More Than Kisses (2 page)

“Hey guys,” Wolfgang announces with Evelyn’s old professor next to him, his blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Joel will be joining us tonight, too.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Professor Joel Turner says to all of us. “Wolfgang was so kind to invite me.”

I take Evelyn’s hand in mine, threading our fingers together. It’s one thing to know something about two people, it’s another to actually witness it.

I guess she really did see something out of the ordinary.

E
velyn

There are sounds all around me, echoing voices in my ears, and all I hear is:

Thwap!

Thwap!

Thwap!

I shut my eyes and shake my head, greatly wishing that “brain bleach” was a real thing. I could really use some.

Ten minutes have passed since all the guests arrived at Wolfgang’s house. We’ve been given drinks and small talk has commenced. Small is the appropriate word for the amount of dialogue that has notably crossed my lips, afraid that the word “penis” will fly out mistakenly. Not that it’s a bad word, but I like to use it voluntarily, not in a what-an-idiot kind of way.

I can’t help but stare at Professor Turner, speaking freely and easily to Chandra, Jeremy, and Wolfgang on the other side of the room.

What is going on?

When did all of this start?

And why the fuck hasn’t Wolfie said a word to me?

It would have been nice to have some warning. He knows he can talk to me and tell me things. Private things—we have a no judgment policy. Good lord, I’ve heard a load of weird shit about him and from him over the years, he should know that he can tell me about his enjoyment of spanking off to Professor Lemonhead.

I’m fully aware of Wolfgang’s hair fetish. The man openly has admitted to having one and it’s the reason why he shaves every strand of hair on his body. However, I had no idea he was into the student/teacher scenario. That’s new—along with the May/December taboo. Sure, Mr. Turner is only in his late thirties, but he’s still considerably older than Wolfgang—about thirteen years older if I were to guess. Last I knew Wolfgang was into the young and fresh specimen for a tryst—not the old and well...professor variety.

It must be the hair.

If I hadn’t seen it first hand I might find it hilarious, but ugh...the visual. I do have an interest in some odd shit from time to time, but some things are best to appreciate from afar—not moaning and groaning five feet from where I stand.

Foster nudges me with his elbow.

“Huh?” I mutter.

He leans down, whispering near my ear, “Graham just asked you a question.”

Oh shit. I need to get my act together.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Graham, one of Foster’s closest friends from school. “I didn’t hear you. What was that?”

Graham smiles politely, not making a scene about me taking on the part of total space cadet. “I was just wondering where you two would be spending Christmas this year?”

“Oh. We’re going to Foster’s grandmother’s and then spending the New Year in New York.”

My attention is drawn back to Wolfgang and Professor Joel Turner when I hear them both laughing at something either Chandra or Jeremy said. That little group over there is very boisterous.

Foster wraps an arm tight around my waist and then says to Graham, “Yes, to see the ball drop in Times Square. I’ve never done it before.”

“Staying with your parents, EJ?”

I pull my focus back to Graham. “Um, no. We’ll see them briefly, but they’re going to Europe for the holiday.”

“That sounds nice,” says Lilliana, Graham’s wife.

“They go every year.”

“I see.”

Our conversation goes quiet and I spare a glance toward Professor Turner who is now talking theatrically to his audience, hands waving.

“Excuse us,” Foster says to Graham and Lilliana. “We need to...I need to refill my drink. We’ll be right back.”

Foster guides me through the dining room and into the kitchen. I slip out of his embrace and over to where the makeshift bar is set up. I grab the vodka. Before I’m able to remove the cap, my fiancé takes the bottle from my hand and rests it back on the counter.

“I thought you wanted another drink,” I say.

“I don’t need another drink.” He unbuttons the front of his slate suit jacket. “Listen, what you saw with Wolfgang was sort of...disturbing, I get that, but we have an entire night to get through. You can’t be like this all night.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “I just can’t get it out of my head.” I shut my eyes. “The sounds. It’s like one of those annoying and catchy songs that you hate, but won’t stop playing in your head. You should have heard it. It was...”

