Abduction (61 page)

No. That wasn't it. Jeremy was, Devan began to see, not as she had been, at all.

Devan had partitioned everything sexual apart from herself, made it all an abstract, cerebral exercise, detached from her body, from her self. Jeremy was completely different. He was there, in the moment, with his need. His want. It was just that he was hesitant. Afraid, maybe. Or insecure.

In the presence of Jeremy's palpable but reticent desire Devan felt something strange. Unfamiliar. Something that neither Conrad nor Vaughn had brought out in her.

The coquette.

As they lounged on the giant velvet cushions piled on the floor, studying or watching some DVD on the laptop that doubled as her work computer and her TV, she'd 554

catch him looking at her—her face, her breasts, a bare strip of tummy where her shirt had ridden up.

She felt differently about her body since she'd been back. It was part of her now, she lived in it. Before it had just taken her around and demanded food and sleep as the price of service. But now she felt physical. Liked to move, feel her muscle flex when she walked or stretched. One week she'd taken up yoga. Another week she'd signed up for a dance class at a studio a few blocks over from her place. Her body was feeling stronger. Virile, if it made sense to describe yourself that way when you were a girl. And she'd started to dress differently. She never used to care much about clothes. Not that she was some kind of fashion outcast. Only she'd never given much thought to how she looked in her clothes. Since the cabin, though, since finding herself a physical creature with this vigorous body, she'd begun to choose her outfits with an eye on what they did to the line of her back, the curve of her hips, the jut of her breasts. She'd even ditched the once favored bra style for less structured lingerie that didn't interfere with the natural shape of her tits. Now a t-shirt revealed their contours down to some rather fine details.

And fairly often she caught Jeremy looking at those. But she was careful not to let him notice her noticing.

But more and more with him she used her body—her way of sitting, standing, or lying beside him—to make him look. Sometimes he'd squirm and change positions, and she'd wonder if he'd gotten hard looking at her. Wanting her. And there was a thrill in making him nervous, letting him see she was looking at him, noticing—even behind his retro mod glasses with their thick black frames—how his thick dark lashes framed his big brown eyes, the pretty curve of his lips that made it always seem like he was 555

amused at something. She liked the feeling that her presence, the way she was around him affected him.

But still, as weeks went by, nothing happened. Every time Jeremy left with no declaration or attempted kiss or caress, Devan wasn't really sure if she was frustrated or relieved. He'd go with a hug and a lingering smile, and she'd shut the door behind him, thinking over all the looks she'd caught, the way he never talked about other girls around her, and wonder if she could be wrong. Usually it would be late when he finally left, and she'd strip off her t-shirt and bra and wiggle out of her jeans or skirt, and pull on a tank top and get ready for bed.

Tonight, brushing her teeth, she watched herself—the way she looked when gazing into her reflection's eyes—steady. Strong. Present. When she thought back, sometimes she hated Conrad. What he'd done. But it seemed like a day never went by when she didn't reflect on how what had happened had changed her, and feel glad.

An impulse struck, and when she'd spit and rinsed, she leaned back against the wall opposite the mirror, and watched as she began touching herself. She liked how she looked in just the snug little boy shorts and the thin, clinging cotton of the tank top. It made her tits seem fuller, and she could see the twin dark circles through the gray fabric. She lifted the hem of the top up, slowly baring her pale, taut belly, and up, revealing the heavy swells of her breasts, up, baring her nipples. She dragged the fabric against them, and felt them, watched them stiffen in response. When she let go, the tank stayed put, leaving her tits bare to the mirror.

As she curved her hand between her thighs and gently circled her fingers over the faintly damp fabric covering her crotch she smiled at the thought of Conrad seeing 556

her this way. The thought of Vaughn she pushed away because it hurt. But she was used to that, and just a minute or so later she was thinking tonight would be easy—the fun of doing something new, of seeing herself touching herself, or maybe some pent up arousal from her hours with Jeremy had her worked up and primed for release. But before she'd even slipped her hand inside her panties there was a knock at the door.

