I liked the stubble on his cheeks and head, and his eyes behind the glasses watching me, waiting for something, sparkling only rarely, breaking through the fog.
He lies on the bed so still it is like he is afraid to move, talking, talking, as I inch up the bed toward him. I rest my head on his chest, his arms, the only muscled thing about him, sliding around me. And when he finally turns his head to kiss me I whisper, "What took you so long?"
He laughs that nervous laugh and whispers, "What took
you so long?"
I feel like I've been waiting for this for years, for the feel of his mouth on mine, like melting. He kisses like I always wanted to be kissed and so rarely was, with his whole body yet not smothering me.
Like he's thought about it. And I hope he has. His hands on my face and suddenly I don't feel anything that's changed, any of the mistrust and fear and the extra pounds and spots on my skin. Nothing has changed in these moments between us, where we fit together like we've been doing this much longer. So many more times than the three.
He whispers something but I want to hear him say it out loud. He denies me his voice so much, makes me read the words he has more confidence in that way.
"Please," he whispers, roughly.
And I do what he wants because I want it too, want to taste him, want everything at once. And I love the taste of him, the feel, the little silent laugh I get inside when I know at this moment how completely he's mine.
It's the only moment that he's mine.
He pulls me up almost roughly to kiss me again, taste himself on my lips. Then he throws me down, buries his face in my cunt like he's been dreaming about it. And his talented tongue keeps me on the edge, breathing ragged, hands sliding over my own skin and reaching for his head, for the stubble rough, sharp.
When I finally pull him up to me and he slides inside me I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out, from saying something I can't say to him. I shiver like it hurts but it feels so good--I want to bite, scratch, claw at him but kiss him softly, keep him close.
On top of him, I rock back, grip his thighs, force myself to move, thrust grind until I'm there...yes...there.
But not done, no, not done, even though I collapse on his chest and those arms pull me close.
We roll over and he's on top of me and whispering in my ear "I don't want to come yet" and I don't want him to either, don't want this to stop. I feel like one raw nerve, can feel each tiny movement. Our eyes meet, my eyes wide, and I beg him no, don't stop, you feel so good and the point that matters there is the you...you...you.
And I know that when it stops he'll be scared to be too close to me, or maybe he only wants me when we're this deep in each other and when we're not he doesn't care.
When he finally comes I don't want to let go. I hold on as tight as I can, and I hear his rough voice say "That was amazing" but he's already moving away, and my answering "yes" and my giggles that come without warning when my skin is flushed like this. I hear it like I'm not the one doing it, because as soon as we're done I know he's not mine, not mine, never will be.
And I wonder how he can not know how I feel about him, wonder how he doesn't see right through me. Does he, after all, see through me and just pretend he doesn't?
He puts his shirt back on like he needs a layer between us now. Falls asleep with his back to me, and leaves me tracing patterns on his t-shirt instead of sleeping. But when he thinks I'm asleep I catch him open his eyes to look at me.
