Chapter 38 I Wasn’t Worth the Truth #2
She can’t go any further. I can see it in the width of her pupils, feel it in the heat of her body, the way she lifts herself up.
I wander down, run my finger along her collarbone to her breasts.
She’s wearing a lace bra with the clasp in front.
It must be new—it’s nice, real nice—but I don’t want to see it now, I just want us.
Just skin on skin. I undo the clasp and kiss her soft skin beneath, kiss the fine curve of her breasts, take her nipple in my mouth.
Paisley grabs my hair and makes a sound that causes me to break out in goose bumps.
She digs her nails into my scalp. It burns, but not in a bad way, just one that makes me want more, more, more.
I pull down her panties, she spreads her legs, whimpering with desire, and I run my tongue back and forth over her most sensitive area.
She writhes beneath me, her hands on my shoulders.
Her hold is so strong I know she can’t hold out too much longer.
Her legs begin to tremble. I like seeing her face from down here, her fluttering, closed eyelids, her pursed lips right before they open again and give off that bright, beautiful sound that drives me crazy.
“Knox,” she says again when I stop, and it’s a pleading, an “I can’t do anymore.
” I like the sound, like knowing how much she wants me.
With my hand, I pull open the drawer of my nightstand, blindly dig around, gum, pens, the broken alarm clock from last year and then, finally, a condom.
I nibble her ear while I peel off my pants and boxers and notice the way her skin reacts as I let my breath brush her ear.
I tear open the package and slide it on while Paisley lies beneath me, burning, as if she had a fever.
I have this effect on her. I can make sure that she feels good, that she feels loved.
“Paisley,” I say, quick and soft, husky and fraught with meaning, because this moment is fraught with meaning, is everything.
Then I let myself sink into her, find the warm, moist part of her body that still separates us, and give her what she wants, what I want.
What we want.
It’s stunning. Slow and tender, then faster and urgent, a you-are-everything, you-are- everything, you-are-everything.
Her lips open, we look at each other while moving in time, and I know that we’re both thinking the same thing: How is this possible?
How is it possible to want someone so much that sex can feel this way? How is it possible that our feelings can be so strong, so all-encompassing that I think I’m going to explode out of happiness?
It’s possible by loving. Truly loving. I didn’t realize that before, but now I know. And Paisley, too.
I kiss her, caress her face, look at her, look into those big blue eyes that recognize more about me than I do. I lay my forehead against hers. She’s breathing quickly. Irregularly.
“Everything okay?” I whisper.
Her grip on my hips grows stronger. She closes her eyes. I can feel her lashes brushing my skin. She nods against my forehead, laughs against my lips.
I kiss her everywhere, her neck, her ear, her mouth, brush my hands across her soft breasts, enjoy the effect I am having on her.
Paisley pushes against me, wrapping her legs around my body tighter, and everything starts to move harder, quicker.
I let go of all my self-control and let myself be guided by my feelings, give her back everything she is giving me.
Her body tenses; she presses her heels into the mattress and holds her breath.
I can’t describe it, can’t believe this feeling at this moment—it’s so agonizingly beautiful it’s almost unbearable.
We are moving, heading toward something that is more than we ever thought possible, more than anything we know.
She and I, me and her, together here, now.
Until we gasp and breathe, forget to breathe and gasp again.
We claw at each other and let go, my heart is beating against my chest as if it wants to dig its way out.
I sink down and begin to breathe more heavily. Our glowing bodies are slick with sweat. It takes forever for me to stop feeling dizzy so that I can roll back off her. I interlock my fingers with hers and kiss her beneath her now messy hair.
“I wish you knew what I was feeling right now,” I say.
She turns toward me. “I feel the same way.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
She laughs. “Wanna bet?” And then, “I’m sweating, and it’s cold. I don’t want to catch a cold.”
“Wow. You are so romantic.”
“My fear of getting sick is stronger than the after-sex-romance moment.”
Laughing, I bury my face in the crook of her neck. “If I give you a sweater, can we cuddle some more?”
“Yeah.”
I roll away from her and give her space. “In the dresser. Last drawer.”
Paisley crawls off the bed. Her naked feet make their way across the parquet. I close my eyes and wait. Hear her opening the drawer. Hear her hold her breath. I’m wondering why until I hear another noise. The sound of glass on glass.
I sit up straight. I want to do something, something to reverse this moment, but it’s too late.
Paisley turns around. She’s looking at me and there is nothing, absolutely nothing left of the bliss we just shared.
Her expression is one of pure disgust.