Page 1 of Melt With You

Prologue: Stop the World

Popcorn-scented paradise.

Dori breathed in deep to savor that fresh melted-butter scent, better than any perfume she could imagine. In heaven, she rocked against the blue velvet seat, same color as a pair of perfectly faded blue jeans. Each forward motion won her the gentle squeak of consternation from the ancient hinges, a noise that echoed from the chairs around her as other people rocked, too. She swiveled to get comfortable, then focused her attention on the stage as the scarlet curtain began to rise. This was always her favorite moment of the movie, right before the red-glossed lips parted and the first song began.

But Rowan had other ideas.

As the film flickered into focus, the crackling of the projector audible before Riff-Raff’s first words, he pulled on Dori’s hand. She shot him a curious look, but couldn’t read his expression in the satiny darkness of the theater. Willingly, she let him lead her down from the balcony, through the dimly lit lobby, and out to the alley behind the theater. Even though she loved Rocky Horror, she didn’t protest. She thought about the gang back inside, still watching the film: Violet, Janie, Chelsea, Dameron, Tyler and Clay. Everyone in costume, all staring at the screen with rapt attention, even though they’d spent nearly every Friday and Saturday night here for the past four years.

In seconds, Rowan had Dori pressed up against the cold concrete wall of the alley, his hands on her shoulders. She gazed at him, into his dark-green eyes, and she waited. Knowing he was going to kiss her. Desperate to feel his lips on hers.

This alley was where all the kids from Redwood High came to make out or make art – both to kiss and to express themselves creatively. Graffiti adorned every inch of the once stone-gray concrete. Above Rowan’s head, she could see the luscious Rolling Stones lips. Above and to the left was Marvin the Martian, the Looney Tunes alien with the Roman warrior’s helmet, gladiator skirt, and oversized trainers. Someone with a ladder had spray-painted the words SAVE FERRIS in big bold letters many feet up. For Dori, the best part about the graffiti walls was the constant change. New designs overlapped the old every weekend. There were layers upon layers of spray-paint, an archaeologist’s dream of teenage art.

But right now, she and Rowan were the only couple back here, and that made her boyfriend bold. Gently, he put one hand against the smooth skin exposed in the v-neck of the chemise she was wearing. As usual, Dori was dressed as Frank-N-Furter, her long dark hair curled past her shoulders, her dark-brown eyes done up in dramatic detail, with eye-shadow up to her brows. She had on a silky black slip, classic thigh-high fishnets, and heels so high she felt like a runway model. Rowan was convincingly dressed as Brad, and Dori liked the way he looked in the nerdy black-framed plastic glasses, knowing that underneath his costume, he was well-built from hours of swim team practice. The geeky look was only a façade.

‘You’re so pretty in that,’ Rowan whispered, stepping back to take a sweeping look at her from top to bottom.

Dori blushed as he regarded her, the golden-yellow light from the motion sensor clicking on as it registered their movement. She sighed and leaned back against the cold wall as Rowan now ran his hand over her flat stomach and then back up, to her breasts. Underneath the black satin, she had on her favorite bra – a red that was darker than a Washington apple, almost scarlet. She’d left her feather boa upstairs on the balcony in the seat next to Violet’s, along with her satchel that contained the other extra items she required for the show: rice to toss, newspapers to hold overhead, a flashlight, rubber gloves to snap, toast, playing cards, a party hat, a water gun, and green scrubs and large fake pearls for a costume change.

Thoughts of the movie slipped from her mind as Rowan ran his fingertips over the silky fabric that hid her body from him. Then he slid his hand underneath, stroking one of her breasts gently, sighing when his own actions made her nipple get hard. He bent his head and licked her through the fabric, and she groaned and pushed against him, surprised at the heat that ran down her spine from that simple motion.

Oh, if he would only keep doing that, and never stop.

He kissed her right breast the same way, his mouth wetting the fabric, his hand sliding beneath the silk to tweak her nipple through her bra. She groaned louder this time, and Rowan looked at her, clearly appreciating the sounds she was making. She couldn’t believe she was this turned on. But there was something about both being in costume and making out in the alley that excited her intensely.

