Come Back To Me (17 page)

into her mouth.

She giggles and spits it out but then starts licking her

fingers. ‘These are so good,’ she says. ‘Will you teach me

how to make them one day?’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘How about now?’

Jessa turns her head to me. ‘Now?’

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‘Yeah,’ I say. We’ve been at the beach over an hour and

a half and it’s getting hot.

‘Where?’ Jessa asks.

‘At mine.’

She props herself up on one elbow, giving me a dis-

tractingly great view of her breasts. ‘Yours?’ she asks.

‘My dad’s out,’ I say with a grin, hoping she can’t read

my mind.

She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Sure, let’s go,’ she says

after a beat.

I drive like there’s a demon on our tail, but halfway home

I glance across at Jessa sitting with her bare feet propped

on the dash, legs coated in sand, and wonder if I’m run-

ning ahead of myself. What happened to taking it slowly

and enjoying the anticipation? By the time we get back to

my place I’m back in control and planning on just giving

her a baking demonstration. That’s all. No making out.

I open the back door and lead her into the kitchen.

Jessa’s been to my house before but not for a while, and I

feel nervous, self-conscious, as she stands there look-

ing around. All I can think about is how it looks like

I’ve brought her back here so I can sleep with her, which

isn’t true, but which automatically makes me think about

sleeping with her, which in turn makes me picture her

naked, which makes me then picture us making love on

the kitchen floor. Fuck. Think about something else in-

stead. I try to banish the thoughts but still they flood in

thick and fast, taunting me. Focus on the baking, I tell

myself tersely. That’s what you brought her here for.

Baking. not sex.

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‘Let me check I have all the ingredients,’ I say, moving

quickly to the cabinets and starting to pull down the

flour, eggs, sugar and baking powder.

‘Kit?’ Jessa says.

I stop, holding the weighing scales in one hand and a

baking tray in the other, and look at her. She’s standing in

the middle of the kitchen, still barefoot, her hair hanging

down her back and her T-shirt sticking to her with sand

and salt-water.

‘I don’t want to bake,’ she says.

‘You don’t?’ I ask, trying to stay cool.

She shakes her head, a small and mischievous smile

playing on her lips.

Oh, fuck it. I toss the things I’m holding onto the side,

not even caring when I hear something clatter to the floor.

I stride towards Jessa and pull her into my arms. ‘Works

for me,’ I say, kissing her.

She presses herself against me and I lift her up. She

wraps her legs around my waist and I run my hand down

the smooth, warm skin of her thighs. I kiss her harder,

loving the feel of her opening up to me. With one arm I

swipe the objects from the counter top and place her

down on it. She keeps her legs wrapped around my waist

and I grip her thighs, loving the feel of it, of her wanting

me, not knowing how the hell I got so lucky but not dar-

ing it to question it either.

I taste the salt on her skin as I trace my tongue up her

neck. She breathes fire in my ear, whispers my name, as

though urging me on. Her hands drop to my waist and

ride up inside my T-shirt, smoothing over my stomach all

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the way up my chest. I bury my lips in the curve of

her neck and shoulder and hear her breath catch in her

throat.

I let my hands finally trace the shape of her breasts,

though over her T-shirt, and relish the sound of her sigh-

ing when my thumbs rub over her nipples. She clutches

me harder, clinging onto me when I let my lips wander

over her collarbone.

She pulls back out of my arms and tugs on the bottom

of my T-shirt. There’s a wildness in her eyes, they’re

slightly unfocused, and I hold my arms above my head

and let her peel it off. She tosses it to the ground and then

takes a deep breath, her eyes wandering over me. I swal-

low, my heart beating hollowly. She runs her hands over

my stomach, slowly, tentatively letting her fingers trace

a path to my waistband. I’m holding my breath, fully

aware that we’re on the edge of something here and not

wanting to push her.

She leans forward and kisses me, biting my bottom lip,

tugging it between her teeth and all I can hear is my

blood roaring in my ears, my gut tightening in response.

I’ve never wanted any girl the way I want Jessa. I grip her

by the hips, pulling her against me and she lets out a

gasp.

Then my phone rings.

It takes a second for the sound to permeate through the

lust fog in my brain, to realize that it’s my phone ringing

and it’s coming from my back pocket. I take an unsteady

step backwards and Jessa’s legs drop from my waist,

leaving me feeling unanchored and at sea; the room tilts

violently. I pull my phone out my pocket, glancing at

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Jessa who’s sitting on the countertop breathing hard, her

cheeks flushed.

Damn. It’s Riley. Great timing. I hit OK, noticing as I do

the mess all over the floor. The bags of sugar and flour

have exploded, and the kitchen is a winter wonderland.

The scales lie on the counter beside six broken eggs, one

of which is sliding down the side of a cabinet to meet the

flour on the floor.

‘Kit?’

I close my eyes. ‘Er, yeah?’ I say, wondering why I

answered the phone. I could be kissing Jessa right now.

What a fool.

‘Where are you?’

Shit. I could say I’m home but what if he comes over? I

glance at Jessa still sitting on the countertop, her eyes

fixed on me, her hair in disarray.

‘Just chillin’,’ I say, hoping he can’t hear how out of

breath I sound. ‘It’s Riley,’ I mouth to Jessa. Her eyes

widen in panic.

‘You wanna hang out? Go to the gym maybe?’ he asks.

‘Um, nah,’ I say. ‘I’m kinda busy.’

