Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Fuck: You Owe Me: 12 She looked down at her camera thoughtfully. When she looked back up, he saw a contained smile on her lips, and she avoided looking at him. "Maybe," she said with a shrug.

He smiled. "Maybe?" His smile made her smile grow. "Maybe." "Like, maybe yes, or maybe no?" She was giggling. "Like maybe. Now go, the light's green." He suddenly leaned across and kissed her cheek, nuzzling her neck playfully. It tickled and she laughed and tried to push him away. "Stop! Go!" The car behind them honked.

"Kiss me," he said.

"Drive!" she laughed.

"Not until you kiss me." "You're such an ass." "Kissor we sit here." He was so stubborn it was cute. Other cars were honking now and Laura was getting flustered. Finally, she leaned across and gave him a quick peck. "Hey," he protested. She leaned back and drilled him hard on the mouth, their tongues touching lightly before she pushed him against the wheel.

"Now go!" He did. And she couldn't stop smiling.

When they got home, the house was empty.

Lucy was most likely at the office; no one wondered about her absences or disappearances anymore. As for Jack, Laura found a note on the kitchen table. He'd gone into the museum to work on slast minute restorations.

Then she felt Chris's arms slide around her from behind, his face nuzzling comfortably against her neck. "No one home?" he asked.

"Just us." She cuddled against his embrace, and they both breathed in as much of the other as they could. "The whole house. Empty." He kissed the ridge of her ear. "Wonder what we could do." Smiling, she turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Anything. Everything." She kissed him lightly. "I'm sorry about earlier." "When?" "In the car.being upset." He shook his head. "Don't be." Then he raised a brow. "Do you wanna try it out?" "Now?" "Sure. No one's home. I'll pack a small bowl." She thought about it for a moment. "You think we should?" "Why not?" A slight smile slowly crept across her face. "Why not." The two went up to Chris's room, where he closed and locked the door. He went over to his desk and pulled a small glass bowl from one of the drawers. Laura sat on his bed, watching as he pulled the plastic bag from his pocket. He opened it and pulled out a small clump. To Laura, it looked like the dirty roots of splant.

"Can I see it?" she asked. He handed her the bag then began crumbling up the clump and packing it into the bowl.

As Laura studied the bag's contents, Chris's cell phone rang. It was Simon. "Yo, mon," Chris answered.

"What is up, brutha?" "Packing a bowl." "Alone?" "With Laura." "You serious?" Chris could hear the surprise in Simon's voice, and Laura looked at him curiously upon the mention of her name. She mouthed, who is it? Chris mouthed back that it was Simon.

"I am deadly serious, my friend. She's decided to join the ranks of the Bohemian." "Fantastic," Simon said. "Beck wants to get in on tonight. Think Laura would be up for the group thing?" "Let's see how she likes it first." "Fair enough." "Is Becky with you now?" Chris asked.

"Nah, I took her home." "You guys were pretty friendly during lunch," Chris said. "Anything going on there?" Chris and Laura exchanged knowing grins.

"Nothing I know of," Simon said easily.

"If you do know of anything, we'll be the first to know, right?" Just a heads up: is the only place to read the complete version of this book for free. Don't miss out on the next chapter-visit us now and continue your journey! "You'd be the second to know. And, we'll see." "Fair enough," Chris said. "Our parents have that play to go to tonight. I'll call you after they leave." "Sounds good. Later." They hung up.

"Anything?" Laura asked.

"He's not saying much." Chris joined her on the bed. He pointed the remote at the stereo. Moments later, electronica could be heard.

"Who's this?" Laura asked.

"Hooj Choong. You haven't heard of them." "Says who?" "You don't listen to trance." "That's because I like my songs to have a point." He smiled knowingly. "In a few minutes, you're going to completely see the point of trance." The way he said it and the look on his face made her stomach boil with excitement. She felt like she was at the beginning of a rollercoaster, climbing the first big hill and anticipating the inevitable plummet.

"Okay, so. This is a bowl." He held it out for her to take. It was heavier than she thought, made of glass with swirls of colors coursing through it. Chris pointed to a small opening on the side. "That's what we call a shotgun. Speople call it a carb, but the ndoesn't matter. Here's what you do." He took the bowl back from her and held it so that his thumb was covering the "shotgun." Then he lit the bowl with a lighter and inhaled. At the end of the hit, he took his thumb away from the shotgun. Laura watched the smoke that had gathered in the chamber disappear into Chris's mouth. Chris sat there holding his breath, holding up a finger, indicating she should wait. He checked his watch, and she laughed, then he finally let the smoke out.

"Wow," was all she said.