Rowan started to kiss his way down her body, pulling up the chemise as he moved lower down. She felt the cool night air on her naked skin, made cooler when Rowan left a trail of kisses along the hollow of her belly, then on her thighs, before finally pressing his lips exactly where she wanted him to – on the front placket of her black satin panties.

She sucked in her breath in both surprise and excitement.

They’d played around like this before, in the den at Rowan’s house and once in Dori’s living room, when her parents and brother had gone out for the night. And they often made out together on a blanket in an open field by the railroad tracks. But for some reason, this was different. The electricity between them seemed to shimmer in the air, and Dori knew Rowan could tell how good he was making her feel.

His mouth worked harder against that fabric barrier, and as his tongue pressed more firmly into her, she knew her own juices must have seeped through the fabric and into Rowan’s mouth. He could taste her. The thought of the wetness of his mouth meeting the wetness of her pussy through the filmy barrier of her panties felt almost unspeakably naughty, and a fresh set of shivers rippled through her. Rowan responded by gripping her hips, pressing his mouth even more powerfully against her. He whispered, ‘You’re so sweet, Dori,’ and a blush rose to her cheekbones.

She felt as if she would slip down the wall if he hadn’t been holding her up, felt that she would melt into a pool of sticky sex syrup. But how did Rowan know? How did he know how to touch her just right?

His tongue made more concentrated circles around her clit through her panties, and she tried to pull away from him. She was about to come. She could feel the orgasm swelling inside of her. Her mind raced as fast as her heartbeat – she’d never come with him before. They’d never gone quite that far.

‘Wait,’ she said softly, pushing on his shoulders, but he shook her hands off him.

‘Shh, Dori,’ he admonished, pulling his mouth away for a second. ‘Let me.’

She blinked her eyes and then stared straight ahead, focusing on the graffiti’d wall opposite them, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat.

If he would keep touching her like that, just like that, then he would get her there. Dori put her hands back on his shoulders, trying to stay steady. She felt dizzy and, in her spiked heels, knew that she had less poise than usual.

Suddenly, Rowan slid one hand underneath her panties. His fingers touched her nether lips, then finally stroked her naked clit. He seemed to be waiting for her to pull his hand away, waiting for her to stop him, but she didn’t. Usually, she set the pace. She let them go to a certain point, and then pulled back.

Sometimes, she wo

ndered why. Why were girls the designated police officers of the romantic world? Wasn’t she allowed to feel as hot or hard or wet or ready as he was? Whether she was allowed to or not, she did feel that way. All she wanted was for Rowan to strip off her clothes, to tear her panties down, to push into her. He hadn’t done that before, they hadn’t gone that far – hadn’t gone all the way – but she could imagine what it would be like when they finally got to the point.

When Rowan felt for himself precisely how wet she was, he sighed. ‘Jesus, Dori. You’re dripping.’ He stood then, and kissed her, his fingers still playing over her clit.

A new shiver ran through her. She wanted to beg him to let her come, but she’d never said the words aloud before. Didn’t know what he would think of her if she did manage to part her lips and speak all the filthy thoughts that spiraled in her mind on a regular basis. The women at The Beauty Box, the cosmetics store where she worked after school, wouldn’t have been surprised by her dirty mouth.

But Rowan might be.

She wanted to say, ‘Fuck me, Rowan. Turn me around and just fuck me,’ because, God, she imagined it all the time. Fantasized, more accurately. In study hall. During Phys-Ed. And late at night, while on the phone to him, when he whispered all of the things that he most wanted to do with her … to her. There were so many times when they almost reached the point, when he had nearly found the courage to try.

Yet, they weren’t going to get there now. Not tonight.

Not in an alley.

That’s what ultimately stopped her. Not the action, but the location.

Anyone would be able to see. Any of their peers, if one chose to walk out for a quick smoke, or an illicit drink, or a snog of their own. And word would travel around the school so quickly that she’d never live down the gossip. Reluctantly, she pulled his hand away, but she didn’t stop the kiss.

She never wanted to stop the kiss at all.

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