Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (15 page)

Kathryn whispers in my ear, “You taste so good, Dre.”

Fuck. I can’t take much more; I’m about to explode. I roll her over, pinning her beneath me. “I haven’t had my dessert,” I say, kissing her neck and working my way down her body. The curves of her body are tantalizing; I want to touch, taste, and tickle every peak and valley of her entire body. Kathryn’s eyes are glued to me, watching my every move. “You like watching, don’t you Kathryn?” I ask, praying that I’m not pushing her too far.

“God yes, Dre. It’s … you’re … you’re so sexy. It’s so hot,” she says, through shallow breaths.

“Then keep watching, Darling. It’s all about your pleasure now,” I say, wanting to satisfy her more than she’s ever been before. Kathryn nods, touching her breasts as she does so.

“Mmmm,” I groan, dipping my tongue into her bellybutton. Kathryn’s legs open further, inviting me in. I’m craving her taste, her scent, and her surrender. I want to bring her to the brink and watch in awe as she soars over the edge.

As my tongue finds her innermost sexuality, I glance up, staring into her eyes. Her chest is heaving, her breathing erratic. She’s still touching and tugging on her nipples, not taking her eyes off of me. As I continue to taste and lick her, her eyelids begin to flutter, while her hips begin to circle.

Kathryn’s getting close to release; so I continue to bathe her in my tongue, using my fingers to enter her and leave her. I go faster, applying more pressure, slowing down and easing off, continuing a steady rhythm of denial and acquiescence. Suddenly, Kathryn’s legs tighten; her eyes close. She’s got a handful of my hair and a handful of the pillow as her toes curl along my back.

“Oooh Dre, yes, Dre!” she calls, panting heavily. Kathryn’s body trembles as she catches her breath and sighs.

Looking down at me, she casts a mysterious smile on me, and says, “Wow, That was Won-DRE-ful.”

Fuck yeah! Take that “Thee-adorable!” I’m ‘Won-DRE-ful,” and don’t you ever forget it, I think to myself.

Joining her on the pillow, I say, “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Kiss me,” she says. “I need to taste you, taste us.”

Us? Holy shit, she’s so fucking hot. I devour her mouth, kissing her hungrily. We moan against each other’s tongues. “I want you … God, Kathryn, I want you so bad,” I say, her tongue circling mine, drawing it further into my mouth.

“Now, Dre,” she says. “Please, now.” I reach over, grab a condom, and try to rip it open. It flies out of my hand. “Fuck.”

“Easy boy,” she says. “I got this.”

Taking another condom from the box, she opens it deftly, removing it carefully from the wrapper. “Lie back,” she commands, coming over to me. I do as I’m told. “Hands behind your head.”

I relax, putting my hands behind my head, smirking at her as I do so. Kathryn strokes me a few times; I groan in the process. Easily and seductively, she slides the condom down over me.

“Ready?” she questions, glancing down at my erection and back into my eyes. I nod, and she straddles me, easing herself down onto me. I watch in awe as her eyes widen and slowly close. Kathryn’s tongue trails along her upper lip as she begins to rock slowly on me. I unclasp my hands from behind my head and slide them up her smooth thigh.

“Damn, you’re amazing,” I say, beginning to rock with her. Eyes closed, she smiles, increasing her speed, sliding up and down, up and down. I reach up with one hand and caress her breast, taking her nipple between my fingers.

“Oh yeah, harder Dre,” she begs. I buck my hips faster and squeeze her nipple. “God … yeah … please,” she moans, rolling her hips around. Kathryn is completely in control. I watch as she gets lost in the moment. Her hips are increasing their motion; her moans are breathy. Another release is approaching. Fuck yeah! Round two, Darling.

I grip her hips, moving her up and down, faster and harder. Kathryn calls my name when she finally lets go, falling limply onto my chest. I run my fingers along the length of her back, pushing her hair aside to unveil the satisfied smile on her face.

