white. Not enough. He moved his hand quickly to shove the skirt up, then brought it back down, scraping his nails gently over her to make up for the unwanted pause. Her hips lifted up, and her voice filled the room with her soft cry.

And he knew then that the touching wasn't going to be enough. He needed to taste her.

It was only fair, after all.

TBC...