Frost

But I knew he wasn’t, at least, not nervous like I was. So nervous that all I could think about was being at home, safe in my room, or better yet, safe in a deep, dark closet. I started thinking of what excuse I could possibly make—cramps, my period, demonic possession—to get out of there. I swallowed again.

He reached over and gently took off my glasses, placed them on the table. He brushed the hair away from my face. I moistened my dry lips. I could feel my pulse throbbing even in my palms.

Then David’s lips were on mine. Soft, sweet, fuller than they looked. Gentle but insistent as they moved. Oh, kissing! It had been so long, I’d forgotten the intensity. Warmth poured through every cell of my body. His hand held the back of my head. I touched his shoulder, firm and alive under the soft T-shirt. I slipped my fingers up inside the sleeve, touching his smooth, smooth skin. He must have showered; he smelled like citrus and grass and . . . boy.

Kissing harder, now. I recognized the flavor of natural cinnamon toothpaste. And then his tongue. Darting. Tasting. The bright green toothpaste I used probably caused cancer. What?  Don’t think about that now! I tried to stop thinking and let myself enjoy the kissing, as I had been a minute ago. But then I felt David’s hand inching its way closer to my breast. And then it was on my breast, the side of my breast, pressing against it, moving slowly. And I lost track of the kissing and wondered how hard he would have to be touching me to leave bruises like the ones on Celeste.

Stop it! Think about the kissing. Or the touching. Not about his sister. But then I didn’t want to think about the touching either, because he’d moved the hand underneath my tank top and was playing with my breast, swirling his fingers around it, cupping it, kneading, needing. I was glad we were on our sides so that his second arm was trapped underneath him. It was so intense, his hand, like it couldn’t get enough of what it was doing. Images of Celeste with someone’s hands kneading into her darted into my brain. Hands pressing too, too hard. Hurting. David was going to hurt me.

“Relax,” he said. “Is this too much?”

I realized that I was shaking, quite noticeably. Like a stray kitten out in the cold.

“Um, yeah. Maybe. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He reached down and pulled the covers up over me. “Turn on your side.”

“I am on my side.” Even my voice was shaking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’d never had a reaction like this before, had always loved fooling around. If anything, I’d had to force myself to stop before I’d gone further than I wanted, because it felt so good.

“Other way,” he said.

I turned the other way and felt him spoon his body behind mine. His arm held me close. I tried to just breathe easily and calm down. I tried to ignore his hard-on, firm against me. I was so embarrassed. He’d never want to do this with me again. Who would?

“I’m sorry,” I repeated.

“Shhh . . .” he said as he ran his hand up and down my arm. “We can just lie here.”

“Really? You’re . . . you’re okay with that?”

I felt him kiss the back of my head and snuggle even closer, his arm wrapped around, protectively. Was there something wrong with me, I wondered, that I liked this so much better than the actual fooling around? He’ll hurt you.

“You don’t know,” I whispered.

“Huh?” David sleepy-grunted into the back of my neck.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just . . . good night.”

His arm squeezed me more tightly. I pressed against him and wished that, like Dorothy, I had a pair of ruby slippers to click, click, click. . . .

Chapter 24

IN THE MORNING, I didn’t have time to be anxious. My body and David’s body had found each other before I’d even really woken up. When I swam to total consciousness, we were kissing with a heat that my nerves had made impossible the night before. I was on top, straddling his hips, pressing against him, only the thin layers of our clothes between us, now kissing his neck and inhaling his gorgeous morning skin, which smelled like sun even though the blinds were drawn. The way I felt—it was as if while I’d been asleep, someone else had entered my body.

The minute I had that thought, though—the minute I was aware enough to analyze—a switch was flipped. Just like that, my muscles tightened. My nerves rebelled. And the shaking started again. Jesus. What was wrong with me?

“You okay?” he said when we broke away for a moment. “You seemed okay with it. I didn’t mean . . .”

What was I supposed to say? That I’d been okay until I actually woke up? “I . . . I’m fine,” I said. “I just have to get up for a minute.” When I said it, I realized it was true—I needed to pee. Bad.