24. Diana #2
I gasp at the sound of my name—my real name—not the anglicized version of it, but the Spanish one. The way his voice wraps around the two soft syllables heat my skin and melt my heart. Such a small gesture with such huge significance to me.
A bashful laugh bursts through him. “Was that any good? Or did I butcher it? I’ve been practicing, wanting to pronounce it the way it deserves to be spoken. I want to be part of that special group of people in your life that get to call you by your actual name.”
I swallow to hold back the tears, taking a deep breath before answering because he understands perfectly how something so small can mean so damn much. “It was perfect. You’re perfect,” I breathe.
“I think we’re perfect. Together. I want this so much. I want you so much.” With an intensity I wasn’t expecting, Michael’s lips press against mine, his tongue eagerly parting them, a low moan building in the back of his throat.
Without further hesitation, I let my hands travel, both knotting into his thick, blonde hair. I tug forcefully when Michael bands an arm around my back, arcing me into him, his other hand making its way up my sleep shirt to my tits.
When he kisses my neck, I let my head fall back—both to give him more room and because I’ve lost all control of the muscles in my body.
If it weren’t for Michael’s tight grip around me, I’m positive I’d be nothing more than a melted puddle on the floor—syrupy and blissful from his touch and words, but a puddle nonetheless.
“Can I take your shirt off?” he asks with so much caution I almost laugh.
Feeling me naked seems so mild after what we did on his kitchen counter. But I suppose the tremble in his voice that matches the one taking over my body is justifiable—like he said, this moment right here feels like more.
So I raise my arms in invitation, letting him pull at the hem of my sleep shirt, slipping it easily off over my head.
Lighting strikes nearby, illuminating my skin as I stand vulnerable in front of him, even if for a brief second. When the thunder follows, his hands are grazing me at my sides, caressing my ribs with such reverence I can’t breathe.
I’m not scared, though. I’m safe.
Michael’s lips part, his eyes wide on me as he shakes his head.
“I still can’t believe this summer happened—is happening.
I can’t believe you’re here with me now, like this.
” He frowns, conflicted. “I know this is fucked and what lead to you being here in my bed is a scary situation, but I’m so happy you are. ”
I press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping to free him from whatever conflict is brewing behind those eyes, before pushing his boxers down over his hips. When I start kissing down his chest, down his abs, he reaches out to grab hold of my shoulders.
“Not now. Not tonight.”
I laugh once at the serious expression on his face. “What? Why not?”
He swallows once and frowns. “I don’t know. I felt wild last time we were together, but tonight feels different.”
“Different how?” And despite the hunger in his eyes, the beautiful words he breathed against my skin, and the amazing support he was today, a large part of me immediately assumes the worst: he’s lost interest or changed his mind.
Sensing my insecurities, he pulls me quickly to my feet, covering my face in kisses as he whispers, “No” in between each one.
“I only meant this feels more special. And while I’d love to do that soon, it’s not what I want now.
” His lips trail down my neck, sucking and biting as he walks me backwards to the bed.
When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, we slowly move onto it.
I back up all the way, but Michael takes his time to look at me as I lie there, half naked, waiting for him.
“You know, I’ve imagined you in my bed about a thousand times.”
“Yeah?”
He nods, that signature dimpled smirk of his turning me into putty.
“Yeah. In a million different ways. But nothing has ever come close to this moment right here to the real thing.” Like a panther ready to have his prey, he climbs over me.
Only this predator kisses his way up my stomach and sternum, stopping to kiss each breast before kissing me softly on the lips.
“Whenever I thought of you here, I thought of it rough.”
“And is that what you want tonight?” I whisper.
He seems to think it over, his eyes studying my face. “Maybe later, before morning comes. Right now, I mostly want to show you how much I—” His brows pull together, body tenses. “I just want it to be us.”
“Then let’s be us; let’s live in this one, perfect bubble.”
He smiles, but it quickly turns almost sad. “At least for tonight.”
Hating the ache in his voice, I pull him down over me, pressing my lips to his in an almost desperate way I’ve never felt in my life.
Every bone in my body is begging me to forget anything that isn’t Michael and me—work, tests, diabetes, shithead exes—and allow myself to enjoy something that’s just for me for the first time in years.
This isn’t the same as what the kitchen was.
This isn’t two people who had built a desperate sort of attraction and wanted to satisfy it right then and there.
No.
Whatever is happening between Michael and me in this bed is about something else entirely. An acknowledgment of sorts that this thing between us? It’s real. It’s messy, and only going to get worse. But it isn’t going anywhere.
It terrifies me, it has me shaking in his arms, which is why when my hips lift off the mattress so he can pull my shorts and underwear off, Michael presses his lips to my ear: “I’m scared, too.
But I’m yours. I’ve never been anyone’s, and I think it’s because I’ve always been yours.
I’ll always belong to you, Diana. If we do this now, there’s no turning back. ”
I close my eyes to keep Michael from seeing the tears pool in my eyes, but as usual, he knows me better than I expect.
He’s already hard and ready, but he takes the time to kiss both my eyelids, drag his lips down my throat and to my collarbone.
He whispers my name over and over again against my delicate skin—so low I almost can’t hear him over the sound of the rain hammering down on us.
When he finally pulls away just enough to meet my eye, he says, “Trust me.”
And for the first time in a very long time, I give myself truly to someone else.
When he pushes into me, it’s slow. My lack of practice over the past few years makes me feel self-conscious, but all of that is eviscerated when Michael pushes in to the hilt, my back arching off the mattress.
He groans deep in his throat, head dropping to my shoulder as we both pause to take this moment in for what it is: everything, just like he said.
Because there’s no going back from this—not for me, at least. No matter the distance between us, in this moment, I know we will find a way to make our relationship work.
Before I can let that thought terrify me, I give in to the overwhelming waves of emotions, every sense being stimulated at the same time: his rough stubble against the soft skin of my breasts; the heavy breaths and grunts that echo throughout the room as he pushes into me over and over again; his signature citrus scent mixing with mine as we move on his sheets; the taste of him, salty and heady, as I kiss down his chest when he lets me straddle him; and finally, the look of wonder and disbelief on his face as we both come at the same time, my fingers curling into his chest for support as I ride him just before we both fall.
In the quiet moments after, when he holds me against his chest, I beg the universe to let this go on forever, to never let tomorrow happen.