Chapter 7 First Touch…Again #4
He cups my breasts in his other hand, teases my nipples, tweaks and twists one and then the other, and smears my essence against my clit.
I cry out, and my legs shake and turn to jelly, and he sets a slow, building rhythm.
Slow circles at first that make me pant in time with his touch.
And then faster, and faster, and now my hips start to writhe and gyrate, pressing into his touch as I pant and gasp.
"Ren," I whisper, his name a plea—for what precisely, I'm not sure.
"I've got you, my love," he murmurs. "Just let go."
Let go?
Of what?
How?
I am holding back, I realize, as I tune in more carefully to my body and my physical sensations—a word that cropped up more than once in my short-lived attempt at therapy was "disassociation.
" As in, I disconnect my mind from my body.
It's not hard to figure out why: in order to mentally and emotionally survive that awful, endless nightmare, I had to go somewhere else in my mind.
I had to disconnect from my body, and I have never really reconnected.
Until now.
Aware, now, of the physical disconnect, of the fact that I'm holding myself back from truly feeling and releasing, I can take steps to correct the situation.
Panting, knees shaking, teetering on the cusp of release but unable to reach the other side, I reach up and cup the side of Lorenzo's face, turn his face to mine, whispering. "I need to lie down, Ren. I don't think I can do this standing up anymore."
He scoops me into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold and carries me out of the bathroom to the bed.
With exquisite gentleness, he sets me on the bed.
For a moment, he stands beside the bed, bent over me, and touches his lips to mine.
I whimper, needing more—I don't recognize myself, the sounds I'm making, the need I feel; most unrecognizable of all is the softness Lorenzo's attentions have engendered within me.
I have survived this long by virtue of unyielding hardness, hiding my brokenness inside a shell of ice as hard as any diamond.
Lorenzo has shattered that shell, melted the ice. Revealed my soft, broken center.
My only choice is to trust him with those pieces. To yield that softness into his care.
I clasp his nape and pull him to me, deepening the kiss. I part my mouth for him, accept his tongue, his breath, his heat. The kiss sets fire to my veins, makes my stomach surge and flip.
He slides a leg over me and then he's above me, straddling me, one hand punched into the pillow beside my face, the other tenderly caressing my cheek.
I pull away and look up at him—the onslaught of panic is abrupt and punishing. A scream lodges in my throat, trapped behind the breath I can't draw, can't release.
"Off!" I manage, the word choked. "Off, off. Please, please—get off get off getoffgetoffgetoff!"
He rolls away at the first syllable out of my mouth. "I'm sorry, Sophia, I should have known—I should have known. I'm so sorry, my love—I didn't think."
I shake my head, grab his hand and squeeze hard, breathing through my nose to force my breathing to slow. "I'm sorry, Ren. I just—the second you were above me like that, I…I saw—them. Felt them."
He nuzzles my cheek. "I should have known. Forgive me."
I shake my head. "No, you couldn't have. I didn't know I'd react like that myself until it happened." I turn my face to his, brush my lips against his. "I don't want to give up, Ren."
He sighs, sadly, softly. "We can take a break. It's not giving up."
I shake my head again, turning toward him. "I was so close. I'm just—tense. Holding back. Or holding on to…" I sigh, struggling to find the words. "To everything. I want to let go, I just don't know how."
"How can I help you, my love?" he asks, sliding his hand from my shoulder down my arm to my hip.
"I wish I knew, Ren. It felt good, you touching me.
I want to be able to let go. I want to be able to orgasm.
To…share myself with you. I just…" I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to properly and accurately express my inner turmoil.
"I'm afraid—not of you. Never of you, Ren.
I trust you with my life, with my body, and with my heart, I truly do.
But the fear is…it's got deep roots, Ren.
It's irrational, but that doesn't make it any less… "
"Real," he finishes for me. "Anything you want. Anything you need. I am here. I am for you. I am with you. Nothing is too much to ask."
The sweetness is almost too much, and my eyes burn again with a fresh wave of stupid, absurd, suddenly ever-present tears. "My god, Ren. How can a man like you, a warrior, a fighter, a killer…how can you be so sweet? So perfectly, wonderfully sweet?"
"I love you, Sophia. I don't know how else to answer."
Side by side, facing each other, I shimmy closer to him, until our hips touch and my breasts are crushed between us and his manhood is a hot slack ridge low against my belly.
