I gagged. “Lame.”
She nudged my arm. “You’re hating because you want that to happen to you.”
“Mmm, no, not really.”
“How about I take you to Paris and kiss you in front of the Eiffel Tower when the lights are going, and then I’ll check in after.”
“All right, it’s a date. I’ll bring you to the Paris Games and you can reward me with a kiss.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t reward you if you’re not going to appreciate it. A bunch of other women would.”
“Maybe I want to romance you in more nuanced ways.”
She grinned and grabbed my hand. The same thick and riveting air filled the pause, much like it did two years ago when I didn’t act on it. The moment flew back between us as gently as the breeze coming off the Hudson. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, one just as apparent as two years ago, only this time, I would act on it to erase the memory of the other one.
“Like a two-star Michelin restaurant,” she said softly.
“By your favorite chef. With some of your favorite wine. Something less showy. Less clichéd. Something more intimate.”
“I like intimate.”
I slid my hand against her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I held her face for a moment, noticing her stare fall to my lips. My heart quickened as I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers. She kissed me back, soft and unhurried. It wasn’t rushed or forced like my party. It was shy yet welcoming, patient yet craving. Our mouths opened; our tongues met. My stomach celebrated with backflips. My chest stuttered with electricity that always seemed to follow us around. Kennedy’s hand rested on my knee and slowly grazed my thigh, sending a buzzing feeling through my body that encouraged me to deepen the kiss, allowing the passion to control the movements of our mouths. It trickled down my arms and legs. As the passion began melting me in my seat, I realized that we should take this to a more private spot than the High Line before we got too comfortable.
I pulled away, and Kennedy’s eyes remained closed as she grinned. “Finally,” she said.
“You’re not patient, are you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve done enough waiting.”
Just then, a raindrop landed on my face. It barely grazed my skin as I leaned in to kiss her again. She tugged my blazer toward her so we could pick up where we left off, and another drop hit my cheek. A heavier one. I pulled away, and Kennedy wiped her face.
“Is it raining?” she asked.
A few more landed on us, getting larger and heavier the longer we waited for more evidence. Then the sky lit up, and a crack punctured the humid air and unleashed a downpour. We shrieked and leapt off the bench. We ran down the High Line, attempting to seek shelter like the rest of the crowd. I whipped out my phone, called an Uber, and accepted the surging charge already factored into the price. We waited underneath the awning of an Indian restaurant. Our clothes were drenched and sticking to our skin, so uncomfortable yet hilarious at the same time.
On the ride back, she snatched my hand, and the humidity and rain stuck our palms together for the rest of the ride as our wet clothes glued us to the back seat. When we got to the hotel, still holding hands, we ran through the sheets of rain cascading onto the city.
Bursting through our hotel room door, I wasted no time tossing my blazer to the side and peeling off my white shirt. At the same time, Kennedy fumbled with the zipper on the back of her dress.
“Let me help you,” I said through my laugh and walked up behind her to lower the zipper. I assisted in pulling the dress off her shoulders until it fell to her side. It was so wet, it reminded me of yanking off my tech suit after a race. Kennedy kicked the dress against the wall when she was finally able to break free, then turned around. My breath caught when I saw her black bra and bikini underwear. The cold hotel air met her skin and caused tiny goose bumps to break out on her arms and legs. Her eyes seemed as observant as mine, taking me in in my soaking black slacks and my bra.
She slid her fingers along the top of my pants before unbuttoning them, undoing the zipper slowly, and pulling them down until she found the tattoo on my right hip. I sucked in my breath as she touched the rings. I kept forgetting they were there. Twenty-three years without it, and it took Kennedy’s soft, gentle fingertips drawing circles around each ring to remind me…in a sensitive spot that sent chills up and down my arms and legs.
“I really like this,” she said in a low voice. “It’s even better in person.”
I swallowed even though there was no saliva in my mouth. “I’m glad you like it. Haven’t fully enjoyed it until now.”
She glanced up with fervor in her eyes. She didn’t look at me with delicate anticipation or a sparkle of vulnerability like at the High Line. This look was determined, prurient, and desperate. As she squatted, her touch grazed down with my pants and pulled them off my legs. Once she tossed them carelessly aside, she pressed her lips against my tattoo and parted her mouth to take in all five rings. My knees almost buckled. Her hands wandered underneath the fabric of my underwear, clasped my bare butt, and pulled my waist closer until her mouth seized my tattoo so her tongue could trace the circles of each ring.
“God, Ken,” I said breathlessly, biting my lip so the moans that were begging to come out could stay inside. I was afraid of letting her know how easily I caved at her touch.
“You feel so wonderful.” Her warm words hummed against my hips. Her thumb brushed the top of my underwear, the exact spot that triggered a release of pleasure down my legs. She lifted her head and watched me react while rubbing me over my underwear.
“I…I can’t do this standing up,” I said in a wavering voice.
She stood. “You can’t do it standing up?” She let out a little laugh. “You’re an Olympic athlete. You can do anything.”
“Not when you touch me like that.”
“Then get on the bed, and let me touch you.”
She pushed me on the bed and crawled on top. Her mouth met mine, and I snatched the back of her hair to deepen the kiss like the deprived person I was. I needed to feel all of her, so I flicked off her bra and glided her underwear down her legs before she did the same to me. I absorbed the sight of her for only a few moments before my desire overcame me. I pulled her in, capturing her right nipple, massaging her with my tongue in delicate circles, and right as she hardened in my mouth, I ended with a light suck and moved to the other nipple. She let out several moans of approval.
“God,” I said and ran my hands down her back so I could clasp her naked ass. “I’ve wanted you so much—”
But instead of letting me finish kissing all over her body, she pushed me back, and once I hit the pillow, she propped herself over me and kissed my tattoo again before her mouth crept ever so slowly to my center, her bottom lip tickling the top of me. She stole a gasp out of me, and I forced myself to catch the second one after her thumb pressed into me right where I desperately needed it. I twisted against the sheets as the cries tickled against my sealed lips. Then her mouth covered me, and feeling her tongue caressing me, the wait after all these years, wrestled a gasp from me.
“Oh God,” I muttered.
She slipped two fingers inside me with ease, and I moaned again as her tongue and fingers gradually picked up speed. I rocked against her fingers and reached for her free hand while she made me twitch and arch. I let go of the sheets and slipped my fingers into her hair and positioned her where I needed her the most, begging for more. She obliged. She made me feel so lost and dizzy so effortlessly. My whole body succumbed to the feeling of bliss and surrender. A cry burst out of me so quickly that I didn’t have time to mute it with my arm or pillow. As I rode out the final spasms of my orgasm, she tightened her grip around my hand. I finally collapsed as I attempted to catch my breath.