Page 28 of Plight
Game on!
Operation Crack the Case of Danielle Cunningham was in full effect, but what was also in full effect was her attack on my mouth.
Danielle’s lips were forcefully pressed to mine, her hand on my arse, her other hand in my hair, and her tongue somewhere between my teeth and my tonsils. It took me a second or two to adjust to the new addition to my body, but once I did, I planned on making that new addition want to take up residence and never leave.
Threading my hand through her hair, the subtle waft of apple shampoo added to the sweet taste of her lips. I groaned, hungrily, adrenaline coursing through my body, setting my nerve endings alight and sprinkling my arms with goosebumps. I’d been cold as fuck all morning, but in mere seconds, Danielle had managed to near incinerate me on the spot.
Placing my hand on her cheek, I held her firmer. If she wanted to kiss me for whatever reason she was kissing me, then I was going to hold her to it. Literally.
She mumbled something into my mouth but I chose to ignore it; now was not the time for talking.
“Et ee o,” she mumbled again.
“Ot?” I let her go just enough to breathe; that was all she was getting.
“Let me go,” she mumble-whispered.
“Soon,” I mumble-whispered back.
She replied with, “Now.”
I didn’t respond. I just loosened my hand. She could be the one to stop what she’d started because I sure as hell wasn’t going to. And she did, seconds later, slowly, leisurely, as if she was somewhat sedated after aesthetic.
Seeing her heavy-lidded, heavy-limbed and kiss-drugged made me smile, big time, and, apparently, I was not the only one.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that’s taking it slow,” Jeanette said, her smile obvious in her tone.
“He gets his kissing ability from me, you know.”
I removed my stare from Danielle’s face and shot my mother an, are-you-serious?’ look.
“Whaaat?” she drawled, defensively, furrowing her brow and then dismissing my concern with the flick of her hand. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
Shaking my head, I looked back down at Danielle, who still hadn’t turned to face our mothers. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be silently talking to herself.
It was quite amusing.
I leaned forward, my nose centimetres from hers. “What are you saying?” I whispered.
Her eyelids sprung open. “I’m saying, ‘what the fuck am I doing?’” she whispered back.
“Oh, right.”
She repeated her silent chant.
“So … what the fuck are you doing? Not that I’m complaining.”
Her head shook from side to side at a rapid speed, as if to say ‘I don’t know’. She was adorably red-faced, stunned, sated and confused.
I continued to whisper. “Are you going to turn around?”
She nodded with as much enthusiasm and energy as a sloth.
“When?” I added.
“I don’t know, now, I guess.”
“Good work. You can do this.”