“Stop. Enough.”

“What?” I blink.

“I said to stop.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to not to grin. “Are you trying to alpha me? Command me into doing as you will?”

He holds my gaze.

“Have we met?” I ask rhetorically.

Foster glares at me, quieting me with his expression. He steps into my space—his chest pressing firmly to mine and his warm breath sweeping across my cheek.

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F
oster

Sometimes Evelyn needs reminders. I love her, the way she is, and everything about her, but there are moments when her focus...loses focus. Right now, she’s definitely a little too “blurry” for company. If we were at home, there’s no doubt in my mind she would lock herself in the studio and paint her way out of the conundrum playing in her head, but that’s not an option right now. We have committed to an entire evening with these people, and that now includes one unexpected Joel Turner.

I need to use everything in my arsenal to put her back on point—and not thinking about her old professor, Wolfie, and his dick.

I’ll make her think about my dick. She seems fond of it.

“You know what?” I say against the subtle skin of her cheek.

She shudders and quietly replies, “I know lots of things.”

“I think you may have forgotten who I am.” I palm her hip, extending it up along the length of her waist.

“And who is that?”

“I’m the man that’s going to kiss some sense into you,” I utter softly, allowing my lips to skate along the shell of her ear.

“Most men would want to kiss a woman senseless.”

“You’re already senseless.”

Dropping my hand from her waist, I step away from where she stands and lean against the counter. Her full lips part and my cock expands in my pants at the sight of her with her mouth slightly agape and vexing me with her dilated clear blue eyes. I’ve gotten her attention just the way I had hoped.

“I’m waiting,” she says, her breasts heaving above the crest of her dress with each inhalation.

I raise my brows. “I bet you are.”

“Kiss me.”

I’m tempted to give into her obvious physical desires, but it’s not the best course for the evening. Despite the signs her body is giving, and the reaction of my own, I have to resist the temptation. Every action must be measured if this is going to work. It’s the denial, the chase, and the game that will pull her attention in the right direction. Me. It will keep her interested, salivating until she gets what has been dangled before her.

I’ll tease her.

It’s the perfect distraction.

We hold one another’s gaze.

She entices me with her lips, puckering them into a full pout.

I keep myself in place.

Finally, Evelyn concedes, pushing away from the counter and brushing my shoulder as she passes behind me. My eyes follow her sinful form to where she pauses under the kitchen’s entryway.

Evelyn points a finger upward. “Mistletoe. It’s tradition. You have to kiss me now.”

I ponder my next move and then take the four steps to join her under the threshold. She closes her eyes and waits, smug. She thinks that in some way she’s won this little war, but what she doesn’t know is that I plan to play this match all night—even if it relentlessly pains my cock.

Not giving her the full satisfaction, I blow gently near her ear, skim the shape of her cheekbone with my mouth and then plant a chaste kiss to the side of her face. I straighten, tilting my head to the side, and wait for her to realize she’s not getting anything else.

She peers up at me. “That’s not a mistletoe kiss. That was a kiss-your-mother kiss.”

“Trust me, I don’t kiss my mother like that...ever. I’m not Oedipus nor do I have a complex.”

“Well, I’m still feeling very senseless. I thought you were going to kiss some sense into me. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk in a straight line. I’m feeling very out of control.” Playing with me, she pretends to miss the room partition while attempting to lean her hip against it. It’s quite comical. “Look, I can’t even balance on a non-moving structure. I’m no good for public. I’m begging you, please make my brain work better.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Absolutely. I really need to be put out of my misery.”

“What if I like you miserable?”

“You don’t.” Evelyn raises a brow. “Because then I’ll make you miserable.”

“Maybe misery is the new sexy?”

“True. I can’t keep up with all the trends. “

I like her like this.

No, I love her like this—challenging me to get her way. She’s focused and determined. Once she has her mind set on a prize, she never gives up. Her mouth is a turn-on in more ways than one.

Maybe I won’t be able to last all night.

