Page 78 of Kiwi Gold
I definitely got a surge of heat from that, just at the words.Vaginal penetration. By me.“Oh,” I said. “Well, I know that, obviously. I’m notthatbackward.Maybe you could say, though. Suggest things, I mean, and I’ll tell you whether that would be OK.”
A blast of a horn, and we both jumped. Lachlan said, “Bugger. Loading zone. Hang on.” He pulled out of the spot, and I tried to get my breathing under control and failed. He was still driving when he said, “Right. Give me yes or no answers. Or amplify if you like. Here I go. Ready?”
Was I? No. I said, “Ready.”
“Kissing, then. On the mouth. On the face. On the neck.”
I remembered his hand at my nape, shivered, and said, “Yes.”
“Good.” He waited for traffic, then made a right turn, his hands controlled and deliberate on the wheel, and I looked at those hands and thought …
“Touching,” he said. “On your arms. Your legs. Your back. Your sides. Your neck.”
“Uh … yes.” I’d started to burn all the way back at the beach. By now, I was close to spontaneous combustion.
He said, “I’m having to go back to high school here. All right. Touching more, over your clothes. Touching your breasts. Your … ah, between your legs. I’m trying to watch my language here. Which is also odd.” Sounding so controlled, and even that was exciting me.
I shivered. I couldn’t help it. He shot a look at me, then looked back at the road. “Yes or no.”
“Yes.” I had my hands on my face. I couldn’t believe I was saying this.
“Right.” He blew out a breath. “Touching your breasts under your clothes, unbuttoning your shirt. Slipping my hand inside your bra. Kissing you there. Holding you.”
I couldn’t talk about this. Not possible. “Can I say maybe?” I asked.
Another long, slow exhalation of breath. “You can say anything you like. Like I said, you’re drawing the line. Is that where it is, then? Or should I go on?”
I needed to end this. We were back at the church, and he was slowing, looking for a carpark. I said, “Go on and tell me the … other things. In case.”
A pause, and he said, “I should point out here—I’ve got no limits. You’re free to do whatever you want to me. Touching. Kissing. Taking off my clothes. Whatever. All the way.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well … good. Because that would be good, too. Practice-wise.”
He’d found a carpark, and now, he was backing into it. He made it first time, too, which meant that this wasn’t doing to him what it was doing to me. When he’d got himself slotted in there, he said, “I’m going to try my best, on the vocabulary.”
“OK,” I said. “I guess. I’ve never really talked about any of this before, so maybe just … just say it the way you normally would. I need to know that, probably. How to talk about things.”
“Right. Here I go. Reaching under your skirt, or inside those loose trousers of yours. Touching you outside your undies, and inside them. Putting my fingers inside you. Stroking you.”
I couldn’t help it. I shifted on the seat. I had my seatbelt off, and so did he, but he didn’t move to touch me, and I wished he would. I said, “I’m not … sure. I want to say no, but I can’t.”
“We’ll wait on that one, then,” he said. “And you can tell me when we’re closer.”
“Can I ask?” I said. “Is this easy for you, saying this? Because it’s not easy for me.”
He laughed, and I jerked, jolted out of my haze of sexual arousal and serious sexual frustration. “No,” he said. “I told you. It’s basically impossible for me.”
“Oh.” I considered that. “Would it be sexy with anybody? Or does it have anything to do with me? Sorry, but I have to know. It matters, to me.”
“It’d be sexy with anybody I was attracted to, yeh,” he said, and I thought,All right, then. Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.“But not as sexy as this,” he said. “Not even close. This is … yeh. It’s torture, and I don’t want to stop.”
“Then don’t,” I said. “I need to know which things are normal. Which ones are in a normal person’s, uh, repertoire. A normal progression, when you’re dating. Whatever.”
“Right,” he said. “Right. You can get through all the stages in one night, or it can take longer. Weeks, I reckon. But the next thing is … if we’re on the couch, something like that? Is that what we’re talking about?”
“Yes,” I said. “Not the bed. Getting on the bed would be … it would get hard to say no. Hard to tell you to stop, if I’d agreed to lie on the bed. Not fair.”
“No,” he said. “Fair. Whenever you want to stop, it’s fair. You can’t relax if you’re worrying. You have to be able to enjoy what we’re doing now and not worry about what will happen next. That’s the point. So the next thing, if we’re on the couch, is that I reach under your skirt and pull your undies off. And then I pull your hips to the edge, get on my knees, and eat you out. Slowly.”
