Like Adrien Brody's short-lived fame for The Piano, my moral rectitude faded fast; that night, in fact.
Amelia entered the bedroom wearing a simple spaghetti strap white camisole and matching string bikini panties, her midriff bare.
I'd never seen the outfit, but, simple or not, it was very sexy; too sexy. Was it me, or was she truly blossoming into a sensual female?
Rufus struggled to jump onto the bed; probably weighed down with flagstone.
Amelia pulled the sheet down, slipped onto the bed, on her side, and looked at me, slightly shy, exotic eyes questioning.
We hadn't discussed our kiss in the pool, but it hovered between us.
I noticed a host of new things: her small breasts clearly defined and still pert even when on her side facing me; the sensual dip to her waist and rise to her prominent hip bone;
the swell of her petite bottom and shape of her thighs; the way those panties outlined the erotic mound of her pussy so perfectly; the camel toe where cotton pressed at her cleft; and a sensual gap just below.
My response was visceral, again, blood flowing south. All moral rectitude collapsed when faced with such sexy beauty and it felt liberating.
Smiling, I reached out and fluffed her rough-shorn hair before curling it behind a delicate ear.
Amelia smiled.
I rolled towards her and drew her into my arms, her scent of orange blossoms filling my nose, her beautiful eyes capturing me.
It felt right. I felt like she belonged in my arms. The attraction I had for her felt both familiar and exciting. She fit me, physically and emotionally. She completed me.
"What changed?" I asked.
Amelia pressed herself against me. "I decided the old man was right. You're my lobster."
Confused, I asked, "What old man? Right about what? And what's a lobster got to do with anything?"
Amelia started talking. A chill went down my spine as she told me about an older man visiting her in school, how he'd helped her to find her voice again, how her singing would bring her to me, how we were destined to be together.
She talked about not believing him, about not being in love with me at first, and how she'd changed.
"You're my lobster, Mike," she ended.
"Was the man called Darren Faith?"
She nodded. "I think so."
I had no more doubts, none. My future had been preordained and, it seemed to me, I had been gifted for some unfathomable reason.
Looking at her, I was absolutely sure there was no one else I'd ever want in my life.
"What's with the lobster?" I asked, caressing her back.
"Lobsters mate for life." She added with a grin and twinkling eyes, "See? I did learn something other than music!"
"So did I," I informed her, moving close, face to face, inhaling each other's breath.
She smiled again and rubbed the tip of her small nose against mine. "Eskimo kisses. I learned that in school, too," she said softly with a light giggle.
I adored her charm. Her giggle faded away when I kissed her, and once again I experienced the joy and sensuality of intimacy with Amelia; something I was sure I'd never tire of.
Soft lips touched mine, pressure growing. Amelia's endlessly expressive eyes twinkled as the tip of her tongue took the lead, touching my lips.
Her eyes closed as my tongue met hers. She moaned quietly, a soft, loving purr, and, as her mouth opened, I fell into that vortex of desire. Kissing Amelia was so exciting.
My hand slipped down to cup her panty-covered bottom and I discovered it's gorgeous shape. Soft panties slipped over sensual mounded buttocks, my hand fitting one perfectly.
The we're delectable, rounded perfection, and so arousing. My body reacted, an erection slowly forming between us. Amelia's tongue paused briefly, and then she pressed her body against it, the feel of her soft stomach strengthening my erection.
The kiss ended. I was breathless, heart beating hard. Gorgeous eyes opened. She smiled shyly and touched my lips with the pad of her index finger.
"I like kissing you," she whispered.
I smiled. "I love kissing you."
We kissed and necked, a sexy activity. I thoroughly enjoyed sucking on her plump lower lip, and I adored cuddling with her. It was the first night I fell asleep with Amelia in my arms.
We woke up to morning light and Rufus throwing up, a gagging, hurling sound.
Amelia bolted upright. "What's wrong, Rufus?" She crawled to the foot of the bed and peered down. "Mike! There's something wrong with Rufus! He's vomited."
"Stones?" I wasn't worried. Dogs frequently eat things that upset their stomachs.
"Last night's dinner ... and some stones."
"So don't worry. Come back to bed and give me a kiss."
Amelia smiled and crawled back towards me as I stretched on my back. Still in her white camisole and string bikini panties, the top drooped open and gave me a flash of small, delicate breasts with dark pink areolae and tiny nipples.
Desire flushed though me; warm heat and intense yearning. Amelia was so sexy, so pretty. She paused when the sheet twitched at my groin. Mystical light stole into her eyes. She smiled, as if satisfied.
To me, Amelia was a different person now. It was like John Bishop, a close friend in my teens. He'd been tough and daring, game for anything.
Yet, one incident exposed his homophobia; a nasty trait I'd never been aware of. From that moment on, everything he did was shed in a new light; his behavior no longer tough, but mean-spirited and bigoted.
I'd dropped him like a hot potato. Amelia had changed. My awareness of her sensuality had forever altered my perception of her.
Now, I noticed her small seductions, her shy, hesitant moves towards me, the intimacy she was hinting at in the hope that I'd respond.
She was revealing herself to be a wonderful girl full of newfound attraction and I was her happy target.