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What would he think, I wonder, as he tips up my chin and meets my eyes. What would he think if I told him right now I could be pregnant?
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to step around him again, but he’s there, pressing his chest to mine and wrapping his arms around me. “I like the box,” he whispers into my hair. “The box is sweet. The box is great. I think we’ll use most of it eventually.”
“Not the beads,” I plead, my lips brushing his chest.
He laughs. “All right. Not the beads.”
His hands tighten around my waist and my head stays on his chest. Neither one of us says a word as our hug slowly takes on a new life. Hugs are a powerful thing. Physical touch of any kind lowers your risk for a hundred different diseases, boosts immunity, and lowers stress signals in the brain. Connor knows what he’s doing by holding me against him. He’s giving me the gift of touch and I accept it eagerly, settling against his chest, aware that the worries of my day are slowly giving way to something else.
He starts to gently lead me back to his bed and then he tugs down his comforter. He sits me down on the edge of the mattress and unties my shoes, and I lie back so he can slide in beside me. Sheets rustle. Two bodies scoot closer together. With one pillow shared between us, we stay there as the sun continues to set. His room grows darker, and though no rules are laid out, they become clear quickly enough. One person is supposed to lie still while the other explores. It’s not sexual; it’s visceral, a connection of our nervous systems as my finger skates along the edge of his jaw. Tingles spread through me and his lips split into a smile. I can’t help but touch them next. He lets me, lying patiently as I skim his lower lip, my rapt attention never wavering. I wonder what it would be like to have him like this permanently, a home to live in, a bed to rest on, a partner to unburden my soul upon.
I lean forward and kiss him gently before continuing my exploration.
He reaches up and laces his hand through my hair, at the base of my neck so he can tug me close for another kiss.
“I’m not done yet,” I tease just before our lips touch.
He doesn’t listen.
The first time Connor and I were together—during the fundraiser—it was with urgency and blinding need. Now, while I lie here with him, the way he touches me is almost painful in that there is no rush. I’m forced to feel every single nerve ending come to life as his fingertips trail down the side of my neck. A trickling sensation passes along my spine, and I’m understanding now that even while we lie on an even playing field, sharing a pillow, with Connor, I’ll always be wholly outmatched.
A small part of me will always think of him as unattainable. A man I’ve had a crush on for years. A man I’ve watched and wanted from afar. A man who’s friends with my older brother and therefore, inherently off-limits.
He goes up on his elbows and pins me to the bed with his hand as it trails down across my collarbone, along the center of my chest. His kiss turns into something less sweet and I moan into his mouth, a sound that comes from deep within me, a sound that turns Connor on. I can feel him hard against my hip, but he’s still taking his time. There’s no premature ripping off of our clothes, no quick thrusts. Connor’s hand reaches the base of my shirt and he starts to tug it up. For a brief moment, his palm flattens across my bare navel, and with a start, I remember what could be there…what he’s actually resting his hand on.
All the sweet softness his touch inspired in me is wiped clean by a wave of panic.
I arch up off the bed and catch his mouth in a hard kiss. He groans and kisses me back as a realization dawns. I’m being greedy taking this night from him, but tomorrow, I don’t know how he’ll look at me. I don’t know if he’ll touch me with such careful admiration. This night might be my only chance to feel what it would be like to have Connor’s love, and so, desperately, I take it.
I grab his shirt so I can tug it off his head, then I do the same with mine. His eyes lap my newly bared skin like a flame. I flush as his hand covers my breasts, still hidden under my bra. My fingers go up in his hair, tangling in the strands, keeping his attention on me, on my mouth and my body.