Jeremy. Had to be. Something happened inside her chest. A high, hard tightening. Now. She had to decide. He had come back. He'd grab her. Kiss her. Or sit her down. Make a nervous, stuttering declaration.

She flung the bathroom door shut to grab the robe from the hook. But then she stopped. Took a look at herself in the mirror. Breasts almost perfectly visible under the thin knit, her mound framed and defined under the snug boy shorts. She liked how they made her ass look, too. She felt like testing her power—how it could work on him, how it could make her feel. He was standing there at the door, waiting for her to open it so he could tell her, or touch and kiss her, but to open the door dressed as she was would knock him a little off kilter.

Devan trotted to the door, a bit giddy with playful excitement, still not sure how she wanted it all to go. She opened the door a crack and, keeping her body hidden, peeked around.

“Sorry,” Jeremy smiled through the narrow space Devan had opened between the door and the frame, “I seem to have left Eliot behind.” Devan pasted a smile over the somewhat surprising disappointment hollowing her out, and after a moment of doubt, opened the door for him. He smiled and walked past, heading for the pile of cushions that served as their base of operations during their 557

study sessions. She watched as he searched about, first just running his eyes over and around the pillows before sinking to his knees to search under and between with his hands, holding the treasure up in triumph when he'd finally found it.

She waited. He rose to his feet and, finally, looked over at her. She watched. His eyes flicked back down to the pillows as, chameleon-like, his cheeks tried to take on the fuchsia shade of one of the cushions. Almost as quickly, though, he raised his head and met her eyes, admitting his guilt with a sweet smile.

“If I'd known this was how you'd answer your door, I would have made a point of forgetting my book a long time ago.”

She smiled, letting him see that she'd noticed how he was holding the book in front of his crotch.

“Well,” he said, coming close to her where she stood, still leaning against the front door, “goodnight. Sorry for bugging you so late.”

“Are you?” she teased, not moving aside so he could open the door.

Jeremy stood there, looking at her, an uncertain little smile flickering in and out of existence. His breathing was getting faster, and his closeness and shy nervousness had her feeling that low, swelling ache. Devan didn't really think about the fact that they'd never kissed or held hands or done any of the little things people probably did, normally, when they were warming up to being physical. She just wanted to know, and wanted to keep those blushes and nervous smiles going, so she fixed her eyes on his and touched his wrist, coaxing the hand with the book aside. Still holding his gaze, then, without moving her feet, she shifted her hips forward and brushed her belly across the front of his jeans, feeling the proof of his arousal.

He was flat out panting, now, and when she lowered her gaze she could plainly see his erection bulging against his jeans. Her cunt throbbing like mad she pressed a soft palm against his hardness and drank up the tender little whimpering sound he made as she curved her hand to fit him, and faintly rubbed.

“And are you sorry now?” she teased, still subtly stroking him over his jeans.

“No,” he answered in quiet, dead earnest.

She loved it. This feeling of control. Of power. She would lead, and he would follow. But she was a little thrown off by the feeling she may have gone a bit far. Jeremy was looking at her with such submissive awe, when her image of it all had been of a playful romp.

Passive as a doll Jeremy stood, hands down at his sides as she ran her palm and fingers over the length of his hard-on. He was breathing hard, trembling, and somehow drifting closer, his body almost pressed to hers, their noses nearly touching as she watched his gaze soften and blur, listened to his sweet little whimpers as his prick jerked and contracted under his jeans.

With a coy grin she left off stroking him. She took hold of Eliot and dropped him by the door, then peeled off Jeremy's jacket, then his thrift store cardigan that might once have belonged to a little old lady or Kurt Cobain—or maybe the little old lady and then Kurt Cobain—and then hoisted his Love and Rockets t-shirt over his head.

He was more built than she'd imagined, with muscular shoulders and firm, developed pecs. And a manly thatch of dark hair between that she wouldn't have guessed at. But through the middle he was soft. And was so much narrower than Vaughn. But not so lean as Conrad. She didn't mean to compare. It was awkward, 559

undoing someone else's belt. And she'd worked open his fly before she saw the flaw in her plan.

“Shoes, please,” she said with a playful arch of her brow.