‘Doing what?’ Riley asks, then he pauses and I hear the

chuckle in his throat. ‘Oh, I get it. Are you with a girl? Are

you getting some?’

I don’t answer. Shit. Am I that obvious?

‘Who? Wait,’ he says, his tone switching to anger, ‘It’s

not Didi, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Oh yeah, she’s at school. Who then?’ Riley asks, back

to his normal teasing tone. ‘Where’d you meet her?’

‘Just around,’ I say, not able to look in Jessa’s direction.

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‘Is she hot?’ Riley asks. ‘Man, how’d you do it?’

I cringe, rubbing a hand over my eyes. ‘She’s beautiful,

yeah,’ I say quietly, though I’m sure Jessa hears.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Tell me all about it later. I

want details, bro.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I say swallowing drily.

He hangs up, still laughing. I picture how quickly the

laughter would die if he knew I was with his sister. I close

the phone and put it back in my pocket. Jessa hops down

from the counter, pushing her hair behind her ears and

straightening her T-shirt. The mood has been well and

truly killed.

‘Maybe we should clear up,’ she says, looking around

at the mess.

I follow her gaze and then look back at her, noticing

how flushed her cheeks are still. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’

Jessa looks at me. She doesn’t make a move to start

clearing up. The energy starts to ripple again − I can feel

it − making us move towards each other as though we’re

magnetized.

‘When’s your dad back?’ she asks, her gaze falling to

my lips.

I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost three. ‘Not till

later. Six maybe.’

Jessa does a silent calculation in her head, then glances

at me shyly. ‘Show me your room?’ she says.

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I really do just want to see his room − I’m not suggesting

anything. Though when Kit takes my hand I realize that’s

a lie. I’m totally suggesting something. He leads me in

silence up the narrow stairs. It’s a small house and clearly

the home of a bachelor. It hasn’t been decorated in years.

On the walls are photographs of Kit in uniform, of Kit’s

cousins at various weddings, and Kit’s mom with Kit and

his sister when they were babies.

There are four rooms off the landing. Kit opens the first

on the right and I smile straightaway because it looks like

it belongs to a nine-year-old. There are soccer and base-

ball trophies on the shelf, and a narrow single bed pushed

under the window. There’s even a baseball pendant on

the wall. The room is neat and tidy. I notice the dresser is

piled with diaper bags and toys.

‘Is there something you need to tell me?’ I ask.

He grins at me. ‘Yeah, I’m incontinent.’ He laughs.

‘Nah, it’s for my niece and all my cousins. At last count

I’m a second cousin about thirty times over.’

‘Wow,’ I say. I only have one cousin in England. I’d

love a big family.

I pick up a photograph in a heavy silver frame that’s

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sitting in pride of place on the bedside table. ‘That’s my

mom,’ Kit says.

He didn’t need to tell me. It’s so obvious. He looks just

like her. She’s dark-haired, with almond-shaped brown

eyes and beautiful high cheekbones.

‘She looks like a film star,’ I say, taking in the red-

painted lips and the glamorous white dress she’s wearing.

‘That was her on her wedding day,’ Kit says.

I set the photograph down and turn to Kit. His focus is

still on the photograph but after a moment he turns and

looks at me. I see a shadow of sadness in his eyes that I

want to chase away, so I rise up on tiptoe and kiss him

gently on the mouth. Slowly he puts his arms around my

waist and draws me nearer. Unlike in the kitchen, this

time we kiss each other slowly, gently, our hands staying

chastely at waist-height. Things heat up fast, though, as

they always seem to when we start kissing. I wonder if

this is how he felt with all the other girls he’s been with,

because I’ve never felt this way with a boy before, like I

want to crawl beneath his skin, melt into him, lose myself

in him completely.

A sudden burst of confidence makes me take a step

back from Kit and pull off my T-shirt, glancing up only

briefly to check his expression. He looks surprised, but

then this gaze drops to my bikini top, and he closes his

mouth, tugs me by the arm and leads me towards the

bed. He lays me down gently on top of the covers and

then lies down beside me, resting on his side. The bed is

so narrow the two of us couldn’t both lie flat anyway. I

look up at him as he rests his hand on my stomach and

watch his face, which is completely transparent. It’s

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awe − that’s the only way to describe the way he’s look-

ing at me, as though I’m made of gold, or sunlight.

‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he says, stroking his hand

across the flat of my stomach. He runs his fingers along

my hip bone as though he’s playing an instrument, learn-

ing the keys, and then he traces the outline of my ribs all

the way up until he meets my bikini, and goosebumps

chase themselves across my skin which is drawn as tight

as a drum. Then, without warning, Kit dips his head and

kisses the top of my breast. I suck in a breath and hold it

as his tongue starts to trace circles across my skin. His

other hand comes up and cups my other breast, making it

swell against his tongue.

Holy shit. My eyes fly open as he presses his mouth

over the thin material of my bikini and sucks on my

nipple, drawing it hard into his mouth.

He hasn’t even made a move to take off my bikini top,

but I can feel a pulsing between my legs, a strong pull

which turns into a sweetly painful ache when Kit brushes

his thumb over my nipple and squeezes it.

I stop wondering where we’re going with this, stop

caring about anything. My mind disconnects as the sensa-

tions pulsing through my body take over, obliterating

everything else. All I can think is all I can feel, every

single touch magnified until it seems like my cells are

exploding in a chain reaction. Kit’s hand slips beneath my

back, curves up my spine, finds the knotted string of my

bikini. He’s just about to release it when we both hear

someone calling his name.