“Why don’t you sit down?” She took a seat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her.
He sat, hands gripping his knees. Now that he was here, he was more nervous than ever. All his fantasies of making love with Taylor were mixed up with the conservative caution that was inbred in every boy who had been raised in the southernmost notch of the Bible belt. “So, um, how exactly do you want to do this?”
“My idea was to re-create, as much as possible, all the wild stories people made up about us in high school. We can use this to refresh our memories.” She picked up a small blue book from the coffee table.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the diary I kept my senior year.” She opened it and began flipping through the pages. “Everything’s in here. Of course, it all started with that camping trip.”
“The senior camping trip.” Taylor hadn’t even wanted to be part of that trip, but he’d convinced her to go, telling her it was a tradition and a great way for her to get to know her classmates better. What he’d really hoped was that sometime during the weekend, he’d be able to work up the courage to kiss her. And that she’d kiss him in return.
Instead he’d never found the right opportunity to make his move. And then they’d ended up sharing a sleeping bag. True, they’d both had on so many clothes they’d have had a tough time doing much of anything, but still, he recalled it as one of the most miserable nights of his life. As soon as they’d thawed out, he’d had to lie there with Taylor asleep in his arms and a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.
“It wouldn’t really be practical to start there,” Taylor said. “So I thought we’d just pick a different rumor each time, sort of as the mood hits.” She smiled. “We can take our time.”
Oh, he planned to take his time, all right. He intended to devote himself to exploring every inch of her luscious body, but the sooner they got to it, the better. “Do you have something picked out for tonight?”
She opened the diary and smoothed her hand down the page. “Listen to this.” She began to read. “At my locker this morning, Alyson asked me if I had a good weekend. I knew she wasn’t asking to be nice, because Alyson is never nice. But I’m determined to be a better person than she is, so I just told her I hadn’t done anything special.
“‘That’s not what I heard,’ she said with that evil little smirk that makes her look like a roadkill possum. One of these days I’m going to get mad enough to tell her that, too!”
Dylan laughed. “Alyson does sort of resemble a possum.”
Taylor smiled. “I still have to fight the urge to tell her so sometimes. Now hush and let me finish.” She turned back to the diary. “I didn’t even want to know what she’d heard, so I turned away, but she followed me down the hall.
“‘I heard that Dylan Gates’s parents went out of town this weekend to his uncle’s funeral and that you spent Saturday night at Dylan’s house doing the wild thing!’”
“I remember that weekend,” he said. “I was pissed because I had to stay home all weekend and look after my kid sisters. The wildest thing we did was stay up late watching ‘Star Trek’ re-runs.”
She closed the diary and set it aside. “Here’s your chance to make up for that. What would you have done if we had been lovers and we’d had your parents’ house to ourselves for the weekend?”
He waited before he answered, savoring the tension humming between them. He let his eyes linger on the tops of her breasts, the dip of her waist and flare of her hips, his gaze drifting down to her long, smooth legs. Would she wrap those legs around him as he entered her? Would she scream when she came? He had so much to look forward to learning about her.
“Come on, Dylan,” she prompted. “What would you do?”
“I’d do this.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a long, hungry kiss with none of the hesitation they’d experienced earlier. They kissed with open mouths, tongues exploring, lips seeking, nipping and sucking, speaking without words.
Long minutes passed as they savored the sensation of lips and tongues entwined, until their breath came in desperate pants and passion mingled with giddy dizziness. He held her tightly, the hard points of her breasts pressed against his chest, one hand at the small of her back, the other fumbling with the hook of her bra.
“Here, let me.” She reached back with one hand and popped the clasp, then slipped the straps down her arms and out the sleeve of her dress. She grinned at him. “I’d have thought at your age, you’d have had more practice with that.”
“It doesn’t help that they’re all made different.” Freed of the bra, her breasts swayed gently as she leaned toward him again. He cupped her in his hands, savoring the weight and warmth of her. Her nipples brushed against his palms and he shifted to stroke them through the fabric of her dress, pinching them gently between his thumb and forefinger until she was panting, eyes half closed.
He was breathing hard, too, as he eased her dress down to her waist and sat back to admire her. Her skin looked golden in the candlelight, her breasts full and round, the nipples dusky. He cupped them in his hands once more and grinned.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was just thinking—after five years in L.A., yours are probably the first real breasts I’ve seen in a while.”
“I’m real, all right.” She pushed her dress the rest of the way down to her ankles, leaving her covered only with black lace panties. “And right now, I’m real anxious to see you naked.” She reached for his belt buckle and he sat back, letting her undress him. There was something to be said for slow torture, when you knew it would come to a glorious end.
TAYLOR FORCED HERSELF not to hurry, slipping his belt slowly from his pants, prolonging her anticipation. His erection strained at his fly, making it more difficult to unfasten the button and pull down the zipper. Was he a boxer or a brief man? she wondered, then smiled as the answer was revealed.
He wore black bikinis, stretched tight now across his erection. She trailed her fingers over him, feeling every ridge, stroking the head until he groaned. Then she bent and exhaled her hot breath on him, almost, but not quite touching him.
In one movement he pushed her away and ripped off the briefs, freeing himself. He stood over her, his arousal straining toward her. She swallowed hard. To think she’d missed all this in high school. “Maybe we should go into the bedroom,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. When we were in high school, I don’t think we’d have ever made it to the bedroom.” He touched her shoulder, urging her back against the cushions.
She leaned back, stretching her legs along the length of the sofa and resting her head on a pillow. He helped her out of her panties, then sat beside her and stroked her stomach, sending ripples of arousal through her. She struggled to lie still, to savor the delicious tension coiling within her.
“I always knew you were gorgeous,” he said.
Then why didn’t you say anything? She thought, but then all thought fled as he begin to kiss her breasts. He moved slowly at first, making easy circles with his tongue around her nipples, first one and then the other,
