Chapter Twenty-Six
We try to keep it PG on the subway but I can’t stop touching him. I pull him into a corner seat and drag my lips up his neck. He squeezes my knee and gives in to me, crashing his mouth against mine, pulling my hip closer to his. This kiss is dizzying and deep and like a black hole, sucking me in. I forget we’re on a subway, I forget where we’re going, I forget my freaking name. After a moment, he pulls away, his lips pink and hair messy, and buries his nose in my neck. “If we don’t stop this right now,” he whispers, teeth scraping behind my ear, “I might come before we even get to my place.”
I ride with my hands in my lap for the rest of the trip to Inwood.
When we get inside his apartment and shut the door behind us, it’s like the frenetic energy settles between us. It shifts into a moment of electrified, focused silence as we stare at each other. He presses me against the door and kisses me softly, taking my bottom lip between his teeth. His hip bones move and grind against mine. I grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer and closer.
“Is this how you treat other girls?”
He gently nips the side of my neck, brushes his other hand across my chest. “Is this you trying to get me to admit there are no other girls?” He scoops me up, jolting me, making me feel wanted, needed. I wrap myself around him, letting him carry me to his desk. He sets me down gently, his body between my legs. “Because there are definitely no other girls. Not since I laid my eyes on you.”
I bite my lip and raise an eyebrow at him as he studies me.
“What?” He smiles. “What’s that look for?”
I reach my hand low, skimming my fingers across his hip, just above the band of his pants. With careful concentrated focus, I tug it up past his stomach, rib cage birthmark, chest….
He raises his arms in the air, helping me undress him.
I press my fingers into his tattoo, pleasantly feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the ink. I kiss him there, up and down the jagged peaks and valleys, then I let my kisses travel up his arm to his collarbone to his neck to behind his ear. My hands greedily stroke his body, each divot, each valley. I’d kiss him everywhere he’d let me. His birthmark, his tattoo, his forearm, his hands, anywhere.
“Don’t ever get any more tattoos,” I say as I kiss his chest. “I’ll explode.”
“Note to self,” he says as he tangles his fingers in my hair. “Get more tattoos.”
I return my focus to his face, the way I feel shiny when he looks at me. In his eyes, I’m confident, brave, larger than life. I dip my hand to his zipper, gently caressing him end to end.
“I want you to feel good,” I whisper into his neck. I reach for the button on his pants, popping it open with one hand. Slowly I drag the zipper down. So slowly, he winces.
“I feel fantastic,” he groans.
I slip my hand under the waistband of his boxers and stroke him back and forth. He stiffens, guided by my movements. He brushes my strap off my shoulder and cups my jaw with his hand. His eyes flutter open as he tosses his head back.
I used to like watching him sleep. Watching this is so much better. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer.
He grins, reaching into a drawer next to us. He pulls out a condom, holding it up to be inspected. “How’s the date?”
I squint at the foil, praying for something usable. For the love of fuck. Thank god. “Perfect.”
I hop off the desk and kick my shoes off. Henry steps out of his pants, and slides his glasses off his face, tossing them on the bedside table. My heart beats faster and faster. He returns his attention to me and watches intently. I hook my thumbs under the straps of my dress, letting it fall to the floor.
He drinks me in, his hair even messier over his forehead than normal. He scans my whole body as I scan his.
I hear nothing but my heartbeat in my ears, feel nothing but air on my skin.
He walks toward me, and plants his lips on my neck. His fingers hook around the band of my underwear and he tugs them off my hips in a swift and gentle motion. They fall to the floor around my ankles, and I kick them to the side, finally fully exposed to him. He starts leading me backward toward the bed, and lays me flat. Still standing, he brushes his fingers against my inner ankles and traces them up my calves, knees, inner thighs, spreading my legs apart. He crawls over me and plants both hands on either side of my head, his face now above mine.
“Hi.” He smiles.
“Hi.” I glide a finger down the front of his chest, and then I wrap my legs around him, pulling him down on top of me.
“Easy,” he says as he stretches for the condom on his nightstand. “Don’t forget why we came all this way.”
He tears it open and hands it to me. I reach between his legs to roll it onto him. And now there’s nothing in our way.
“Ready?” he asks, kissing my cheek. I nod, situating myself underneath him.
He presses into me slowly, and I breathe, letting all the air escape my lungs. I moan as he thrusts inside.
He kisses my throat, making my skin activate red-hot as I arch my back. His hands cup my breasts as he dips farther and farther into me. I lay my head back, grabbing handfuls of the sheets to cope with the pressure of him between my legs.
“Oh my god,” I groan.
I hook my arms around his neck and angle my hips so he can move deeper.
“Oh my god, Henry,” I gasp. It feels like he’s scratching the edges of my soul.
“You okay?” He pauses. He lies inside me like a dagger. “Need to stop?”
I shake my head and a laugh escapes my lungs. “For the love of everything good, Henry. Don’t stop.”
He smiles, a smile dripping in thirst, and he begins to move gloriously into me again.
My legs shake around his body, weakening with every sharp movement. I can’t control myself around him, I can’t keep it in, and it feels good not to have to. Here, I’m broken, but in a beautiful way, in a way that all my pieces reflect light and color, not darkness. He glides into me; every movement, every breath, I feel flooded with him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, lips brushing the shell of my ear in a half-dazed, half-crazed sort of way. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, this time looking at me, almost as if it slipped out the first time, but he’s making sure I know he means it the second. I pull him back over me, claiming his mouth so that he knows just how beautiful I think he is too. He moves into me like a rainstorm, and I want no shelter.