I let myself touch him—explore him. I caress his broad shoulder, his thick, hard arm. Pet his pec, trail my fingers up his abdomen, palm his hip. Scratch his back, and then soothe the scratched skin with a slow slide of my palm.
Heart pounding, I cup the taut, iron-hard bubble of his ass.
"I like being naked with you, Ren," I breathe.
"The way you touch me, Soph, it’s…” his eyes close, and I could be mistaken but it almost seems like he's close to tears himself. "It's heaven."
"I'm sorry I can't give you more yet," I say.
He touches my lips. "No. None of that. No more apologies. Not ever. Whatever you feel comfortable with is all I want or need. I'm perfectly content just like this. But if you want more, you have only to ask."
"Maybe…" I lick my lips, letting out a nervous breath. "Maybe just kiss me? But…like this. Not…I don't think I can be on my back just yet.”
He nuzzles my mouth with his. "I could kiss you for the rest of eternity, my darling."
I open my mouth to his, bury my fingers in his damp hair at the back of his head.
I lose track of time, then. It begins slowly.
Delicate and subtle, tender and soft and hesitant.
It builds slowly. From a series of lip-touches with the occasional questing tongue, it becomes a slide of mouth on mouth, tongues tangling as we battle for breath.
And then it becomes hungry and wild, frantic—on my part at least. I am frantic for him, for the intimacy of kissing him, as if I can find the release I need simply by kissing.
I can't, however.
I need more.
I want more.
I pull my hips away, clutch his hand, guide it down between us. "Touch me, Ren. Please. I want to try again."
He brings our hands back up, presses my hand to his lips.
His eyes are dark and deep and burgeoning with love as he presses my hand to his face and then drives his down between our bodies.
He holds my eyes with his as he feathers a ghostly brush of a fingertip over my seam.
I gasp, my eyes going wide. This gets me a hot grin.
"I've barely touched you, and you're gasping for me," he murmurs.
"It feels good."
"Guide me," he says. "Tell me what you like, what you want. Teach me how to pleasure you, Sophia, so I can make you weep with ecstasy unlike anything you've ever felt."
He drags that one thick, clever finger up my seam, and down, and up, and down, again and again, and each time he fits it ever so slightly deeper between my nether lips.
With each pass, my breath comes quicker, until I’m panting rapidly as his finger finally, finally delves deep into my pulsing, drenched channel.
"You're wet for me, Sophia," he murmurs. "Wet and tight."
"Oh god, Ren, the way you touch me. It's so good." I close my eyes, feeling the tension in my shoulders, in my belly, in my thighs. I focus on his touch, will my muscles to relinquish their tension.
I start with my toes, my feet, my calves. Imagine them melting into the bed. My thighs. My hips. My belly. Hands, arms, shoulders—melting, dissolving, disappearing.
There is no me. No past. No trauma. Only Ren, only his touch. Only the pleasure of his finger swiping deep inside me, slicking out and smearing my wetness over my hard, sensitive little clit, buried within the hood of soft, tender skin.
Now, I lose myself.
I knot my fingers in Ren’s hair and pull him to me. Gasp against his mouth as heat and pressure build inside me, ratcheting with each swipe, circle, and delve of his finger.
I'm panting and whimpering now, and my hips begin to lift, to press into his touch as my climax at long last shudders through me. Or, the beginnings of one, at least.
It is merely a tremor, at first. My breath hitches, and my hips spasm, bucking up against his touch.
He devours my mouth, his tongue insistently driving against mine as he drives his finger inside me, withdraws it to circle my clit faster and faster and faster until I'm trying desperately to fuck his finger.
The heat and pressure inside me become unbearable, the need to reach release all-consuming.
"Ren!" I cry. "Oh god, oh god, Ren, I—I need…"
"What, love? Tell me so I can give it to you."
"I need to come but I can't!"
He slows his touch but doesn't stop; he pulls back so he can meet my eyes. "Do you trust me?"
I nod—no hesitation. “Yes, Ren. I trust you."
He captures my mouth with his in a slow, gentle kiss, his lips sliding against mine and his tongue mating with mine, demanding more heat from me, pouring gasoline on the inferno of my trapped need.
Moving slowly and carefully, he pulls me onto him. Our bodies are flush, and I feel the hard press of his cock against me, digging against the seam of my entrance.
"Ren," I whisper, fighting panic. "I—I can't—"
"Trust me," he whispers. "I know. Just breathe. I've got you."