Her inviting tongue peeks out between her ready lips, seducing me. She knows what she’s doing to me. She’s using everything in her arsenal as well.

I flick a glance over my shoulder toward the front of the house where everyone is gathered and active in conversation. Feeling confident that they’re fully engaged and our absence is still of no alarm, I lead Evelyn across the room and into the bathroom near the back entrance. I close and lock the door, and then wordlessly lift my fiancée so she’s resting on the vanity next to the sink.

“Ooh, more than kisses?” she asks, opening her legs and pulling me between her knees.

“A little, but not much more.”

She play pouts, pushing out her lower lip. “Fozzie.”

Fuck! She’s practically begging me now and she knows it.

Holding firm, I ask, “Right or left?”

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E
velyn

Right or left? Last I knew my vagina was front and center.

“Is this some new kinky thing you read about online?” I ask, pulling him closer. I can physically feel how much he wants me right now with his hard-on pressed against me. “Can you make it bend or something?”

“No,” he states. “And I’m not bending my dick if that’s what you’re implying. You have to choose. Left or right?”

“Ooh, a man full of mysteries. I’ll take a leftie, please.”

“Good.” Foster leans into me and reaches around my dress, pulling down the zipper at my back. “Because it’s my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?”

“You’ll find out.” His warm breath tickles my cheek. “And Evelyn...no moving.”

Sliding the dress down to my waist, he begins to kiss behind my ear, along my neck, and then to the edge of my collarbone. His hands drift up my spine and undo my bra, releasing my breasts from their bindings. Slowly, Foster grazes his lips lower, over the curve of my left breast. He takes my nipple fully into his mouth, sucking long and hard causing a small whimper to escape my lips.

“You always react to that,” he remarks, flicking the erect peak with his tongue. “Did you know that the female brain responds to nipple stimulation the same way it does to clitoral or vaginal stimulation?”

“No,” I barely utter while he caresses the body part in question with his lips.

“It’s true.” His sinful tongue traces the sensitive skin. “Women have been known to orgasm just from nipple titillation.” He nibbles on the erect peak. “I bet you could be one of those women.”

His lips circle around my nipple once more and I clench my thighs as he tugs on the sensitive flesh with his teeth. Trying to hold myself still as he requested, I breathe steady and heavily through my nose. Foster’s skillful mouth and,
fuck me
, the way he talks dirty, geeky and factual, is my own personal weakness. It would likely ruin the mood for many, but I’m admittedly not like other women.

Foster licks my breast once more and then kisses me softly in the same place. His hands trace up my back where they find the ends of my bra and hook it back together. Zipping up my dress, he kisses me quickly on the cheek and then reaches for the door.

“That’s it?” I ask, breathy. “What about the nipple-gasm?”

“Maybe you aren’t one of those women,” Foster teases, a sly grin plastered across his face. “My calculations must be off.”

He turns the knob and exits the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the vanity and completely aroused.

E
velyn

The soup and salad course at Chandra’s place, the second stop in our progressive dinner party, is almost complete and I have an undeniable urge to smack Foster upside the head.

I still can’t believe he just left me sitting in the bathroom like that. With my panties soaking wet, I was completely ready for a bit of insertion—or maybe a lot of insertion. I was half naked for crying out loud.

To top it off, he said nothing on the car ride over. Foster just concentrated on the road, like it was his freaking job.

Internal hormonal combustion may soon come forth in the form of rage, aimed directly at one Mr. Foster Blake, seated coyly to my right.

I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but it’s definitely not kind, nor is it really like him. He’s not one to shy away from a quickie or an outside-the-bedroom slip in. I’ve got a serious case of girlie blue balls going on and I’m half tempted to run upstairs and finish myself off, since Foster seems to have no interest in doing so. He does like to tease me at times, but never has he left me completely hanging like this.

He’s a closer.

Tossing him a sidelong glance, I can’t help but grumble at his smug and proud appearance.

He’s playing with me.

Well, it’s time to turn the tables. Two can play at this game.