When we’re done, my body buzzes from him all over me. We lie together, an exhausted heap of sweat and fire. His fingers skate across my cheeks, tapping gently on each freckle. As close as we can be. For someone who relishes her personal space and keeps everyone around her at an arm’s length, if I could crawl inside his chest and take a nap there, it wouldn’t be close enough.
···
I close my eyes, only for a moment, and I already miss his face. When I open them again, he’s smiling at me, ear pressed to the pillow. My body throbs everywhere. It may tingle forever.
I touch his cheek, just under his eye. “I’m not used to seeing you without glasses.”
He laughs. “I’m not used to seeing you without clothes.”
I lay my palm on his rib cage so I can feel him breathe. “What do you think?”
His hand settles on my ass, pulling me close. “A feast.”
I roll my eyes. “So dramatic.”
He laughs and pokes me in the ribs. I squeal, burrowing deeper under the covers until I rest my head on his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. My own heart is racing, pumping so fast I know it’s not only caused by my feelings for him. It’s anxiety and fear and panic and whatever else my nervous system will throw in there as a hookup party gift.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, sensing my withdrawal. I take a deep breath and I tell him the truth. “I have this impulse to overthink everything all the time, and it’s a bit exhausting. I was thinking about you and how wonderful you are and how I can’t wrap my head around my life changing so fast, for the better, when I’ve been stuck for so long. And I was anxious that you might see me as something I’m not or that I won’t be able to live up to whatever you expect. And I just…” I move so my shoulders are over his, my hair falling in a curtain around his face. “I wanted you to know that I’m happy we did this, I’m also just freaking out a little bit.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, cupping my cheek. “Is there anything you need from me?” he asks.
“Patience,” I decide, as I place my palm on his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin on my hand. “And sex.”
“That, I can do,” he says, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me down to kiss me. I crawl on top of him, spreading my legs over his hips. He kisses me deep, and I cup my hands around his jaw.
“What do you want to do today?” he asks, his fingers scraping up my spine.
“This?” I say.
“It’s Saturday,” he says, his hands now traveling down my waist, settling on my hips.
“And?”
“It’s our Passion Project day,” he says, pausing to look at me, eyebrow raised.
“And?” I ask again.
“And, as much fun as it’s been finding a…” He preemptively winces. “Uh…new kind of passion—”
“Booooooooooo.” I cringe.
“Sorry, I know that was awful.” He grins, knowing his cheesy jokes actually do work on me. “Don’t you want to try a passion today?”
“Doesn’t this count?” I brush his hair from his forehead. “Can this count?”
He lets out a sigh and lays his head back against the pillow. I press my lips to his chest, feeling his heat against my mouth. “I had a whole thing planned,” he says. “A food convention downtown. Taste your way around the world.”
“We can order takeout,” I say. “Let’s order takeout and do our own tour of the world through the restaurants in your neighborhood and not leave this apartment for one second. Come on. That totally counts.”
He grins, his hands trailing from my hips down my thighs and back up again. “It would’ve counted anyway even without the takeout.”
“Good.” I lean down to sink my teeth into him again.
“Fantastic,” he says, peeling the comforter off my back, exposing me to the air.
“Amazing,” I say. “Now get another condom.”
He laughs and kisses me on the nose. “I like you so much.”
My skin tingles. “I like you too,” I say.
I like you. It’s something most people have no trouble admitting. Schoolchildren yell it at each other from across the monkey bars. People send love letters to serial killers in prison. But for me, this is a step I didn’t think I’d take with anyone again.
He swipes another condom from his bedside table and adjusts himself under me. I sink slowly on top of him, letting myself fill up with him. It’s an exhale, a release, a shared moment of relief.
“Yeah,” he says, sucking in a breath. “This definitely counts.”
I snort a laugh as I start to move over him. His fingers curl into my thighs, guiding me. “I knew you’d come around.”
“Mmm,” he hums in agreement. “You’re very convincing.” He tugs me down so my chest is pressed against his. This is only our second time, and the thought that there could be, there will be more of this makes me flush all over. He looks at me through his long eyelashes, wraps his arm around my waist, and flips us, pinning me to the pillow in a swift, playful maneuver. It steals the breath from my lungs. He drinks my mouth in, soft and gentle sips of joy. Kissing him gives me tunnel vision, like suddenly his lips are the only thing in the world, and I’d do anything to fall farther into him.
I can’t stop thinking about how much fun this is, how I never want to leave this tiny apartment, how passion can feel a lot like joy if you let it.
We sweat together, laugh together, breathe together, until the sun is deep below the horizon and the moon hangs proudly in the sky. When we stop for a break, we sit on the floor wrapped in sheets and try some lumpia from a Filipino spot on the corner, birria tacos from a hole-in-the-wall taco shop, french fries from McDonald’s (yes, they count as international because they’re French), and a soft pretzel and schnitzel from the biergarten a couple blocks away. For dessert, we Postmates banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery and drink wine Henry stole from L’italiano.
I tell him about the time Sonya and I got caught texting each other during math and got our phones confiscated by the principal, and Henry tells me about how his mom and dad met, how they always wanted to be parents but weren’t sure it was in the cards until Henry came along. I spill some consommé on a shirt Henry let me borrow, and when I loudly proclaim what a mess I am, he tells me, “Stop saying that about someone I like so much.”
I agree never to say it again.
It feels like I’m returning to him after a long journey, like I’ve met him in a past life, rather than mere months ago. It’s a kind of familiarity that lives below my skin, warming me from the inside out. I wonder if Henry feels it too.
Sounds of New York rumble below us. Sirens pierce through the air. A car stops at an intersection and I can feel the vibrations of their music thrum through the walls of Henry’s apartment. I breathe in the scent of Henry, letting it fill my lungs, invading my body—my life. For the first time in a very long time, in this exact place with this exact person, I feel like I’m right where I need to be.