“Is that what you did?”
“Yes. I got myself out of hell. I dealt with it and moved on. You can, too.”
There is no way to stop myself. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him in until my lips are just before the point of touching his. I want his mouth, I want his taste, and I want to breathe him in. I feel his body tense, but he doesn’t pull away.
Neither of us moves.
There is heat here, of that I am sure.
Finally, I lean in a bit closer so that my mouth is barely against his. I soften the hand I have on his chest and move my fingertips up and over his shirt, over the collar, until I’m finally touching the back of his neck. His skin is warm and perfect, just as I knew it would be. Chris starts to move his lips against mine, ever so softly, and so I ease in more. His tongue meets mine, and I shiver. The atmosphere in the room is loaded; loaded with my emotion and my fervent, raw, inescapable lust for this person.
I never knew that slow kissing could be so passionate. His tongue isn’t halfway down my throat, nor is he clawing at me with his hands. I cannot be wrong in imagining that he’s feeling the same way I am.
I’m not, because Chris moves his hand to mine and starts inching his fingertips across the top of my hand and up my arm. He takes out our earphones, quieting the music and leaving only us. The touch of his hand is intense, and I pull my mouth from his because I want to see how he moves. My fingers begin digging into his skin as I watch him touch me, look at me, take me in. I try not to flinch as his fingers travel over the scar on my forearm. I’ve forgotten that I’m wearing short sleeves. This is definitely a first, because I never, ever forget. And now he is touching my arm as if he doesn’t even know the scar is there, making that visible reminder of my past and my guilt about it temporarily invisible.
When his hand reaches my shoulder, he doesn’t stop. I close my eyes as he moves to the top of my chest. When he first grazes my breast, I can’t help letting a small sound escape my lips. Chris lowers his hand and slides it under my shirt, then under my bra, until his warm hand is on me. Now his breathing becomes ragged.
Oh God, I’m going to scream.
The way he skims the fingers of his other hand over my lower back is making me crazy. So deliberate and steady. He is so controlled. With the hand that’s just under my breast, he pushes against me slightly until I pull back enough for him to look me in the eyes. Every part of my body is burning for him. I love the way that his eyes pierce me as his hand moves against me. His face has just the hint of a smile and… surprise? I see a touch of confusion, as though he hadn’t been expecting this. If he didn’t before, I can tell that now he feels the same connection that I felt out by the lake. An all-consuming clarity that there is a magnetic pull between us. At least, I want him to be feeling that.
With both hands, I push his black hair from his face and run my fingers through it and then down his shoulders. I take my time because I want to take in everything that I can about him and absorb all the details of his face. How the curve of his eyebrows is so beautifully arched, how the hint of a sideburn blends into his unshaven cheek, and how he bites his lip as I study him. And more than that, I see both our kinship and our differences: how we both have pasts full of pain, and how he emanates survival in the way that I want to. Right now, I embody failure and surrender, but I see in him the possibility of what I could have.
So his touch is more than just physical touch.
Under my bra, Chris covers my breast with his hand and strokes me slowly with his thumb. I’m not prepared for the powerful ache that surges between my legs as he tightens his fingers around my nipple, and I drop my head back slightly. I arch my back some, pushing my breast against him, wanting more. For a second more, he pinches my nipple, but then moves his hand away. I nearly whimper, but then he leans into me and kisses me again. Harder this time. He tastes like eternity, and healing, and completion.
No one else could ever kiss me like this, of that I am positive.
I could breathe him in forever.
I could fall in love forever.
It is impossible to deny that I am clearly starved for physical contact, for sexual contact, but that still doesn’t entirely explain how desperately I want to tear off this boy’s clothes after I’ve shied away from everyone else. Never have I been so turned on. I move to the very edge of the bed and drop my hands to Chris’s lower back, bringing him against me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly as he presses his waist between my legs. His lips are sealed against mine, his tongue perfect. I cannot get close enough to him, and I want more. I want everything. It doesn’t make sense. I barely know him, but this is the most intimate that I have ever been with anyone, physically or emotionally.
Right now, I know that this is right, even though it’s baffling. Chris has tapped into the small part of me that still seeks hope. And pleasure.
His mouth moves to my neck, his lips grazing against my skin and his breath heated. The only downside to lifting the back of his shirt is that he has to take his lips from my skin so that I can pull it over his head.
Holy hell, he’s gorgeous.
I touch his chest. As I’d seen when we were by the lake, he is all muscle. Lean, and defined, and utterly incomparable. And now I get to have my hands on him. Mesmerized by his body, I follow the lines of his chest muscles with my hand, tracing my fingers across his nipples, down to his abs, and still to the faint trail of hair that leads into his jeans. Then I work my way back up again, aware that I could do this for hours. Chris groans softly. There is no insecurity about what I am doing nagging at me, no doubt about how to touch him. Feeling his body, exploring him, is intuitive. Just having my hands on this boy seems like it could fulfill any lustful craving I have. He is absolutely captivating.
As he kneels in front of me, I lean in and sweep my lips over his chest, touching my tongue to him every now and then. His hands are in my hair, cradling me while I taste his body. Later, when my mouth knows every inch of his muscled chest, I lift my lips to his. He does not hesitate and kisses me again. Weakened, I fall back onto the bed, and he crawls into me, resting his weight against me. My hips press up into him as he kisses his way from my mouth to my breasts, over my shirt and down my stomach.
“Christopher.” I can’t help murmuring his name, and I have to stop myself from saying it over and over. I feel such relief to have found him.
Then his weight is on me again and he kisses me deeply as he presses his body between my legs. I feel how hard he is, how much he wants me.
But then, without warning, he pushes up on his arms, panting a bit. He touches his cheek to mine, and I can feel that I’ve lost him. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but he is clearly stopping this before it goes any further. The sudden distance between us, the wall, threatens to wreck me. Whatever was there a few seconds ago is gone.
Chris kisses me lightly on the cheek and whispers, “I don’t… I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Oh. Okay.” I have no idea what to say or what has happened. And I don’t know why he hasn’t moved away from me or why he is trembling. So I ask. “Chris. Why are you shaking?”
“I’m not,” he says. But he totally is.
I brush my hands up and down his arms, wanting to touch him for as long he’ll let me. He drops his head into the crook of my neck as his breathing eases. I am so confused.
