7. Hallie #2
He carries me like I weigh nothing, and part of me wants to make a self-deprecating joke about my curves, about how I'm not one of those tiny women who get swept off their feet in romance novels. But before I can, he sets me down on my bed and drops to his knees in front of me.
The position steals my breath.
"Look at me." It's a command, soft but firm, and my eyes snap to his. "You are so goddamn beautifult."
"Caius."
"Let me finish." His hands skim up my calves, pushing my dress higher.
"You know what I see when I look at you?
Not the librarian, not Ryan's little sister, not the girl who's too nice for her own good.
" He presses a kiss to my knee. "I see the woman who taught herself car repair from YouTube videos because she didn't want to rely on anyone.
" Another kiss, higher. "The one who rearranges the library displays to make sure queer romance gets prominent placement, even when the town council complains.
" Higher still. "The one who hums Biggie while she works and writes filthy stories in her spare time and thinks nobody notices how extraordinary she is. "
My breath catches. "How do you know about the stories?"
"You left a notebook at Sunday dinner last month. I wasn't snooping, it just... fell open." His grin goes wicked. "You've got a hell of an imagination, Hal."
Heat floods my face. "Oh God."
"Don't be embarrassed." He hooks his fingers in the hem of my underwear, waiting for permission. "I've been fantasizing about you for over a decade. I guarantee whatever you wrote doesn't come close to the things I've imagined doing to you."
"Show me."
He pulls my underwear down in one smooth motion, and the cool air hits my overheated skin. I expect him to rush, to be rough like in those scenes I write late at night when I can't sleep, but instead he takes his time, pressing kisses up the inside of my thigh, so soft I could cry.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm and devastating.
My mind goes utterly blank. Words scatter like leaves. "I don't... I'm not good at this."
"At what?" His voice is patient, curious, like he has all the time in the world to wait for my answer even though I can feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the restraint it's costing him to go slow.
"Asking. Being bold." The admission comes out small, embarrassed. "Saying what I actually want instead of just... going along with whatever someone else wants."
He pulls back to look at me, and his eyes are dark with want but also something tender, something that makes my throat tight. "You pushed me onto your couch, Hallie. You told me not to stop. That's the boldest thing anyone's ever done to me."
"I pushed you onto a wall, actually."
"Semantics." He kisses my hip bone. "Now tell me what you want, or I'm going to make you come with my mouth until you remember how to use words."
The image that creates in my mind shorts out my brain. I fall back against the mattress, my dress riding up around my waist, and whisper, "That. I want that."
"Good girl."
Then his mouth is on me, and thought becomes impossible.
I've had this before. Of course I have. Kyle went through the motions dutifully, mechanically, like it was an item on a checklist before the main event.
But this? This is worship. This is Caius taking me apart with dedicated focus, learning what makes me gasp and shake, adjusting his approach based on every sound I make.
My hands fist in the sheets. I try to stay quiet, mindful of my neighbors, but then he does something with his tongue that makes stars burst behind my eyelids, and I cry out his name.
He hums in approval, the vibration adding to the sensation, and I'm suddenly right there, teetering on the edge, my whole body drawn tight as a bowstring.
"Let go," he says against me. "I've got you."
I shatter. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, and he works me through it, gentle now, until I'm boneless and gasping and possibly deceased.
He crawls up my body, pressing kisses to my stomach, my ribs, the swell of my breast through the fabric of my dress. When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his lips, and it should be embarrassing but instead it's hot, proof of what just happened.
"That was..." I trail off, unable to find words.
"Just the beginning." He nips at my lower lip. "But we're doing this right. Get this dress off so I can see you properly."
I sit up on shaky arms and reach for the zipper, but my hands are trembling too badly to manage it.
Caius gently brushes my fingers aside and draws the zipper down himself, so slowly I want to scream.
The dress pools around my waist, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm in my plain cotton bra, the beige one that's comfortable but decidedly unsexy.
"I wasn't exactly planning this," I mutter. "I would have worn something better."
"Hallie." He cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You could be wearing a garbage bag and I'd still think you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Stop apologizing for yourself."
"I'm curvy."
"Yeah. You are." His hands skim down my sides, over my hips. "And I love every inch. The way you fit in my hands. The softness of you. How real you are." He kisses me again, slow and deep. "I don't want a fantasy. I want you exactly like this."
I reach between us and work open his belt, his button, his zipper. He helps me shove his jeans down, and then there's nothing between us except my bra and the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, and even that feels like too much.
I unhook the bra myself this time, letting it fall away, and watch his face. The way his pupils blow wide. The way his breathing goes ragged.
"Christ," he breathes. "You're going to wreck me."
"Good." I push him onto his back, and he goes willingly, surprise and heat flashing across his face. "My turn."