Firebird by Annabel Joseph Page B

her.
    When she was ready, Jackson walked her back to her apartment. He was alert for troubled signals, impending hysteria, but she seemed strangely calm. She didn’t talk, and he chose not to press her into conversation. He assumed that, like him, she was still working through what they’d just done.
    He pulled her close in the stairwell outside her apartment and brushed a quick kiss against her ear. “Okay, Prosper?”
    She nodded. He looked down at her.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “We didn’t do much negotiating, did we? Much talking?”
    “We talked enough,” he said. “I learned some things about you.”
    Her blush was delicious. He wanted to lick it right off her face. He settled for another lingering kiss. “Prosper…” His tongue glided across her lips. He took her head in his hands and kissed her more deeply. He felt her grasp at his arms for balance and, without thinking, shifted to compensate. Once a partner, always a partner. Is that why he felt he already knew this girl inside and out? Because he’d danced with her? He pulled away, unbalanced by the sudden rush of possession he felt. No strings…
    “Okay,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after class.”
    She opened her mouth, then shut it. He thought perhaps she was unsure whether to answer yes, Sir or simply call him Jackson again.
    “‘Sure, Jackson’ is perfectly fine now.”
    “Sure, Jackson,” she said. “See you at rehearsal.”
    “Do you have your key?”
    She fumbled in her bag for it. Before she could unlock the door, he took her arm and leaned close, his lips at her ear.
    “One more thing I forgot to tell you. You may not touch yourself. At all. When I see you, I’ll know.”
    Her beautiful mouth gaped. He gave her elbow one last squeeze and left her on her doorstep.
    He walked back to his place slowly, basking in the afterglow of a highly satisfying afternoon. He went straight upstairs and collapsed facedown on the bed. Her perfume, the smell of her hair, the primal fragrance of her center was in the bedding. Like a predator, he already knew her by scent. He turned over and stared at the ceiling, daydreaming about black stockings, straining hips, and fiery orange hair.
    * * *
    “Prosper!” Glenna ambushed her as soon as she shut the door behind her. “What are you all dressed up for? You were out with someone? A guy?”
    She shrugged. “We just met for coffee.”
    “Who is he? Do I know him? Where did you meet him?”
    “Um…well…” She wished she had prepared some kind of story in advance.
    “Is he a dancer?”
    Prosper coughed. “Well, um…no.”
    “Cute? Is he cute? What’s his name?”
    “His name is J-John. And he was cute, yeah. It was kind of a blind-date thing.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Um, well, we mostly talked and had coffee. We’ll see where it goes.”
    “God, you look so cute. I love those shoes. I’m sure he liked you. Damn, I’m so jealous of your hair! I love it curly like that!”
    Glenna went on awhile longer, until Prosper managed to excuse herself. The rest of the day was a complete waste. All she could do was think about him, the things he’d said, the things he’d done to her. That night she tossed and turned, remembering every moment, from the time he’d turned to her in the coffee shop and shocked her senseless to the time he’d kissed her outside her apartment door. “ You may not touch yourself .” Her fingers curled into tight fists, trying to resist. He had awakened new sensations, new vistas inside her that she hadn’t even known existed. All her past sexual experiences paled in comparison to her interlude with Jackson, and he hadn’t even fucked her. She placed her hand between her thighs the way he had, hovering just over her hot, slick core. She arched and squirmed, desperate to contact her aching clit but at the same time knowing she didn’t dare.
    Why not? Because he’d told her not to? Did she owe him obedience like that? Did she have to allow him to