Chapter 9 #2
I force them open, peer at him through a shimmery haze. "Hi," I whisper.
Big thumbs brush gently over my left eye, my right. Lips press tenderly against my lips. "It's okay if you decide it's too much too soon."
I shake my head. “It's not that." I exhale through pursed, trembling lips. "I just…at the risk of sounding like a toddler, I just have a lot of big feelings."
"Care to share?"
I close my eyes, shake my head, dimpling my fingers into his chest. "No, not—not right now.
I will. I want to." I open my eyes again and meet his.
"I like the way you kiss me. I like the way it feels when you touch me.
I'm nervous, I'm scared, and it's no secret I have insecurities about my body. But I also want…you—us—this."
"I wish you could see what I see," he whispers, forehead touching mine.
"I do too."
Noah backs away from me, hands cupping my face.
For a moment I think he's going to kiss me again, or say something.
He does neither. Well, he does kiss me, just not on the mouth.
He kisses my forehead. My eyes. My cheeks, left then right.
Pauses, eyes meeting mine, his gaze and his expression telling me without words that I'm beautiful.
I stare into his blue eyes and marvel that it's me he's looking at that way. My soul soars, my pulse races.
He kisses my throat. The round of my left shoulder. The right. My sternum. The dip where my breasts begin. His eyes meet mine, looking for demurral or permission.
I slip my fingers into his hair, the only permission I'm capable of giving—My tongue is fused to the roof of my mouth, my lips sewn shut.
Noah sinks to his knees in front of me, and he cups my breasts from beneath, the semi-circle of his forefinger and thumb surrounding my areolae and nipples. I'm trying to swallow and panting quick, short, frightened, aroused breaths.
His lips suckle my nipple into his mouth, and I gasp. "Noah!"
He rolls his thumb over my left nipple while suckling on my right, and a searing bolt of ecstasy shudders through me, leaving my knees weak and shaky.
My core spasms as he transfers his mouth to my left nipple and flicks my right with a fingernail, eliciting a sharp hiss from me.
He licks my breast, the flat of his tongue swiping up and over my nipple, then the other one, and then he's suckling one and the other, and my core quakes and my knees threaten to give out, and I have to hold onto his shoulders for balance, for support.
“Oh god," I gasp. "Noah. That feels so good."
He gazes up at me, caressing my nipples while palming the weight of my breasts—such weight as there is, at least. He growls like a hungry predator and leans in again, mouthing my breasts on one side and the other, kissing, licking.
He grasps my ass, and then his hands slide up my back, over my shoulders, down my sides and back to my butt, all the while worshipping my breasts with his mouth.
I let my head tip back against the cold glass and rest my hands on his shoulders and close my eyes and luxuriate in the glory of attention, the heat of his desire for me.
Each touch of his hands, each press of his lips communicates his appreciation for my body, and it's like water soaking into parched soil.
I barely register it at first, when he opens the fly of my jeans. It's a subtle movement, his hands working at my belly, and then a slight loosening of pressure at my stomach. But then I feel his eyes on me and I open mine, realizing that my jeans are undone.
Panic bubbles in my chest, iron tightening around my lungs.
I dressed for him. My best, most flattering jeans.
The sweater that complements my skin and gives the impression of cleavage.
Boots with enough of a heel to lift my ass.
No bra. And…a thong. A red one. A skimpy one.
A thong I bought in a fit of self-care madness, thinking it'd make me feel…
I don't know what, exactly. I wore it once for precisely an hour, and then took it off and hid it in the back of my underwear drawer.
I put it on, wanting to feel sexy for once.
Hoping I'd be brave enough to let this happen, should things progress to this point.
But now that I'm here, the thought of letting Noah peel my skin-tight jeans off, letting him see me all but nude, wearing nothing but a scrap of red lace that leaves my ass cheeks hanging out and barely covers my puss?
I used to be confident and bold, once upon a time.
I used to be the aggressor in the bedroom, more often than not.
In the early days when things were good with us, at least once a week I'd gussy myself up in lace and silk and present myself to Kevin when he got home from work, begging him to take me on the kitchen counter.
Now I can barely manage to stand here and let Noah undo my damned jeans.
Where is my courage?
Where is the libido that used to leave every man I ever loved or thought I loved begging for a break?
I'm not a badass biker chick anymore, or an elite figure skater with visible abs and toned arms. I'm a frumpy single mom with a bunchy, wrinkled belly, cellulite and stretch marks on my thighs and hips, a fat ass, no libido, no confidence, and no clue what the fuck I'm even doing here.
"Noah…" I whisper, feeling my body turn inward, curling in defensively. "I…I can't—"
He reaches up and puts his thumb to my chin, dips my face down so I'm looking at him. “Hey. If you need to stop, it's okay. I'll never push you."
