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16
Carrigan
This is my first kiss.
That’s the thought that’s playing on a loop in my head. This is my first kiss, the first time a boy, or anyone, has pressed his lips to mine and it’s with Carson Windsor.
The inner teenage girl who dreamed of boys and kisses and love is bouncing around inside of me like a cheerleader on game day. But the cynical, disillusioned eighteen-year-old is warning me that those things aren’t in the cards for me, even without the will’s obligations hanging over my head.
At first, it’s weird. I don’t know what to do, how to move, but then my natural instincts kick in and suddenly our lips are in sync. His teeth find my lower lip and bite down. I shouldn’t like it but I do, moaning against his mouth as my entire body melts into him, like he’s the only reason I’m upright.
Other girls would probably act nonchalant, this is only a kiss, and Carson and I have been in much more explicit situations. But for me, this kiss is the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.
Carson and I are enemies, or we were. I’m not sure whose side I’m on anymore or even where the lines are drawn, but regardless we aren’t allies. I’m clinging to his neck and for right now I don’t care who’s side he’s on, or what war we’re engaged in, I just want more.
He’s kissing me in spite of who he is, in spite of who I am, or what our circumstances are. He’s kissing me because he wants to and I’m kissing him because I just don’t seem to be able to help myself.
My eyes are tightly closed, and with his arm banded around my back, half holding me to him, half holding me up, it feels like nothing else in the world exists. All I can smell is his clean, fresh cotton scent, all I can hear are the sounds of my own gasps and moans.
Heat is pooling in my stomach but I don’t want this to become sex. Sex with him is impersonal, distant. A wonderful but disassociated act that I’ve enjoyed on both occasions, but that I never associated with any feeling deeper than lust. This kiss is more, or at least it feels like more. Maybe I just want it to be more.
As quickly as it started the kiss is over and Carson releases me, looking at me strangely for a second before turning and leaving.
Slumping down onto the bed I exhale, confused and frustrated and needy. For him. I’m needy for him. For his touch, for his kisses, for the way when he’s around I don’t feel like the worst person in the world.
A sharp rap at the door has me jumping up from the bed and darting across the room, my heart leaping excitedly in my chest, hopeful that it’s him. That he came back. To me. Fumbling with the handle I open the door, my lips parted, ready to smile, only it’s not Carson, it’s room service, the wheeled cart piled with silver lidded plates. The food that he ordered, that I can’t eat.
A weight settles on my chest, right over the spot where my heart is, but I refuse to allow it to be my heart that’s hurting. On autopilot I allow the server to come into the room and arrange the food onto the dressing table, the only available surface in this box of a room. Signing the bill, I add a tip and then close the door behind him as he leaves.
Staring at the plates of food that Carson ordered, I have the sudden urge to fling them across the room. He left, he just left. I shouldn’t care, but I do. This boy was my first kiss, my first touch, my first everything. I don’t know if he took or I gave, it doesn’t really matter either way. But standing here alone, staring at the food he ordered us, I realize that I do care and I have no idea what to do with that.
The beep of my cell phone frees me from my unwanted moment of realization. I’ve been frozen to the spot, and now my body is freed and I slowly reach for my phone.
Carson – Eat.
A hysterical gurgle of laughter bursts from my throat and I’m typing with one hand as I clap the other across my mouth to stifle the sound.
Me – I DON’T EAT ANY OF THESE FOODS.
Carson – You do now. EAT!!!
I know I should ignore him. He left, and even if he’d stayed he has no right to tell me what to do. Except when we’re having sex, and really I shouldn’t even let him do it then. Although I am clueless and it’s incredibly hot when he uses his growly authoritarian voice.
The smell of food fills the room and I tiptoe cautiously over to the trays. Despite my parents not even being in the country and the fact that they’ve abandoned me—now I’m no longer of any use to them—I still don’t seem to be able to rebel against their rules.
My cell beeps again and I grab for it, using it as an excuse to step away from the delicious smelling food.
Carson – Priss EAT THE GODDAMN FOOD. Send me a picture of you eating and for every plate you empty I’ll give you an orgasm.
Dropping my cell to the bed, my lips part and I fight the need to do what he tells me. My resolve lasts only seconds and I edge closer to the food, lifting the lid on one of the plates and inhaling deeply when the scent of rich garlic fills my nose.
Pasta. It’s been years since I’ve been allowed near anything that smelt this good and the creamy pasta looks delicious. Grabbing a fork, I carefully spear a piece of pasta, glancing over my shoulder like I’m expecting my mom to jump out of the closet and yell at me.
The cream hits my tongue and I groan with pleasure. Before I can stop myself, I’m smiling and eating and internally waving my middle finger at my parents and their rules, and it feels good. It feels more than good to defy them, it feels amazing. That’s the reason that I eat half the pasta, and it’s defiance that drives me to take a bite of the huge burger, licking the oil from my lips as the cheese and beef melt against my tongue.
Lifting the lid on one of the dessert plates, I groan as I stare at the decadent chocolaty brownie and thick fluffy whipped cream. My mom would lose her mind if she thought I was even breathing the same air as this many calories, and I think that might be what pushes me to dig my spoon into it and lift it to my lips. After the first mouthful, all thoughts of rules and parents disappear and its pure want that has me finishing the cake and licking the spoon.
As much as I want to, I don’t send a picture of my empty dessert plate to Carson, because he’s just like the brownie I gorged on. He’s bad for me and even though when he’s touching me I love it, ultimately I have to learn to say no.
