Nineteen #2
“She told me to tell you when you were ready. The right time for me to tell you wasn’t the day after I met you, so I told her to write it in her own words.
It’s in the ring box,” Bri says. “I figured if you were missing her or wondering if you made the right choice to leave, you’d look at the ring and find the note. ”
“You spent all that time showing me how to care for myself so it would hurt less when I saw her note?”
“I guess so, yeah. You deserve real love. Reciprocated love. From everyone you choose to keep in your life.”
Bri, protecting me the way I tried to protect her, showing me Natalie’s words don’t have to be true, that I’m worth more. That’s more love than I’ve felt from someone in . . . ever. And now I have to leave her.
“I don’t know how I would have survived without you.”
“Me either. I’m going to miss you,” she says. My heart jumps against my ribs for more than one reason.
We probably won’t get to see each other often, but why is she saying that as if we’ll never see each other again?
“We should plan something,” I blurt.
“Plan what?”
“Like, plan to visit each other once a month. Take a vacation together over the holidays. Something.”
“I’d love to, but . . . I don’t have vacation money.”
“We can make it a weekend trip. Meet halfway in NorCal or Oregon.”
“Maybe.”
She is pulling away from me. Not her body. She lies steady in my arms, hands curled on my chest, looking into my eyes while speaking the opposite of what her body tells me. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see. Maybe this is goodbye.
She leans in and presses her lips to mine. A soft, lasting kiss. Her lips stay on mine like she’s savoring the final taste of her favorite wine. For a second, I believe I won’t lose her after tonight.
Holding her face in my hand, I kiss her like I don’t want to let go—because I don’t.
I’m afraid to take it further, but more afraid to leave and never see if what I feel for her is deeper than friendship.
She matters to me in ways I can’t explain.
Bri is part of me now. She is the missing piece of my soul, the home for the excess parts of me no one else wanted.
If I lose her, I will break all over again.
When I deepen the kiss, she matches my energy.
Her body arches into mine, and my hand moves lower instinctually.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until her plump ass is squeezed within my grip.
She makes no move to slow down or push me away.
When her hand slips between us and touches me where she never has before, my body comes alive in a way it rarely has.
My desire for her is overwhelming, yet painfully natural. Even with her against me, my tongue exploring her mouth, it feels like I can’t get close enough to her. I want to tear away everything separating us and melt with her, let my body tell her everything I can’t articulate in words.
I want this. I want her. All of her.
My hands have minds of their own. I fight to keep myself from pulling her shorts down her hips.
She reads my hesitation. “You don’t have to stop.” While looking into my eyes, she takes my hand from her hip and slides it into the front of her shorts. My fingers slide against her and come back wet.
I definitely don’t want to stop now.
Her hand reaches into my pants and wraps around me. I pull her panties down her thighs and drape her leg around my waist.
We touch each other like we touched ourselves that night, chest to chest, breaths growing heavy, her body melting around my fingers as I tease them inside her.
She’s soft, so irresistibly wet, squeezing my fingers like nothing I’ve felt before.
She strokes me at the same pace, spurring a need to replace my hand and make her come apart with me.
She moans in my mouth, and I drink it in, letting it fill my mind with the fantasy.
My blood is too far south, placing emphasis on my physical desires faster than I can think.
I pull my hand from her, rolling her to her back beneath me.
She curls her knees up, and I move between them.
Like instinct, I square my hips with hers.
When I feel her slick entrance against my head, the gravity sets in hard. I stop.
Her thumbs stroke over my cheekbones. “We don’t have to do this.” I can tell she’s in the same headspace as I am, deep in lust but pausing to protect me.
My heart pounds in my chest. I lay it on top of hers, the contact soothing the ache, and brush her hair from her face. I kiss her again, and my body begs for hers.
If I won’t see you after today, will I be okay? Probably not. Even if I don’t, there’s no one else I want to do this with more than you.
“I want to,” I say instead.
“Then what’s wrong?” she asks breathlessly.
“We shouldn’t . . .” I phrase my thoughts incorrectly. “. . .without a condom.”
Her eyes search mine, her concern fading into a grin. “Top drawer.”
Playing it cool is not happening for me. I drop the box on the floor then leave the rest of the roll on the mattress when I tear one off. I’ve never put a condom on so fast, never been this feverish to be with someone before. Only Bri.
Moving into place again, her legs wrap around me. My fear dissipates like steam from the fire burning inside me. With her, everything feels right.
Finally, I push inside her.