He flops back down onto the couch, pinching the joint between a thumb and forefinger and staring at it as he sucks in a mouthful, inhales and holds it, and then blows out a series of smoke rings. “Fine, babe. Just fine.”
“And I call bullshit, Bray-bay.”
“Just personal drama, sweetheart. If it gets to a point where I need to talk about it, you’ll be the first one I come to. For now, I just need to brood on it, okay?” He shifts to a sitting position, joint clamped in the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed against the smoke. He grabs his ashtray, the baggie of pot, the pack of papers and the lighter, and moves toward his bedroom. “Something tells me it’s time for little old me to get scarce and turn on some music.”
His door closes behind him, there’s a moment of silence, and then the music starts. It’s a quirky folk duo, guitar and cello and a distinctive male singer. Echo listens for a moment, staring at the door, then shouts, “Who is this playing, Brayden?”
He sticks his head out. “Brown Bird. The song is ‘Ebb & Flow’. They’re totally amazing, but epically tragic.”
“Why tragic?” Echo asks.
“The lead singer died of leukemia after they’d made only five or six albums.” He gestures to himself and then Echo. “We should cover them, someday.” And then he closes his door again, somewhat abruptly.
She stares at the door as if still seeing him. “Something’s up with him. He’s not usually so broody, and I’ve never seen him smoke pot before. He doesn’t even drink all that much, now that I think about it.”
I pivot around in front of her, so I’m in her line of sight. “Like he said, he’ll talk to you about it when he’s ready.”
She ducks her head. “I haven’t been a very good friend to him. To anyone in the band, really. I’ve been so self-absorbed.”
“Now you know, and you can remedy that. But not this very second.” I rest my hands on her hips, dig my fingers through the thin white cotton dress into her flesh.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out, then looks up at me, eyes wide. “No, not right now.”
“Show me your room,” I whisper to her.
She steps into me, and I walk backward. Her hands rest on my chest, slide downward, and curl into the lower hem of my Commodores T-shirt. Her eyes are bright and her breath is coming deep and slow, a smile of anticipation curving her lips. The tips of her breasts poke against her dress, and the material is just thin enough that I almost make out a tantalizing glimpse of her areolae and the hardening buds of her nipples. My hands caress up from her hips to cup and lift and release her heavy boobs, and her breath catches when I scrape my thumbs over her tautened nipples.
I bump up against her door, and she’s crashing into me, tits flattening between us, her mouth finds mine, hot and hungry. Her lips slant across mine, her tongue slashes between my lips and her hands slip under my shorts to graze my hips and then cup my ass, and I’m gasping into her kiss, stunned momentarily by the sudden assault of her kiss, her toothpaste-fresh mouth, her hands clawing at my backside, her body hot and soft against mine.
I’m stunned into letting her lead for all of thirty seconds, and then my ravenous need awakens, and I take charge. I reach behind me and twist the doorknob and we both go stumbling backwards, caught off-balance. Echo tumbles against me, and I catch her, lift her. Her legs go around my waist, and I push her dress up around her hips, gasping at the vise grip of her thighs, inhaling the musky aroma of her desire. She wraps one arm around my neck and shoves the door closed with the other, and then she’s leaning back in my arms, clamping down hard with her legs to keep her weight supported as she lets go and jerks at my shirt. I cup her ass with both hands, gripping and kneading the generous, supple flesh, and then raise my arms over my head as she peels my shirt off and tosses it across the room.
Then her hands are on me, all over me, as is her mouth, clawing and palming and kissing and licking my skin wherever she can reach. I trip over a shoe, regain my balance and pivot, set Echo down on her feet. She reaches for my shorts, but I capture her wrists, a smile on my lips.
I’ve missed her so much and waited for so long. It feels like a lifetime, but it is really somewhere around two months. I spent those two months in class and working out like a madman, exercising my knee until I was as close to normal as I could be. Now I can walk normally without the cane, and I can even jog for a half a mile or so.
I’ve missed her, spent every waking moment waiting for a call or a text, trying not to think about her and failing miserably. I’d wake up at night, horny and rock hard, dreaming of her, aching for her. Once I even woke up having made a mess of myself from an erotic dream of her mouth on me, and her hands on me, and her eyes needy for me.
And now I have her, now she’s here and wants me not just for sex but for a potential us? There will be no rushing in my claiming of her.
I move her hands behind her back and pinion them with one hand, standing close so she has to stare up at me, hair draped across one shoulder to hang over her left breast. I use my other hand to slide the skinny white strap of her dress down over one shoulder. Her lips part and her eyes fix on mine, wide and waiting, and her nostrils flare, and her nipples tighten to diamond-hard buds against my chest. I slide the other strap off, and the dress slithers downward, baring mile after mile of lush skin and taut curves. The dress is halted in its slide by the press of my hips against hers and by the grip of my hand around her wrists. Her tits are bared to me, begging for my mouth.
I release her hands and step away from her. The white dress pools at her feet, and she’s naked in front of me. I don’t move to touch her, kiss her or take her in my arms. I only stare at her for a long moment, drinking in her beauty, her golden skin and her glossy honey-blond hair, her heavy breasts and her bell-curve hips and plump, firm ass, her long legs and her hands, her hands, trembling at her sides.
And her liquid brown eyes, staring at me expectantly. “Benji?” she asks, and my name is a plea on her lips.
“Oh god, Echo, you are…so lovely, so perfect. I just want to look at you for a moment.”
“I need you, Ben. Please.”
I take a step toward her so our bodies are nearly touching, but not quite. The taut tips of her tits graze the skin of my chest. “Please what, Echo?”
“Make love to me?” Her voice is small but firm, her eyes wide and clear and hot with need.
I let a smile curve my lips. “I’m going to do so much more than that, Echo.” I close the inch between us, press my body against hers, let the rigid bulge of my erection behind my shorts communicate my need for her.