Chapter 8 #13
I swallow. But he doesn't move yet. "I need to hear you say it," he whispers. "I need to know you want this."
"I want this and you, Gio. I'm sure."
He exhales. It sounds like relief.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I've been losing my mind wanting you."
He kisses me.
It starts soft, with our mouths brushing, breathing into each other. Then his tongue slides against mine. I kiss him back, pulling him closer.
My fingers twist in his hair. His lip ring presses into my lower lip, and I literally shiver. It couldn't be more perfect.
"Fuck, Rava," he murmurs into my mouth. "Keep making these sounds. I need them." He trails kisses down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.
"You're so beautiful, Rava," he breathes. "You have no idea what you do to me." He smiles. "But that's okay. I'll show you."
His mouth maps me. It's everywhere. My chest, my stomach, my ribs, all kissed, tasted, worshipped. My whole body feels like it's waiting.
He moves between my legs slowly, spreads them even slower. "We'll take our time… I want you relaxed, okay? No pressure."
I nod, trying not to moan just from the sound of his voice. I thought the second I said I want to have sex with him he would flip me, pin me down, do that thing where he forgets the world exists.
"Why are you being so careful all of a sudden? How come you're not attacking me?" I ask.
He answers me with a kiss first. Right on the inside of my thigh. "The more I want something," he murmurs against me, "the gentler it makes me." He lets his mouth hover there. "I want it so bad it slows me down instead of speeding me up."
My shoulders drop without me even realizing. I'm emotional and horny in the same breath. Which is honestly his fault.
His hand slides between my thighs, spreading lube. "You still good?" he asks.
"Yes," I whisper. I hide my face with my arm.
I'm not good at this. I'm not good at being seen.
"Look at me," he says.
I do.
He pulls my arm down. "Don't do that."
"What?"
"Don't hide from me." His eyes lock on mine as he presses a finger into me. "There you go," he murmurs. "You're taking me so well already."
He leans down and kisses my thigh.
Adds a second finger. The stretch makes me gasp, but his free hand grips mine instantly, holding me steady. "I've got you," he says. "I'll never hurt you. You hear me?"
I nod. But I keep hearing my father's voice in my head.
What he'd say if he saw this. What he'd do.
"You're thinking again," Gio mutters.
He's smiling a little, but his eyes are serious.
"Get outta your head."
"Trying."
"You trust me?"
I nod.
"Say it."
"I trust you, Gio."
His mouth softens at that. "That's all I need." He works me open gently, patiently, curling his fingers just enough to make my back arch, my eyes flutter shut.
"That's the spot, isn't it?" he whispers, smiling against my skin. I nod. Fast. His fingers shouldn't feel this good.
If his hands feel like this, what the hell is his actual dick gonna feel like? I'm already hanging by a thread and we're not even there yet.
"Keep being responsive, please. Just like that. I want to know what you feel," he whispers.
I melt into it. It hurts in a different way. Because the better this feels, the worse it's going to be to lose it.
To lose him.
He pulls back to slick himself, but his eyes never leave me. He's gorgeous like this. "I'm gonna go slow," he says. "The second it's too much, you tell me."
"Okay," I whisper.
"Are you ready for me?"
"Yes," I say. "Please."
He nods, kisses me once, and then he lines up. The second I feel him inside me, I freeze.
It's just… foreign. Too new.
I tighten up like my body's got brakes.
"Okay," he says, pulling back. "That's okay." He breathes against my collarbone. "I need you to relax, Ravioli."
"I'm trying."
"I know." His hand rubs circles on my hip.
I feel stupid.
Like I should be doing better.
Like I'm ruining it.
Like he'll get bored if I take too long. "I'm sorry," I mumble.
"Don't be." He kisses my cheek.
"Rava, I'm not going anywhere. We got time." He waits. Lets me pull him close again.
Lets me breathe into his chest and not say anything.
Then we try again. Slower this time. More lube. It still burns. I bite my lip, and he sees it immediately.
"You okay?"
"It just hurts a little."
"You want me to stop?"
"No. No, just go slow. I still want this."
He does. "I'm not good at this," I whisper.
He smiles. "You're better than you think." After a while, it shifts. It's like the pain dulls. It feels like everything changes at once. I gasp a little.
He stills. "Too much?"
"No, seriously," I breathe out. "Just… give me a second. It's already better."
"Take your time. You're allowed to feel nervous, Ravioli." His forehead rests on mine, and we stay like that.
Until my body relaxes around him.
"Okay. You can move now."