I kiss the top of her head. Kathryn looks up at me, kissing me lightly. She rolls off to the side, pulling me on top of her. “Your turn,” she says, easing her body under mine. Kissing her breast and rolling it around my tongue, I slide back into her. Kathryn wraps her legs around my waist, urging me further into her. I thrust against her; she meets me, pressing against me. I quicken my pace, deeper, harder, faster. I’m climbing, reaching, almost … almost. I call her name softly as I let go, knowing the importance of this encounter. I know with every fiber of my being that I will never have sex with another woman again. I just have to tell Kathryn the truth first.

Best sex of my entire life. The very best freaking sex I’ve ever had. And just because I’ve only slept with two people, now three, doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I’m talking about. I slept with Kyle twice. Oh yeah, I only mentioned that one time on Spring Break. There may have been a drunken Fourth of July rendez-vous in the bathroom of a bar. I’ll neither confirm, nor deny. And, I guess there was that other time in the front seat of his car when we volunteered to pick up pizza. But again, I want to keep my breasts, so Sydney can never find out that I slept with her brother—many, many times—the entire summer before I met Theodore at orientation at Georgetown. I still stand by the fact that Kyle’s hot; Sydney wasn’t being a true friend asking me to stay away from him in the first place. I’d never do something like that to her—if I had a brother.

Anyway, Theodore and I had a healthy and “sexperimental” relationship, but nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever compare to what I experienced last night in this hotel with Dre “God” ley, I mean Donley. I didn’t know it could be like that. I wasn’t just being complimentary when I called him “won-DRE-ful.” It was extraordinary. I tend to be open to anything, but am usually pretty timid when it comes to initiating and asking for what I want. With Dre, I felt myself letting go, ignoring my inhibitions and reveling in the pleasure. I just hope he didn’t think I was too timid, too reserved.

Apparently sexual attraction and desire play much bigger roles in one’s overall satisfaction than I actually knew. I’d never felt like that before. I was so turned on; I wanted him so badly that I truly felt like I was going explode, that my skin was just going to burst into a million pieces right off my sexually frustrated and overly turned on body. It was the craziest thing I’ve ever felt. There were times when I thought I might reach climax without him even touching those certain particular parts of my body.

And then this morning, Holy St. Sebastian, he woke up early for two more rounds of sexcapades and fantasy-fulfillment. Watching him eat strawberries off of my stomach and breasts was thrilling, but having him wash the melted chocolate off my body in the shower was erotic and sensual. This man knows what he’s doing.

However, I need to keep my focus on track, and not lose sight of the facts. It’s a serious red flag that (1.) Dre will not open up to me about anything. (2.) He avoids all personal questions that I ask him. (3.) I have no idea where he lives, where he’s from, what he actually does for a living, or even his phone number. (4.) Some girl named “Piper” sends him big yellow envelopes.

I’m not dumb; I recognize these giant, flowing, soaring red flags. But, I’m also smart enough to take this slow and possibly get these answers gradually. If I start harping on the questions, prying into Dre’s life, he’s going to pull back. I definitely don’t want that. I’m not saying that I want to spend the rest of my life with this guy, especially not knowing a thing about him. I’m just saying that my attraction to him, my piqued curiosity, and my overall sense of intrigue are all heightened enough to stay in this until I get the answers I need—even if I may not necessarily want them.

Here’s the thing: Dre’s into me, or we wouldn’t be in his best friend’s hotel room. I’d be an utter psychopath if I weren’t into him. I know this isn’t an ideal situation, seeing as how I’m being blinded by the red flags flying in my face every time I open my eyes. I don’t look at Dre and think that he’s the future father of my children or the man who’s going to be sitting next to me when we’re 80-years-old, rocking in our rocking chairs on the front porch. I’m not naïve.

Right now, I’m looking at him as the man who’s going to take me to paramount levels of ecstasy for the time being, entertaining me all winter long if I can help it. Now don’t get me wrong, I could easily fall for Dre Donley, easy-peasy. Like, I’m reminding myself at every interval, every turn that Dre isn’t in this for the long haul. This is just his way of having some fun. I get that.

