His hands slide underneath me, one braced under my neck and the other between my shoulders, his fingers searing my flesh. The towel starts to itch against my skin and my costume suddenly feels too tight. The want for more of his bare skin pressed against mine is tingling along every nerve.
Pressing my mouth tightly closed to keep from saying-- or possibly begging, what my body is currently desperate for, I feel like there are two people battling inside me: logic and instinct. I thought last time was bad, but that was nothing compared to this. Now, I know what it’s like to be lost in him. To drown in the feeling of us. To explore him without reservation. And I can’t do any of those things.
Instead, I’m using all my self-control to sit as still as possible. This is what he must have meant about not fighting the feeling because, holy crap, my body is not a fan of the no touching rule. With each panting breath, his chest expands against mine and I want to rip the towel away that separates us. A whimper I can’t stop rides up my throat, smashing into the back of my gritted teeth. His fingers flex at the sound, digging into my flesh.
Too soon or not soon enough, depending on which side of me that’s asked, Nolan finishes, humming with pleasure as he licks me clean. Saliva pools in my mouth wanting to run my tongue along his skin the way his runs along mine.
My fingers literally ache and tingle with how hard I gripped the comforter-- and probably because they were tucked underneath my butt. Slowly, I relax my hands and slide them out from under me. The need for him is so strong that, in what I hope is a happy compromise, I hug him, my hands spread wide between his shoulder blades.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, a shiver running through me from the sensation of his warm breath against my ear.
Not even a little bit.
I clear my throat and pretending my voice isn’t strangely high, answer, “Yep. Fine. See, nothing to worry about.”
Still lying on top of me, he shifts so he can look into my eyes, and I swear he’s trying to murder me because he has that ‘I can make all your fantasies come true’expression. I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, but Christ on a cracker that look is dangerous.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” he whispers, his voice filled with a familiar purr that has lured many a girl to stalk him around town. “And it’s okay to touch me. I won’t hold it against you.”
Now you tell me.
“I’m going to uh,” I pant, the words embarrassingly breathy. I swallow heavily. “Need like a diagram of where I can and can’t touch you. I don’t want to… um, cross any lines... again.”
Nolan’s gaze drops to my parted lips, and my fingers dig into his back to keep from reaching up to pull his face to mine. His mouth opens and closes a few times, discarding whatever came to mind, before getting up to his knees.
He takes my hands that have slipped from his body and presses them to his stomach, my fingers automatically tracing along the lines of the hard muscles beneath. “Everything above the belt should be fine.”
“Should be,” I laugh throatily, and he gives me a suggestive smirk.Jerk!
He leans forward, bracing his weight on one hand near my hip, and slowly leads one of my hands up his chest, my free hand following along. His bedroom eyes keep flicking between mouth and eyes while he licks his lips. I lick mine in answer.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
I take in a shuddering breath as he moves closer, but he simply releases my hand and focuses on the towels, making sure there’s no blood on my costume. I’m sure later I’ll be grateful.
Because it’s too hard not to, I let my hands drift up his chest to his shoulders, one sliding down the arm that has his tattoo. “Is it okay for me to ask about this now?”
Nolan doesn’t bother looking, answering too casually, “It’s for Felix.”
“Can I look at it?” I request, my fingers already tracing along the unfamiliar rise and fall of the inked skin.
“Yeah, okay,” he sighs, twisting so that I can have a better look.
Unable to stop touching him, I examine the tattoo as much with my fingers as I do my eyes, gliding along the art that starts at his right shoulder and ends a few inches above his elbow. In the dim light of the room, the monochromatic tones of the ink take on a haunting quality. At the center lies an old-fashioned clock with the face cracked and gears exposed. Two dates in Roman numerals are carved into one of the gears. At the top of the gear is VI-XII-MMI and at the bottom is VII-XVIII-MMXVII. Surrounding the clock are angel wings, one white and one black, a wolf, and a bat chained to the clock as if together they can keep the fractured clock from falling apart.
The venom seems to heighten all of my emotions, and my vision becomes blurry with unshed tears when my fingers trace the dates that mark the span of Felix’s life. I sniff, and Nolan gathers me into his arms. Gratefully, I breathe him in, my face pressed against his neck.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, my hands pressed flat against his chest. My insides churn in tumultuous waves, my physical need doing battle with the heavy weight in my gut over what must be done to help Felix.
“Connor does good work,” he replies quietly, his fingers skating up and down my back along the exposed portions of my costume.
“I’m going to miss Felix when it’s his time to go,” I confess, my hands slipping from Nolan’s chest to around his waist.
“Me too,” he breathes, then pulls back enough so he can see my face. “But he’s not gone yet, so let’s hold off mourning him until then, okay?”
“Is that what you’ve been doing? Holding off?” I ask, the words escaping before I can catch them.
“Trying to,” he replies with a tight smile, then presses a soft kiss to my forehead, which the hormone ridden side of me is thrilled about.
