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Tearing sounds into the darkness and I feel the room’s air lift the tiny invisible hairs across my chest and navel. He just ripped my top in half. I guess I deserve that.
We don’t say anything as he lifts me slightly, enabling him to pull my top off the rest of the way without disconnecting our mouths. As soon as my back hits the soft quilt, I use all of my strength to push him onto his. He gasps slightly, clearly shocked at my abrupt movement.
I slide to my knees on the floor and grasp his belt with my fingertips. The buckle clangs and clatters as I pull the leather free of its tight hold. “Gwen,” he warns, leaning up on his elbows, his eyes hooded yet nervous. “Don’t.”
“If you say stop and I know you mean it, then I’ll stop,” I assure him, which isn’t necessary because he could easily overpower me. The fact he’s letting me get this far with him shows his trust.
The belt finally pulls free, but his hand grips mine when I pop the button through the tiny slit and quickly slide the zipper down. “Condom.”
If this were any other man I’d agree, but it’s not. It’s Nathan and he uses condoms for more than just protection against STIs and pregnancy. He uses them so he can’t actually feel a woman’s wetness. He uses them as a barrier between him and intimacy. I’ve learned this the hard way. I never want to be in that awkward situation again.
Pushing his hand away, I tug on his trousers until they slide over his tight navy blue boxers and pool at his ankles. He allows me to lift his feet and pull them off the rest of the way. His breathing is ragged and I’m not sure it has anything to do with being horny anymore.
This assumption is proven to be correct when my fingers hook gently over the waistband of his boxers. A sob like noise tears up from his chest and I suddenly notice his body trembling.
What the fuck?
Guilt encompasses me in a grip that steals all of the air from my lungs. My chest aches in a way it hasn’t before. So much pain in such a seemingly strong man… I can’t let him have it anymore. He needs to share it with me.
No.
He needs to give it to me, all of it.
I climb up his body and settle on him so my breasts squish against his bare chest, my ankles up in the air behind me. I wonder if he’ll remove my bra. I really hope he will, but this is about him, not me, so I’m not going to remove it myself.
“Nathan?” I remove his hands from his face and scan his cheeks for any sign of tears. No tears, just fear and anger.
His accusing eyes come to me. I know he’s about to say something bad to get me to leave him alone. There’s no way I’m giving him that chance. I gently press my lips to his for a few seconds while my eyes close slowly and my body relaxes onto his.
When I feel his shaking subside, I lean up, my hair cascading over one side of our faces. I rub my nose along his, up and down the side. He lets out a sigh and grips my arms, clearly intending to push me away.
So I say the words I’ve longed to say but had no courage to before, due to my fears of betraying a certain somebody, somebody I’m not going to think about in this moment. This moment is for us; Nathan and I. Nobody else. Not even you know who.
“I’m in love with you.” Shutting my eyes once more to shield myself from the shock that plagues his, I press my lips gently to his again. In those five words I know something significant has changed in him. Something has changed in this moment between us. My lips move to his jaw as his hands relax on my arms and come around my back, trailing a gentle pattern over my spine.
I don’t focus on the burning it causes in my stomach; instead I focus on what needs to be done. Sliding down his body, inch by glorious inch, my lips taste his flesh. Finally I reach the waistband of his boxers and I wait a while, kissing along the edge, before finally pulling them down and over his impressive shaft, which points to ceiling for a moment before lolling backwards towards his stomach.
“Gwen,” he says and I see his hands go back to his face. “I can’t do this.”
“Trust me,” I say and pull his hands from his face. “Don’t look; just feel.”
I trail the tips of my nails over the sack that hangs beneath his solid rod. How the hell I’m going to fit that in my mouth I have no idea.
