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“Not yet,” he whispers. “Stay a little longer.”
This doesn’t look like lust, I think vaguely, blearily, my brain still half asleep. He’s hard, but the way he holds me is so...tender, somehow. And intense at the same time. Like he can’t let go.
When he finally pulls back a little, I lift a hand to his white-blond hair, part it a little to check on the scabs where my brother’s rock hit him. There’s a small bump, and I trail my fingertips lightly over it, then down the side of his face, over his smooth cheek, down to the stubble on his jaw.
His eyes are wide open, maybe a bit too wide, making something in my chest clench, but as I stroke an index finger over a pale brow, his lashes lower and his eyes half-close.
“That feels good,” he whispers, and then starts, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.
“It’s supposed to,” I inform him, and get a little smile out of him that looks genuine.
His eyes close again and I stroke his brows, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, then lean in and kiss the same spots, making him shiver. I love making him feel good. He always seems so shocked when he feels pleasure, when a touch connects and doesn’t bring pain or discomfort. Sometimes it feels as if that little boy he talked to me about is still in there, trapped in the back of his mind, pounding on the door and trying to get out.
And sometimes it feels as though, when I’m around, he’s allowed out to play, and laugh, and not be so alone.
Okay, that’s a weird thought when you recall all the sex we’ve been having, because ew. But no, that doesn’t mean anything. The adult Ross wants me, and has sex with me, but the boy Ross is the one I glimpse when I touch him gently like this.
“How much do you remember of your mom?” I whisper, and regret it a little when this time he jerks back, eyes flying wide.
“What...?” He seems confused and I don’t blame him. I’m sorry I shattered this moment of peace I managed to offer him.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No,” he says, voice vibrating with a feeling I can’t name, “no, dammit. You promised.”
“Promised what?”
“Not to stop pushing.”
I stare openly at him. I thought I’d been pushing him too far, bullying, yes, bullying my way into his past, his memories, his thoughts, and he wants it?
“Don’t let go, Lu,” he says quietly, as if hearing my unasked question and silent doubts. “You asked if I wanted to fall, and I know I told you to let go, but don’t. Please, fuck, don’t.”
“I won’t,” I promise him, my heart in my throat. “You know I won’t.”
He quiets down after that, and I think maybe he’s falling back asleep. Makes me wonder if he was really awake all this time, if that’s why he said the things he said, so open... vulnerable. The Ross I know would have more trouble letting down his defenses, unless...
Unless he’s changed, like I told Dad. Unless he’s changing. Doing his best to become better, at communicating, at allowing others in.
Allowing me inside his world.
And God, this is going way too fast. I should step on the brakes, but can’t find it in me to even try. I don’t want to stop this from happening, myself from falling deeper in love with him. Hope has me hogtied and is dragging me toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
It looks like the brightest sunrise I’ve ever witnessed.
***
Next time I come to, he’s fully awake and spreading my legs, using his thumb to toy with my clit. The little boy tucked away, the sexy, aroused man in full display, broad shoulders and pale lashes, golden scruff on that square jaw. I just wish he’d take that frigging T-shirt off so I can trail my hands over that muscular chest...
He somehow realizes I’m aware and looks up. When he catches my eye, he winks and bends down to lick at my pussy and sweetly torture me until I’m panting and tugging on his short hair, trying to get him to... do something. Get me off. Or come up and kiss me, put his cock inside me and fuck me until we both find our release.
He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to do either, though, using a finger to fuck me as he sucks on my clit, too slow and shallow to make me come but enough to make me moan and writhe.
“Please...” I whisper, too caught up in the swirl of need to even ask what time it is. “Please, Ross...”
“Please, what?” he asks, his hot breath on my clit making me gasp. Blue eyes flick up, wicked and dark with desire, and the coil of need winds up tighter in my belly.
“I want you so much...”
