Free Punish Me with Kisses by William Bayer Page B

Penny—" He took her hand. "You have perfect form. You run like a pony. You're so beautiful—" He was gazing at her, admiration in his eyes. His smile beckoned. She stepped back slightly, and her hand slipped from his.
    "So," he said, "what's next?"
    "I go home and take a shower."
    "I want to kiss you."
    "Please—"
    "Well?"
    "Don't."
    He nodded.
    "I don't know—" She turned away, took a few steps, realized she was starting home. She stood still. Jared came up to her, placed his hands on her shoulders from behind.
    "I feel this attraction. It's too much. Can't shake it off." She stood very still then. "I always felt it. Always."
    He turned her around so she could look into his eyes. They were serious, sincere. He pulled her gently to him, slowly brought his lips down on hers. Then she was lost in his kiss. The weakness she'd felt now filled her, rose up in her as she pressed her perspiring body against his.
    "Do you remember?"
    "Yes."
    "God—it's been so long. You're not afraid now, are you?"
    "No."
    "Yes, you are. I feel it. Let it go, babe. Let it go."
    Â 
    W alking back to her building she felt as though she were in a trance. She was haunted by that time three years before, and she kept saying to herself, over and over: I can't believe this is happening to me; I can't believe it is . In his arms she'd felt as she had on the cliffs, as if she were crossing a line, stepping into a world from which she'd never return. Then she was falling, yielding to something too powerful to resist. He was like a magnet in whose presence the compass point of her mind twirled round and round. Her will went slack; her brain felt fuzzy. Nothing mattered—certainly not her thoughts. She was merely flesh, and now she was walking with him to her apartment. They would go to bed. He would fuck her. Yes — she savored the word— he will fuck me; we will fuck.
    "Smells like a cathouse," he said when she opened up the lobby door. But when she unlocked her own apartment, and he went inside, he turned to her and smiled.
    "Great, and the window seat—just like you said."
    She was pleased he liked it. She wanted him to like everything about her. As she showed him around she realized he was the first visitor she'd had in months. He sat down on the bed, then motioned for her to join him there. When she paused, he reached out for her and brought her down beside him, and then they were lying side by side.
    "I ought to take a shower," she whispered.
    "I don't want you to take a shower. I want to make love to you while you're still hot and wet and slippery in my hands."
    He drew her T-shirt up and over her shoulders, then left it there so it covered her face. Inside the tent she could smell her body. He going to fuck me , she thought again; we're going to fuck .
    She raised her arms so he could pull off her shirt, then watched as he peeled off his own. Then it was as if the years had never passed and the two of them had just met upon the cliffs. He made love to her as he had that afternoon, showing the same intuition, knowing just where to touch her, knowing when he should be gentle and when he should be rough. Everything was the same, the same sense of melting, of intoxication, the same rising, the same hunger for skin. She was lost in waves of pleasure, she could smell the pines again, the spray, and feel the summer sun. She squirmed against him, and all the time the same thought kept coming: It's happening to me again.
    Afterwards, in the shower, he washed her body tenderly. Then, while she stood in her underpants cooking breakfast at the stove, he stood naked in the center of the room watching her.
    "You've got good tits," he said in the sweetest voice she'd ever heard him use. "And you've got one terrific ass."
    She turned, looked at him. He was smiling at her, shaking his head in wonder. "I think you're serious."
    "I am."
    She couldn't believe how happy she felt. His comment was vulgar, but it thrilled her just the