Chapter 21 #2
And nothing more. I like the sound of that.
Said no one ever, Cobalt chimes in.
“I need to hear you say it,” he says. “Is that okay? And you’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”
“Yes,” I eke out. My body feels like an open flame. “Please.”
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know exactly why I said yes. But, foolish as it may be, I feel like I can figure this out. I can see how far I can get because I know if I say No or Stop, he will, and he won’t ask why.
For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe my choice in men was holding me back. Since college, anyway. My vagina may be the root of many of my problems, but there was never any chance I would’ve done this with, say, Alexander, even before I realized he was an asshole.
I grab at the hem of my shirt and start to lift upward, but Harrison grabs my wrists. “Absolutely not,” he says, a heady glimmer in his eyes. “I’ll be doing that, I think.”
I shoot him another scowl as I move my hands out of his grasp and instead start working on the buttons of his shirt. His throat bobs as he swallows and watches the movement of my hands, starting at his collarbone and moving down to his waist.
When I finally finish unbuttoning, he helps me pull the shirt off his shoulders. I toss it on the floor, refusing to break his gaze even as my eyes beg me to scan his body, taking in everything I’ve avoided really looking at since the moment we met.
He doesn’t break my gaze as he slowly brings his fingers to my waist, tickling the skin as he gently, ever so slowly pulls my shirt up over my head, brushing the length of my body with his fingers as he takes it off.
And continues staring into my eyes.
A game—who will break eye contact first? Who will give in?
I grin at him, fully aware I’m at an advantage. I selected a gauzy black bra this morning. It’s a tad see-through.
He is so going to lose it.
His eyes wide and his breathing heavy, he finally breaks my stare, true to my prediction.
He places his fingertips behind my right ear and slowly traces down my neck, down the middle of my chest, straight over my navel, and down to the top button of my jeans, all the while tracking the motion with his eyes.
I shudder at the intention in his movement.
And then I groan as he brings his lips to my neck and uses soft kisses to trace the path he’s just drawn, all while unbuttoning my jeans.
When his lips reach my waist, he undoes my zipper and tugs downward, carelessly tossing my pants on the floor as his eyes remain on me.
Shifting on top of me and bracing his arms on either side of my head, he leans forward to give me a breathless kiss, tugging at my bottom lip when he eventually pulls away.
I run my hands across his bare chest, marveling at the soft muscles.
I’ve watched this body age from afar—the lanky awkwardness of our teen years, the second-wind growth spurt of our early twenties.
I wish I could say I know his body as well as I know his mind, but that wouldn’t be true.
This body is as new to me as a stranger’s but a hundred times more exciting and a thousand times more special.
It’s almost scary, to have the opportunity to know someone so completely, both physically and mentally. Where do you go from there?
Or maybe more important, is there any going back?
Harrison keeps himself suspended on top of me, grinning as I hungrily gaze at him. When he doesn’t move after several moments, I frown.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He leans forward and kisses the skin just below my ear, turning to whisper, “I know what I’m doing. Do you trust me? And you’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”
I look into his eyes, and I’m not sure anyone has ever had as much trust as I do in Harrison Carter right now.
“Of course,” I say. “Let’s go slowly? And gently?”
He nods, smiling slowly and gently. And although the pessimist in me wants to say he knows what he’s doing because he’s been with oh-so-many women before (thumpthumpthump) and I’m going to be a joke compared to them, I know that’s not what he means.
Because somehow, I feel it, too. I’m inexperienced in bed for obvious reasons, and Harrison’s body is unfamiliar to me, but I know him.
His face still nuzzled against my neck, he drags his fingers downward, and just as I’m bracing for discomfort, I realize—he’s not even touching my skin. He’s stroking me over the cotton of my underwear.
“Is this still okay?” he asks, his voice tickling my neck.
“Ye—I—” I gasp out. “Oh!”
