Eliza Jane - In Too Deep

We share a delicious meal that Colt orders. And even though we’re stuffed, he orders tiramisu, convincing me I’ll like it even though I don’t like coffee. I do. It’s delicious and so is the way his eyes widen when I lick the cream from my spoon.

After dinner he takes me to the beach and points at a lighthouse in the distance. “Are you up for walking there?”

I nod eagerly and slip off my shoes. He takes the ballet flats from me, remarking how little they are and tucks them into his back pocket. He removes his shoes too, letting them dangle from one hand. I look down. Naked feet. Even his feet are hot. Long and narrow.

We set off walking down the beach as the sun sets. In the sun it would have been too hot, but now the air is perfect. Crisp, with a light breeze. It’s the perfect summer night. We walk in silence, just the sound of crashing waves as our backdrop.

“How do you know about this place?” I ask. “Is this another place your mom liked?”

Without meaning to, we’ve been chatting casually about her off and on throughout the night. His eyes grow soft whenever he speaks of her.

“No.” His answer is quick – to the point. “When I was in high school, we used to have parties on this beach and sneak off to the lighthouse with girls.” He grins at me guiltily.

“Oh I’m sure you never did anything like that, Colt,” I feign surprise. “I’m sure you were a perfect gentleman.”

“Are you kidding me? I practically invented it.”

When we reach the lighthouse, he expertly pops the padlock on the door and holds it open for me.

“I was giving you an out,” I say.

“I know.” He grins. “But I don’t have to pretend when I’m with you. You already know about me and yet you can’t seem to stay away.” He leans closer, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “You’ve fallen for my irresistible charm.”

I laugh, my breath catching in my chest. “Hardly.”

His face falls and he studies me, trying to see if I’m joking.

I step past him into the narrow stairwell. “I hang around because someday soon you’ll knock someone up or come home with a disease and you’ll need someone level headed and mature,” I gesture to myself, “to pick up the pieces.”

He shakes his head at me, but doesn’t dispute it.

I climb up the steep stairs, trailing my fingers along the narrow walls as we advance toward the top. I stumble a few times in the darkness and Colt’s strong hands find my hips, steadying me each time. His touch makes my pulse jump.

When we reach the top, all my senses are humming, the salty seawater smell, the rich wood inside the lighthouse, my breathlessness from the climb up, Colt’s hands innocently on me in the darkness. 

Once we reach the top of the lighthouse, Taylor goes to the large windows and looks out at the dark water. I go and stand behind her, placing my hands carefully on her shoulders and begin to rub, massaging her neck.

She tilts her head to the side, giving me better access. Her body responds to my lightest touch and that knowledge stirs something inside me.

I lift her hair from her back and arrange it gently over her shoulder. Taylor’s amazing scent wafts up to meet me, filling my senses. I want to lean down and taste her neck, to see if it’s as sweet as it smells. But of course I don’t. I can’t rush her.

My fingers continue kneading her tense neck and shoulders and she relaxes into me. Good girl.

Her breath hitches in her chest and she lets out a soft murmur. “That feels amazing.”

My entire body clenches with want for her.

“Good,” I whisper in her hair, unable to stop myself from leaning closer to breathe her in. Her warm, sugary smell of vanilla reminds me of baking with my mom. She used it in everything. Carefully measured teaspoons added to chocolate chip cookie dough, or droplets of the rich fragrant liquid added to creamy pancake batter. Dark whirling against the light as I stirred it in. An errant thought lingers. The contrast of dark and light. Me and my fucked up background contrasting with Taylor’s sweet innocence.

After a few minutes more, I drop my hands. She turns to face me, confusion in her eyes. She’s wondering why I stopped touching her. Perfect. I want her to want more from me.

But when I look into her eyes, I can see she’s at war with herself. She doesn’t want to like me, yet she’s drawn to me like a moth to a flame. An awareness of not wanting to hurt her tugs at me, but I quickly push it away.

“Hey.” I take her face in my hands, cradling her jaw and trace my thumb across her pouting lower lip.

She sucks in a breath and bites into her bottom lip, driving me wild with desire.

Several things happen at once: I pull her body against mine and she moans in relief, I tangle my hands in her hair, tipping her head to meet my mouth, then I wait her out, our lips barely touching.

I watch her eyes fall closed and she lifts up on her toes, closing the distance between us. She wants this. My heart swells. She wants me. She brings her mouth to mine. The kiss is soft, yet not entirely innocent. She teases my mouth open with her tongue, wanting more. And I am more than happy to oblige.

Taylor is a good kisser. Too good. Kissing alone shouldn’t have this effect on me, yet it does. My entire body stands at attention, lapping up every ounce of her. Our tongues meet, tangling, tasting, exploring in the darkness.

A loud fog horn interrupts us. She pulls back, breathing heavily and looks up at me. We stare at each other for a few seconds, then she laughs nervously and tips her head down.

“Well that was…interesting,” she says.

“Interesting good or interesting bad?” I ask, lifting her chin to make her look at me.

“Interesting good,” she breaths, her eyes on mine.

I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, unable to stop myself from touching her. It’s still damp from our kiss.

The fog horn blasts again somewhere out on the dark water. I never knew this place was so damn loud, but maybe it’s just that I don’t like anything competing with my attention for her.

I need to get her out of here. Now. Otherwise, I’ll take her right here on the wood floor of this old lighthouse, and though it wouldn’t be my first time doing so, I’m pretty sure Taylor is a virgin, and she deserves better.

I step back from her and notice her face fall at my lack of attention “Come on. Let’s go.” I pull her hand toward the stairs. 

Did I do something wrong? A moment ago, Colt was kissing me, and now he’s flipped like a light switch and is pulling me toward the door. He leads me down the stairs, still holding firmly onto my hand, like he’s determined to end our date.