He starts to push in. And I feel everything. I feel him sliding deeper and deeper. Stretching me open.
Gio's inside me. After everything, Gio's inside me.
"You're doing perfect," he says.
"God, you feel so good already." He kisses my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere." He pushes in deeper while his hands hold my hips.
When he bottoms out, we both moan.
He stays still. "You okay?" he whispers again.
I nod, breathless. "I'm full. But yeah."
His lips brush mine. "I'm so proud of you. You're taking me so well." He starts to move, gently, his hips rocking into me like he's afraid to go too fast.
The rhythm is slow, but perfect. I can't stop touching him. My hands run over his back, down his biceps, into his hair. His body is so warm on top of mine, his hips grinding with that perfect rhythm, making me feel wanted. Cherished.
The bed creaks. I move just a little, trying to shift. Gio thrusts back in right as I tilt my head.
I hit my head on the damn headboard.
"Shit, sorry!" he mutters.
I burst out laughing. "Shut up. I’m okay. Please keep going." He keeps going, rolling his hips back and forth.
I swear I start to like it. Like really like it. My body starts to move with his without even thinking. Like it finally catches up to my head and says, yeah.
This. This is exactly what we wanted.
My legs wrap tighter around him.
"You like it now?" he pants.
I nod, out of breath. "Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Don't stop." He wraps his fingers around my dick, strokes in time with his thrusts. "Let me take care of you," he says. "Let go. I've got you." He shifts slightly.
His next thrust hits somewhere devastating inside me. My mouth drops open, breath leaving in a broken moan.
I am so relaxed now. So open.
Letting him take me fully, without fear, without hesitation. "There," I gasp. "Gio, fuck there."
He finds it again, and again, and again. He doesn't speed up recklessly, he just learns me. Perfectly. Holds me still with one hand on my thigh and rocks into me again.
His fingers slip up to my face. He brushes the hair out of my eyes, pushes it back behind my ear. Then he leans in and kisses me.
"Why didn't we do this sooner?" he whispers.
I shiver. My hands come up to his shoulders, hold him tighter. "We've got time," I breathe. "We'll make up for every second we lost."
His mouth finds mine again.
But this time he catches my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. "I fucking love the way you think," he whispers, and then he kisses me again, while he's still inside me. Still fucking me.
Every wet, filthy sound fills the room like proof of what we're doing. Of what he's doing to me.
The pleasure builds fast. My body's too sensitive, too full.
Literally. His thumb swipes over the head of my dick, and I just break. I cum with an almost cry, loud and raw, my body shaking violently beneath him.
It's like something inside me cracks open.
Like I'm being born again.
Like I've never existed until this moment. He keeps fucking me through it, and then he exhales wrecked, and thrusts deep one final time, cumming inside of me, gasping my name.
We don't separate. He stays inside me. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, kissing my temple, my shoulder, my mouth. "You okay?" he whispers.
I nod. "I've never been more okay."
He exhales hard.
Like he's been holding that answer in suspense.
Then he kisses me again and stays there, still inside me.
God, I'm so screwed.
I can't picture myself actually getting on that plane to Canada. I don't feel strong enough for it. I don't feel built for this kind of goodbye. And I can't picture him moving on.
Saying, "Yeah, there was this thing once with Weston, but he left. Had to move on with my life."
I think I might actually throw up. The idea of the only person who ever made me feel this much, turning around a few weeks later and doing the exact same shit with someone else makes me feel sick.
Like real, physical disgust.
I see it all, him pinning someone else to a wall, calling them "angel," smirking against their mouth instead of mine, putting his hand on their neck the way he does with me.
Them laughing at his stupid jokes.
Them getting the forehead kisses.
Them getting the soft version of him he swears he doesn't have.
I hate it. I hate it so much I almost hate him for it and it hasn't even happened.
But here's the worst part.
I can't stop it.
He's not mine. We're not together. We're not boyfriends. We're not anything we can say out loud without blowing our lives up.
So what am I supposed to say?
Hey, I'm leaving the continent, but can you promise to stay emotionally celibate forever just in case I can't get over you?
Like be serious.
I don't have the right to ask him for that. I don't have the right to be this jealous. I don't have the right to want him to be miserable without me.
But I do. Some ugly part of me wants him to hurt.
To miss me so much he can't even look at someone else.
Wants him to sit on that stupid couch, see someone pretty, and think, yeah, but they're not Rava.
And at the same time, I know I should want him happy. Even if I'm not there. Even if it kills me. So I'm stuck.