Chapter 29
Day Nine
As if to lock out the world completely, Christian closes his door. It’s just the two of us in this secret bubble. The room is dim, only a single lamp on the bedside table, casting a golden glow. We stand facing each other, hesitant, like we’re unsure what comes next now we’re here.
Perhaps deciding one of us needs to do something, he rips off his t-shirt. My breath catches at the sight of him. I can’t imagine ever tiring of looking at Christian, the lightly burnished skin with its patterns of deepest indigo, the dark untidy hair that invites fingers to thread through it, the shadowy scruff of his beard framing a sensuous mouth which right this minute tips up at one corner, in a shy smile, as if nervous under my scrutiny. I don’t think he realises how beautiful he is. That lack of awareness just makes him all the more attractive.
“Haley,” he says, a whisper, a husk, drawing me to him. My hand brushes the chiselled line of his hip, moving up over the taut muscles of his stomach, drifting across the curve of his chest, fingers gliding over the dusting of sleek dark hair there, before moving up to curl over the angles of his shoulder. My pulse quickens at the warm, reassuring, solid feel of him.
He fingers my jumper; its wide neck hangs loose, revealing my collarbone. He eyes it thoughtfully, before dotting a decisive kiss on my bare skin. Then, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders, he spins me away from him, so we’re both facing the large, freestanding mirror.
I look so small, almost fragile, against his large body, his arms clasped protectively around me, his dark head nestled against mine. But in the strength of his hands and the determined look in his eyes, I sense he’s not planning to be gentle with me. The thought sends a white hot thrill of anticipation through my body. I want him so badly.
His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs my name again. His arms drop to my waist, and he slides one hand under the edge of my top. His fingers snake upwards, lifting the top with it, coming to rest below my breast, cupping it with a deep exhale. He pauses to tweak one nipple, barely confined by the whisper-fine lacey web of my bra. Then he sweeps the top upwards and off, dropping it on the floor before returning his large hands to fan across my stomach, pulling me into him .
“You are so fucking beautiful, Haley.” His voice is gravel, his erection straining at his jeans, his body pressed hard against my bum, as he rubs himself against me with a groan.
His fingers move to the waistband of my jeans, and without breaking our gaze in the mirror, he flicks the button undone and tugs down the zipper. I escape from his arms a moment and shimmy them off, revealing the flimsiest of lace panties. As I kick my jeans away, he pulls me back into his orbit, his hands travelling across my hips, tracing the skin of my thighs. Goosebumps explode all over my body.
He sinks back to sit on the side of the bed, drawing me down with him. Leaning back against his chest, I’m nestled between his thighs. He snuggles his chin against my collarbone, his breath skimming my bare skin, and our eyes meet in the tall mirror opposite.
“You OK?”
His words come out a whisper as his hand slides from waist to hip to the delicate skin of my thigh. I shiver at the teasing dance of his fingers as they linger in a sensitive spot, and my voice catches in my throat.
“I’m very OK,” I rasp out, watching the girl in the mirror nod, her pupils large and dark, while those of the man beside her blaze with promise. In that moment, seeing beyond his raw desire, the concern for me written in his tender expression, I hand over my trust to him, letting him lead the way.
“Good.” He hums the word against my neck.
He pulls me in a little closer with the one hand splayed across my breast, while the other continues to explore dangerously close to where my body has become nothing but molten desire. “You relax back here, and I’m gonna make you more than OK, sweetheart. ”
He trails a fingertip along the line of my panties, from one hip to the other, teasing with a featherlight touch that provokes a low ache of wanting deep in my belly. Then his hand slides back to palm my thigh. One finger explores beneath the lace edge, then another, gliding down to the heat between my legs, and I whimper with anticipation as he lingers at my entrance. Heat flares and my body trembles with need.
“God,” he groans out. “You are so wet. So fucking wet.”
He slips a finger inside. My muscles reflexively clench around it, and I moan. He begins to move, slipping in and out, and I move with him, riding each thrust, urging him on with whimpers that spring unbidden from deep inside my throat.
Reading my expression of pure pleasure in the mirror, he whispers against my cheek. “You want one more?”
I can barely huff out the word, but a ragged “Yes” spills out in between my panting, and he thrusts a second finger into me. I can’t help but lower my hips onto his fingers, driving them deeper. Seeking the pressure and release, the rough friction of his fingers curved inside of me, my body instinctively moves with his hand, the exquisite rise and fall causing waves of pleasure to pulse through my centre.