"Basically," he coughed slightly. "We call it a shotgun because when you let it go at the end of the hit, it shoots the smoke deeper into your lungs. Deeper hit, better high. It's as simple as that." "How do you know if it's a good high or a bad high?" He shrugged. "You just know." He handed it back to her. "You try." She took the bowl and the lighter, holding them the way he'd done. "How hard do I suck?" He burst out laughing, and she immediately joined him.

"As hard as you want," he said, calming down. "But I'd suggest you take it easy for your first time. Here, I'll light it for you." She gave the lighter back to him. "Ready?" She closed her lips around the end and nodded. "Start breathing in," he told her. She did and he struck the lighter. She watched as the flwas sucked down into the herb. As it burned, she watched the tiny cinders spread through the packing, clumps expanding as they burned.

Then he took the lighter away.

"Alright, let go of the shotty." She did, and immediately felt her lungs balloon with smoke. She scrambled to hand the bowt back to him as she started coughing. He took it and rubbed his hand soothingly across her back. "It's okay, let it out, don't hold it in." He went over to the mini-fridge in the corner and grabbed a bottle of iced tea. "Here, small sips." She did so and gradually her coughing fit subsided. Just a heads up: is the only place to read the complete version of this book for free. Don't miss out on the next chapter-visit us now and continue your journey! When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Wow." She let herself fall over into his lap, catching her breath.

He stroked her hair gently. "That was good for a first time." He took another hit, and Laura watched, amazed by the ease with which he held the smoke in his lungs. Finally, after ten seconds or so, he let it out. "You just gotta work on holding it longer." He offered the bowl back to her. "Wanna go again?"

Her voice still felt hoarse, so she simply nodded. He held the bowl to her mouth and lit it. This the held the shotgun, and when he let it go it was much more manageable. "Big breath in," he coached "keep going, keep going, keep going, and... hold it." Reclining with her head in his lap, she stared up at him holding her breath. She could still smell and taste the acrid smoke, but she wouldn't classify it as bad, per se. She could feel her heart beating steadily in her chest, her pulse throbbing in her ears. Her hands began to tingle and yet not tingle. She couldn't really describe it. It felt like relaxation was a tide, and it had just crested over her entire body, a tranquil peace that breached against the shores of her insides. Whoa. Had she just thought that? She watched Chris take another hit, and it wasn't long before she'd nearly forgotten that she was still holding her breath. He noticed and exploded with laughter, the smoke bursting from him in coughs. "Oh shit," he said between coughs. "You can let it out now." She slowly breathed out, watching her smoky exhalation float up toward the ceiling, mesmerized by it. Chris was still laughing as he watched her. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Her head lulled from side to side lazily. "I..." he trailed off as if reality. "What?" "You're baked." ch an answer, then blinked ack She cracked a happy grin. "I am?" "Feel alright?" She heard the question, but in the tit took her to process a response, she'd forgotten what he asked. And, of course, that was funny. So she started laughing. "Looks like a yes," Chris chuckled.

"Yeah," she said, sitting up. When she did, she felt an energy roll through her. It buoyed her forward then rolled back like a tide. The next thing she knew, she was rocking back and forth. And, of course, it made sense.

She heard a sound beside her. It was Chris's laughter joining hers.

"This is so cool." She took his hands in hers, playing with his fingers. "I can feel it..." She brought his hands up to her temples. "... here. Behind my eyes. Like a... a... something." "A something?" "Yeah," she said, laughing at her verbal prowess. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling carry her. "Like a warmth. Gentle. Calm." When she opened her eyes, she noticed that he was looking at her mouth. She must not have been making any sense, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She let go of his hands. "Shit, I'm sorry." She felt his hand on her chin, bringing her eyes back to his. He smiled and kissed her. "Be sorry for nothing." She started laughing again. "You stole that! Meet Joe Black. You're a Brad Pitt stealer!" This brought laughter from both of them. He handed the bowl back to her and she took her own solo hit this time. She was able to hold the smoke a good seven seconds - she counted - then coughed it out hard and had to drink smore.

As they finished off the bowl, the music thrummed from the speakers, a steady repetition of beats, keyboards, and distorted voices. Despite her bias, she found herself unknowingly nodding her head to the beat. "This is good music," she said.

"You ain't heard nothing yet." He took the remote, aimed at the receiver, and hit a button.

Suddenly four other speakers from around the room cto life and the rhythmic tones surrounded them, enveloping them. A subwoofer must have kicked on because the room was being bombarded with bass. Not the crude, disgusting kind you hear from bolla cars blasting hip-hop in the city. This was smooth and subtle yet powerful and with an undeniable presence. It resonated in her body, through her bones, into her stomach, against her ribs. It was in concert with her own heartbeat. mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLliI0fiflO&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLliIofifl0&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1