Like I said last night, “I’m game.” I could use a little entertainment and sexual gratification. Who couldn’t? So sue me if you think I’m being a whore or whatever. Sometimes a girl needs a little something-something. And I have definitely been “jonesing” for a lot of something-something. I’m just going to keep reminding myself of what this is: hot sex for the sake of hot sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. I get that.

There are so many girls, even extremely intelligent girls, who just don’t get it. These clueless girls seem to think that if a guy takes them home, then those same guys are thinking wedding bells in the morning as they search under their beds for misplaced thongs. Just not the case. Sydney used to be one of those girls. She unfortunately learned the hard way. It took her so long to learn the rules, that she’d already formed a thick exterior of male-bashing hatred—trusting none of them—screwing many of them.

If a guy is into a girl, then he’s into her, full speed ahead. It’s not like the movies; he’s not going to “play it cool” or “play hard to get.” Guys see what they want, and if they really want it, they make sure they get it. Girls need to learn how to read—read the situation. If a guy sleeps with a girl and he’s looking for something more, he ensures there’s something more. He doesn’t just wait around until the next time he’s free or the next time he runs into her. A guy makes the time to see her or plans to see her. It’s not rocket-science.

Syd used to hook up with guys for a night of fun-filled mediocre passion. Those same guys would promise to call her later. And guess what? Those calls never came. She’d sit around and think that he was going to “come to his senses” or “realize what he’s missing.” Men do not miss what they never really wanted in the first place. I better repeat that one: Men do not miss what they never really wanted in the first place. (With Dre in the picture, it’ll do me some good to keep reminding myself.)

Wise up, ladies. Make him want you. If he doesn’t want you, enjoy what you got to experience and move on. Move on. Don’t just hang around for the sake of “what if” or “might be.” People can’t just keep a box of “what ifs” and “might bes” piling up in their closets, clouding and crippling their lives. Screw “what if” and “might be.” There’s no time for all that nonsense. People need to live their lives, while there’s still a life worth living. And right now, I’m going to live a little—with Dre Donley in my bed.

For some odd reason, Dre’s drawn to me; I think he likes my no-crap attitude. I’m sure we’ll go out a few more times, and then that’ll be it. I knew going into this that I needed to leave my heart in my apartment; otherwise the fragile little thing was going to be severed and demolished.

Sydney thinks there’s something “real” going on here, because Dre brought me a cheesecake and stolen flowers. But like I said, Sydney isn’t really the one to ask. Dre had typical “panty-dropping” ammunition with him, things I don’t usually fall for. I can’t even say that I “fell for” them, because I wanted to sleep with him probably a lot more than he wanted to be with me.

However, there is one little prop or detail that still has me second-guessing his motives. The book. I can’t believe he’d read an entire book for me. That one has me stumped. Why would he do that? Seems like a lot of work just to get laid. I’m still dissecting that one. I’m going to ruminate on that one for a bit before I decide what I think about it.

“What in the world are you thinking about?” Dre asks, standing in front of me. He’s been searching for my left shoe for over 10 minutes. I’m not exactly sure how I could’ve lost a shoe that I wore pretty much the entire night in a tiny hotel room. “I’ve been watching you for a few minutes. Are you having a conversation with yourself?”

I can feel my face redden. I have a tendency to have full-out conversations in my head, but they show up quite visibly on my face. The more intense the thoughts are the more animated my face becomes. My family and good friends have made fun of me about it for ages. It’s always mortifying when I launch into a cranial tirade in public with strangers gawking at the crazy woman with the dramatic facial expressions. I don’t go as far as actually “talking” to myself. Although, according to Syd, talking to myself would look and seem a lot less bizarre.

“Just thinking about where my shoe could be,” I flat out lie to him, wishing I could just tell him everything I was thinking. Honestly, I just really,
really
, want another round of bedtime fun with him again. So, I’m going to hold back for the time being right now.