One thumb swoops in to find that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling slowly, the two rhythms in counterpoint, the strokes of his hand and the swirling of his thumb causing me to writhe in bliss. I arch my back, thrusting my hips forward, meeting every movement of his hand, hungry for that feeling of fullness. My head lolls back against his chest, eyes closed, as I ride the waves of colour exploding behind them .
“Open your eyes, sweetheart; look in the mirror,” he breathes against my ear. “Watch what I’m doing to you. Watch me make you fall apart.”
My eyes flutter open. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his gaze meeting my pleasure-dazed reflection. “See how I know what you need?”
And he does. In the precise movements of his hand, while the other works its way under the lace of my bra, taunting a nipple, provoking ripples of intermingled pleasure and pain. He sucks at my neck, his teeth nipping and tasting, and I know I’ll need a high neck top under my scrubs tomorrow. I’m marked as his and I don’t care.
All the while, I watch as he coaxes me higher and higher with the perfect movements of his hands and murmured words of encouragement against my ear. My cheeks are a blaze of heat. He’s playing me like a familiar instrument, as if he knows this melody by heart, and can evoke it effortlessly.
He talks to me almost constantly, checking in with how I’m feeling, and I huff out answers, monosyllables, barely recognisable as words. I’ve never had a lover so attentive to my needs. Finally, he senses I’m about to tip over the edge, reading the crescendo rising in my body, knowing I’m about to hit the high note, and he urges me on.
“Come for me baby, you’re so close. I can feel it. Reach for it, sweetheart.”
And I do, my whole body stretching towards a dizzying new peak. My voice becomes an exclamation as I arch my back and shatter into a million pieces. Only then do I allow my eyes to close, soaking in the blissful warmth engulfing my body, my toes curled in one shuddering sigh .
When I open them, Christian still watches me in the mirror with a satisfied smile.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.” His low husk sends another shudder through me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come like that before,” I whisper. And I know it’s more than the skill in his hands. There’s an invisible rope tying me to Christian, this feeling of some deep connection between us, as if he instinctively not only understands the needs of my body, but of my heart.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it because, baby, I’m only just getting started with you.” His breath against my ear is a promise I’m happy to hold him to.
I free myself from his arms and scoot around to face him, raising my legs to sit astride his lap. I slide one finger down his lips, following the curve of his chin, and trailing down, down, to rest at his waistband.
“I think I’d like to get started with you,” I say, curling my hand over the bulging denim between us. I unwrap my legs and stand, tugging him up by the waist of his jeans. Without taking my eyes from his, I unbuckle his belt and tear open the zipper. I grip at the boxer briefs, feeling the length of him hard against my hand.
“I think someone’s ready to come out to play.” I pull at his underwear, freeing his erection. “Sit down.”
He does as I say, first kicking off his jeans and boxers, his eyes locked on mine. He sits on the bed, and I kneel between his legs, then sit back on my haunches, one hand gripping him firmly.
“Now it’s your turn. To watch.”
He smiles down at me, but I wipe that smile from his face, as the first sweep of my hand from root to tip triggers a moan, his mouth fallen open. I lean forward and take the tip of him in my mouth, tasting and teasing, lapping the small bead of salty-sweet liquid away, before taking the whole length of him deep into my throat. His hands fist my hair as he arches into me.
I work at him, one hand steadying the hard length of his cock as I lick and suck, my other hand slipping beneath his balls, stroking a small soft spot behind that provokes groans. His thighs tremble and tense, his hands gripping my shoulders, fingers curled, urging me forward. He bucks his hips into me with guttural moans, his head thrown back. “Oh, fuck Haley. That feels so fucking good.” I feel so powerful, here in control of his building orgasm, and I pick up my pace.
“Stop, stop,” he gasps out. I draw my head back, wondering what I’ve done wrong. But his eyes are closed and his face is slack with pleasure. “Too good,” he mumbles, patting at my head. “You have to stop Haley, or I’m going to lose it.”
“I thought that was the objective.”
He reaches for me, sweeping his arms beneath my armpits, and scoops me up off the floor, turning me to sit beside him. He brushes a hand over my cheek.
“Believe me, it is, sweetheart. But I don’t want to hurry this. I’ve waited a long time for you. And there’s so much I want to give you. Let me.”
