Jade|
Bronze skin ripples through the gaps in my fingers like dark rivers. She replenishes me, quenches my cold and pale desert of a body when my mouth latches onto the freshly bitten skin of her neck. She whimpers - a soft, whispery mew that maps a galaxy of goosebumps across the flesh of my arms like the Big Bang.
Her fingers are knotting at the base of my head and we are making universes in the sheets.
I'm reminded, somehow, somewhere in the portion of my brain still rational (I tend to lose all sense of rationality whenever Tori starts taking off her clothes) of the still frequent times she refers to me as her moon, her light in the darkness, and how special I am to her. Like I am the center of her cosmos. But it's common knowledge that our world revolves around the sun, and she is mine. She's in a position predisposed by sheer luck and what some might call a miracle; she's not so far that I freeze, or so close that I burn. She's perfectly placed at the best distance and I spin around her until I'm delirious - happily so.
If I wasn't so busy drowning in the taste of Tori or completely entranced with the way the length of her body rolls up to meet mine like a curling wave beating softly against the shore, I might have chuckled at my poetic, sappy, and downright disgusting inner monologue. Somewhere along the line, Tori made me into some kind of poet. She thinks it's hilarious when I say something particularly lovey-dovey and refuses to allow me to forget about it.
I pretend I hate it, and she pretends to act like I hate it. I do have a reputation, you know.
But right now, there is no pretending. There's no reason to. Tori is shivering with delight beneath me, one of my knees pressed between her legs while the other props me up on the outside of her left thigh and I'm kissing the dip where her collarbones meet and she's already moaning and I haven't even gotten her pants off yet and it's just awesome. I'm Jade here and she's Tori and there's no one to witness this but her silent, purple bedroom walls (and maybe Trina, if she so happens to walk by, which, honestly, I'd probably only feel even more awesome if she did).
I told Tori after breakfast this morning that I owed her for buying me a ridiculously expensive Christmas present - the entire DVD set of the Twilight Zone and a giant pair of shears that are hanging on my wall that glow in the dark - and, to celebrate our two months together, she paid my fare into the Human Body because there was a new exhibit on the digestive system. I mean, I got her some decent stuff too - tickets to a concert last week for some girly musician I had never heard of but Tori likes and a software for her computer so she can make and edit her own songs. I didn't think they were that great, but she cried on both occasions, so I must be doing something right.
There's a third gift, one she doesn't know about, one she won't know about until the talent show. Which makes it pretty obvious, but, hey, she isn't aware of that yet.
My heart burns - comfortably, mind you - at the idea, pulling away from Tori long enough to meet her eyes, the simmering brown irises heavily lidded. She's breathless, topless, hands falling limply to the mattress on either side of her head. Her pink bra is patterned with black flowers and I trace one with my finger while the other hand curls wispy tangles of dark hair behind my ear. I study her glowing face with a great smirk.
"You going to make it, Vega?" I tease, biting my tongue when she gives a soft laugh beneath me. "I mean, I know I'm good, but if you passed out on me, I think your dad would be a little bit upset."
"Nonsense," she says, shifting to her elbows. Our noses are nearly touching and this close, I can see every individual hair that makes up her slender eyebrows. I find human beings particularly fascinating, but Tori especially. "Dad likes you a lot," she continues. "Much more than he ever liked my boyfriends."
