Is This How You Kiss?

Ginger Banks storms through the front door and drops onto the couch with a loud, irritated sigh. Ashley Adams watches her, face full of sympathy, and kills the TV. “Bad date?” she asks, knees tucked under her. Ginger shakes her head. “Men are the worst.” Ashley laughs. “That’s why I switched teams—saves a lot of trouble.” Ginger recounts every ugly detail: his clinical conversation, the way he barked at the waiter, and finally his brutal exit line calling her a bad kisser. She has never heard those words in her life and now she wants to quit dating altogether. Ashley tells her about an ex who was convinced she was great in bed but was terrible. Ginger bristles. She knows how to kiss. Ashley hesitates, then sighs and lets it drop—Ginger’s ex-boyfriend once confessed that kissing her felt like kissing a statue. Ginger stares, mortified. Ashley shrugs. “Honesty’s rare when it comes to this stuff.” Ginger buries her face in a pillow. Ashley asks how she learned. Ginger never had a teacher. “That’s the problem,” Ashley says. “You need someone impartial, someone who can critique, not impress. A friend-with-benefits type.” Ginger jokes that she isn’t into women, but Ashley counters that girls who kiss girls know exactly what a mouth should do. She offers to train her. Ginger is quiet, then admits she is tired of staying single. Ashley promises to behave. Ashley starts with simple instruction. “Kiss me the way you kissed those guys.” Their lips meet. Ashley breaks away, her tone suddenly clinical. “Passive. You let them do all the work.” She teaches Ginger to cradle a face, to tilt, to linger. Ginger grows bolder, cupping Ashley’s jaw, pulling her closer until their mouths move in rhythm. The kisses deepen, tongues glide, breath shortens. “Good,” Ashley murmurs against her lips. Ashley’s hand drifts down Ginger’s ribs. “Advanced lesson?” Ginger swallows and nods. Ashley opens the zipper at the nape of her dress and presses slow, warm kisses along her spine. Goosebumps rise; Ginger giggles, then gasps when the kisses reach the swell of her breasts. The dress slips lower, baring soft skin inch by inch. Ashley’s mouth travels lower, tongue painting damp trails across Ginger’s stomach until Ginger’s fingers tighten in her hair. Ashley pauses above the waistband of her panties. “Sure you don’t want the full curriculum?” Ginger’s answer is a throaty plea. Ashley peels the fabric away and kisses the soft skin above her sex, then spreads Ginger’s thighs and drags her tongue through slick folds in steady, firm strokes. Ginger arches, legs shaking, her mind a blank slate wiped clean by pleasure. By the time Ashley lifts her glistening mouth, Ginger knows these lessons will brand her forever—no date, and no lie, could erase them.