He slides from the bed, kneeling before me, eyes dark and knowing, and places a palm on each thigh, spreading them wide. With one fluid movement, he whisks my panties down to lie in a tiny damp puddle of red lace around my feet. I kick them aside.
I lean back, my body totally exposed, open to whatever he wants to do with it. He leans in to me, capturing me in a kiss. The sweet saltiness of having his cock in my mouth merges with the lingering taste of spice in his.
He trails delicate kisses along my neck, pausing to worship each breast in turn with firm lips that tug and tantalise. He tastes his way down my stomach, each press of his mouth triggering an explosion of small sparks as anticipation of where he’s heading rises inside me. My hips cupped in large hands, he pulls me forward as his dark head dips low and I moan when his warm, wet mouth finds my centre. My knees tighten reflexively around his ears and he pushes them apart again, insistent. And all the time I’m watching myself in the mirror, my body arching as I ride wave after wave of sensation, powerless against the relentless tide sweeping me along with him, until I collapse back onto the bed with a searing, gasping shudder.
He smiles up at me, looking pleased with himself. He kisses his way up my thigh, my stomach, my breasts, and I whimper at the exquisite sensitivity of my body tingling beneath his touch. Still, I want more. I want all of him. Inside me, filling the emptiness of the past year, the deep yearning not only for the physical, but for someone to mend the gaping hole in my heart.
“Please,” I plead with him. “Please. I want you inside me. To come with you inside me.”
“Again?” he chuckles. “My greedy girl.” And then “Are you sure?” he mumbles against my breast. He raises his head, dark hair tangled, curling in sweat-soaked tendrils. Stormy blue eyes meeting mine, and I can see him lick at his lips, still wet with the taste of me on them.
“Oh god, yes. I’m so sure.” My chest still heaves, my breaths ragged.
“Condom?” he rasps out. “I don’t have one.”
“No, yes, no. Don’t need one. ”
“You’re on the pill, right?”
“Yeah, and…” I feel a slight awkwardness admitting to my celibacy in the aftermath of last year’s heartbreak. “There hasn’t been anyone since…” I refuse to say his name. I won’t let that bastard into the room with us. “Not for a year.”
Not since I had to undergo the humiliation of getting tested because my boyfriend was sleeping with someone else as well as me.
“Me neither,” he says. “Despite what the papers would have you believe. And I’m clean.”
I’ve never done this before, never trusted someone from the very first time. But I trust Christian. I shuffle back on the bed and stretch out my hand to where he’s still kneeling between my thighs, pulling him towards me in clear invitation.
Without hesitation he’s on top of me, his heat and weight and power poised as he centres himself, before driving into me with a hard, deep thrust, causing my breath to catch. I’m so ready for him, I simply grip him to me even tighter.
We immediately find a rhythm, as if our bodies are perfectly tuned to the same note, like this is a song we know well, deliciously familiar.
As he feels my rising arousal, the exquisite friction of our over-heated bodies sending my senses spiralling out of control, he quickens his pace, the movement growing less controlled. I arch my hips, locking my thighs around him, desperate to give him greater access, to plunge into me more deeply. The new angle only serves to heighten my pleasure and light flashes as a waterfall of bliss crashes over me and my body clenches tightly around him, my vocalisations a howl of release. He follows, his own tumbling shuddering climax coming with my name on his lips .
Afterwards, we snuggle under the covers, the room a little chilled now the explosive heat of our love-making has trickled away. I turn on my side, and he brackets me with his body, a protective arm across me.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” He coils a strand of my hair around one finger. “You know I dream about you, right? I feel like I’m going to wake up and find this is just the same old dream I’ve had before.”
“You won’t,” I whisper. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. This is exactly where I want to be.”
More than that, somehow I feel like this is where I need to be, for him, and for me. For so long I haven’t been able to see any way forward, any future. I’ve tried to forget the painful past year, and focus on the small good things in each day, not daring to hope for more. But this—this feels like not only a beautiful, surprising today. It feels like tomorrow. I lie there, a contented happiness settling upon me like a warm blanket. Listening to his rhythmic breathing is a soft lullaby, soothing me into sleep.
He murmurs the words into my hair, the faintest of whispers, as if it’s a secret he’s sharing only with the darkness. “I love you, Haley.”
I pretend to be asleep, but I lie there, turning the words over in my mind. I’ve heard them before, and they were a lie. This time, with this man, I know he means them. And that is both wonderful and terrifying.