Harrison chuckles, the movement of his fingers switching from strokes to little circles, drawing a barrier around the place where I need his touch the most.
The pain still hasn’t come, but something else might be about to.
And then, just as my heartbeat has increased to marathon levels, he pulls his fingers away.
“No, please don’t stop,” I whisper, raking my hands through his hair, grabbing on to it as if it’s tethering me to life.
He kisses my jawline, then my neck, then my chest, then my stomach, and when I can feel his hot breath against me, he looks up from between my legs, his eyes intent, his expression set.
“How about this?” he asks quietly, before planting one singular kiss against my inner thigh. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I gasp, reaching forward and grabbing his hair, pulling him closer. “Please.”
“And is it okay if I get rid of these?” he asks, looping his fingers into the side of my underwear.
I tense up involuntarily, and he immediately removes his hands. “No, wait—”
“No questions asked. Seriously, Em.”
I gulp. “No. Underwear off, please. Just be…gentle.”
“Always.”
Hooking my fingers around the fabric, I take initiative and pull my underwear off, throwing them on the floor. Despite the unobstructed view, Harrison’s attention is still focused on my face, intently monitoring my expression.
“I trust you,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Well, then,” he says, redirecting his attention downward. He does something with his mouth that makes my vision go white, then meets my eyes again. “If you insist.”
What follows is a master class in tongue coordination. Swirls, nips, licks. All with gentle care and thoughtful motions, taking my body language and my moans and sighs into account. After a mere thirty seconds, I’m close—and it already feels better than anything my own fumbling fingers have done.
Is this what it feels like to trust someone? To trust someone more than you trust yourself ?
After I let out a somewhat embarrassing moan, Harrison pauses, looking up at me with a dazed look in his eyes. “Is it okay if I use my fingers, too?” he asks.
“Actually,” I whisper, “will you just hold my hands instead?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, reaching up, grasping my hands, and then diving back in.
There’s something incredibly freeing about being intimate without the expectation of penetrative sex.
I’ve never been in this situation before.
So, although some of my previous dates have included some over-the-clothes action, it’s been hard to focus on how good anything feels when I know what they’re expecting next, and I know they’re going to be pissed when I shut it down.
Harrison’s desire to be intimate with me even though he knows what comes next (or what doesn’t come next) is enough to make me cry.
Which I am about to do, actually, because all of a sudden, there are spasms seizing up my entire pelvic floor. But they’re…not the bad kind?
Harrison keeps his tongue in action but looks up and meets my gaze as I come.
Intensity flares in his eyes, and the intensity doesn’t let up even as my body starts to calm down and he kisses the inside of my thighs, then kisses his way back up my body, only breaking eye contact when he leans forward and gives me the absolute sweetest kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He exhales a laugh. “Don’t ever, ever thank me for that. I enjoyed that just as much as you did. Maybe more.”
“I enjoyed that a lot.” I brush some hair off of his forehead as he hovers above me.
“I know you did,” he says, a cocky grin on his face that I immediately file away in my NSFW mental dictionary.
He leans forward, and I think he’s about to give me a kiss—because this is the part where we keep going and I make him finish, too, right?
—but instead he just rests his head against my shoulder, curling an arm over my waist.
The offers run through my head. What about you? or Your turn! or maybe How about I return the favor? I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
“Now you?” I whisper into Harrison’s hair, tracing my fingers up and down his back.
Instead of responding, he lets out a sleepy hum.
Note to self: If you don’t reciprocate immediately, your partner will literally fall asleep while waiting.
Fantastic. I force myself to take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
I want to have sweet dreams tonight. I should have sweet dreams tonight. But instead, my dreams are all focused around a gnawing sense of what have I done? and a firm realization that I shouldn’t have let it get this far without having an honest conversation.
Skip Notes
*1 Lowered eyebrows · Head tilt to the left | Facial expression | Frequency: medium
Sympathy.
*2 Soft, bright eyes | Facial expression | Frequency: low
Adoration.