I make fists and press them into my eyes, hating the swell of emotion and insecurity for ruining the most pleasure I've felt in almost two decades.
"I'm scared," I admit. "But I don't want to stop."
"No?"
"I'm sorry I'm such a mess."
"Please, Morgan, don't apologize. I don't want to rush you or push you into something you're not ready for."
"You aren't." I stroke his head, fingers trailing through his silky soft blond hair. "I mean, I'm not ready, but I doubt I ever truly will be."
"I know that feeling."
With my hands in his hair, his eyes on mine, he presses a kiss to my diaphragm. My gut clenches and my heart flutters and my breath catches.
"Noah?" It's a questioning breath. Another kiss, lower. I cover my ugly stomach with both hands. "Don't. Not…not there."
Gently but firmly, Noah moves my hands away, guides them to his shoulders. He doesn't say a word, but then, he doesn't have to. His eyes remain fixed on mine, and he moves slowly, inclining toward me.
He kisses my stomach.
A tear leaks.
Another kiss. Here, there. Kisses, kisses, all over my belly, each one tender and soft and delicate—loving. Affectionate.
"You're beautiful," he whispers. "Everywhere."
I can only whimper, wrought and wracked by waves of powerful emotion—wonder, awe, arousal, skepticism, anger at Kevin for making me feel this way, anger at myself for being so weak and insecure, validation that this handsome, virile, kind, powerful, successful man wants me, cares about me.
He's not done. I caress his hair, his temples, his nape, his broad shoulders, biting my lip and watching as he kisses my belly.
With each touch of his lips, I somehow feel marginally less ugly, there.
But his kisses don't stop at my belly. They drift to my left hip, his lips stuttering and pausing along the band of my panties.
My jeans hang open, showing the red lace of my thong in a wide V.
He kisses along the waistband to my right hip…and then left again, and then right, and each time he goes from one side to the other, my jeans somehow end up lower and lower.
"Noah?"
“You can tell me to stop."
I know he will, instantly, should I say the word. Shoot, if I even hint that I want him to stop, I know he will.
I bite my lip and furrow my brow and fight for breath past the lump in my throat, the pounding of my heart.
I shake my head. "No."
With his head tipped up to gaze at me, he hooks two fingers through the belt loops at each of my hips, pauses, watching me closely, and then slowly tugs my jeans down and off, inside out.
I'm shaking all over, trembling like a leaf. Aching and shaking. Needing and fearing. Confused and desperate. A wild mess of contradictions.
His lips touch my belly again, making my heart flutter and my gut flip-flop. Another kiss, lower, his lips skating over skin just above the elastic of my thong.
His hands help my feet tug free of the tight cuffs of my jeans—which are more of a jegging than a true jean—and then cup my Achilles, drift slowly, slowly, slowly upward over my calves, the backs of my knees—a strangely tender and almost erogenous place—and then my thighs.
He halts the upward path of his hands just below the swell off my buttocks.
That's another area of insecurity. I'm a skinny girl.
Always have been. I was "coltish and gangly" as a tween and young teenager.
I kept my body toned and tight, being an athlete and an elite one, to boot.
But now, years of a busy life and neglect for my body has left me out of shape, comparatively-speaking.
What I'm trying to say is that despite being slender and lean my whole life, the last few years have been a losing battle against the constant growth of my ass to what now feels like a disproportionate size to the rest of me.
So, as good as it feels to have his hands carve hot and greedy over my backside, I also cannot help the squirm of discomfort, the flutter of fear as I wait for the criticism my psyche so unhelpfully expects.
"Hey," I hear—Noah's voice, soft and concerned in my right ear. "Hey, now. You're okay. You're okay."
I realize I'm hyperventilating, and tears are flowing down my face and my arms are barred across my chest and my hands are clenched into white-knuckled, shaking fists.
"C-c-can't—" I rasp, stuttering. "Can't…b-br—breathe."
Glass skids cold down my spine as I slump slowly toward the floor, my legs giving way.
And then brawny arms scoop me up and I'm cradled against his chest. His skin is warm and his pec is firm against my cheek. Movement. Settling. A blanket drifts and drapes over me.
A heavy hand smooths over my brow and over my hair, brushing it away from my face, tucking wayward locks behind my ear.
His heart is a slow, steady thudding under my ear; his breathing is soft and easy and even.
"Can you hear my heart, Morgan?"
I nod.
"Count the beats."
I close my eyes. Focus. BUM-bum…BUM-bum…BUM-bum…
1…2…3…
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry, Noah."
"Hush, now. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe. It's okay. I've got you."
Got me?
He's got me.
For a few more moments, I'm still drowning in panic, but his calming energy and soothing heat and comforting strength saps the viciousness of the panic and then the weight of the world and consciousness are too much for me, and darkness swallows me.