Page 22 of One Rule
It’s right.
It’s meant to be.
Micah slows down the kiss to a few slow pecks. “Fuck, rebel. You’re so sweet.”
“Please.” It’s all I manage to whimper. I need more. All of him.
In the distance, I hear laughter and it’s coming in the direction of the beach party turned late-night club. The pool area and ballroom of a luxurious hotel were rented out by my parents for the occasion, giving my friends and family plenty of time to play and let loose. Their clapping and the loud music mean only one thing: they’re dancing.
More than likely in a rueda; a style of salsa dancing that originated in my parents’ home country. Here, the couples form a large circle where the steps, turns, and patterns are executed in unison—choreographed—to the calls of the singer or the group’s leader.
And for a few seconds after, the hold on the back of my neck and hip tightens, as does the feel of his mouth on mine. He breathes in my every exhale. His teeth embed themselves into my bottom lip and those gorgeous blue eyes I adore close.
My heart races while he swallows hard.
My pussy clenches while I feel him throb against me.
I did that to him. He’s finally—
“Jesus, Liliana.”
“Micah, I—”
He lays his forehead against mine and exhales roughly. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart. That’s all I wanted to say to you before…” under his breath he mutters a low fuck then schools his features “…this needs to stay our little secret. Just ours, Liliana. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement. The intent is there to kiss me again, but then I’m placed on my feet and he takes a steps back. Then another. Micah makes sure to put a respectable amount of distance between us and a few seconds later, I understand why.
My brother approaches us, his smile wide. “Dude, you finally got here!”
“Yeah. My meetings ran late, and I stopped to give the birthday girl my gift.”
Did he plan this? Why ask me to keep it a secret?
“…did you eat? There’s plenty of food inside, and Mom saved you your favorite.” If my brother notices the lack of a gift box or card, he doesn’t call his best friend out on it. Instead, he slips between us and throws an arm around Micah’s shoulder and then mine, pulling us together in a sideways hug. He is slick in the way he turns us toward the party and away from the near-black water’s edge, but I catch on and meet Micah’s eyes again.
They’re heated, but then clear. “I did. I’m more than satisfied.”
“Okay. I’m sure we can find a take-home container for the Cuban tamales.” As he says this, my brother pulls ahead, releasing us both. The distance isn’t big, but enough that Micah sends me a wink and mouths the words: pretty little secret.
I awake with a start, my body thrumming the same way it did that night. I’m shaking and my chest rises and falls rapidly; I can almost feel his kiss even after all these years. I’m also not sure of how I got into bed last night, not after polishing off the rest of the bottle and pouring my emotions onto page after page in my journal.
It felt good. A reflective moment, but even today I can still smell him around me.
It’s faint. The taste of a memory.
He’s crisp citrus with notes of smooth bourbon, sensual and warm, and I constantly crave him. And while I usually stick to my red wines, I won’t deny that I have an opened bottle of Kentucky Owl for those nights when I need a reprieve.
A few sips of that, and then my Womanizer helps take the edge off.
Is that what happened last night? Did I switch to bourbon and that’s why I don’t remember crawling into bed?But then why don’t I feel hungover?
“I’m so fucked.” In many ways, and yet, I’m already skimming a hand down between my thighs, and I’m not surprised to find my underwear soaked. The gusset clings to my mound, molding over my clit and labia before digging a little into my clenching hole. It’s searching for him; my body craves his touch—to be owned for the first time.
At almost twenty-three, I’m ready for more.
To not wake up alone anymore. To fall to my knees or spread them wide.
Slipping my fingers beneath the waistband, I tremble at the first feather-like touch over my clit. It’s swollen and slick with my arousal, the sensation causing me to whimper as my hips buck. I’m needy and the faintest touch has my eyes closing, and it’s his face I see behind my lids.