He stood there staring at her for so long she wondered if he'd heard her. Or understood her. Or maybe he was about to put a stop to her little game. But then he smiled, and up close like this she saw that his teeth were slightly crooked, which somehow made him more attractive, and then he shifted and shifted again and when she looked down she saw a socked foot prying the shoe from the other foot.

She stripped him out of his jeans, but when she slipped her fingers under the waistband of his briefs he caught her wrists. It was the first time he'd touched her since her game had begun. He let out a nervous little laugh.

“I guess I'm shy.”

What a cutie. She smiled and withdrew her hands, then leaned back against the door.

“Maybe once you've had your turn, you'll feel a little less shy.” She waited. Long, slow seconds. He smiled. Hesitantly leaned in, brought his mouth to hers. She drew back the only inch she had before the back of her head pressed against the door.

“Touch me first,” she whispered, and the sound of her own words, her own voice drove a sweet little thrill through her sex.

Jeremy bowed his forehead to her crown and lifted his hands. They hovered for a moment, not sure where to land, then finally lit at her waist. Lightly, slowly his fingertips wandered up her back, along her shoulders, down again. Just faintly she felt him mold 560

his hands to the curves of her ass, his fingertips tickling momentarily against the backs of her thighs, then up again. His hands slowly repeated the circuit; maybe a special invitation was required before he'd venture to the front of her.

She pushed him back a little, smiled up at him, and brought his fingers to her crotch. As if his lungs had spasmed he sucked in his breath. Under her hand Jeremy's hand stayed still, so she moved it for him, sliding it over her undies, pressing it against her sensitive contours. When she drew his hand up and let her breast fill his palm, of his very own volition he brought his other hand up and tentatively caressed her other breast. His touch was nothing like Conrad's or Vaughn's—it was a gentle, timid exploration, not of her pleasure, but of her flesh.

“Please,” he said, then, not looking at her, at first, but then facing her to say, “let me kiss you now.”

She only smiled but he closed in and touched his mouth to hers, not really kissing, at first, like maybe he was testing her, to see if she'd respond, kiss him first. But she stayed still, letting that questioning contact build his anticipation. And hers. Then, breathing so hard and fast she almost felt guilty, he kissed her. Pressed her underlip between his for long, panting seconds. His hands had gone still against her breasts. Her cheeks went hot. It was going to be bad. Awkward. Clumsy. And she'd started it and it was her fault.

But then she moved, or he did, and their lips brushed together, soft, warm. Little by little they sank into a tender kiss. His mouth tasted sweet. Minty, even. Like he'd just chewed up a spearmint Altoid. His tongue playing against hers felt strange—so different 561

from the way Vaughn kissed, different from Conrad. After a minute, though, Jeremy's shy kiss went deep and hungry and soon she felt that wanting ache swelling.

Now she wasn't playing. She needed this. Taking the hem of her tank between her fingers, she backed out of the kiss and watched his face as she lifted the fabric and bared her belly. Then the first hint of her breasts. Inch by slow inch she bared herself to him, finally leaving her tank on, but hiked up so he could see, touch, kiss her nipples and all the pale, soft flesh. A little thrill quivered through her. But no blush flamed up her chest and face. Strange, when she's always felt so, so shy with Conrad and with—she closed herself to that thought before it took shape.

Again, he seemed at a loss. Or afraid.

“Don't you want to kiss me anymore?” she teased, smiling, and brushed her index finger against her nipple.

He looked—this surprised her—touched. What had she expected? Raw lust, maybe.

Slow and soft he brought his hand to her, curved it under her breast, then bent and kissed, first the pale smooth flesh, then the dark, sensitive bud. Then he licked. The nerves in her nipple called out to the knot of want swelling in her sex and all through her belly. When he sealed his lips against her and began gently sucking, her flesh—every inch of skin—went tight, and her next breath came out a long, low moan. She sank her fingers into his soft, wavy hair and pulled him to her and he began sucking more eagerly, bringing her hard and fast to desperate, aching need. She pushed him back and answered his questioning look by leading him past their study nest, to the bed.