Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)
My laugh is watery and lacking in oxygen. How am I not levitating right now?
Jerimiah drops the paintbrush in his free hand, stepping closer. I see in my peripheral vision that we’re alone now, the rain having driven the students away—and then I see nothing but him. Blue eyes that brim with tenderness and a definite edge of heat. A rough-cut jaw. My name on his lips. If I let myself, I think I could float up to meet his mouth in a kiss, but there is still one strand of my reservations keeping me planted on the ground. In limbo.
“One of the offense coaches is retiring this year,” Jerimiah says. “Since I graduate this year and I don’t think I’ll fit into a cubicle…or a desk for that matter…I was thinking of applying. Sticking with football, but in a way I like better.” He sifts his fingers into my hair, seeming fascinated by the texture. “I don’t want to go somewhere where I can’t practice talking with my friend.”
“Talking,” I whisper. “Practice. Right.”
Jerimiah’s gaze drops to my mouth and his jaw bunches.
That strand holding me to the ground frays a little more, more, before snapping. “There are other things we could practice. Just to help each other out. You know, as friends. And all.”
His chest shudders. “Like what?”
The words are barely out of his mouth before I go up on my toes, his mouth coming down to meet mine halfway…
Chapter Four
Jerimiah
I don’t know a lot about women. Or friendship. But I’m pretty sure Birdie isn’t kissing me like a buddy. And thank God for that. I can’t help wanting to be every last thing to this girl, including her friend, but I don’t want our relationship to end there. As she goes up on her tip toes and couches my swelling cock between our bellies, relief collides with my lust. No, she wants me the way a woman wants a man. But there’s something in the way. I feel that, too.
Stop and talk to her about it, pleads a voice in the back of my head. I’m too addicted to her kisses, though. Too consumed by the feel of her body plastering itself to mine. Our size difference is so vast that one of my hands spans half of her back, my fingertips brushing the flare of her ass—and when she whimpers and rolls her hips, I allow myself to grip those tight cheeks in my hands and massage them roughly, the hem of her dress getting gathered up with the movements. And when my knuckles graze her bare backside, her eager mouth tells me it’s okay to explore. To learn the texture of her bottom, then knead it and make it mine.
That’s what she is. Mine. There’s no question when we’re together. The way she looks at me when we break apart for oxygen is proof enough. She’s as lost in this mental and physical attraction as I am, but she’s a lot more scared to stay here indefinitely.
“Birdie—”
She presses our mouths together with a lot more ease this time, and I realize I’ve lifted her off the ground, leaving her feet dangling a good foot above the concrete. “There’s a spot behind the wall,” she whispers, pressing her lips to my chin, my cheeks. “Take me where no one will see what you do to me.”
That need to find out what’s holding her back from me is still mighty, but my sexual urges have been unmet for so long. They were manageable until I met Birdie and now, I swear to God, it feels like I’m going to die if I don’t bury my cock inside of her. At the very least, I need my tongue between her thighs. I need. I just need to fulfill her so damn bad and I need the pressure between my legs to go away. She’s the only one who can do it, so I find myself forgetting the unsaid words and striding behind the wall we’ve been painting, groaning at the way she shifts around on my dick, her thighs rasping around my hips like a taunt.
There’s a thick copse of trees behind the mural wall and she was right, there’s no way to be seen here. Not with the campus deserted, everyone hiding from the rain. As I’ve rounded the wall, Birdie’s dress has gotten wet and it clings to her now, revealing a lack of bra and her sweet, hard nipples. My body knows what it wants to do, but I’ve never had sex, so while I want to throw her up against the cinderblock and suck her tits until she comes, I don’t know if that’s right. Or if it’ll give her an orgasm.
“I know,” she says unevenly in my ear, turning my head until we’re making eye contact, her brown sugar eyes dazed, pupils dilated. “I know it’s your first time. Will you trust me?”