From the Book I Will Write One Day: Frosting

The party was happening all around us, but we sat quietly on the couch. I watched as one guy tried to teach my friend Sweetie, a small Asian girl, how to dance bachata. She would have been awkward normally, but with the alcohol in her system she was determined to learn and followed him closely.

“Want a cupcake?” he asked me. I looked to my left and there he was: dark curly hair, perfect lips, brown eyes, and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. He held his Corona with both hands.

“Sure,” I replied. We jumped over the back of Janie’s couch and took three steps into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the vanilla frosted chocolate cupcakes Janie, Sweetie, and I had made for Harold’s birthday. We just stood there for a second, people walking back and forth between us. He let me take the first bite.

With the cupcake half finished we went back to the couch. I sat to his right and looked at my lap. What are you doing? I asked myself. He still has a girlfriend!

You’re not doing anything! I argued back. It’s just a cupcake!

“Here”, he said, snapping me out of my internal argument. He held his hand out, a bit of frosting on his extended index finger. I looked at him blankly. “Here,” he repeated, bringing his finger closer to me. I looked at him and covered the tip with my mouth, careful not to use my tongue, like that mattered. I looked away and swallowed, cursing myself for going along with his obvious flirting.

“Here,” I heard again. Without a second thought I wrapped my lips around his finger again. Dammit, Severn!

“You’re not going to give me any?” he asked, not meeting my eyes. I carefully scooped a bit of frosting with my index finger and offered it to him. I held my breath as he grabbed my hand and put his mouth on my finger. His eyes focused on my arm, but my eyes were glued to his. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue soft. He extracted my finger slowly, sucking slightly until the frosting was gone. My heart hammered in my chest and I was tingling between my legs when I finally exhaled.

“Last one,” he said, his frosting covered finger three inches from his face. I leaned in closer to lick it off, and as soon as I finished he kissed me. It was a slow, soft kiss, the kind that started at my lips but spread warmth through my entire body. When he stopped my face was hot. He came in for another, but I turned my head.

“No,” I said.

“Come on, let’s go to my car,” he murmured into my neck.

“No!” I repeated, shoving him off, angry at such an offensive suggestion.

TO BE CONTINUED

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