Page 43 of Under a Dancing Star

“Significantly.” A look of pride flashes across Ben’s face. “So?” I say, lifting my pencil again in readiness.

“So what?”

“So, how was it for you?” I ask. “Purely in the spirit of scientific enquiry, of course.”

“In the spirit of scientific enquiry…” Ben shakes his head. “It was… I don’t know, Bea! It was … good.”

“Good?” I make a note. “Could you expand upon that a little?”

“Very good,” Ben says. “Are you writing that down?”

“Very good,” I say slowly, and a warm feeling settles in my belly.

“Yes, Bea.” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Very good. Excellent, in fact. In the top five of the millions of kisses I have obviously experienced.”

“Top five?” I pause, my pencil hovering over the page. “How gratifying. And without any practice… That must be a good sign. Perhaps I’m a natural talent.” I look at the next item on my list. “Right. Technique.”

“Technique?” Ben repeats mechanically.

“Yes.” I push a stray curl behind my ear. “For example, there was … a thing you did to my neck that I found particularly enjoyable.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” I touch the spot just underneath my jaw. “Here.”

Very slowly, Ben reaches out and brushes his own fingers against my skin, and it’s as if all the blood spontaneously rushes to my cheeks. “Here?’ he asks softly.

“Y-yes.” I’m surprised to find myself stuttering.

Ben moves closer, turning towards me. He brushes his lips gently against the place under discussion, feathering light kisses down the side of my neck.

“Like this?” he asks, pulling back slightly. His face is close to mine, his pupils are wide, turning his eyes a darker, navy blue.

“Yes,” I say, my hand stealing up to touch the side of his face. “Like that. What about you?” I ask. “What do you like?”

In answer he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. His mouth is soft and delicious. He trails hundreds of those terribly lovely kisses along my neck, leaving me shivering. We kiss for a long while: slow, drugging kisses that have no beginning or end, that leave me feeling heavy-limbed and dreamy. It’s strange how not-strange it feels, how completely right and good it is.

When we break apart I am left staring at him wordlessly.

“Aren’t you going to write that down?” Ben quirks an eyebrow, but his voice betrays a slight tremor.

“I’m not exactly sure how to write that down,” I admit.

“Well,” he says, “at least we know the kissing part of the experiment won’t be a chore.”

“No.” I lift my fingers to my lips which feel tender and swollen. “I suppose not.”

Ben’s book has dropped to the floor. I look at the notebook in my lap. It’s certainly going to be difficult to keep a level head. “Is it always like this?” I ask.

“No, Bea.” Ben lets out a slow breath. “It’s not.”

“Oh.” I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. “So…” I struggle for a moment, not wanting to push too much, but also interested in the answer. “I’m different?” I ask finally.

Ben takes my hand in his own, tangling his fingers through mine and squeezing gently. “I actually think you’re sort of … extraordinary.”

“You do?” I blink.

“Well, yes,” Ben says. “I mean, you’re completely maddening, of course, but you’re clever and interesting and funny – sometimes even on purpose.”