Chapter 33 #2
My book is full of dozens of sketches of her.
Princess Annais, small and graceful and regal and beautiful.
So beautiful, with her big dark eyes and her sad, wistful face.
In some of my sketches, she’s wearing elegant gowns, pulled entirely from my imagination.
Ball gowns for masquerades and dances. Fierce cloaks and crowns for when she is sitting on her throne.
Tunics and head scarves for when she is disguising herself as a peasant, moving throughout the city.
And, uh, maybe one where she is wearing very little—nothing but a small, little scrap of fabric, worn like a loincloth, sitting low on her hip bones and just barely skirting the skin at the tops of her thighs.
Underneath a headdress of pine needles and leaves and wildflowers, her long dark hair is worn loose and unbound, covering her breasts, but just barely.
“That’s when she goes to live among the forest people,” I stammer to explain. “She has to adopt their customs and cultures for diplomatic reasons . . .”
I trail off, because yep, it’s just a thinly veiled excuse I used to justify sketching Nina’s beautiful body. To put to paper the delicate lines and soft curves that have haunted my imagination.
Nina was the girl of my dreams for so long .
. . and only my dreams. After she stopped coming to Bible study, I truly thought I’d never see her again.
So it didn’t feel weird to create a character who bears more than a passing resemblance to her and to draw her again and again and again.
I wanted to keep her with me, if only as a figment of my imagination.
At the time, it felt like a romantic tribute to the woman I’d loved and lost.
Now that I’m here in the room with her, though, watching her look at these sketches, it kinda feels like I’m a creep who just wanted to draw her practically naked.
I clear my throat, scratching the back of my neck as I scramble to find something to say to justify this. I got nothing. “So. The thing is . . .”
Nina surprises me by cutting me off. She is looking at me from underneath her fringe of dark lashes, her head still bowed. “Is this how you see me?” she asks, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
All elements combined—the tiny smile, the dark and sultry gaze—create a startlingly sexy expression, especially since I was expecting her to be disgusted with me, and it sends my blood thrumming through my veins. “Um,” I stammer, “I mean, yeah. Yes. Not always but definitely sometimes. Yes.”
Yeesh. That was bad. I try to remember the guy who was nicknamed Cassanova for his silver tongue.
Some of that sweet-talking ability has to still be there somewhere inside of me.
Swallowing, I regroup. “What I mean to say is, when I tried to imagine the most beautiful woman in the world, it was always you. So that’s how I had to draw her. ”
One moment Nina is watching me, still clutching my notebook tightly in her hands. The next she’s tackling me, pushing me down so I’m prone on the small bed. Her soft body presses into mine as her fingers tangle in my hair, her warm lips slanting over mine.
Nina. This woman drives me absolutely crazy.
You couldn’t picture a more innocent-looking person, with her cardigans and long skirts and the way she barely makes eye contact.
But there’s no slow acceleration with her.
It’s zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds, and I’m just the lucky idiot trying to hold on for dear life.
We tangle together, our hands starting out in G-rated places—hers in my hair, mine on her waist—but there’s nothing suitable for young children in the way our bodies seek each other out for as much contact as possible.
I don’t want any part of me to not be touching her.
Legs, arms, torsos. Her neck. I need to find a way to touch that soft, soft neck—
Nina presses her pelvis against mine, and all other thoughts instantly flee my mind. I should be embarrassed at how eagerly my cock stirs to immediate and full attention with even the briefest contact, but I’m too overcome with need. More. More. To be inside her would be the sweetest homecoming.
With a gasp, Nina wrenches her mouth from mine. “I can’t. I can’t.”
All the wild want and need clouding every other function of my mind and body immediately dissipates.
It’s like there’s a switch for my libido, and those words uttered in Nina’s soft, panicked voice flick it to off.
Hands in the air, I wrench back from her so dramatically that I smack my head against the wall.
For a panicked moment, we both freeze, listening to see if anyone is going to come check on us. After a minute, we relax again, exchanging guilty smiles.
Nina covers her mouth, clearly doing her best not to smile at my pain. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
It sounded worse than it was; I’m more embarrassed than hurt. But my dumb, hormone-addled brain turns to mush at her obvious concern for me. “Are you okay?” I turn it back to her. “Did I . . . scare you?”
Nina uncovers her mouth, shaking her head decisively. “No. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t want to move too quickly. I’m sorry. Is that okay?”
The uncertainty in her voice breaks my heart, honestly. I get a peek into what her life must be like, if asking for even the most basic respect for her consent sends her into an anxiety spiral.
I sit up so I’m no longer prone on the bed but leaning on my elbows, the better to make eye contact with her and really make my point, I hope. “You don’t need to apologize. I only ever want to do what you want to do, too.”
Nina flushes, her eyes darting down to my cock, which is still quite obviously tenting my jeans.
She bites her lip. Dammit, Nina. I’m a consent king, but I’m no saint, and even if I’d never do anything she doesn’t want to do, drawing attention to her lips in conjunction with my cock is going to get my imagination all kinds of excited.
Luckily, Nina starts speaking so I have something important to focus on other than the Dread Pirate Roberts. (Still not answering any questions about that nickname.) “It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to do . . . pretty much all of the things with you. You’re a temptation for me.”
I . . . don’t quite know how to read that.
My groin has all kinds of feelings, knowing that Nina wants me as much as I want her.
But that word—temptation. It carries some very negative connotations.
I tread carefully, not wanting her to spook or overreact, but also wanting to be certain we’re on the same page.
“So . . . being with me would be a sin?”
I don’t feel that way. I’ve never felt that way about sex, and I especially wouldn’t about sex with Nina. Taking pleasure in each other, making her feel good, showing her how much I care about her without words—none of that feels like it should be wrong to me.
But if Nina feels that way . . . if anything we do would cause her guilt or shame, it doesn’t seem like that can be the foundation for anything but misery. We might need to rethink if we can be together.
To my relief, Nina shakes her head vehemently. “No. That’s not what I mean. It’s more like, I find it really, really hard to resist you.”
Oh. I wrap my head around that. Okay, I think I can get on board with that concept. I can’t quite catch the smile that tugs at my lips, the little waggle of my eyebrows. “Well, I have been told I look irresistible in a coonskin cap.”
Nina laughs, but her expression sobers again quickly. “I just worry about getting carried away before we’re really ready. Before I’m really ready.”
I swallow, hard, searching for the right words to communicate just how important it is to me that she feels ready and safe. “You’re the boss,” I tell her. “You set the pace. Where you lead, I will follow.”
Am I just quoting the Gilmore Girls theme song now?
Maybe. (Hey, I have two sisters and an appreciation for quick and witty banter.
I’ve definitely watched more than my fair share of the adventures of Lorelai and Rory, even if the show would be better with some crossbows.
Just saying.) The point being, I want Nina to feel comfortable knowing that she is calling all the shots with our physical relationship.
Nina takes a moment to process this idea. Then she smiles, one of her sweet little Nina smiles that feels like a real victory earn. “I’m the boss?” she murmurs back, arching one eyebrow.
“O captain, my captain,” I confirm, and am rewarded with an even bigger smile. I feel like I’m king of the world.
Yep, I’ve read Keats, too. I’m a complex guy, sweetheart. (Name that quote!)
Taking Nina in my arms, I kiss the top of her head and let my body relax as she snuggles against me. “We’re in no rush,” I promise her.
This time, I’m determined, we’ll get things right.